Sunshine and Rain (City Limits Book 2) Read online

  But first, after three beers, I got curious if I could still fit into my old high school clothes. I knew just where they were.

  A few hours later, I was jamming out in my bedroom to the playlist I’d made for afterhours weeknights, and wearing my old cheer skirt zipped up only halfway—the only half that would connect.

  Even though my relationship status hadn’t changed much after ten years, my ass sure had.

  “It’s Thirsty Thursday here at WDKR, and I tell you what, I could use a cold one. But, until I sign off, how about some drinking songs to wet your pallet? If all this rain hasn’t drowned you yet, I’ve got a long block of rain songs for Fun Friday here at the station.”

  Then, Sunny played “Friends in Low Places” followed by about six other drinking songs.

  She was funny like that. She had a day for everything, a song to fit every occasion. She knew country music like the back of her hand and always had cool facts to go along with an artist or song. So, even though she was playing to a certain crowd, she did it her way.

  It wasn’t until late in the evenings when you’d hear newer music that wasn’t as mainstream. I listened damn near every night, and many of the records she’d played had found their way to my iPod for when I ran.

  Whether it was the music or the sound of her familiar voice through the airwaves, it helped pass the time.

  There wasn’t a whole lot we could do on the farm, with the weather the way it was, so I was in the big shed changing the oil in the John Deere 4020. My grandfather had been meticulous about keeping his machinery in pristine condition, and it was something that easily passed down from him to my dad, to me. When you don’t have the money to buy new every year, or trade, you learned how to maintain what you had. It was second nature to us.

  Dad had been in and out that day getting ready for the sand-baggers to come the next day. It was forecasted to be one of the only dry days in the next few weeks, even though it was still going to rain that evening. But, to take advantage, we’d be bagging sand at the shed by the levee the next day. There would easily be a handful of men there to help us.

  Workdays like that, as bad as it sounded, were usually kind of fun. You’d see different people come lend a hand and shoot the shit to make a bad situation almost tolerable. We had about six thousand acres, and if the levee failed, we stood to lose about half.

  The ARMY Corps of Engineers had brought in loads and loads of sand, leaving some at the bank for anyone who needed it to keep water away, mostly people who lived near the swollen creeks. Additionally, they’d brought the lion’s share to our property, which ran alongside the river for much of our levee district.

  Good years were great, the really dry ones not so much, and wet summer months were a pain in the ass. At least on the scorching years that were about as frequent as the floods, we had irrigation to pump in needed water. We could do something about it.

  Flood years were out of our control. Sure, we could tarp and bag the levee, but above that, it was wait and see. And pray. And drink.

  Since the next day was Friday, I expected to do a lot of both, especially with the water going up another foot this weekend and more rain up north on the way down.

  I heard my dad pull up again, and by looking at my watch, I knew what time it was. Lunch.

  I’d run almost nine miles that morning and only had a couple bowls of cereal. I needed food.

  Depending on where we were working, sometimes I’d go home or bring a sandwich. If we were close to the farmhouse, we’d swing in and hang out with Mom for a while. Or sometimes, if it was raining and we couldn’t do much of anything that afternoon, we’d hit Diana’s Diner for lunch, then have a few beers in the shop.

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use a big ass cheeseburger,” I said to him.

  He strutted in with a couple new belts and random parts he’d picked up at the implement for spares to have on hand—like we needed more, but because it was raining, he’d had nothing much to do except dick around in town.

  “Yeah?” he asked. “You buying?”

  I looked up from the tractor, having finished with my task. “You driving?”

  “Yeah, suppose so.”

  “You got beer in your truck?”

  He cocked his head at me. “Are ya writing a book, son? Clean that shit up. Let’s go.”

  He had beer. I knew my dad.

  I cleaned up the mess I’d made and closed the side panel on the green machine while he hauled a bucket of ice from the ice maker to cool down his well-used, red Coleman cooler. I hopped in the cab of his truck, which he’d pulled half into the shed to keep from walking through the rain—and that was the official end of my workday.

