☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★
CHAPTER SIX ╱ Enigmatic Girl.
The sky seemed to fade from its light blue into a black abyss in the blink of an eye. Already half past eleven, I curse to myself—I should be home in bed by now. Instead, I'm in the cabin I provide for my ranch hands, surrounded by them in a tormented poker game. I don't know how they talked me into it, and I'm sure as hell regretting it now.
Folding at the last chance, I flip my cards face down. I'd be having more fun if Tommy wasn't screaming in my ear next to me—give that man one too many beers, and he suddenly is on volume eight thousand.
"Damn, Sutton, that's the fourth time tonight," Samuel says, cocking an eyebrow. He holds his hand in front of him with his head resting in his other. "Lousy cards, or you got something on your mind?"
I respond with a simple shrug of my shoulders, leaning back in my seat as I swirl what cheap whiskey I had left in my glass. The ice was half-melted, diminishing the awful taste it had. But who was I to complain? Alcohol is alcohol, right? (And I knew how much I paid these people.)
With a large gulp, I swallowed the rest of the whiskey (and ice cubes) down.
"You're hilarious if you think I'm talking about my feelings with you fuckers," I let out, causing them to laugh.
"Hey, man! We're all here for ya!" Tommy yelled. His volume caused a ringing in my ear, shutting my eyes to suffice some of the annoyance.
"Tommy, for the last time. I am right here; you don't have to yell," I say, pointing my finger at him. "Don't make me take away that beer."
As if he were a child, he huffed up off his chair, snatching his beer and holding it to his chest to get cozy on the sofa. His slim bottom lip jutting out to pout. Tommy's head cut in a buzz cut, making his larger-than-normal ears stick out. He lost the flannel earlier in the night, now sitting in a muscle-tee. I saw his eyelids getting heavier by the second, irises weary and glazed.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't stifle the chuckle that left my mouth. Staring at the bottle of Jim Beam, I decided against having another glass.
"How's that nanny of yours doing?" Samuel asks, laying out his cards against Garrett to reveal his royal flush. Barely above a whisper, Garrett curses, taking the cards to shuffle again. "She's been there for a week or two now, right?"
"She's good," I swallow, "She's not Bethanne, but she's good."
"Well, no one's gonna be Bethanne, Jesse," Garrett chimes. "It's the Goodwins' daughter, right?"
I nod, watching Garrett make up the piles for our fifth and final round. A sigh leaves my lips, wanting to skip out of this last round—taking my loss to heart.
"She's cute," Samuel says. An uncomfortable feeling mustering in my gut at his words. "She single?"
I cock an eyebrow at him, "Isn't she a little out of your league? And young?"
"Yeah, definitely is," Garrett laughs, sliding his pile to him. "Sammy couldn't get a girl like that even if he tried!"
"Hey!"
"It's the truth, Sammy. And you're what? Almost thirty-five? What makes you think she'd even consider your ass?" Garrett digs his knuckles in a teasing nudge to Samuel's arm.
"I'm not saying she has to marry me," He defends, but that fiery pit brewing in my abdomen didn't care how this conversation was going. "You remember getting laid with a twenty-year-old?"
I shook my head, cutting Garrett off before he replied, "If you say what I think you're going to say next, Samuel, you better keep it in that fat mouth of yours before I kick your fuckin' teeth in."
Taking the stack of cards in front of me, I managed to get a decent hand this time around.
"You jealous, Jesse?" Samuel teases. "Worried I'll take a lady from you?"
I scoff, "Please, Sam, don't embarrass yourself."
There was a mischievous glimmer in his brown eyes, a look that churned my stomach into knots—a feeling I could only identify as a feverish anger.
"Let's bet on it," He says.
"Hell no," I shut him down. "I'm not betting against you for Corinne. She's not some prize cow, Sam. Fuck."
"Boss, I was messing with you, relax!" Samuel says, throwing his hands up like I held up a gun. "You know I ain't got a chance with a girl like that. Even snorin' Tommy over there knows that. Hell, the whole town knows it."
