It stayed silent until I looked back over my shoulder.
“I prefer brunettes.”
“Scarlett!” George’s bellowing came from across the field as I stepped out of the barn.
The cold air danced across my lips, drawing attention to the tiny traces of leftover kisses. My hand flew to them, hoping to grasp something tangible.
“Wanna go for a ride?” he asked as he rode closer with another saddled up horse next to him. “I was going to ask Stetson, but I probably shouldn’t bother him.”
I dropped my hand. “Yeah, I’d love to. Let me put my stuff in the car and grab my coat.”
I still didn’t know what to make of all of it. Everything felt messier than it had before I got here today. I wanted to be professional, to force down the desire fueling between us, but I was finding that harder to do every time he was near me.
This was our first interview—if you could even call it that—and it’d ended with me straddling the man, for fuck’s sake.
“It’s chillier than I thought,” I said as George and I made our way to the other side of the farm. “Glad I had my jacket in the car.”
“It’s been a below average December; that’s for damn sure. How’d it go with Stetson and the article? Donna seems to be thrilled about the opportunity. She’s been bragging to everyone in town.”
“Bragging? I literally just started today.” I laughed.
“You know how she gets. She loves to make sure everyone knows what’s going on at theTribune.” He chuckled, a tiny gleam in his eye as he spoke about her. “That woman loves a good article.”
“That she does,” I said.
George’s wife had passed away about ten years ago and he’d been alone ever since. I’d always wondered if he thought about finding someone else to spend the rest of his life with, but I’d never mentioned it.
“The article’s going. I think it will take some time to really figure out what Stetson’s all about and why he chose to come write an album in Quincey Falls of all places. Donna seems to think he’s hiding something, that maybe he’s here for a specific reason.”
“And you?”
“I don’t necessarily disagree, but I also think that man is a very stubborn man. And if he doesn’t want anyone to know the real reason he’s here, then it’s probably going to stay that way,” I admitted.
He definitely wasn’t divulging the whole truth with the crowd, but part of me was okay with that. Because if I was being honest, the truth scared me a little bit. If I didn’t know the whole picture, then I had the right to make some of my own assumptions, allowing space for me to give myself reasons as to why getting involved with him in any capacity of the word was a bad idea.
“Or maybe he’s just waiting for the right person to ask,” George said as he stared out onto the bare wheat fields that had been harvested a few months ago. “Sometimes people come looking for answers in places they’d never imagine, and they don’t really know how they ended up there. They just know they’re supposed to be there.”
“I guess,” I agreed. “I just never imagined Quincey Falls would be the place where someone came looking for answers.”
George cleared his throat, calling my attention to him. “Are you sure about that?”
A large lump appeared in my throat. I planned to say something but wound up paralyzed by his comment.
George knew it too because he kept talking, shifting the subject. “Maybe don’t be so hard on him…”
“On Stetson?” I asked.
George nodded, pulling the reins into his other hand. “He’s been through more than most people know. He may act unbothered, but you of all people should know there’s almost always more to the story.”
So many questions swirled around my brain.
How does George know all of this?
“What has he been through?” I asked without hesitation, desperate to know.
George had known me since before I was born. He was practically a grandfather to me, so he and I talked openly. That was an unspoken rule of ours. The truth, no matter what.
“That’s not my story to tell.” He shifted in his saddle. “But hey, you’re the journalist, aren’t you? Maybe you’ll uncover the story yourself.” He grinned, his big white teeth poking out from under his lips.
