CHAPTER FOUR: SHE'S A SILVER LINING
Somewhere in her smile she knows
That I don't need no other lover
Something in her style that shows me
I don't wanna leave her now
(Something, The Beatles)
MONDAY
JASPER
It's nice to see Charlotte. It's been a week — maybe ten days — but in such a short time she's changed. Her hips are wider, her face plump and full and pink. If you didn't know, you wouldn't be able to tell, but I can clearly see how the early stages of pregnancy are changin' her form. It's kind of magical, really. I've known Peter since we were boys, so seein' him find love, get married, start a family of his own — it's a gift. I'm glad to be in on their little secret — glad to know I'm considered part enough of the family to know about their baby before anyone else.
I approach Charlotte and hang an arm loose over her shoulders, keepin' her from finishing up with dinner. "Hey, Charles," I say.
She turns, pressin' a quick kiss to my cheek before pushin' me away.
"Can you grab the cilantro out of the fridge for me, Jas?"
I do as I'm told, movin' 'round the mess hall kitchen to gather whatever Charlotte asks of me. The cilantro first, then olive oil, then a bowl stored high over the stove.
We move around each other in a quiet, determined jaunt. There's not much said between us, but there doesn't need to be. I've known Charlotte since she was seventeen years old. We were both horrendously quiet back then — held together by the compellin' force that was teenage Peter — and we operate on much the same orbit now. We love Peter and the ranch, and value hard work over anythin' else. I think that's why Peter keeps us around — we keep him in line. We're the realists that balance out his big, dreamy, beautiful head.
I'm damn excited to see what their kid comes out like.
"What's got you smiling?" Charlotte asks me.
I wipe the grin off my face and turn my head to face her fully. "Oh, nothin', nothin'," I say, "just hungry. This all looks delicious."
She raises a thick brow at me and smiles before turning back to chopping her cilantro.
"Peter told me our guests had a bit of a rough day," Charlotte says.
"Yeah, that puts it mildly," I cautiously reply. I think back to Alice — angry, angry Alice — and my muscles tense. "I warned 'em about how it gets out there, but Alice wanted to do a uh, shoot out in the meadow, so they went. She's a determined little thing, that one."
"Bless her heart," Charlotte says, shaking her head. She doesn't bother looking up from her work chopping herbs. "I wouldn't even head up there on a good day. Between all the bugs 'n the brush it's not worth it."
"I think Alice wanted to see the uh, flowers that were bloomin' there."
"Oh did she?" Charlotte sounds strangely amused.
I nod my head, brows furrowin' together. "What is it?" I ask, "what's that voice?"
"Nothing, nothing," the woman insists, copyin' my line from earlier. She sets down her knife and wipes her hands on the kitchen towel hangin' over her shoulder. I keep starin' her down. Finally, hands on her hips, she dramatically says, "Alice likes the wildflowers. Alice wants to shoot. Alice is so talented. For the past two days, it's been Alice this, Alice that —"
"Charlotte —"
"It's sweet!" Charlotte explains, "there's eight of 'em here, but all you see is Alice. I mean — I even saw her walkin' around earlier in Rose's stuff, Jas. And you're lettin' her stay in the main house?" My lack of reply tells Charlotte everything she needs to know. She clears her throat and asks, "did you two —?"
"No! No. It's nothin' like that."
The woman 'tsks' at me and continues on. "But you'd give her your right leg if she asked for it, wouldn't you? Must be somethin' special."
I can feel heat spreadin' across my face. "C'mon," I argue, taking the heaping bowl of salsa Charlotte shoves towards my chest. "I'm just bein' hospitable."
"Sure," she answers. "Or —"
"Or what?"
"I don't know," Charlotte says, voice droppin' quieter all of a sudden. "I saw you two together this morning, and … I — I haven't seen you look at another woman like that since Mar—"
"Charlotte."
"I know, I know. Just sayin'. You seem smitten."
"It's nothin', Charles. Definitely nothin' like that. Alice is just — she's a breath of fresh air is all. I like her." After a pause, I add: "she's leavin' Sunday so attractive or not, nothin' is going to happen."
"Sure. Because no city girl fantasizes of a week long romp with a cowboy."
She hands me a huge bowl of fresh baked corn chips next. I'm red head to toe. Charlotte has it all wrong! I'm about to set her straight — tell her how upset Alice was with me only hours before — but we're interrupted.
