Promise Me Once
Paige Weaver
Promise
Me
Once
~~~~
Paige Weaver
Promise Me Once
Copyright © 2015 by Paige Weaver
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the eBook from one of its many distributors.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Published by Paige Weaver LLC, P.O. Box 80016, Keller, Texas 76244
Cover design © Sarah Hansen
okaycreations.com
To my late grandfather ~
For those moments in the early dawn, with the sounds of squeaking saddle leather and horses’ hooves clomping on the ground. You rode beside me then and I know you’re still riding beside me now.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty–One
Chapter Twenty–Two
Chapter Twenty–Three
Chapter Twenty–Four
Chapter Twenty–Five
Chapter Twenty–Six
Chapter Twenty–Seven
Chapter Twenty–Eight
Chapter Twenty–Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty–One
Chapter Thirty–Two
Chapter Thirty–Three
Chapter Thirty–Four
Chapter Thirty–Five
Chapter Thirty–Six
Chapter Thirty–Seven
Chapter Thirty–Eight
Chapter Thirty–Nine
Chapter Forty
Acknowledgements
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About The Author
Chapter One
Cash
Before
Some say we are invincible. That we will continue to live as we always have or better. We will never know hunger or thirst. We will never know war or bloodshed. It will never touch us here. On our own soil. In our own land. We are safe.
But we were wrong.
Our perfect, little world was about to crumble. Who survived and who died was a mystery. A game of life or death. One that I was determined to win.
~~~~
“Lord, I ain’t complaining but we sure could use some help today. Got fields to plow and cattle to vaccinate. Please be with us today. Keep my son and me safe and keep us focused. In Jesus name, Amen.”
“Amen,” my mother and I said at the same time, my own lips twitching in a smile. My dad was as religious as they came but he was a farmer. Prayers were about plowing and rain amounts and crops growing. They were about the health of animals and the price of grain. That’s all he had ever known and what his livelihood depended on. Now it was my life. My heritage. My land to share with him.
Farming was in my blood. A part of me I couldn’t escape. My dad was a farmer. My grandfather had been a farmer. Hell, my great-grandfather survived the dust bowl as a farmer. We lived off the land. We ate what we raised and traded or sold everything else. We got our hands dirty and we worked them to the bone.
And we were damned proud of it.
I ate my breakfast in silence. There wasn’t any time for talking. Work was waiting. The sound of silverware hitting ancient plates was the only noise in the kitchen. Somewhere outside, a cow bawled and another answered. They were the sounds of home, as familiar to me as my own name.
I stabbed a piece of bacon and stuck it in my mouth, chewing quickly. My dad would be itching to get outside and get to work. Losing daylight meant losing dollars. And losing dollars couldn’t happen when we were barely scraping by.
“You hear on the news that they think we’re heading for another war?” my mother said, breaking the quietness of the morning with her gentle voice.
My dad didn’t look up from his farm report. “They’re always saying that, hon. War. Fighting. We need to keep our noses out of other people’s business and focus on our own.”
“But that’s not going to happen. You know that. They’re going to send soldiers over there and I hate to think…” My mother’s eyes filled with worry. “Ruth’s son is stationed somewhere in that area and she’s beside herself with fear.”
My dad grunted a response, too focused on the price of cattle to comment. Without taking his eyes off the paper, he stabbed his last bite of scrambled egg and stuck it in his mouth, staring at the numbers in front of him.
There had been talk of war lately in the news. Every damned time I turned on the TV, there it was – pictures of soldiers training or journalists in bulletproof jackets reporting from some dusty, foreign country. They always sounded nervous, almost scared. I wasn’t much on keeping up with the news – I was usually outside working – but even I knew something was going on. I saw it in the deep lines edged on the President’s face when he held news conferences. I heard it in his voice. War was imminent; it was only a matter of when and how.
I scarfed down the rest of my eggs and bacon in record time and jumped up when my dad rose from the table. War could wait. There was work to do. Grabbing my cowboy hat, I slapped it on my head and pulled the brim low. My worn boots made shuffling sounds on the old wooden floor of the kitchen as I followed my dad to the back door.
I grabbed the thermos of hot coffee my mother offered and let the old screen door slam behind me on the way out. The sun was just rising over the horizon. Pinks and purples mixed with the blue of the sky. Green pastures met the colors’ edge, making our place look like a postcard instead of a farm in the middle of nowhere, Texas.
We lived quite a distance from town. Close enough to head in when we needed something, far enough away to not see a soul for days.
My dad said he would never sell out to the big companies that nosed around every so often, buying up farms and ranches. Can’t say that I blamed him. There was just something about being surrounded by peace and quiet that called to me. Soothed me on a rough day.
