Sunshine and Rain (City Limits Book 2) Page 2

  “Hey, Sunny.” I heard Darrell behind me through the screen door. “Whatcha doin’ out there, dummy?”

  What was I doing? Fuck, everyone else’s life was moving forward, and I was still the same old Sunny Wilbanks. Single. Working at my family’s radio station. Knocking the hell out of a thirty-year-old door.

  “I’m old as fuck, Darrell, and I’m having a beer about it,” I droned.

  He chuckled, then answered in time with the door squeaking as he stepped out to join me. “I’m a long-time member of that club. Pass me one of those.” He took a seat next to me on the wet stoop, then yelled, “Dean, get your ass out here. We’re having a front porch pity party for Sunny. She just realized she’s as old as shit.”

  Even through the dust knocked up by my epic freak out, I laughed. Darrell O’Fallon was like an uncle to me and the biggest jackass I knew, but he somehow always had a way of making me feel better.

  I whined, “Stop. This is serious.” I’m sure I wasn’t the first twenty-eight-year-old single female who felt like I did. It was just a first for me.

  I had just creeped on a seventh grader for fuck’s sake.

  Dean came out and took a seat on the wooden porch swing behind us, and Darrell handed him a brew. He took a long swig of it and asked, “So who told you you were old?”

  Were there assholes who actually did that?

  “No one.”

  He gave me a skeptical head nod, his bullshit sensing eyebrow cocked.

  “No one had to tell me. I got smacked in the face by it at the truck stop.” I finished my beer and grabbed another. My current reality check was no doubt going to get me shitfaced.

  He leaned back in the swing, waiting for me to elaborate. I flicked my bottle cap at him, then admitted, “I just saw Rhett Caraway up there.”

  He choked on his drink and a howl came from him, causing his leg to fly up and meet his open palm as he proceeded to laugh his ass off—at me. “Oh my God. That’s perfect. Think he’ll tag the water tower with Rhett loves Sunny again?”

  That wasn’t funny. He’d gotten in trouble for it.

  “Shut up. I doubt he’ll be doing that again.” I’m sure he was well over his schoolboy crush on me. The way he looked, I was sure he had plenty of girls to chase who didn’t turn him down like I did all through my high school years.

  We’d been too far apart in age back then. Way too far.

  What Dean said jogged the memory for Darrell too because then he was snickering as well.

  The old jerk teased, “I forgot about that. He had it bad for you, girl. Poor boy. You wouldn’t even give him a sniff.”

  “Gross! He was in seventh grade. I was a senior. Come on, dude. That’s not cool.” I kicked his leg. “Be nice.”

  He raised his hands in the air defensively, but the whole situation brought back a couple of memories for me, too.

  “Hurry up, Caraway. You’re going to get in so much trouble, man,” Lucas, my best friend, yelled up at me from where he stood on the ground.

  I was probably going to get in a hell of a lot of trouble, but I didn’t care. She’d see it, and then she’d get it. I wasn’t going to quit until she was mine.

  I shook the can of yellow spray paint and finished what I’d climbed all the way up the Wynne water tower to do, which—by the way—had nothing to do with chickening out.

  This time she’d know I was serious.

  I’d tried to make her see over and over, but nothing got her attention. Not candy. Not letters. Not words. But, this … she couldn’t ignore this.

  Nobody could.

  Just as I finished with the Y on her name, I heard the whoop-whoop of the squad car.

  The lane was muddy as all hell, and I had to drive through the grass in the middle to make sure I didn’t get stuck in a rut. I stopped at the shed near my cabin to make sure the doors were closed. The whole drive was a mess, and it just kept raining.

  As I’d expected, the lake-sized puddle was growing closer and closer to creeping inside the building. Around back, I left my truck running while I jumped out and ran over to pull the door securely shut.

  The weather sucked, but it would be a good night to sit on the back porch, listen to the rain and the radio, drink, and try to pretend Sunny Wilbanks didn’t look as good as she ever did.