  The road was sloppy and washed out in spots. If we ever had a few days in a row that were dry, one of us would be grading it to smooth out some of the deeper holes and ruts.

  “On the way back I’ll show you where they think we need to start. There are a few weak spots we should get to first, then head north and work our way down,” he said as he drove.

  He was justifiably worried, not that we didn’t have insurance or that we were inexperienced, but it just sucked seeing something you loved and worked hard for get fucked up right before your eyes.

  Beans looked like shit.

  Corn looked like shit.

  My dad, although he was holding up pretty good, looked like shit, too.

  We pulled into the diner and everyone in town was there. That wasn’t much of a surprise, though, on a soggy day in a farm community. We parked across the street in O’Fallon’s lot and ran to the door.

  “Hey, boys,” called Roseanne, Diana’s only other waitress. “Just find somewhere and I’ll be right there.” The diner was asshole to elbow, but we found two seats at a table with a few of my dad’s buddies.

  “Kent. Rhett,” the threesome all said in greeting.

  “Dub. Norm. Dean,” my dad said back. The chair barked across the floor as Dad took a seat with them.

  “I’m gonna go wash up real quick. If Roseanne comes back, I’ll take a double cheeseburger, everything on it. Fries. Salad with Ranch and water,” I told him and walked around the full chairs and tables to get to the bathroom.

  I should have scrubbed up back at the shop with the degreaser, but I was led by hunger and climbed into the pickup without doing it first. I lathered up as well as I could with the yellow Dial soap and gave them a decent wash. There was still shit under my nails, but I’d eaten plenty of meals dirtier than that and wasn’t dead yet.

  “How in the hell are you in here and on the radio at the same time, Sunny? I just heard you,” Dub shouted as I walked down the hall back to the dining area.

  “It’s called a prerecording, Dub. Hell, I’d have to live there full-time to be on-air all day and all night.” She smarted off with her hip pushed out, her hand resting on the belt around her small waist. I knew that sassy voice better than my own.

  I had to walk around her to get back to my table, but mouthing off to Dub, she didn’t hear me walk up. Not thinking much about it, my hand found her hip and gently moved her to the side so I could pass.

  “Excuse me,” I said and continued to the table. Ready for the hyenas to tear into me.

  Quietly, she replied, “Oh, sorry. Excuse me, Rhett.”

  I’d heard her say my name lots of times, and sadly, it never got old.

  Dean called to her, “You heading down the street?”

  I took my seat facing the counter and watched as a big smile broke across her face. Her blue eyes bright and excited.

  “Yeah, taking them some lunch. Hannah needed a tenderloin.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure who they were talking about, I didn’t know any Hannahs, but whoever she was, Sunny was excited to see her.

  My ice water was already at my spot, so I assumed my dad already placed our orders. Not wanting to call attention to myself, or her, I messed with my phone.

  It was one thing if they teased me; it was another if they teased her
on account of me.

  “Sunny, didn’t Kent clean up that tree for you? You gonna buy your father-in-law’s lunch?” Dub said good-naturedly, but I still wanted to knock the shit out of him.

  She just laughed and, thank goodness, Diana popped up with her to-go bags. The whole place silently looked at Sunny then at me to see what we would say or do in response. I gave her one glance then went back to my phone, hoping that no reaction would be best.

  Old turds like Dub McCallister only keep going if you let them know they’re on your nerves. The only thing I could do for myself—or her, for that matter—was let it roll off.

  My dad, God bless him, chimed in, “Well Dub, I ran a plow through your yard for the garden you’re planting—if this damn rain ever stops. I reckon you owe me lunch first.”

  “You son of a…” Dub cackled and laughed, throwing his napkin at his empty plate. He took it as well as he dished it out. “I can’t feed you and this big boy of yours. I’ll need a gosh-damned second mortgage,” he said as Roseanne brought out my salad.

  “Hey, I thought I heard you say there’d be another band in town this weekend,” Dean said to Sunny when she was halfway to the door.