"I certainly do."
Our heads snap up at the same time. It's Peter. He's leaning against the kitchen door frame, a thousand-watt smile spread across his face. Charlotte breaks into a fit of laughter.
I just keep shaking my head.
"Both of y'all have your heads in the gutter," I commend, deciding to take my leave when Peter comes to sweep his wife into his arms. I stay just long enough to watch his hands drop to her stomach, his lips fall onto hers. I want what they've got. Something easy, like breathing. It's beautiful to witness.
I'm almost out the door, takin' the chips and dip out to the rest of the men, when Peter calls out to me. I turn around expectantly, finding him standing behind Charlotte, his head restin' on top of hers.
"No matter what — don't say I told you so. It's the last thing she needs to hear right now."
I pause, obviously confused.
"She's sittin' out there," Peter explains. "Alice."
My lungs fail to hold onto a breath. She actually showed up. Alice actually listened to me.
"You're damn lucky she is, too. You dug yourself a grave tryin' to tell her you were right earlier. Even if you were, just … don't remind her," Peter says. The man has a point. I nod my head in response and finally make my way into the main room of the mess hall.
Alice is off in the far corner with her photographer. She's dressed in what I think are her own clothes, and she looks the picture of sophistication compared to her messy appearance when I saw her last. Alice wears jeans and a flowy kind of top, and her hair is down and straight around her face. She looks clean. Tired. Alice keeps her eyes locked on the photographer, straight faced as he talks at her with big gestures. I don't think either of them have noticed my enterin' the room, and I take the opportunity to listen in.
" — this is why I told you a studio would be better, Al. We can control the lighting, the atmosphere, the background, everything. This is just a mess. We can still bite the bullet and —"
I don't want to hear this.
I quickly turn away from the pair and walk towards the long table that sits off to one end of the room. I set down the bowls I've been holdin', only a few inches away from Mike 'n Quil, the latter of who is hand rolling a cigarette on the table. I give him a good nudge.
"Hey," I say, tryin' to distract myself, "Charlotte is bringin' dinner out. Better not let her see you doin' that at the table."
He gives a curt nod of his head and cleans up his mess in the time it takes me to sit at the farthest end of the table. It's the first time I've sat down since the storm woke me up last night, and I'll be damned if I ever stand again.
Mike and Quil have cleared out, leavin' me with nothing to focus on but Alice and that photographer. I've got a good view of them from the seat I've chosen. Alice has her hand on James' arm. She's shakin' her head, speaking' a mile a minute. From where I'm sittin' it looks like she's comfortin' him. I'm hopeful that she's fightin' to stay at the ranch for the remainder of their shoot.
There's somethin' about the way the photographer watches Alice that makes my skin feel tight. I shift in my seat, elbows comin' to rest on the table before me. I want to look away, to stop the uncomfortable feelin', but I can't. Not when that man's eyes are burning hard into Alice's face. I can't read him — is it anger? Lust? Either way, it don't sit easy with me.
He steps closer. She lets him.
"Jasper! Hey!"
Seth walks into my line of vision, a whole six feet of smiles. I've always liked the kid, but his timin' has never been ideal. I drag my eyes off of Alice's back, tryin' hard to focus on the young man.
"Seth," I say. "How ya doin'?"
He comes to sit at my left, copyin' my posture exactly. I can see he hasn't bothered cleanin' up all the mud he got in earlier today, and that puts a smile on my face. Seth was born to be here — to work outdoors — just like me. Nothin' bothers him. Not dirt, or bites, or gettin' bucked clean off his horse. It helps that he's so young — still bounces back like rubber.
Seth starts ramblin' on about his day with the models and his sister, Leah, who he seems to believe would get along with one particular woman named Angela. He points towards a woman with long brown hair, who seems perfectly content sittin' in the corner readin' a book. This Angela woman looks nice. Quiet.
Honestly I'm still too focused on Alice to care much. My eyes dart away from Angela, towards the little lady with the choppy black hair. Her and the photographer have been joined by a blonde. The excitable one. Kate, I think. Alice is turned more towards us, smiling. She tilts her head back and lets out a laugh — boisterous, joyful — so loud it catches Seth's attention too.
"She's certainly in a better mood," Seth mutters at me. He chuckles. "Last I saw her, even 'er walk was angry." Seth reaches past me for a chip, scooping a massive heap of salsa up along with it.