Life on the farm was perfect for me. I was the loner. The quiet boy who sat in the back of the room in school. The one who didn’t have many friends to call his own. But here under the sun, with nature all around me, I was home.
But soon that would change.
~~~~
I sat high on the old tractor, plowing the pasture in the late afternoon heat. Sweat rolled down my temples and made my worn shirt and jeans stuck to me like a second skin.
I pulled my cowboy hat further down on my forehead, shielding my eyes against the sun. It sat high in the sky, blazing down on me like a ball of fire, barreling straight toward earth.
I coul
d see my dad up ahead. He was on his own tractor. The metal blades gleamed as they dug into the clay dirt, turning the rich soil. The sun reflected off them, almost blinding me. I squinted and focused on what I was doing. The tractor rumbled under me as I shifted it into a different gear.
We finished the row and stopped at the end. My dad climbed down, sweat rolling down his rail-thin body.
“Break,” he said simply.
I threw the tractor into neutral and cut the engine. The old 1950s motor sputtered then gave out, sounding like it was on its last leg.
Puffs of dirt rose around my boots and legs as I jumped to the ground. It only added to the dust already on them.
It was damned dry even for summer. We needed rain badly. But needing it and getting it were two separate things when it came to Mother Nature.
I took the canteen my dad offered and unscrewed the top. Bringing it to my lips, I let the lukewarm water fill my mouth and slide down my parched throat. Once I had my fill, I took another drink, swished it around in my mouth and then spit it out, tired of the taste of dirt. A few drops of water lingered behind on my upper lip. I wiped them away with the back of my hand then handed the canteen to my dad. Sweat trickled down past my hat brim and into my eyes as I watched him take a long drink.
When he was done, he lowered the canteen and ran a rough hand over his chin.
“Hot today,” he said in his usual gravelly voice, squinting against the sunlight to gaze across the land. “Ain’t a drop of moisture anywhere…no, sir.” Deep wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes, his skin tanned and leathery from years spent under the sun.
“Yep,” I said, staring across the field also. “It’s dry.”
We were men of few words. We didn’t waste time on small talk or useless conversations. He said anyone could spout a bunch of horseshit, but it was a man’s action that really counted.
I took that to heart at a tender age, talking less and watching more. Like now. I watched my dad and saw more than he could ever tell me. He was a man worn, tired, weathered by nature and the elements. A man that worked from sunup till sundown just to put food on the table for his family and clothes on their backs. A man with pride but humility. A man that would die for his wife and fight tooth and nail for his children. If I could be half of the man he was, I would be lucky.
“Well, we better git back to it.” He pushed his sweat-stained ball cap further back on his head. “Work ain’t going do itself.”
“Yes, sir.” I turned back to my tractor. Minutes later I was driving it down a new row. The grinding, nerve-rattling engine filled my ears as the big blades of the old John Deere turned the soil.
A bead of sweat ran down my back, soaked up immediately by my cotton shirt. Another ran down my forehead. I wiped it away, keeping one hand on the wheel.
We had only twenty more rows to go then we could call it a day. I could head into town and spend my Friday night on a barstool.
Don’t get me wrong. I loved the land. I loved the quiet. But every once in a while a man had needs that couldn’t be found on a dusty, old farm. I could find what I needed at one place – Cooper’s Bar.
I just didn’t realize what I needed wasn’t what I wanted.
Chapter Two
Cat
“So I told him, ‘What the fuck is your problem? I don’t have time for you or your shit,’” my friend Tessa said from one of the stalls. “I mean, who the fuck does he think he is?”
I didn’t bother answering as I pushed open the stall door and let it slam shut behind me. My heels were loud on the dirty tile floor as I headed to the sink to wash my hands.
“Are you listening to me, Catarina?” Tessa called out from behind a closed stall door. “This is some important shit.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled absently, turning my head one way then the other to check out my makeup and hair in the mirror.
“Hello? Earth to Cat?”
“What?” I bit out, leaning closer to the mirror to wipe a smidge of lipstick off the corner of my mouth.
One of the stall doors flung open, hitting the metal frame. I gave Tessa a quick glance as she walked out of the stall then refocused my attention back on my reflection.
Long, dark hair cascaded down over my shoulders, brushing the tops of my full breasts. Each curl was perfect, each wave photo-ready. My skin was spotless, not one blemish or pimple anywhere. I had a delicately angled nose and high cheekbones, both to die for according to most. My green eyes were enhanced with thick mascara and the eyebrows above them were dark and arched professionally.
I was beautiful. Everyone said so. Someone had even described my face as being Photoshopped in real time. But I knew the truth. The ugly truth.
