The Longest Ride Read online

  "I did," he offered. "Lots of people do."

  "People who live on ranches, maybe."

  "Not just us. People who hunt and fish do it, too."

  "Basically anyone with a gun and a passion for the outdoors, in other words."

  "You mean there are other kinds of people in the world?"

  She smiled as he backed out, turning onto the drive before heading past the farmhouse. There were lights blazing from inside the living room, and he wondered what his mom was doing. He thought then about what he'd said to Sophia and what he hadn't.

  Trying to clear his thoughts, he rolled down the window, resting his elbow on the ledge. The truck bumped along, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Sophia's wheat-colored hair fanning out in the breeze. She was staring out the passenger window as they rode past the barn in comfortable silence.

  At the pasture, he hopped out and opened a gate before nosing the truck through and closing the gate behind him. Turning the beams on high, he drove slowly to avoid damaging the grass. Near the lake, he stopped and turned the truck around, just as he had at the rodeo, and shut down the engine.

  "Watch where you step," he warned. "Like I said, this is part of the pasture."

  He opened her window and turned on the radio, then went around to the back of the truck. He helped Sophia climb up before setting up the chairs. And then, just as they had less than a week earlier, they sat in the bed of the truck, this time with a blanket draped over Sophia's lap. He reached for the cooler and pulled out two bottles of beer. He opened both, handing one to Sophia, watching as she took a sip.

  Beyond them, the lake was a mirror, reflecting the crescent moon and the stars overhead. In the distance, on the other side of the lake, the cattle congregated near the bank were huddled together, their white chests flashing in the darkness. Every now and then one of them mooed and the noise floated across the water, mingling with the sounds of frogs and crickets. It smelled of grass and dirt and the earth itself, almost primordial.

  "It's beautiful here," Sophia whispered.

  He felt the same word could be used to describe her, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  "It's like the clearing at the river," she added. "Only more open."

  "Kind of," he said. "But like I told you, I tend to go out there when I want to think about my dad. This place is where I come to think about other things."

  "Like what?"

  The water nearby was still and reflected the sky like a mirror. "Lots of things," he said. "Life. Work. Relationships."

  She shot him a sidelong glance. "I thought you haven't been in a lot of relationships."

  "That's why I have to think about them."

  She giggled. "Relationships are tricky. Of course, I'm young and naive, so what do I know?"

  "So if I was to ask you for advice..."

  "I'd say there are better people out there to ask. Like your mom, maybe."

  "Maybe," he said. "She got along pretty well with my dad. Especially after he gave up the rodeo circuit and was available to help out around the ranch. If he'd kept at it, I don't know if they would have made it. It was too much for her to handle on her own, especially with me to take care of. I'm pretty sure she told him exactly that. So he stopped. And growing up, whenever I asked him about it, he'd just say that being married to my mom was more important than riding horses."

  "You sound proud of her."

  "I am," he said. "Even though both my parents were hard workers, she's the one who really built up the business. When she inherited it from my grandfather, the ranch was struggling. Cattle markets tend to fluctuate a lot, and some years, you don't make much of anything. It was her idea to focus on the growing interest in organic beef. She was the one who'd get in the car and drive all over the state, leaving brochures and talking to restaurant owners. Without her, there would be no such thing as Collins Beef. To you, it might not mean much, but to high-end beef consumers in North Carolina, it means something."

  Sophia took that in while she examined the farmhouse in the distance. "I'd like to meet her."

  "I'd bring you by now, but she's probably already asleep. She goes to bed pretty early. But I'll be here on Sunday, if you'd like to come over."

  "I think you just want me to help you haul pumpkins."

  "I was thinking you could come by for dinner, actually. Like I said, during the day it's pretty busy."

  "I'd like that, if you think your mom will be okay with that."

  "She will."

  "What time?"

  "Around six?"

  "Sounds great," she said. "By the way, where's that maze you were talking about?"

  "It's near the pumpkin patch."

  She frowned. "Did we go there the other day?"

  "No," he said. "It's actually closer to the main road, near the Christmas trees."

  "Why didn't I notice it when we drove in?"

  "I don't know. Because it was dark, maybe?"

  "Is it a scary maze? With spooky scarecrows and spiders and all that?"

  "Of course, but it's not really spooky. It's mainly for little kids. One time, my dad went a little overboard and a few of the kids ended up crying. Since then, we try to keep it toned down. But there are a ton of decorations in there. Spiders, ghosts, scarecrows. Friendly-looking ones."

  "Can we go?"

  "Of course. I'll be happy to show you. But keep in mind it's not the same for big people, since you can see over the bales." He waved away a couple of gnats. "You didn't really answer my earlier question, by the way."

