The Girl He Used To Love. Amy Vastine
all day waiting for the road to open up.”
Faith figured she couldn’t talk him out of his plan. Dean had always been a leader, not a follower. Besides, it was only drizzling now, nothing like the thunderstorm that had hit last night.
Dean grabbed the umbrella from the backseat as Faith pulled into the parking lot. “Thanks again for taking me in last night.”
“No problem.” Faith opened her door as he stepped out.
“What are you doing?” he asked. The way he looked at her made Faith want to climb back in her car and drive away.
“Going with you,” she replied, pulling her hood over her head. “What if you need help?”
His eyes definitely rolled. “I got it, Faith. Don’t worry.”
“I either wait here for you or go with. But may I remind you that you can’t change a tire and hold an umbrella over your head at the same time?” Faith could be stubborn, too.
“Whatever.” Dean closed his door and stomped off into the forest.
Spring was in full bloom and the canopy of leaves provided some protection from the rain, but not enough to keep things dry. Faith was not wearing the right shoes to go traipsing through the wet brush. Instead of their footsteps crunching leaves and snapping branches, the only sound was the wet slap of their feet in mud.
Dean didn’t wait for her or check to make sure she was okay. He barreled through to the other side, where the ground became so saturated it was more like a lake.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean huffed with his hands on his hips. Faith trudged up next to him. Her shoes and socks were soaked.
They weren’t far from the road and through the trees she could see a car—a car that would be faring better if it was a boat. Water covered the tires.
“Is that—?”
Dean nodded and exhaled an exasperated breath. His car wouldn’t be taking him back to Nashville today. Or tomorrow. Or...
He turned around and stalked off in the direction they had come. She could understand his frustration, but did he have to be so rude?
“I’m sorry about your car. I can take you to your parents’ and I’m sure they’ll be able to find someone who can help you tow it out of there,” she said, desperately trying to keep up with him.
He stopped and Faith almost ran into him. “I’m not going to my parents’. Can you take me back to the farm?”
“You could be here a few days. Don’t you think you should let them know you’re here?” The thought of being around Dean for another day, possibly more, was enough to give Faith a full-blown panic attack.
“I can’t. Please, Faith.” He didn’t have to explain. She could see it in his eyes, the pain the memories were digging up.
There was no way she could put him through that. “Fine.”
His shoulders seemed to relax at her concession.
Instead of taking off and leaving her behind, he walked with her, even held out a hand to help her step over a fallen tree in their path.
Faith lifted her leg over the log but her foot stuck in the mud on the other side, throwing her off balance. She lunged forward, still gripping Dean’s hand. He tried to steady her but she ended up pulling him down with her.
Her knee sank into the mud with a splat. She stuck out her hands to stop from falling face-first. Dean dropped the umbrella and landed on his behind. Not good. Faith tried to get up, but her feet couldn’t get any traction and she fell again, sending splatters of mud everywhere.
“Great.” Dean held his hands up, searching for a way to get up without touching the mud. It was highly unlikely in Faith’s opinion.
She started to laugh because it was that or cry. They were both ridiculous and completely helpless.
“What are you laughing at?” he asked as he fought a smile.
Faith got up on her knees and lifted a muddy hand, smacking it down on his shoulder. “We’re hopeless.”
Dean stared at the new mud print on his shirt. “That’s going to cost you.”
“I’m not scared of you,” Faith said, making a second attempt at standing. “You look more afraid of getting dirty than I do.”
The challenge had been presented and Dean Presley didn’t back down from a challenge. Faith wasn’t sure how she could have forgotten.
Dean used both hands to grab fistfuls of slop. “Not scared, huh?”
Faith’s heart beat a little faster. If she didn’t move, she would be washing mud out of her hair for sure. The twinkle in his eyes reminded her of the boy she once loved.
She thought she could escape, but standing on this sludge was worse than being on ice. Her feet went out from under her again. Dean smacked her on the forehead with one hand.
Game on.
“I’LL PAY TO get your car detailed,” Dean offered as he stood beside Faith in front of her car. Her clean car.
“It’s not going to be cheap if we get in there like this,” Faith replied. Her face was hidden under a mask of mud. Even her eyelashes had globs stuck to them.
“True. You should probably pay since this was all your fault.”
“My fault?” She turned her head, her dirty hair flicking muddy water his way. “I slipped. You attacked me. We wouldn’t be nearly this messy if it wasn’t for you.”
Dean smirked. Mud wrestling with Faith was the most fun he’d had in a long time. It was like they were kids again, back when neither one of them had any worries or responsibilities.
“Also true. I’ll pay half. Can you unlock the doors now?”
They were both so dirty they’d be finding mud in places they usually never thought to check for days. Getting in meant transferring all that sludge to the light gray interior of the car. Faith let out a heavy sigh and unlocked the doors. Dean quickly called dibs on the shower when they got back to the farm.
“Nice try. I’m going to have Sawyer hose you off before you step foot in my house.”
Dean turned up the heat, smudging the button. “Oh, come on. You work on a horse farm. You’ve walked through that house dirty before.”
“Not this dirty.”
Dean tried not to lean back. Faith had scooped up a handful of mud and shoved it down the back of his shirt. It was cold and wet, and he wanted to keep the cleaning costs down. “Has anyone ever been this dirty? I don’t think so.”
One side of Faith’s mouth quirked up. “Do you remember when Addison heard about that spa in Belle Meade where they charge people outrageous amounts of money for fancy mud baths, and she thought she could get the same effect by lying in a mud puddle in one of our flooded paddocks?”
The memory of Mr. Stratton calling Dean’s parents to warn them that their daughter might smell like horse manure for a few days popped up and punched Dean in the gut. He could picture a thirteen-year-old Addison returning home wearing Faith’s clothes, which were at least two sizes too small. Faith had always been the Laurel to Addison’s Hardy. She had looked ridiculous and smelled even worse. Dean had teased her relentlessly for days after.
Faith laughed and the drying mud by her eyes cracked as the skin underneath it crinkled. “She told everyone at school that people in Europe bathed in the same stuff all the time because it detoxified the body of impurities. Jill and Veronica believed every word and asked when they could come over for a treatment.”
That