Author's Note: So are you sitting at your computer in serious shock right now? Two updates in less than a week? I mean, just a day short of a week, but still less than a week. Holy smokes! I'm in shock and you want to know why? Because my beta is the quickest one on the planet. And thorough and wonderful. Obviously I'm beyond lucky to have her. So thank you, Court81981! One, for being the awesome beta that you are. And two, for ruining me in the best way with your stories. And thank you to everyone who continually shows me amazing support. Your reviews, favorites, follows, and alerts make me smile and push me forward. Thank you!

And now onto the chapter! Some answers will be answered, for those who've been asking, while others are going to be raised. And the drama is coming..dun, dun, dun! Enjoy!

Summary: There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

Lone Star State of Mine
Chapter Eleven: Night Train

"It's supposed to get a little cool tonight. Looks like I'm going to have to hold you tight."

The smell of summer.

I suppose to say there is only one smell of summer would be a bit of a stretch. For everyone it's different. In a small town there are a million different scents that can remind a person of those three months. I'm sure the city is no different. Some have odors that they dread, while others stop in their tracks with a smile on their face when a certain scent wafts through the air.

The summer, like every season, has its iconic scents and I've heard some experts say your sense of smell is attached to memories, to emotions. I'm not a scientist, but from what I've experienced this theory seems to be true.

The smell of Dove shampoo will forever be the smell of my mother. She has used it since I was little. The steam from her shower would always cast it out into the small hallway of our modest home and into our rooms. The smell would sit there for hours and in the summer, it tended to stay permanently, the humidity only adding to its potency. It also reminds me of the time when Prim was little, maybe three or four, and got a hold of the full shampoo bottle while we were driving home from the grocery store and proceeded to dump most the contents into the backseat. My Dad's car still has the lingering of Dove — not that we get in it much. Even now, from time to time, when I'm walking through the aisles of the pharmacy I will catch the scent lingering and I remember.

There is this thing that humidity tends to do to growing corn, especially toward the end of summer. It's a smell that you have to be searching for on most days around Dawson, but if the wind is just right, you can't avoid it. It's a type of musk that doesn't really smell terrible, but it doesn't smell good either. It just makes itself known, but most don't pay attention. I know I didn't until my father died. Then the stench seemed to find me. I would be working on the ranch or out with Gale at the baseball diamond and it would hit me like a ton of bricks. It was almost as if I had seen Mr. Snow himself walk past. My chest would get heavy, my heart would race, and my stomach would twist — the bile practically begging to come out. It still has an effect on me, but nowhere near what it used to. The saddness will linger for a moment, but my life goes on.

Of course, there are always the generic smells of summer — the ones that don't really expose any nerves or stir any memories, but you recognize them as soon as they hit your nose. The smell of sunblock, for example. You associate it will swimming, pale skin, and undoubtedly still the need for Aloe Vera that night. But for most it doesn't rekindle any sort of iconic memory. Some smells are just so common you don't think much of them. Unfortunately, not all those smells are pleasant. I love my job, and I love this place, but summertime is easily the worst time for your nose. Animals are not the most hygienic and the temperatures are unforgiving.

Summer nights usually consist of bug spray lingering in the air and burning your senses, while the nearby campfire soaks into very fiber of your clothes so it'll stay with you long after you've gone home. Around the ranch there is usually someone cooking on the grill while others are popping open cold beers. The smells mingle, together and somehow they comfort me. It's natural and it's normal. Change and I don't get along much, so I welcome anything that reminds me of the constants in my life.

And then there are summer mornings. Summer mornings are always my favorite. The way the breeze has yet to be tainted by the hot, afternoon sun. The way the stillness has the crisp coolness of the night prior. The way the moisture still hovers in the atmosphere without causing discomfort. All of that comes together to create this fresh, new smell. Like the world is reminding you that it's a new day and you can start over however you wish.

But this morning is different. This morning, before my eyes have even begun to flutter I get a hint of something new to my usual morning smell. Its heaviness is soothing, and it's earthiness tickles. It's not until I smell the distinct smell of spice that my memories rush through me like an alarm clock and a sleepy smile plays at my lips. The smell of cologne on Peeta isn't common. He normally just smells of worn leather from his gloves, sweat from a hard day's work, deodorant that has begun to fade before the day is even half over, and a hint of flour that I'm unsure of from where it originates. But when he does, all of those smells combine with it in the most comforting way.

This morning the scent has become imprinted in my mind and I'll forever associate it with the way Peeta looks so peaceful in his sleep, the way the sun creates shadows with my swaying curtains across the bed, the way I slowly stretch and feel a delicious soreness overtake me, and the indescribable safety I feel.