"Yeah," I comment. God only knows what's put a smile on Alice's face, but I'm grateful for it. Even if the photographer's got somethin' to do with it.
My shoulders tense when Alice glances around the room, those buggy blue eyes of hers landin' on me. I watch as recognition fills her face, and then something else — embarrassment, I think. Alice's thin mouth pulls into a little smile.
I smile back.
Just like magic, it draws Alice right over to me.
"Hi," she says, all simple and sweet-like. Alice drops her hands on the back of a dining chair, like she's waiting' for permission to pull it out and sit.
"Alice," I say by way of greeting.
She puts on that same smile again and gives the chair a good tug out from under the table before takin' a seat.
"Hi, Alice," Seth says beside me. "Sorry again about today. I shoulda gone out there before you did."
Alice holds up a hand, effectively silencing the boy. "Don't even try. I was being ridiculous," she succeeds. "You both went above and beyond by letting me go out there in the first place. Especially after you asked me not to." She's looking directly at me now.
I shrug my shoulders, Peter's words still ringin' in my ears: even if you were right, just don't remind her.
"I appreciate a woman who knows what she wants," I decide to say.
She smiles. Again!
"Yeah!" Seth agrees. "Besides — it was kind of fun."
Alice grimaces, her face scrunchin' up uncomfortably. I expect her to get mad, but instead, she starts laughin'. "Uh, yeah, sure," Alice says, voice drippin' with sarcasm, "fun for everyone."
My chuckle is drowned out by Peter's boomin' voice.
"Clearwater! C'mere! Help me bring all this damn shit out to the table!"
Seth jumps out of his seat so fast I'm surprised his pants come along with him. It's funny — I know how harmless Peter is, but I often forget that the cowboys don't see him that way. To them, he's not just Peter. He's the foreman. He's their boss — more than I am, really. They've got to listen to every word he says. Seth runs off and I take a good hard look at Peter standing in the doorway. He keeps on that same intimidating demeanour as Seth enters the kitchen, but breaks once the boy passes, throwin' me a smirk and a look I know all too fuckin' well — Peter's playin' wingman. He's strategically left us alone. I try to keep my reaction invisible to Alice's eye, turnin' back to her and our conversation only when I'm sure my face has settled.
I play like we'd never been interrupted in the first place. I keep it professional — light — just to spite Peter.
"Tomorrow is going to be better," I promise.
"Oh, I know," Alice assures. She relaxes back into her chair, pursing her lips and fixing her hair before speaking. "Look — I shouldn't have tried to bite your head off earlier. I overreacted. I was — I was exhausted, I was off-schedule and grumpy, and —"
"Alice," I interject. She goes quiet. "I get it. Hell, I have ten little meltdowns a day. I work with a group of buffoons — it's impossible not to!" I joke, throwing a dramatic look around the room at my men.
She chuckles, hangs her head. "I know. But none of that was your fault. I shouldn't have taken my bad day out on you. Just … let me apologize for it. Please?"
I nod my head, throwin' on a smile, too. "Alright," I say. "If you insist, then of course I accept."
" — And my drawings! I can't believe you actually—"
"Alright, everyone. Carnitas!" Charlotte bellows. She emerges from the kitchen with a plate in each hand, followed by Peter and Seth who've got just the same. The trio descend upon the table and lay out a colourful array of food. Everyone else — cowboys and models and photographers alike — starts crowding in, picking their spots around the long oak table.
Alice shoots me an apologetic smile. Our conversation is over. For now.
When I find a free moment to talk to her next, it's about an hour after dinner. I've been in the kitchen with Ben and Seth, our two newest hands, keepin' 'em company as they work through dishes for seventeen people. It was a good cover to take a break, away from the small talk 'n niceties that come along with hosting guests, but it seems foolish to sit alone in the kitchen once they're done.
I meander back into the mess hall and find Alice sittin' lonesome at the table. Embry and Quil sit at the opposite end, playing cards. Mike is shootin' darts with the photographer. Peter sits with Charlotte to his left, strummin' away at his faithful old guitar. Until I get closer to her, Alice is turned to watch Peter play, her face restin' in her hands. It's a pity that my arrival pulls her focus. She turns her head in my direction, blue eyes takin' me curiously.
"Hey," I say, comin' to take the seat beside her.
"Hi," Alice replies.
"He's talented, right?" I nod towards Peter.