Folding for the fifth and final time, I pour one more glass of whiskey—changing my mind about the earlier decision. And it was gone as quickly as I poured it.
"I should get home to Asher," I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "I know it's late when I'm starting to argue with you, Sam," I laugh. But that sickening feeling stayed still in my abdomen.
He snorts, splaying his cards down again to reveal another win. "It's alright, boss. I know she feeds you good. We can smell it from here some days. You got every right to get mad after all y'been through."
"Dammit, Sammy, you're cheatin'!" Garrett slams his fists on the table, taking a swig from his beer.
Backing away, I give them a nod goodbye. I was not in the mood to break up a fight between my two best friends and employees.
When my warm skin hit the cool air, the jacket tucked underneath my arm found its way onto my shoulders.
"Shit."
Chattering my teeth, I chucked my body into my truck to drive a mile down the property to my house. Slow and steady—I was a bit drunk after all; each glass of whiskey could be considered a double by a bartender.
The front porch light was luminous, and the house seemed dark except for Corinne's room. Soft lighting emanated from her sheer curtains, catching her walking around her room. Her frame adorned with what seemed like a pajama set of some kind—white with a floral pattern.
Before I felt like a creep for leering into her window, I cut the truck's engine and crawled out. The song of crickets vibrated into my ears, trudging my heavy boots upon the front porch steps. A chill prickled down my spine, hasting me to open the door to my home.
As my fingers pried at the doorknob, it swung open. My eyes spot Corinne's long, bare legs trailing further up. With a better look, I see her pajamas weren't coated in a floral pattern; instead, tiny teddy bears on her beige shorts and a matching henley on top. The only word I could describe the fitted pajamas would have been 'adorable.'
My gaze continued up to her face; the glow of the front light housed inside a mason jar decor highlighted her slim features. The freckles on her high cheekbones softened against her caramel skin, and the loose curls from her pinned onyx-colored locks framed her face. Pink lips agape and hazel eyes inquisitive. I was nearly speechless—thinking back to what Samuel said.
"Mr Sutton?" She finally asked; her voice was like honey to my ears. It's soft and light, femininity at its finest. "Are you feeling alright? Come inside, it's cold."
I couldn't answer, bringing my feet inside the warm house. I could smell the burning wood of the fireplace and the faint smell of cinnamon from the kitchen. And like clockwork, a loud growl from my stomach was heard across the town of Cedar Creek.
She shut the door behind me and locked it. I could feel her fingers pry at the collar of my jacket, signaling me to take it off—which my body reacted before my brain could process.
"Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat," She says, placing her hand on my bare forearm. I froze in place as if my skin scorched at her touch. "Mr Sutton, are you okay?"
Clearing my throat, avoiding her concerned gaze. "I'm fine," I reply, stepping away from her. I couldn't bear for her to touch me. Not when I'm weak. "I'll be fine . . . Why don't you go to sleep? It's late."
I watched her as she took a hesitant step back, confused by my actions and words. I run a callused hand over my face—Fuck. I need a cigarette.
"Alright," She said, riddled with dissatisfaction. God, I'm a dick.
She walked down the hallway to her room, leaving me with my thoughts. Swallowing my guilt, I let my boots take me to the bar, where I poured myself another drink—number four.
The Michter's whiskey burned down my esophagus, coaxing me into a lulling bliss. Jim Beam had nothing on my bourbon. I leaned my head back with my sip, treasuring the flattering taste before gulping it. A satisfied sigh passed my lips.
Walking past the fireplace, I entered the door adjacent to the dining room. Bethanne called it my study—a room filled with books and a desk to deal with the business of ranching. Even had a pool table tucked in a nook of the room, but if Bethanne had any thought, she would've known I hated the game pool.
"I know you don't, Jesse, but what if you have friends over who do?" She smiled at me, her hip resting on the fine wood of the polished table. "Wouldn't you want to entertain them, not bore them with your philosophical pages."