  I knew I’d run into her sometime or another, but I hadn’t expected her to look that surprised to see me. Almost like she didn’t recognize who I was.

  She probably still saw me as that little punk kid who was always bugging her. Always embarrassing her.

  I couldn’t really blame her, but she wouldn’t have to worry about that any longer. I wasn’t a twelve-year-old with a crush anymore.

  I was a man, just back home from college, who had no desire to get turned down by that girl—not even one more time. Turned down by anyone, for that matter. I had a much different approach to women than I’d had in those days.

  I couldn’t help but feel a little pride, though, as her eyes gave me a thorough once over at the truck stop. She might have still looked the same, but I didn’t. Years of conditioning and strength training had transformed me. Yeah, I’d been a farm kid, so I’d always been strong, but I was in the best shape of my life and I knew I’d changed a lot since the last time she saw me.

  Running made sure of that.

  It was something I started when I was a young boy, one who was still years away from a driver’s license, and needed to get a letter—or whatever it was on that particular day—to a girl. So, I’d run it to her house. That same running turned me into a high school state champion runner, then a collegiate track career that paid for damn near all of my education.

  Before returning to Wynne for planting season, I actually placed in both marathons I competed in. All of that juvenile girl chasing led this small town boy to places all over the nation and a few other countries, but I still always knew I’d find my way right back to my hometown.

  The last time she saw me I was a lovesick kid. Regardless, I was an adult, and not so damn lovesick anymore.

  She was right all those years ago—after I got caught, paint in hand, her senior year—to tell me what she had. I could still remember the way she looked when Officer Long called her down to talk to me as I waited for my mom and dad to pick me up.

  “Rhett Caraway, you have to stop this. I’m about to go off to college, and you’re not even in high school yet. I think you’re sweet—I really do—but you need to get over this crush.”

  Fearlessly and unshaken by the trouble I was in, I’d confessed, “But I love you, Sunny.”

  Her blond hair fell off her shoulder as she turned to look at me with the prettiest blue eyes I’d ever looked into.

  “I know you do, but I can’t love you back. And you deserve to give all of that love to someone who can. You wait until some girl starts chasing you, Rhett. Let her send you love notes, leave you gifts, and call you on the phone. Then, hold her hand. Let her call the station and request songs for you. Then, kiss her. Hell, let her spray paint the hell out of the water tower with your name and hers. Then, marry her. When the right one comes along, she won’t tell you no like I do. She’ll love all of your sweetness and your gifts. She’ll appreciate you, just the way you are.”

  Damn if she wasn’t right all those years ago—I didn’t have to chase girls anymore. Especially one who didn’t want chased.

  I told myself all of this, but I still turned the old radio to WDKR and listened to her electric voice that evening. It did the same thing to me as it did all those years ago. Made my heart pound faster. Made me feel queasy and reckless at the same time, but maturity helped me keep those things to myself. As a man, I had restraint, control … qualities I hadn’t possessed as a boy.

  I wouldn’t ever be that crazy kid chasing the high school cheerleader again, but I couldn’t help but wonder if she still looked as good in her game skirt as she did a decade ago.

  Sure she did, and I bet she looked even better out of it.

&nb
sp; Back then, she’d been taller than me, but I towered over her now.

  Her perfect ass probably fit in the palm of my hands.

  Back then, I wouldn’t have had a clue what to do with a girl like her if I’d actually gotten her, but time changed many things. Because I sure as hell would know now.

  It wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, but I let my mind wander all over the place in the privacy of my back porch. Thinking about a gorgeous blond and the dumbfounded expression on her face when she laid eyes on me.

  It was quite a bit later when I looked at my phone, hearing a door shut out front. It was just past seven thirty and getting dark early because of the overcast. My younger sister Haley yelled, “Rhett, you here?”

  “Yeah. Back porch.”

  The cabin didn’t have a water view, although the river wasn’t far, but if it kept raining it would get much closer. However, it did have a view of one of the fields I’d planted that year. My dad before me. My grandpa before him.

