Chapter 7
Tanner
THE DOOR CLICKS CLOSED BEHINDme and I have to open and close my fists at my side to keep from punching the wall or bellowing for all the world to hear the anger and hurt I felt looking at the scars on Abby’s ribs.
And then I remember her beautiful body and all that long messy hair pulled up in a ponytail and I think, who could look at all that sweetness of her face and hurt her? Whoever was given the gift of Abby to love and protect and didn’t do his job, is an idiot and an asshole.
I hear the latch on the door click open and close again before she clears her throat. I plaster a warm smile on my face and turn around to meet her gaze. If there’s one thing I do tonight, it’ll be make her feel safe and protected—wanted.
“You said something about cider?” she asks.
“Funny you should mention that,” I say as I hold out my elbow for her to take like the perfect gentleman my mama raised me to be. She pauses before hesitantly placing her hand on my elbow and I can see that her trust is going to be hard won but so worth it. “I know a place that makes the best apple cider.”
“What a coincidence,” she smiles a crooked little smile. “It’s my very favorite thing.”
I lead her down the stairs to my truck and all the way around to the passenger side. I love the look on her face when I open the door for her and help her into her seat. She doesn’t need me to do these things for her, but I do them because I want to show her what it’s like to be treated with care and respect. I walk around the truck and hop into the driver’s seat.
It’s about a twenty-minute drive from the motel to the Jennings’ orchard and Abby watches the trees with their red and orange falling leaves and the purple streaked amber sky in the setting sun pass by with rapt attention. I don’t know where she came from, but I understand what she’s feeling as she watches the painted Texas sky pass by from her window. When I left for the Marine Corps, I travelled all over, to the other end of the world and back, and no sunset is as beautiful as those you see in Mason.
I pull into the dirt lot of the orchard that’s open to the public. The Jennings’ orchard offers seasonal picks year-round: in the summer you can picnic with sandwiches and pick strawberries until you can’t eat or carry them. In the early fall the apple trees are full to bursting and they make their own cider here on the property. In late fall like we are now, you can pick pumpkins and go for hayrides and in winter you can choose and chop your own Christmas tree. There’s truly something for everyone here.
I grab a big flannel blanket and my heavy canvas jacket from the backseat before stepping from the truck and walking around to the passenger side to open the door for Abby. I set my haul on the hood of the truck so that I can wrap my hands around her waist and pull her from the cab. I can hear her breath catch in her chest when my hands make contact with her body. “Go slow,” I tell myself. She smiles at me so bright that her eyes twinkle and her whole face lights up. Abby looks at me like I hung the moon and in that moment, I want her to look at me like that forever.
I touch my palm to the small of her back and guide her through the entrance marked with twinkle lights and right up to the cider booth where Mrs. Jennings is sitting with her daughters who preen when they see me, but slump down when they see Abby. She’s amazing even in jeans and sneakers.
“Well, hey there, Tanner,” Mrs. Jennings says to me. “I heard your mama say you would be here tonight with a girl, I just didn’t believe it.” I wince at her words. I haven’t been a big dater since I got back from the Marines.
“Yes, ma’am.” I smile. “Here I am.”
“And who is yourfriendhere?” she asks, and I notice she emphasized the word friend.
“This is mydate, Abigail,” I say as I pull her closer to my body in protection of the unattached women at the booth. And not her protection, but protection of me.
“It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am,” she says to Mrs. Jennings.
“It’s nice to meet you too, sweet girl. Would you like some cider?”
“Yes, please.” Mrs. Jennings hands her a paper cup before turning to me.
“I suppose you want some too, young man.” She sighs a put-upon sigh before winking at me.
“You know that I do.” I laugh as she rolls her eyes at me.
“Here you go, baby.” She smiles at me handing me my own cup. My mom and Mrs. Jennings have been best friends for ages. I pull my wallet from my pocket, but she refuses, saying, “You put that away. You know your money’s no good here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say to her. “Thank you.”
“You tell Miss Edna I said she owes me a rematch at cards!” she calls out to us as Abby and I are walking away. Those two and their card games. Sometimes, I honestly don’t know how they’re both still friends as bad card sharks as they are, but then again, a friendship like theirs is hard to kill.
Abby and I sip our drinks as we walk over to the line for the hayride and see the usual cast of characters waiting to climb onto the big wagon that’s pulled by two Belgian Draft Horses. Hay lines the sides of the wagon for people to sit on.
“Oh,” Abby breathes. “They’re beautiful.” She looks so much like a little girl who always wanted Santa to bring her a pony for Christmas every year, the ones that had those rainbow Lisa Frank horses all over their notebooks in school. And I love that I gave her that.
“Want to go ask Mr. Jennings if you can meet them?” I ask her.
“Can we?” She jumps a little in her excitement.
“Of course.” I smile as I lead her over to where Mr. Jennings stands with his horses.