My eyes don't take long to adjust to the morning light. My eyes move from Peeta to glance around the room, but the detour is short-lived. I like to look at Peeta. I've always enjoyed watching him move about the ranch, but now I am simply looking at him. Studying him in an intimate way. The way his nostrils slightly flare when he lets out a quiet snore. How his relaxed features seem to have sadness in them: his lips fall into a small frown, his eyebrows are worried, and there is a crease in his forehead I want to reach out and sooth away. They tell a story Peeta himself has never said: he lives a harder life than he lets on.

We've all talked about the type of person Mrs. Mellark is to her children. Behind closed doors, we could only imagine the wrath she lets out on them. And in her more heated moments she's even let that anger ooze out into the landscape of the ranch. I've personally seen her throwing a pot in Mr. Mellark's direction as he leaves the house and others have told stories of her all but strangling the other members of her family on their front lawn.

Suddenly I wish her away. I wish all things away that could cause such a stressed expression on this beautiful man's face.

After I have memorized his face, my eyes trail downward. His neck is twisted as he lies on prone and I'm close enough to see his pulse point bob rhythmically. His shoulders are relaxed, but their muscles still remain prominent. His right arm is lifted up, tucked underneath the pillow he's using. A trace of the tattoo I've only spotted briefly mars the skin that's against the mattress. He also has a tan line across his arm where his t-shirt normally rests. His back is tanned, but nowhere near the darkness of his forearms and face. I find the unevenness of it appealing.

The sheet lands just below the curve of his back and I want nothing more than to reach over and yank it off completely and memorize every inch of flesh, but that would undoubtedly ruin my interrupted moment to watch him. So instead I direct my gaze upward again as I move myself closer to Peeta, allowing the sheet to fall just below my chest as I do so. The movement causes him to stir and I've decided I would rather have an awake, naked Peeta than a sleeping one.

I place my lips against the warm skin of his bicep and let them linger there to drop several wet kisses. His body starts to move slowly. His eyes flicker open and his sleepy smile is another thing I've decided I want to see more of. My hand reaches over to lightly trace the muscles of his shoulder and my eyes meet his.

"What time is it?" he asks, his voice gruff with sleep.

"I don't know, maybe seven." I muse, still tracing my fingers along his skin.

He groans, tucking his face into the pillow. "We have the day off."

"We do." I smirk, reaching for his arm and pulling it over my waist as I slide closer.

He must get my obvious innuendo, because he turns his head back again, but this time there is a knowing smile. His blue eyes are dark, and it sends a chill through me.

Shifting slightly, I watch him turn to lie on his side facing me. My eyes move down as he turns, the sheet only allowing the smallest of glimpses and my curiosity isn't quenched. But my eyes don't linger because he's moving toward me, his lips easily finding mine and guiding me back onto the bed. He hovers over me, his upper half pressing mine into the mattress.

His lips are on my jaw when I hear him ask, "How are you feeling?"

Wonderful. Over the moon. In love.

But then I realize why he's probably asking, and it has nothing to do with emotional state, although I'm sure he cares about that as well. My body does ache, but no worse than it has on my harder work days. And I would much rather the ache come from this type of activity.

"I'm sore." I admit, hoping it doesn't derail where this morning is heading.

"I'm sorry." His lips remain close as he drops little kisses on my neck and just beneath my earlobe.

"I'm not."

Peeta pulls away to look me in the eyes, his arm coming up to push a stray hair from my eyes. It's another quiet moment, but an intense one. His breath tingles on my lips and my chest presses against his with every breath. I feel my hand run down his side, remembering the spot I found last night: the spot just above the V of his hips that causes him to let out this sexy ragged laugh. Our eyes remain looked and I watch amusement come across his aroused expression.

"Me neither."

My laughter fills the quiet room, and I give him a playful shove.

Dramatically, Peeta falls back against the bed and I'm not far behind him. We've not changed positions, and I'm the one hovering over him. This time my eyes are roaming all over his now-exposed chest then onto the defined lines of his abs, the light dusting of hair that trails past the sheet that still covers him, and the evidence of just how much he's enjoying our morning activities.

The sight makes me blush and also fills me with pride. I linger there for just a moment before looking back up at him. This time my eyes find the arm that's wrapped under me and I see the tattoo I've wanted to get a better look at. The tattoo that I assumed was some kind of tribal, generic piece of ink that he'd gotten as a way to rebel like most tend to do around here.

But I am beyond surprised at what I find there. It's nothing tribal, religious, or the dreaded barbed wire. The shape is completely shaded black and a bit aged.

It's an insignia. A college insignia, but it's not the familiar "O" shape that's passed around here on Mr. Mellark's t-shirt or the bumper sticker on Reese's truck. It's a steer's head. More specifically, it's a longhorn. As in the University of Texas. My eyes are rivited there and Peeta must see my confusion because he lets out a slow breath and a laugh.

