Page 63 of Tennessee Trouble

LINDEE

“Fuck, it’s cold.”

Yes, yes it is. Despite the beautifully warm spring days we’ve been having, the temperature has still been dropping quite a bit at night. Making our up-before-the-sun, early morning adventure more than a little frigid.

“Yes, but that’s part of the point,” I remind April, looping my arm through hers as we walk toward the group gathering in the far end of the parking lot of the old mill.

“When was the last time we even joined Wash Day? High school? There’s a reason for that, you know. Because it’s fucking cold.”

“Well, we’re doing it today.”

Because I need a distraction…

I don’t know how this town tradition got started—although I probably should—but “Wash Day” has been going on for decades. Every third Thursday of the month, the same group of old-timers gathers here, by the waterwheel on the old mill, and jumps into the creek at first light. Naked.

They claim they are washing their cares away, and that’s where the name came from, but given who some of them are, I’m not sure how true that is. For many years the event was only open to the men of the town, but slowly they opened it up to everyone. While there are some women who join in regularly, it’s still mostly men. They’re the only ones crazy enough to jump into that freezing water au naturel, hootin’ and hollerin’, risking hypothermia along the way on a regular basis.

“So, what’d you do? Just leave him in your bed while you snuck off to go skinny-dipping with half the town?”

“It’s not half the town,” I jeer. “And no, I didn’t. I told him that I couldn’t see him last night because I had an early morning commitment. He understood.”

I think. Brandt said he did. Still, there was no missing the disappointment written on his face. Or inside my chest. Which is why I need the distraction. The space. Because Brandt Rawlins is under my skin.

I like him. A lot. Way more than I should.

These last couple of weeks of having him here have been…different. Unique. Special. A whole laundry list of other flowery words that I could use but shouldn’t because there is no future in this. His life is in Georgia. Mine is here. When the whole kerfuffle between our brands is finally settled, he’s going to go back.

Although the longer he stays, part of me can’t help but wonder if he’s also putting off a resolution so that we can spend more time together. A thought that is only making it hard not to fall for him.

But that stops today. I’m going to turn this around. In the words of Rodgers and Hammerstein, “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair.”

Or something like that.

“Lind…” April says, stopping at the edge of the grass and turning to face me. “Is liking him really such a bad thing?”

“Yes. No. I…I dunno…” My answer stumbles out of me like marbles out of a bag, each one plopping down with a heavy thud. I sigh, knowing that I don’t have to fully understand my feelings with April. “I just don’t want to be completely heartbroken when he leaves.”

“And a naked plunge into an ice-cold creek at o’ dark thirty is going to help?”

“It’s at least going to distract me long enough so that I don’t think about him every waking minute of this day.”

“You sure about that?”

I scoff. What kind of question is that?

“Yes.”

“Because he’s here.”

What?!

April nods behind me, so I whip around, my heart leaping into my throat. This can’t be. It’s not possible. Yet…that is most certainly Brandt headed toward us right now.

How on earth did he even know about Wash Day?

“Better go get him before…” April pauses, not for dramatic effect, but because she’s cut off by exactly what I’m sure she was about to say. “Nope, too late.”

My eyes go wide, a new panic replacing my initial shock as Marian Berry—better known as old maid Marian around town—steps in front of Brandt, stopping him dead in his tracks. Already naked, and not the least bit shy, the artificial redhead who is the same age as my mother cocks her hip as she greets our newcomer.