Alice nods her head, big eyes turning back to watch Peter play. He flows from the end of one song into the beginning of another. it takes me a moment, but eventually I recognize it to be something familiar. Something folksy and sweet and … eventually, it hits. He's playin' Pale Blue Eyes. I don't expect him to sing, but he does. It's been awhile since Peter's voice has filled this room.
Peter is talented — seriously talented. I can play guitar, I can sing a little, but nothin' like him. Peter's got the whole room starin' him down. My chest swells with a certain kind of pride.
"Where did you find him?" Alice asks me, her question tucked into a breathless chuckle.
"Peter? Oh, I've known 'im forever," I say nonchalantly. "His father used to work with mine, actually. Since before we were born. They ran this place together. We both grew up workin' on the ranch and when — when I took over," I say, expertly avoidin' the conversation of why I took over, "it only seemed natural Peter be my right hand."
Alice nods her head, watching the man sing with a strange intensity for another second or two before she settles back into her chair. I keep watchin' Peter, not wantin' to make Alice uncomfortable, but I can feel her eyes burning holes through my skin. She's watchin' me.
Eventually, she speaks. "I should've listened to you this morning." Her voice is sharp. Clear. She's a New Yorker, but without the distinctive twang. I wonder if she's lived there long.
"You really should've," I playfully contend. Screw Peter's suggestion.
"You were right."
I smile big. "Was I?"
I can almost hear Alice rollin' her eyes.
"You obviously know this place better than anyone. I don't know who I am thinking I'm smarter than you."
I turn to face her fully now, a single brow cocked in question. "That's the farthest thing from true."
Alice ducks her head again, that choppy black hair of hers hiding her eyes. She laughs. "You know what I mean. This is your area of expertise. You've literally been working on this ranch your whole life, and I don't think I've left New York since I was fifteen years old. I should've taken your advice. It's — It's just — it's been a long time since I've felt out of place. This is all new to me."
"Well think of it this way," I say, hoping I can at least offer Alice a lick of comfort, "if you got me out in the city, I'd be — well, I'd be just as good as a second buggy in a one horse town."
Alice's brows pull together in confusion for a split second and then her bewilderment softens into understanding. She even looks up, starin' me dead in the eye. "Pretty useless?" She guesses.
"See, you're catchin' on quick."
Alice seems pleased with my reply. She shifts in her seat, hands comin' up to rest on the table. Alice picks mindlessly at the wood, but through it all, her eyes never leave mine. "I don't have much time for a learning curve," Alice tells me.
"Oh, it don't take much," I assure. "I bet I could turn the rest of your week around with one piece of good advice."
"Shut your big mouth and listen?"
My readied response is silenced by my own laugh. Alice — again — has proven herself to be mighty quick.
"Not what I was gonna say," I say, much to Alice's chagrin. "I was gonna say 'boots'."
When she looks at me quizzically, I continue. "You notice how Seth barely slipped an inch out there today? Y'all have been runnin' around this place in shoes that barely got any tread to them. If you want to get through this week without any carnage —"
"Boots," Alice finishes for me.
"Boots." I reply. "You're gonna need 'em around here."
I begrudgingly remind myself of the conversation I'd overheard earlier, between Alice and her photographer. My advice — as useful as it might be — could very well be useless. I twitch nervously in my seat, eyes dartin' away from my companion to the tall, blonde man who's sittin' watching Peter across the room. Had he convinced Alice to leave? Was Alice suddenly so cherry because she'd be leaving soon?
" — That is, if you're plannin' on staying."
"What?" Alice asks, tiltin' her head to one side. "Of course we are."
My nervous, tickin' heart slows back to its usual pace. "Alright," I say. "Good. Jus' after last night and y'know, the rain and the cabin and then today —"
Alice's hand lands on my forearm.
"You don't control the elements, do you?"
"No, but —"
"And you don't expect there to be any other trees falling on my head?"
"No!" I say.
"Then please, Jasper, let's just leave it. I don't have the time to consider going anywhere else and despite it all, this place is still — it's exactly what I pictured. It's exactly right. I know what I want," Alice tells me, "and it's right here."
Her hand is still on me.
She continues on: "I'm determined to shoot outside, which is apparently ridiculous, but I'm going to keep trying until it works, so … no matter where I go, there's going to be weather, or seven billion other things that get in my way. I'm okay with that. I mean — this morning was a harsh reality check, but I'm going to figure it out."