"Sometimes I really shouldn't listen to Finnick."

"Finnick didn't go to the University of Texas." I say, looking up at him as my fingers trace the image.

"No, but Gale was going to," Peeta says, looking over at me and tucking his other arm behind his head. "The summer before our senior year, after Gale and I had officially signed on to play at Texas and Ohio, Finnick convinced us that we all needed to celebrate the achievement. Naturally that involved a bit of alcohol."

"Naturally." I laugh, placing a kiss atop the tattooed flesh.

"A tattoo parlor was somewhere between the third beer and the second shot of tequila." Peeta laughs, looking up at the ceiling like he could still see the memory up there. "Obviously Finnick knew a guy — Finn always knows a guy — and somehow he was able to get two minors tattoos without anyone blinking an eye."

"Gale has a tattoo?" My surprise is evident in my voice.

"You didn't know Gale has a tattoo?"

"Obviously not."

"Right shoulder blade. It's the same as mine, style-wise, except it's the logo for the Volunteers," Peeta continues. "Finn has the Buckeyes tattoo, outside of his left bicep."

There is a silence in the room as I process the story I've just heard. It's really not that unbelievable since Finnick, Gale, and Peeta used to be practically inseparable. But the story also makes me realize just how much this rift has probably affected all of them. Finnick maybe more than anyone, he's probably had to spend his time playing referee when really he wants it all just to go back to how it was. To how Peeta wants it to be. To how Gale wishes it never stopped being. But anger and jealousy are ugly emotions.

My eyes move from where they've been studying the tattoo to meet Peeta's eyes, a laugh escaping. "So you guys basically have permanent friendship bracelets?"

Peeta laughs, pulling me closer and placing a kiss on my forehead. My head lies against his shoulder as I reach for the hand resting across his stomach., I lace our fingers together and enjoy the moment.

"I guess I should be relieved you didn't know Gale has a tattoo," Peeta muses. "That means you haven't seen him without a shirt. Guess that means –"

"That I was a virgin last night." I interject, turning my head up to get a better look at his face. My smirk playing at my lips, "You knew that. Feel better now that you've heard me say it?"

"Glad to hear there wasn't only one in the room last night."

My eyebrows raise, the look of confusion barely seen by Peeta who doesn't have a good view of my face in this position. The way he was last night, although I have nothing to compare it to, seemed like a man with experience. And although the thought of Peeta with someone else turns my stomach, I still assumed it to be the truth. Why wouldn't he? I heard how the girls talked about him in school and I'm sure college girls are no different. He certainly wasn't a virgin because he hadn't had the opportunity.

"Having two older brothers gave me a sex education that would make Mrs. Undersee faint on the spot," Peeta ran his hand down my bare side as he spoke. "But I wasn't like Reese. I guess I took after Clement in that area."

"What does that mean?" I ask, watching his thumb trace small circles on the skin of my hand.

"I have to spell it out?"

"You made me."

And suddenly, with an unexpected yelp, I'm on my back and Peeta is above me. With a few unsteady movements, Peeta is completely between my legs, and I can feel his hardness against my sensitive center. The contact alone causes me to gasp and grip his shoulders. He leans into kiss me, but it doesn't last long because he's working his way down my neck and then to my bare breasts.

"I."

His voice is against my skin and then I feel his lips dragging across my chest — first to the left and then downward. He then lifts his lips just slightly before meeting my burning skin again to drag out another line, finishing it by enclosing my perked nipple in a wet kiss. And then I realize what he's doing. He's spelling it out.

"Love."

He moves away from my breasts and starts to spell the word across my stomach, causing me to giggle every so often when he hits a particularly ticklish spot. My fingers are lightly entangled in his hair as I watch him with what I can only describe as admiration. I watch and sigh as his tongue dips into my bellybutton. And then his I feel his teeth snag on my hipbone in the most appealing way. The heat is rising to a boiling point inside of me, and I can't help but believe it will always feel this way.

"You."

Peeta doesn't spell that word; instead he comes back above me and finds my lips in a passionate kiss. One I eagerly welcome and in response, I spread my hips wider. The feeling of him slowly sinking into me causes another gasp that I can't contain, but then Peeta stills. He just watches me, and I reach up and move a curl from his vision.

"You are full of surprises, Peeta Mellark."

"You have no idea, Katniss Everdeen."

And then the fourth of July turns into the fourteenth of July. Before we know it, August is just around the corner and I can hardly ignore the pit in my stomach that grows with each passing day. Peeta will be going back to school soon, and I'm not sure what I dread most; the fact that he's leaving or the fact that I'll have to admit how much I am going to miss him—how much I have come to need him.