  “Yeah, Joey Settles and some other guys are throwing something together for Sally’s birthday tomorrow,” she answered. Then, bags in hand, she walked back our way looking determined as she stopped by Dub, slapping him on the back. “Kent, you should go. Take out my mother-in-law.”

  “I’ll ask her.” He laughed, punching Dub in the arm, egging him on.

  Then she said, “Rhett, you should go down, too. Dub, you keep your dumbass at home.”

  I looked up from the weather application I was studying, just in time to see her smile at me.

  There it was again. That new smile. Fuck, I liked it.

  She was probably just giving it back to the dickhead at our table, but she’d asked me to go to Sally’s.

  No jokes about my age.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  But, she was already at the door when she turned, holding up a pink-tipped finger, and fired back with a wicked gleam in her eye. “Don’t argue with your wife.”

  Son of a bitch.

  I stared at the door, though she didn’t wait around.

  My dad kicked me under the table, but it barely registered. I was still living in the moment when Sunny said she was my wife.

  Fuck. I think I stayed in that haze the whole afternoon.

  After a few more than a six-pack with my old man, that feeling followed me home and all the way to bed.

  I doubted it would ever happen, but I’ll be damned if just hearing her say the words didn’t reignite something so deep inside my chest that I lay there and replayed it until I fell asleep.

  Her being my wife sounded just fine to me.

  I went for my morning run even earlier the next day. Keeping the same route, I worked at improving my time.

  We bagged and tarped the worst spots from about sun up until sun down, taking advantage of every second of sunlight. More people than we’d expected showed up, having heard something about a bagging at our farm over the radio. Apparently, Dad had called the station to let anyone who could make it know we’d be having a workday at the levee.

  We were far from finished, but we’d covered a lot of ground. The rain had been taken out of the forecast for the weekend, for the most part, and most of the guys said they’d come back on Saturday to help again.

  One thing was sure as the day’s work came to an end: come hell or high water, I was going to be at the bar. I’d thought about nothing else except seeing her.

  Surprisingly, I felt pretty confident as I showered and drove to town. She’d left me beer. Gave me her number. And invited me out—even if it had been in jest. Maybe I wasn’t just seeing what I wanted to anymore.

  Besides, it was Sally’s birthday, after all.

  I loved the songs that the makeshift band was playing, and they’d covered some of my oldest favorites. They were just a thrown together group of musicians, but they were on a pretty good roll. Even early in the night people were dancing, and the bar was packed.

  I wished that Hannah and Vaughn were there, but they were just getting settled at home with baby Sawyer. So, I was riding solo.

  Dean was still there and my parents had come down for a few drinks earlier when Sally’s brother was frying free fish for her birthday. My mom brought potato salad and they’d had a couple beers before heading out.

  That was one of the things I loved about living in the small town—everyone pitched in for a cause. Whether it was to throw a good woman a fun birthday, lend a hand in cleaning up storm damage, or helping protect a neighbor’s land from the swelling river.

  They didn’t always have time, but, when push came to shove, they made time. That’s how towns like Wynne survive.

  The band finished up their first set, and before they headed to the bar to get cold beers, I headed there first to beat the rush.

  “Hey, Sunny. How you doing?” asked Aaron, my cousin. He worked for the fire department, so I was surprised to see him there. He didn’t get out much.

  I shouldered my way up to him at the front of the bar. “I’m good. How’ve you been?”

  He smiled and took a drink. “Busy, but good. Hey, I was on the clock last week and you played some song I hadn’t heard before.” He squinted in thought. “I think it was last Wednesday. We were coming back from a wreck … someone went off in a ditch south of town. Anyway, I can’t remember how it went, but that guitar part was awesome.” He chuckled. “I know that’s not much to go on, but is there any chance you remember what that song was or who played?”

  I pulled my phone out and scrolled through the playlists I’d made on an app I used when I was at home looking for new music.