  I was a runner and an athlete, but I had dirt under my skin. A farmer. One day all of that land, and hopefully more, would be mine, and I’d run Caraway Farms like my family had for generations.

  “I brought you some spaghetti leftovers. Mom made too much. God, it is weird being back in that house.” Haley was only a few years younger than me, and a freshman at State back home for her first summer break. At nineteen going on twenty, coming back to Wynne for the summer wasn’t nearly as exciting after being in the city.

  “Want a beer?” I offered. I was twenty-three, and that’s what big brothers did. Especially one who wasn’t having the best time drinking alone, but probably wasn’t very good company for anyone else.

  “I’ll have one, but I’m going to Smiths’ for a while.”

  Luke Smith had been my best friend since I was born, and his younger sister was Haley’s best friend, too. It wasn’t that uncommon for there to be a party on their property. It used to be us high school kids, then it was on weekends when we’d be back from school, and now it was mostly our younger siblings and their friends. Until the bars closed, then everyone and their dog would be there.

  Literally. It wasn’t uncommon for people to actually bring their dogs.

  “So, what are you doing back here? You look like Dad pouting at the rain. He’s on the back porch at the farm doing the same thing.”

  That didn’t surprise me, but I was grateful for some space. Thank God, I was staying at the small hunting lodge my family owned a few miles away from them, instead of up at the farm house.

  It was probably just the rain that had my dad in a mood. He was stressed about the weather, but he’d come out of it. We all knew there was nothing we could do about it.

  My attitude had been pretty bleak lately, too. Working ground on a shitty year was stressful for men like us.

  “It’s just quiet back here,” I said, just as the music stopped and we heard a familiar voice come through the speaker.

  “Keep that dial right there, Wynne. We’ve got another sixty minutes of non-stop country. Just how you like it … all night long … on WDKR.” Her voice tickled my chest and made me smile when I heard her say “all night long.”

  That voice could call me for dinner any night of the week. To hell with it, I’d eat six times, then ask for sevenths.

  And I wasn’t on my own—the whole town loved her. She was their Sunny Wilbanks, small town celebrity. I’d only been back for a few weeks, but I’d already picked up on a few things regarding her.

  Not that I’d asked anyone anything about Sunny, but her name just happened to come up everywhere I went. I’d heard it all.

  “Have you seen Sunny?”

  “She’s doing real good, Rhett. Looks real good.”

  “She’s single, you know.”

  Then the ladies would get dreamy, and the men would punch me in the shoulder and give me a look that made me almost deck a lot of them on her behalf. They’d been partly joking, and partly: “I’d love a swing at that Sunny Wilbanks myself.”

  There was no one to blame for their behavior but me. I’d been an obnoxious kid. A pain in the ass, always going on and on, never knowing when to shut up about her.

  When people would mention her, I’d nod and keep to myself. Honestly, I didn’t want to talk about Sunny Wilbanks anymore. I’d embarrassed her enough when I was a child.

  The dust would eventually settle and it would go away on its own. That’s how things worked in a small town. I just had to pretend and wait it out.

  Listening to the next song, a modern version of an old favorite we’d never heard before, Haley and I silently acknowledged it was pretty kick ass, especially for a small town station.

  It was Saturday night and, historically, when Sunny would play her favorites. I doubted many people listened to the radio on Saturday nights, but I always liked it. No one would notice if it was country that stretched out of the normal two-stepping favorites.

  Being in the city and coming back, I recognized that she was a damn good deejay. My opinion wasn’t biased anymore. It was a fact that she was fun to listen to, and whatever her choices were, she played great songs. Classic country standards Monday through Friday from eight to five. Then she’d mix in edgier, newer music on nights and weekends.

  The leather boot I wore tapped along to the beat.

  My sister cocked her head to the side and her light-brown braid swung onto her shoulder. Her pursed lips and arched eyebrow told me she had an opinion but wouldn’t let me have it until I asked for it—which I didn’t want to do.