Most days I can be distracted from the fact that he's leaving by the shadow Johanna has become to me. Since Independence Day went so well, her words—not mine — she has decided that staying the remainder of the summer is in her best interest. Apparently she doesn't come from the best home life back in California, although she's pretty closed up about the whole topic. Not that I blame her,;it's not that I air my father's death often either.

Plus she and Gale have officially, at least in my eyes, become an item. I've seen them together and it's the brightest I've seen Gale's smile in a while and he must be doing something right because the normal expression of "I'll slit your throat" that Johanna tends to wear is gone. They're happy. And I completely understand that. Johanna and I don't talk much about our existing relationships, not much really needs to be said from one recently satisfied girl to anther.

Gale and I don't speak much of our new relationships either, mostly because he's still not completely ready to be around Peeta just yet. I have noticed he's actually speaking to him now, but I don't dare bring it up in cause he's like a scared dog that will run away at the first sign of notice. Gale has stopped mentioning his disapproval of Peeta and for that I'm grateful. This is all new to me and I don't need naysayers — even if it is my best friend — filling my mind with uncertainty. I can do that all on my own.

Then there is the rest of Dawson who doesn't need a public announcement to figure out what's going on in everyone's love lives. They just need one good gossiper to catch wind of it and it's all over town. In our case it was Finnick. I'm sure he meant no harm in spreading the word, but after the Fourth of July bash the whole thing was out in the open. At first I was nervous that Mr. Mellark would think poorly of me, but apparently dating his son makes me some kind of saint. He must be thinking of the wrong son. Mrs. Mellark still has a chilled atmosphere around her. And Reese and Clement keep nudging Peeta and mumbling something. I'm not in on the joke. So I suppose things have all remained basically the same.

Besides the toe-curling, back-arching, mind-blowing stolen moments I have with Peeta certainly are not few and far between. On the nights he doesn't spend over at my place, he's usually at my door plenty early before work is supposed to start. One morning I was in the shower when he showed up, but that didn't seem to stop him when I felt his arms close around my waist from behind. I still fill heat rush downward when I think of the way his naked body pressed against mine so passionately. That is one of my favorite wake up calls. I may new to this, but it's certainly something I can get used to.

And then I remember it'll all be ending soon.

My eyes watch the calm waters of the lake as I hear the crowd behind me talking and laughing. Lake Greer is probably one of the only selling points to Dawson and technically it's not even in the city limits, but Dawson claims it as her own. I don't make it out here much, but when I do it's usually to watch Prim splash around or make sure Gale doesn't drink too much and end up drowning. But this year the town hall has decided to throw a small summer bash in conjunction with the church's annual missions' fundraiser, out here. Which means I'm off babysitting duties.

I had originally planned on having a good time. Peeta and I had rode together and I hadn't left his side, his thumb sliding through the back belt loop of my shorts, pulling me closer from time to time. We'd eaten with Finnick, Annie, Gale and Johanna and had even played a couple rounds of Corn Hole. Surprisingly Peeta is terrible at it. We lost in the first rounds each time. Then Peeta got pulled away from some folks from the church, and I heard him talking about his next semester at school — mostly football. I hated how much a conversation like that could ruin my mood.

So here I am, standing along the shore of the lake, holding a half-empty Solo cup trying to figure out how I got so attached to someone so quickly. How I allowed myself to get so attached to someone so quickly. And then I feel his lips graze against the side of my neck as his arm wraps around me loosely. My body naturally leans against his, and I know all the answers to my questions.

"I know what you're thinking." His voice tickles my ear.

He can't possibly. I should talk to him about him going back to school. It's something we haven't even brought up yet, but it's coming and neither of us can stop it. Does he want to stop it? Maybe this has all been too much too fast for him? I've been so worried about my own feelings that I didn't even being to consider his in that regard. Now I can feel my stomach twisting again.

"You're thinking about skinny dipping." He continues, his hand coming to rest on my hip, allowing his thumb to skim the bare skin there. "And as much as the others would probably be completely against it, I say you go right ahead."

I laugh, my head coming to rest on his shoulder. "And let everyone see me naked?" I ask, only slightly enjoying his tender possessiveness of me.

"Good point. Maybe later."

I turn to face him then, letting my arms come up around his neck. I lean forward and place a quick kiss on his lips, trying to remember that we are still in sight of others and that Dawson loves to talk.

"How about now?" I ask, lowering my voice suggestively. "I know another body of water not too far from here."

Right now the idea of cooling off in Mellarks' pond on this hot July night with Peeta snuggly between my thighs is winning over our need for this talk. But, then again, usually having a naked Peeta anywhere wins out. Conversations can wait.