Inside I was flawed. A mess.
“I just don’t know what Junior’s problem is. I mean, god, I love the jerk but he can be a real asshole sometimes. You know what I mean?” Tessa’s words flowed as fast as the water she was washing her hands under.
I gave her another one of my ‘uh-huh’ answers as I tucked a wayward curl back in its place, my mind on my looks and nothing else.
“Stop it, Cat. You’re gorgeous,” Tessa scolded, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and drying her hands with jerky, fast movements. “I should hate you. Half the men in here can’t stop staring.”
I sighed and turned to face her, giving up on my hair. “Half the men are so drunk they can’t see straight, Tessa.”
She snorted, a very unladylike sound coming from the mayor’s daughter. “Half the men in here could be my dad, they’re so damn old.”
I smiled, my lips turning up in what one man had described as the smile of an angel on the lips of a vixen.
“That ever stopped you before?” I asked, leaning a hip against the counter. “I thought you liked older men.”
Tessa stuck her tongue out at me, tossing the paper towel in the trash. “Bitch,” she grumbled, her eyes lighting up with mischief. “Not that old.”
I linked my arm through hers, laughing. “Come on. Let’s raise some hell.”
I pulled her around a couple of girls and headed for the bathroom exit. The music grew louder the closer we got to the door. The sound of country music was almost more than I could bear.
I was a city girl with roots in the country. Like my dad said – I had dirt under my nails and stilettoes on my heels. Of course, my dad didn’t know the first thing about dirt under his nails. The man had never worked a day of manual labor in his life.
The sound of a steel guitar greeted us as Tessa and I stepped out of the bathroom. Smoke filled the air and sawdust covered the floor. Yellowed pictures of country western singers from the '80s and '90s were stapled to the walls along with an assortment of beer labels.
Cooper’s was a rundown country bar set in a rundown town. The place smelled like stale beer and piss, a combination that could either make you sick or make you feel at home. A small stage was set up in one corner, occupied now by a girl belting out a Miranda Lambert song at the top of her lungs. Cowboys and cowgirls milled around, most of them hanging out at the bar. A few couples were dancing on the slick dance floor, their arms around each other and their feet moving double time to the fast song.
I had been hanging out at Cooper’s since I was seventeen. My friends and I called it ‘slumming’ but I liked the place. They didn’t ask questions and didn’t give a damn who we were. Most nights that’s just what I wanted.
I scanned the crowd. Tessa was right – the majority of the men were old enough to be our dads. But there were a few…
Two men standing at the end of the bar caught my attention. They were older than us, maybe twenty-five or so. The straw cowboy hats on their heads looked new and so did their boots. I could spot a fake cowboy from a mile away, having lived among the real ones my entire life. The two standing at the bar had money, that much I could tell.
They each had a longneck in their hands and were staring at Tessa and me with obvious interest. The look on their faces let me kn
ow that they had only one reason for being in this backwoods bar tonight and it wasn’t for the cheap beer.
It was to get lucky.
“God, I love cowboys,” Tessa said, checking out the men.
I smiled, more for their sake than for what Tessa had said. I wasn’t normally attracted to cowboys, either real or fake, but I was back home and that meant I had the overwhelming urge to be wild. One of those men could help me with that.
“Come on,” I said, pulling Tessa’s arm.
We headed across the bar, bypassing the dance floor and maneuvering through the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the men watching us, ogling our bodies, sizing us up as potential one night stands. I should know. It’s what I did. Party. Flirt. Use.
And then walk away.
I was going to hell, my grandmother said. I was rotten to the core, my stepmother claimed. I was perfect, my dad insisted.
I was all of the above and more.
I lengthened my stride, letting my hips sway just right, knowing my thigh-length sundress teased the men in the room. The cowboy boots I wore cost more than most of the men in this place made in a month. But they were scuffed and scarred, just the way I liked them. Just like the way I felt sometimes.
I pulled Tessa to an empty table in the center of the room, finding the perfect place to see and be seen.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” Tessa yelled over the music as we sat down. “I missed dancing and drinking with you. Just like old times, baby.”
I nodded, half listening to her as I checked out the people at the bar. A cute guy tipped his hat at me, grinning as his eyes dropped down to my chest.
I smiled back at him, giving him my best smile. The one that felt empty but looked perfect. The one that told the world all was okay.
“So, tell me about college,” Tessa shouted over the music, oblivious to the guy at the bar making eyes at me. “I want to hear all about the crazy parties and hot guys at UT.”
I tore my gaze away from the man and glanced at Tessa. I might be a bitch but I was always a good friend and she was one of my best. I wasn’t going to ignore her just to flirt with some stranger.