  Knowing she wouldn’t drop it, I asked, “You gonna chew on that or spit it out?”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Listening to the radio, Rhett?”

  Was this whole town crazy? Haley had that same dreamy, closed mouth grin the women in Wynne all shared.

  It was the only radio station, but, by default, it had to mean I was chasing Sunny Wilbanks. Not just listening to the music—like I was.

  I shook my head and kept my mouth shut, prepared for her to have her fun. For the unrelenting reminders of how I publicly made myself look like an ass as a kid, all because of some silly crush I had on the blond cheerleader.

  Soon I had my fill of her giggles and boot kicks, and I snapped back at her.

  “Haley. Knock it off.”

  She shook her head but dropped it. “Fine. Why don’t you come to Smiths’ with me?”

  I leaned my head against the wall behind the cheap lawn chair I’d found in the shed. “And hang out with all of your underage friends in a machine shop and drink cheap beer from a warm keg? No, thanks.”

  A clap of thunder interrupted us, and I noticed the wind had picked up and the rain intensified since my sister arrived.

  She urged, “You know it’ll be fun.”

  It might be, but I was perfectly content where I was. Okay, maybe not content exactly, but it wouldn’t be the same at my best friend’s house without him there.

  Luke probably wasn’t ever coming back to Wynne. And, that weekend, he was on a trip to Cozumel with his girlfriend, Brittany, where he was proposing after three years of dating. He was out of school, had a great job, and was ready to take the next step. I was happy for him.

  Although I was glad to be home, where I’d always pictured myself being after college, I wondered if the time for finding a girl of my own had passed.

  The pickings in Wynne weren’t great. Well, there were exceptions—notably one out-of-my-league sexy, blond disc jockey.

  I guessed it was as it should be anyway. Not only was I suffering from a condition where everyone I saw acted like my boner was hanging out of my pants and my tongue was dragging the ground trying to get with their golden girl, but it was raining non-stop. Even if the rain took it easy on us over the next week, if up north got much more, we’d be flooding and I’d be busy as hell.

  Needless to say, things weren’t really going that great for a single farmer with a healthy sex drive in Wynne so far that summer. And, despite the
inches of precipitation my land was getting, my options for something physical, in the short term, had all but dried up. It wasn’t wise to sleep around in a small town.

  The only thing not getting wet in Wynne was my dick.

  I shook my head. “You go. Call me if you need a ride, though. Those roads are probably washed out in spots.” I didn’t want her to drink and drive, period, but I especially didn’t want her driving through water-worn, back gravel roads—drinking or not.

  “Oh, I’ll probably just stay there.”

  Lightning streaked the sky over the field, and I waited for the thunder to roll before I asked, “Wanna take my truck?” It sat higher and had better tires than her little Jeep.

  She tipped back her beer, then answered, “That’s sweet, but no. I’ll be fine. I know the roads pretty well.” I supposed she knew them about as well as I did, we’d both grown up on them. Besides, I’d seen her drive machinery worth much more than this little cabin, like a pro.

  “Call if you change your mind. I’ll be here.”

  I opened up another beer and took a drink.

  She kicked my foot again as the song changed to a slower one from last summer. “Rhett, if you want, I can hang out here.”

  I swallowed and considered it. She would want to talk, though, and there was nothing I wanted to talk about. Sitting alone, listening to the rain, with my thoughts and old fantasies, I’d be just fine.

  “No, thanks,” I answered.

  “Well, that just hurts. You didn’t have to be so sure about it.” Haley was giving me shit, and I knew she wanted to see her friends.

  I fired back. “Don’t be butt-hurt, Hay. I don’t have enough beer for the both of us.” At the rate I was putting them back, that was true.

  After flipping me off, she picked up the empty bottles and tossed them in the garbage can. “Don’t be stupid. I have my own cooler and it’s full. I am a Caraway, too, remember?” She was and a damn good baby sister. Standing there in her muck boots and jeans, nails painted, with a hot pink bottle koozie, she was a perfect mix of my dad and mom, the farmer and the beautician.