  "What question?"

  "About relationships," he said.

  She adjusted the blanket again. "I used to think I understood the basics. I mean, my mom and dad have been married for a long time and I thought I knew what I was doing. But I guess I didn't learn the most important part."

  "Which is?"

  "Choosing well in the first place."

  "How do you know if you're choosing well?"

  "Well...," she hedged. "That's where it starts getting tricky. But if I had to guess, I think it starts with having things in common. Like values. For instance, I thought it important that Brian be faithful. He was obviously operating under a different value system."

  "At least you can joke about it."

  "It's easy to joke when you don't care anymore. I'm not saying it didn't hurt me, because it did. Last spring, after I found out he hooked up with another girl, I couldn't eat for weeks. I probably lost fifteen pounds."

  "You don't have fifteen pounds to lose."

  "I know, but what could I do? Some people eat when they get stressed. I'm the other kind. And when I got home last summer, my mom and dad were panicked. They begged me to eat every time I turned around. I still haven't regained all the weight I lost. Of course, it hasn't been easy to eat since school started back up, either."

  "I'm glad you ate with me, then."

  "You don't stress me out."

  "Even though we don't have a lot in common?"

  As soon as he said it, he worried that she would hear the undercurrent of concern, but she didn't seem to detect it.

  "We have more things in common than you'd think. In some ways, our parents were pretty similar. They were married for a long time, worked in a struggling family business, and expected the kids to chip in. My parents wanted me to do well in school, your dad wanted you to be a champion bull rider, and we both fulfilled their expectations. We're both products of our upbringing, and I'm not sure that's ever going to change."

  Surprising himself, he felt a strange sense of relief at her answer. "You ready to check out that maze yet?"

  "How about if we finish our beers first. It's too nice out here to leave just yet."

  As they slowly drained their bottles, they chatted idly and watched the moonlight trace a path across the water. Though he felt the urge to kiss her again, he resisted it. Instead, he reflected on what she'd said earlier, about their similarities, thinking she was right and hoping that it was enough to keep her com
ing back to the ranch.

  After a while their conversation lapsed into a peaceful lull, and he realized he had no idea what she was thinking. Instinctively, he reached toward the blanket. She seemed to realize what he was doing and wordlessly held his hand.

  The night air was turning crisper, giving the stars a crystalline cast. He looked up at them, then over to her, and when her thumb gently began to trace the contours of his hand, he responded in kind. In that instant, he knew with certainty that he was already falling for her and that there was nothing on earth he could do to stop it.

  As they strolled through the pumpkin patch toward the maze, Luke continued to hold her hand. Somehow, this simple gesture felt more significant than their earlier kisses, more permanent somehow. He could imagine holding it years into the future, whenever they were walking together, and the realization startled him.

  "What are you thinking about?"

  He walked a few paces before answering. "A lot of things," he finally said.

  "Did anyone ever tell you that you have a tendency to be vague?"

  "Does it bother you?" he countered.

  "I haven't decided yet," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'll let you know."

  "The maze is right over there." He pointed. "But I wanted to show you the pumpkin patch first."

  "Can I pick one?"

  "Sure."

  "Will you help me carve it for Halloween?"

  "We can carve it after dinner. And just so you know, I'm kind of an expert."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "I've already carved fifteen or twenty this week. Scary ones, happy ones, all kinds."

  She gave him an appraising look. "You are obviously a man of many talents."

  He knew she was teasing him, but he liked it. "Thanks."

  "I can't wait to meet your mom."

  "You'll like her."

  "What's she like?"

  "Let's just say that you shouldn't expect a lady in a flowered dress and pearls. Think more... jeans and boots with straw in her hair."

  Sophia smiled. "Got it. Anything else I should know?"

  "My mom would have been a great pioneer. When something has to be done, she just does it, and she expects the same from me. She's kind of no-nonsense. And she's tough."

  "I would think so. It's not an easy life out here."

  "I mean, she's really tough. Ignores pain, never complains, doesn't whine or cry. Three years ago, she broke her wrist falling off a horse. So what did she do? She said nothing, worked the rest of the day, cooked dinner, and then afterwards, she drove herself to the hospital. I didn't know a thing about it until I noticed her cast the next day."

  Sophia stepped over some wayward vines, careful not to damage any of the pumpkins. "Remind me to be on my best manners."

  "You'll be fine. She'll like you. You two are more alike than you'd think."

  When she glanced over at him, he went on. "She's smart," he said. "Believe it or not, she was valedictorian of her high school class, and even now she reads, does all the bookkeeping, and stays on top of the business. She's opinionated, but she expects more from herself than from others. If she had one weakness, it was that she was a sucker for guys in cowboy hats."