"If they were my true friends, wouldn't you think they'd enjoy the fact that I like to read?" I snap back, my hands shoved inside my pockets. It was such an eyesore in the room that I catered to myself. A cranny of the home that housed my favorite literature and treasures I've gathered over the years. "Plus, you know I'd rather play cards. Wouldn't a poker table be more suitable?"
She shrugged as she began to walk away from the table towards the door. Tossing her head back to say one more thing before she left. "I was just trying to do something nice, Jess. You can be such a bore sometimes."
Sighing, I took a mental note to have that removed and replaced with a poker table.
I sauntered over to the cushioned chair that faced the side of my property. I kept the light low and placed the bottle of Michter's on the neighboring table before plopping myself down.
As I swirled the amber liquor in my glass—glasses gifted to me by Bethanne for our fifth wedding anniversary—I stared into the dark abyss. Although it didn't matter what was before me, I was lost inside my thoughts.
This is how my life was doomed to be. Work twelve hours a day, come home, drink, and ponder. Wonder for hours on end why you left me—replaying our memories over and over in my head.
From the day I asked you to be my girlfriend in the cornfield during October of our sophomore year in high school to the day we welcomed our child into the world in Doc's office. How did it all go wrong?
Stumped and angry, I was. Angry at you, angry at the world. Angry at God for not keeping you with me—I thought you were the angel in my life, but maybe you were supposed to be the Devil.
But what good would anger do? Dwelling is something I didn't care to do, but how could I not when I have no closure? There is no rhyme or reason for where you are and why you left. Just a sad little note stating you were leaving.
That same note was seducing me, whispering my name to read it over and over again like an addict begging for his next fix. It's haunting me, you're haunting me.
A faint knock echoed behind me, disrupting my wallowing. If I weren't hyper-aware of every sound (whether it was the creaking of floorboards or the crackling of firewood), I would've missed it. With Asher out like a log in his room upstairs, I could only expect Corinne to be standing on the other side of that door.
With the half-filled glass still in my hand, my feet carried me away to the door. My mind was fuzzy, and my body relaxed—thank God for whiskey.
I opened the door, eyes falling to her. It'd been nearly half an hour since I shunned her to her room while I rotted in the study. Guilt had burrowed deep inside of me alongside my aching heart.
A soft smile splayed across her face, her siren eyes hopeful and pity-filled. She nodded towards the kitchen, motioning for me to follow her.
"I could hear your stomach growling across the house," She said as I followed her to the kitchen.
She pointed to the chair pulled out at the round table in the breakfast nook, "Sit."
I shot my gaze up to her, seeing her adamant and stern yet still comforting. Too tired to fight her orders, I sat where she told me to. The glass reverberated a sound as it collided with the wood.
"Take your boots off, get comfortable," She ordered again. "I hope you like barbacoa; I made it today for me and Asher. Didn't make it as spicy as I usually like it, for his sake, but still very good."
I stayed silent, yanking my boots off to the side and leaning back in my chair. I watched as Corinne pulled dinner out of the fridge, reheating it with a pot.
"How are you with spice? I'll add in some more chipotles to give a kick while it simmers," She asked, looking at me behind her shoulder.
"I can handle it," I respond. I could see her cheeks flush, smiling at my reply.
Observing from my seat, I chose to open my mouth and apologize. "I'm sorry for how I spoke earlier; I've just been tired."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Mr Sutton," She smiled. "You have enough on your plate, don't worry about me. I shouldn't have laid a hand on you."
Wincing at her last sentence, I felt a twinge in my chest. It wasn't that fact that she touched me; it was the fact that I was so touch-starved. Bethanne left me heartbroken and desperate for affection.
I shook my head in distaste at the name Mr Sutton, "Call me Jesse, please. Mr Sutton is my father."
I see her hesitate, pulling two separate plates out of the cupboard. She motions a nod in response and makes up the plates. Steamed corn tortillas, rice, and meat—accompanied by a small bowl filled with lime slices and a mixture I assumed to be pico de gallo.
She put the two plates on the table, one for me and one for her. Confused by the action, I looked up at her.
"What? You think I'm letting you sit here and eat alone?" She rhetorically pointed. "Oh, drinks and forks!"