I appreciate her honestly, and quite frankly I'm jealous of her ability to source out a silver lining. I've been lacking positivity lately — maybe my whole life. Optimism isn't wired into Whitlock DNA. I nod my head at Alice, offerin' her a smile. When I move, it's like she finally realizes where her own hand has snuck off to. Alice recoils, pullin her hand back to her side awful fast.
"I'm glad to hear that," I tell her softly, tryin' not to pull attention to her movin'. "And you're welcome to stay in Rose's room while you're here. If you're more comfortable bunkin' with the ladies, I understand, but she's certainly not usin' it. If you're settled and comfortable up there, you might as well stay."
Alice takes a few moments to consider my offer. "Thank you," she says. "I think I will, if you don't mind. It's a beautiful room."
"Rose is quite the decorator."
"You said she was your sister?"
I sit a little straighter, eyes darting around the room. Family has been an especially touchy subject for me as of late, but I'm hopeful Alice won't push much further than this. "Twin," I allow, a tight smile on my face.
"Oh," Alice says, taken aback. "That's — I should've guessed. That picture in her room — on the desk — that's her, right?" I nod. "She's very beautiful. Looks a lot like you."
I hope she can't see the hot that spreads across my face at her words.
"She doesn't come around much?" Alice asks.
This is what I was afraid of. I suck in a breath, wishin' I had a drink in my hands — somethin' I could distract myself with, or take a sip of to avoid answerin' Alice's questions. "She lives in Houston," I say, "with her husband, Emmett. They got married — I d'know — two years ago, now? And they moved out there together. He's got a big family, 'n —" I shrug my shoulders, eyes turning to Alice for a split second, "I don't think this life was exactly what they were lookin' for."
"I get that," she says. "I have a brother. I love Edward a lot — obviously — but we couldn't be more different."
"Yeah. Sometimes I think Rose 'n I came from totally different planets."
"Yes!" Alice exclaims, "It's like he's from a totally different century. He's so … modest. Old-fashioned. I'm sure he'd only ever speak to me through handwritten letters if I didn't force him to have a cell phone."
I have to laugh at that. "Sounds like someone I could get along with," I tell her. Old-fashioned could be right up my alley. I've never needed much more than a simple life.
"He'd love this place."
I give Alice a smile, but my focus has turned to Peter, who is knee deep in another song. It's Something by The Beatles, this time. I'd recognize the song anywhere. Peter knows it's one of my favourites. Part of me starts to wonder if he's doin' all this on purpose — playing a slew of songs he knew would stir somethin' up in my gut. The bastard.
" — it's really growing on me, too."
I turn quick, eyes meeting Alice's. She smiles, her face tired but so purely genuine. I had somethin' to say — somethin' smart, I'm sure — but for the life of me I can't remember what it was. Alice is so close, sittin' right beside me, and from such a small distance I can see every detail of her face. Her eyes are blue, yes, but with some parts way darker than others. She's got a few freckles spattered across her temples, and a slit through one eyebrow. Her expression is set in a smile, those blue eyes unmoving. I can't make a coherent thought when Alice is watchin' me like that.
She hasn't blinked in a minute. She hasn't moved. It's just me and Alice, watching each other like none of the world exists past this. It's us — her and me — just eyes on eyes and a lot said with nothin' spoken.
Maybe Charlotte is right. Maybe I do feel somethin' — just a little somethin'.
I've got to look away.
Alice shifts before I do, eyes darting down to the floor. She clears her throat. "I should go back to the house," Alice quietly tells me. "It looks like I've got a very early day tomorrow. Lots of work to do."
I nod my head. "Of course," I say. I don't want Alice to leave, but I certainly know the value of a good sleep. Besides — a little space might be good. I feel like all the air around us has been replaced by somethin' much heavier, much harder to contain in my lungs. Every passin' second she's right there, it's a little harder to breathe. It takes a moment to collect my calm, but I eventually find it in me to look at Alice again.
I expect to look 'n find her standin', ready to leave, but the little woman is still seated firmly at my side. She flushes when I notice her there, hands flutterin' around. Alice seems nervous. I'm about to ask her what's wrong, when —
"Listen — you don't think you could drive me into town bright and early tomorrow morning, do you? I think I've got some shoe shopping to do."
My face erupts into a smile. "Yeah," I say, "I can do that."
AN: more coming ASAP! Love y'all for stickin with me !