  She laughed. "Is that what I am? A sucker for cowboys?"

  "I don't know. Are you?"

  She didn't answer. "Your mom sounds pretty amazing."

  "She is," he said. "And who knows, maybe if she's in one of her moods, she'll tell you one of her stories. My mom is big on stories."

  "Stories about what?"

  "Anything, really. But they always make me think."

  "Tell me one," she said.

  He stopped and then squatted down near an oversize pumpkin. "All right," he said as he shifted the pumpkin from one side to the other. "After I won the High School National Championship in Rodeo --"

  "Wait...," she said, cutting him off. "Before you go on... they have rodeo in high school here?"

  "They have it everywhere. Why?"

  "Not in New Jersey."

  "Of course they do. Contestants come from every state. You just have to be in high school."

  "And you won?"

  "Yes, but that's not the point," he said, standing up and taking her hand again. "I was trying to tell you that after I won - the first time, not the second time," he teased, "I was jabbering on about my goals and what I wanted to do, and of course, my dad was just lapping it up. But my mom started to clear the table, and after a while she interrupted my grand fantasy to tell me a story... and it's stayed with me ever since."

  "What did she say?"

  "A young man lives in a tiny, run-down cottage on the beach and he rows his boat out into the ocean every day to fish, not only because he needs to eat, but because he feels peaceful on the water. But more than that, he also wants to improve his life and that of his family, so he works hard at bringing in bigger and bigger catches. With his earnings, he eventually buys a bigger boat so he can make his business even more profitable. That leads to a third boat and then a fourth boat, and as the years pass and the business continues to grow, he eventually accumulates a whole fleet of boats. By then, he's rich and successful, with a big house and a thriving business, but the stress and pressure of running the company eventually take their toll. He realizes that when he retires, what he really wants more than anything is to live in a tiny cottage on the beach, where he can fish all day in a rowboat... because he wants to feel the same sense of peace and satisfaction he experienced when he was young."

  She cocked her head. "Your mom's a wise woman. There's a lot of truth in that story."

  "Do you think so?"

  "I think," she said, "that the point is that people rarely understand that nothing is ever exactly what you think it will be."

  By then, they'd reached the entrance to the maze. Luke led her through, pointing out openings that dead-ended after a series of turns and others that led much farther. The maze covered nearly an acre, which made it a huge draw for kids.

  When they reached the exit, they strolled toward the harvested pumpkins. While many had been placed up front, some were stacked in bins, others clustered together in loose piles. Hundreds remained in the field beyond.

  "That's it," he said.

  "It's a lot. How long did it take you to set all this up?"

  "Three days. But we had other things to do, too."

  "Of course you did."

  She sorted through the pumpkins, eventually picking out a medium-size one and handing it to Luke before they walked back to the truck, where he loaded it into the bed.

  When he turned, Sophia was standing in front of him, her thick blond hair almost whitish in the starlight. Instinctively, he reached first for one hand and then the other, and the words came out before he could stop them.

  "I feel like I want to know everything about you," he murmured.

  "You know me better than you think," she said. "I've told you about my family and childhood, I've told you about college and what I want to do with my life. There's not much else to know."

  But there was. There was so much more, and he wanted to know everything.

  "Why are you here?" he whispered.

  She wasn't sure what he meant. "Because you brought me here?"

  "I mean why are you with me?"

  "Because I want to be here."

  "I'm glad," he said.

  "Yeah? Why?"

  "Because you're smart. And interesting."

  Her head was tilted up, her expression inviting. "The last time you called me interesting, you ended up kissing me."

  He said nothing to that. Instead, leaning in, he watched her eyes slowly close, and when their lips came together, he felt a sense of discovery, like an explorer finally reaching distant shores he'd only imagined or heard about. He kissed her again and then again, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. He drew a deep breath, struggling to keep his emotions in check, knowing that he didn't love her simply in the here and now, but that he would never stop l
oving her.

  11

  Ira

  I

  t is now Sunday afternoon, and once it gets dark, I will have been here for more than twenty-four hours. The pain continues to wax and wane, but my legs and feet have gone numb from the cold. My face, where it rests against the steering wheel, has begun to ache; I can feel the bruises forming. My greatest torment, however, has become thirst. The thought of water is excruciating, my throat prickling with each breath. My lips are as dry and cracked as a drought-stricken field.

  Water, I think again. Without it, I will die. I need it and can hear it calling to me.

  Water.

  Water.

  Water.

  The thought won't leave me, blocking out everything else. I have never in my life craved such a simple thing; I have never in my life spent hours wondering how to get it. And I do not need much. Just a little. Even a capful will make all the difference in the world. A single drop will make a difference.