  “Bud Light, Sunny?” Faith asked from behind the bar. Faith didn’t work at the bar that often, but it was Sally’s birthday, and her sons, who usually helped her, were getting her good and drunk.

  “Yeah,” I answered then hit play on the modern bluegrass song I happened to love, holding the tiny speaker up to Aaron’s ear so he could hear it over the music streaming through the band’s PA.

  “That’s it. Shit,” he said. “Who in the hell is that?”

  “They’re called Wind Through Wichita,” I answered and pulled my phone back. “The whole album is so damn good.”

  “Thanks, Sunny. I’ll look them up,” Aaron said.

  I handed Faith a twenty to pay for my beer when I heard a familiar laugh a few feet away. Mike.

  I took a deep breath and recommitted to the idea of giving it a shot. Although, if judging by how much enthusiasm I felt were any clue, I’d say I was, at best, only mildly excited.

  He hadn’t seen me yet, and I noticed he was with a few of his friends. I’d met them once before, and together they were a raucous brood. As Faith got my change down the bar, they gave her some shit and ordered shots.

  By that time, Aaron had turned in his stool talking to someone else. I said a prayer for myself and tried to find more than the mere shred of enthusiasm I felt about Mike being there. Tried being the most telling part about how I felt. I was trying to like him.

  After getting my change and tipping, I strode down the bar and bumped into Mike’s arm. “You guys out causing trouble?”

  His eyes looked down at me and he grinned. Mike wasn’t killer handsome—like a Fuck-hot Farmer I knew of—but he was all right. Brown eyes, dark hair graying at the temples. He wasn’t fat or fit, but somewhere in the middle. Average. Yippee.

  I heard my mom’s words in my ears and they reminded me. Who was I to be so damn picky? If I was such a great catch, wouldn’t I be caught by now?

  “Oh, we might be,” he answered, then the three of them laughed. He called behind the bar, “Add one more shot. She’ll take one, too.”

  I didn’t love shots, but the night was young, so I was still in good shape.

  His friend Sam said, “We were just talking about y
ou, Sunny.” He was a shorter guy, but a prime example of a good ole boy. Plaid shirt, no sleeves, pack of Marlboros in the pocket. Ball cap, frayed bill.

  “Anything good?” I asked.

  “We were just giving Mike hell. How many times have you two been out now?” His elbow nudged their other friend. I didn’t know his first name, but they called him Graves.

  “I don’t know.” It was hard to say how many times we’d actually been out, like, together. We’d hung out a handful of times, but maybe only two date-dates, which consisted of Diana’s once and the ice cream place in Gilbert a different time—both ending at a bar. “Three or four, maybe,” I answered and looked up to Mike to confirm.

  He didn’t look amused like his buddies as he took a long drink from his beer, then set it aside to hand out the plastic shot glasses.

  “What is this?” I asked. The dark liquor didn’t look kind.

  “SoCo,” Mike answered.

  Gross, but I could do it.

  Sam lifted his in the air and toasted: “To Friday night mistakes and strong Saturday morning coffee.”

  We all lifted and tipped back the Southern Comfort. As I let it rip down my throat, my eye caught Rhett walking through the door. I’m sure it was just the shot warming my stomach, but the sight of him was timed perfectly with the heat that spread through me.

  My panther instincts were getting stronger by the day.

  Hell, a few days ago I’d all but humped his leg in the diner. It wasn’t my fault, though. He was young and strong and sexy and Jesus needed to take this panther’s wheel.

  “Who remembers a little band called Alabama?” bellowed Joey Settles from the stage. The band had assembled for their second set. I might have loved new music, but there was something about a three-part harmony that did it for this small town girl. I knew it was only seconds before I’d be out front jamming along.

  “I’m going to listen to the band. Thanks for the shot,” I said as I handed the empty plastic shooter back to Mike before heading up front.

  I was probably only three steps away when I heard Sam tease Mike. “Maybe if you get her good and drunk, then she’ll finally fuck ya later.” I didn’t turn around, but I had to stop to let someone by and heard him answer his friend.