Before I could respond, my brain thought of Bethanne again. She never ate with me when I stayed out late, and I would be left to fend for myself in the kitchen with her leftovers. Shoving a plate into the microwave (which only made the food less desirable and soggy) and alone. Was Bethanne as great as I portrayed her in my mind?
She skipped over to the cupboard, pulling out two glasses. As she reached for the ones on the top shelf, her shirt rode up her stomach, catching my eye on a jewel. Two diamonds pierced in her belly button. I wouldn't have considered Corinne to have any more than the piercings in her ears, but maybe I don't know her as well as I thought I did.
I ducked my eyes away as she turned back around to the food in front of me, ignoring my thoughts that went straight to my dick. Could I be any more of a sex-starved man?
She sat back down with a pair of forks and two glasses filled to the brim with sweet tea—homemade, of course—and a lemon wedge tucked on their lip.
"Oh, I didn't need a drink," I say, pointing at my whiskey glass.
Her fingers reached over to my glass, pressing it against her lips, and she gulped down the amber liquid. With a solid thud of the glass and a messy wipe of her chin with the back of her hand, she said, "There. Now you need a drink."
If I were less alcoholically lubricated, I'm sure the action would have ticked me off, but instead, it sparked a laugh out of me. I couldn't lie; I was impressed.
"You handled that pretty well," I chuckle, pulling the tortillas out of the steamed basket.
She shrugged, "It went down much easier than most drinks I've had."
I pause my actions, cocking an eyebrow at her. Exposing a bit of her life to me, I was left to wonder who Corinne really is.
She looked at me confused, laughing puzzledly, "What?"
"You are an enigma, Corinne June," I reply, shaking my head before digging into the food in front of me. "I think I'm beginning to realize I know nothing about you."
She smiles, following my movement when eating. "That's not true, Mr Sutton."
"Jesse," I correct her, savoring the taste of the pork she sweated over earlier and humming in satisfaction at the complimentary flavors.
"Jesse," She suffices, making me stop in the middle of my chewing. The sound of her honeyed voice saying my name caused the strands of my hair to stand up from my neck. "I think you know me more than you know," She clicks her teeth, "You've just created a version of me inside your head, just like everyone else."
Swallowing the bite I took, thinking firmly about the words she said to me. I was silent most of our meal together, pondering the idea of fabricated details I might've created.
"I'm still just a girl," She says between bites. "But because you, like everyone else, put me on a pedestal of naivety, you disregard everything else I am. The girl who can shoot her whiskey, fire a rifle, and engage unholy acts on her days off. Acts that no one besides God himself will know."
Was Corinne not the innocent, church-going girl I thought she was? The devoted Christian who knelt before Pastor Owen to pray. The girl who baked extra food to give to homeless shelters and the reservations. A saint I created in my head. What could Corinne be hiding behind her bronzed skin?
I helped her clean up the kitchen, setting the rest of the food back in the fridge and dishes in the dishwasher. I dried the pans she washed, listening to her hum different tunes and creating small talk.
Eventually, I gave in to my exhaustion retiring myself to bed. As I walked my heavy feet up the stairs, feeling like my legs were a thousand pounds each, I heard my name called behind me.
"Hmm?" I ask while I look down at her over my shoulder.
I watched as she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, a sight that created a spiraling sensation in my mind. I craved her inquisitive voice, wishing my body wasn't riddled with fatigue so I could spend a couple more hours with her. I stayed silent, waiting for her to answer.
"Bet you didn't know I have a tattoo," She smiled. Her response piqued my interest. "It was an on-the-fly rendezvous college experience with my roommate and my ex. Just something small in an elusive area."
I watched her walk off, shouting a 'goodnight' in her wake. I was left to wonder what could be inked upon her caramel flesh. For the first night since Bethanne left me, the only thoughts left behind in my eyes were of the mystery that was Corinne June Goodwin.
The stained note lay atop my nightstand, untouched for the first time.
Is this healing? Are you my angel? (Or a distraction.)