I Don't Believe in Happily Ever After - Part Four, by L. A. Keller
“I gave up on happily ever after. Maybe I'm not cut out for a relationship. Maybe, I just don't like being committed to one person for longer than two weeks."
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Clare's story continues in Part Four.
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Clare's story continues in Part Four.
As Clare and Mae meandered back to the house, after checking
that all of the animals had fresh water and hay, Clare remembered something
else Mae said.
“Granny, did you say Wyatt had a little girl to take care
of?”
“Yes, that child is about as sweet as you were back in the
day.”
“I didn’t know he was married.”
“You seem awfully interested in what’s going on with Wyatt.
I seem to remember thinking you two were perfect for each other. It was as if I
wouldn’t see one of you without the other trailing behind.”
“Me and Wyatt? No
way. He was always a thorn in my side. Trouble with a capital T. I’m surprised
he could find someone crazy enough to marry him.”
“I didn’t say he was married.”
“So he’s not?”
“I suppose you’ll have to ask him that question. Here he
comes now.”
Clare’s focus changed abruptly from Mae to the driveway and
the jacked up four wheel drive pickup truck headed their way. No surprise to
her that Wyatt would have the loudest truck in the county. He reminded her of
the kind of prize you won after investing your week’s allowance throwing
softballs at the at the fair only to find the ring you craved with all your
heat was cubic zirconia—lots of sparkle but nothing genuine. Subconsciously,
she touched the engagement ring on her finger. She hated that her heart skipped
a beat when he stepped out with his worn blue jeans that molded to his rear end
perfectly and that dusty cowboy hat cocked slightly to the side.
Clare swallowed and thoughts rushed through her mind. His
appearance meant she would need to get him alone to voice her opinion of his influence
over Mae but she was determined to put an end to whatever nefarious plots he
had going. The seconds it took her to make a plan were shot down as soon as he
lifted a pink frilly princess from the back seat and placed her gently on the
ground.
“Granny Mae! Granny Mae!
Look at the new Cinderella dress Daddy got me,” she squealed.
Clare took an unconscious step back as the child rocketed
towards them at breakneck speed. Mae laughed and bent down to receive her, arms
open wide and a glow on her face.
“Oh girl, you look better than any princess I’ve ever seen.”
Wyatt sauntered over barely glancing in Clare’s direction.
“Sorry Mae, all Charlotte talked about was showing her dress to you.”
“Honey, you know this girl brings the sunshine wherever she
goes.” Mae directed her attention at the pint-size hurricane, “Come on
Charlotte, Granny Mae has some fresh baked cookies with your name on them.”
“Charlotte don’t spoil the dinner your grandmother is making.
One cookie here and you can take one home.”
“Okay, Daddy. I promise only three.”
“Two cookies and not one more, Charlotte.”
The child held tight to Mae’s gnarled fingers and they
headed to the house. Clare was struck again by how much her grandmother had
aged in the last year of Gramp's life. Her tread slow but light as the child
danced around her creating a mini dust storm in her white patent leather shoes.
“I’m sorry we’re closed today. If you could come back
tomorrow we’re offering an end of summer special on fresh corn, okra and
homemade pickles.”
Clare’s first instinct was to hit him and her second was a
snarky reply. Instead she decided to play along to see how long before Wyatt
recognized her.
“You know that sounds good but I’ve come all this way. Can’t you make an exception for me this one
time?” She batted her eyes and tugged at her top to show off more cleavage.
Wyatt cleared this throat. “Uh, I’m sorry but I can’t change
the hours. The farm is closed today due to a family situation.”
Clare wondered if she was
the family situation he meant. She could feel her anger bubble and simmer just
below the boiling point. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she relished
the fact that he didn’t know this new and improved version of herself. She had
worked hard to lose her Virginia accent and mannerisms. She rarely slipped a
‘ya’ll’ into her speech and that only happened after one too many martinis at
happy hour with the girls.
She stepped closer to him, heaved a sigh and tried to pout.
“I promised not to return to the city without some real southern greens. I
would do just about anything to get my hands on something special like what you
have.” She batted her eyelashes, convinced he would see right through her ruse.
He stepped back and put his hands up. “I guess you’ll have
to go back empty handed. I can’t help you.”
Clare stepped closer, purposefully heaving her chest and biting
her bottom lip. “Are you absolutely
positively sure you can’t help me?” She could barely contain her laughter when
he looked around in desperation for someone to come to his rescue. Men were such suckers, she thought.
“Look lady, the farm is closed today. We’ll be open tomorrow
at nine o’clock and the owner will be more than happy to sell you the very best
greens you’ve ever tasted but not today.” He turned and stomped toward the
house without a backward glance.
Clare hid her smile behind her hand and waited until the
screen door slammed behind him. She sashayed toward the front of the house
where her rental car was parked. She was sure she could feel his glare but she
also felt something else she couldn’t identify.
As soon as she was out of sight, she doubled in laughter.
She would teach that jerk how to treat a customer. She wouldn’t be the top account
manager at her firm if she ignored special requests from her clients. Moreover
she took immense pleasure in, not just his discomfit at her obvious flirtation,
but also his complete lack of recognition of his childhood friend. Granted it had been years since they'd seen each other but still, she wondered what he was thinking. He would be
putty in her hands.
She slipped quietly in the front door and crept towards the
kitchen as Mae asked, “Where’s Clare?”
There was a slurping sound as the child sucked the last of
her chocolate milk through a straw and a chair scraped across the worn oak flooring.
“Daddy can’t I have one more cookie?”
“Hush Charlotte, I already told you two was the limit before
dinner. I don’t know where Clare is Mae. When is she expected to arrive?”
“Wyatt honey you were just talking to her in the yard.”
Clare picked that moment to stroll into the kitchen, head
held high.
“Did I hear someone mention my name?”
Wyatt looked at her in surprise. “I call foul,” he said
using their childhood saying whenever one of them, usually him, took an unfair
advantage over the other.
The bitterness at being played the fool was absent from his
voice. Instead she heard something akin to admiration.
Happy Trails,
Leslie
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