Make Me Stay

Chapter One PRESLEY The flight from Los Angeles to San Antonio is nothing special, but I enjoy stealing glances at the clouds out the window. Stuck between a snoring man and a coughing woman, all I want to do is spray myself with Lysol, but I settle for rushing off the plane once we land. Even though I travel a lot for my job as a photographer, I still get anxious about flying and dealing with everything that comes with it. Once I get the keys to the rental car and place my suitcases and camera gear in the back, relief takes over. As I pull out of the parking lot, I breathe easy. That is, until I hit midday traffic. Growing up in LA, I dealt with bumper-to-bumper traffic no matter the time of day, so even though this is still annoying, it doesn’t faze me. Over the years, I’ve learned to aggressively cut people off and drive like I have better insurance. That mentality seems to work in every city I visit, and San Antonio is no different. After a few middle fingers, curse words, and honks, I’m zooming down the highway toward Eldorado where I’ve rented a room at a bed and breakfast for the next ten days. Eventually, the cityscape is behind me, and I smile as I make my way onto I-10. After only three more hours on the road, I’ll be at my destination. From the photos, the B&B looked like paradise with lots of land, horses, and a huge white house with a wraparound porch. It should be on a movie lot at Universal Studios; that’s how perfect the photos were. Considering I need cowboy-themed photos for a big publisher to post on my i********: account, I thought I’d find more inspiration by being on a real ranch. It’s just one of the many perks of my job. Traveling is in my blood and sets my soul on fire, but it sits behind my passion for photography and books. My mother always said you find the road to success by doing something you love, and I figured out what I loved in high school. Now I’m living the dream of a freelance photographer and get to travel often. Working directly with publishers, I take photos for book covers and am often hired as the primary photographer for book signing events. This job is everything I’ve ever wanted in life, and I’m so grateful. Admiring the vast land in all directions causes a smile to touch my lips. Texas is so different from California. Instead of electric cars and scooters, cowboys drive lifted trucks with mud tires. Even though the speed limit is eighty, everyone around me drives at least twenty over, so I step on the gas to keep up with the flow of traffic. As the hours pass, I’m surprised to have cut nearly thirty minutes off my drive. The GPS directs me to take Exit 388, so I slow to veer onto the off-ramp. The directions the B&B gave me when I confirmed my reservation included driving straight after the stop sign, then taking a right past a pump station. I’ll eventually see an old barn, so I need to slow down because apparently, the GPS directions will bring me to the end of a dirt road that leads to nowhere. Gotta love country road driving. Once I see the barn, I do as directed, and the wrought iron Circle B Ranch sign comes into view. Excitement streams through me as I turn down the long driveway. Over the past few months, I’ve been staying in big cities, where the constant noise drones on, but as I roll down the window and smell the fresh air, I hear nothing but silence. It’s divine. As soon as the B&B comes into view, I realize I desperately need this change of scenery. I park the car and get out, staring at the giant house. Next to the front steps of the porch is a flowerbed with a B&B sign. I can’t wait to capture this picturesque scene with my camera. Before I grab my bags from the trunk, I decide to check in first. As soon as I step inside, my mouth falls open. The pictures didn’t do it justice. The hardwood floor perfectly complements the off-white walls decorated with Western-themed portraits. A sitting area surrounds a large fireplace, and I see an older woman quietly reading a book. I smile at her as I walk through the house, pass the stairs, and head to the check-in desk. “Howdy, ma’am.” A man with dark hair and blue eyes greets me. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off his muscular arms. “Um,” I say, swallowing hard. He caught me off guard because I don’t think anyone has called me ma’am before and meant it. “Hi.” “Are you checkin’ in?” He gives me a smile, and what they say about the Southern charm is true. I glance down as he pulls a scheduling book out from under the counter, and that’s when I notice the wedding ring on his left hand. All I have to say is if all the men look this good in Texas, I might never leave. “The reservation is under Presley—” “Williams,” he interrupts. “I spoke with you on the phone and confirmed your reservation last week. I’m John Bishop.” He holds his hand out to introduce himself, and I shake it. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. How was your flight?” I smile at his genuine kindness. “It was…well, it sucked. But the drive was nice.” “Probably a lot different than what you’re used to.” He gives me a sincere grin. I nod and chuckle. “Here are your room keys,” he says, handing them to me. “I just need you to sign a few documents. Well…” He looks around. “I have to print some more. Sorry. I’ll be right back.” “No problem,” I say as he walks off. I turn and take in my surroundings, making notes of where the natural afternoon light streams in through the windows. The back door swings open, and I see John wearing a cowboy hat and different clothes. “Howdy, ma’am,” he says, giving me a smirk. My mouth falls open, and I look toward the office where I just saw him enter. “Weren’t you…?” “What?” he asks. “Wearing something else?” I nod. “I must be drained from traveling. Sorry.” He lets out a booming laugh just as John comes back carrying the papers in his hands. All he does is shake his head. Yep, I’ve officially lost my mind. “Sorry, Presley. This is my brother Jackson.” I let out a laugh and exhale a deep breath. “I knew I was tired, but wow. Identical twins. Didn’t see that one coming.” “I’ve been telling him we need a wall with all the employee photos, but he refuses to take any of my suggestions. It’s nice to meet you, Presley,” Jackson says, walking through the house to the dining area, and I turn my attention to John. “He does that to everyone, thinking it’s so funny to pretend to be me. I’m pretty sure he’s the only one who laughs,” John says, handing me a pen and pointing at where I need to sign. Clinging and clanging rings out from the dining area. “We’re out of coffee,” Jackson shouts. “Then make some! You know how to!” John yells, then glances at me. “Sorry about him.” “It’s fine,” I say with a laugh. “Yours always tastes better,” Jackson says, walking with an empty cup in his hand. John completely ignores him. “So your room is up the stairs on the left-hand side. It’s the Violet room, and when you walk in, you’ll know why. Breakfast is served between six and nine. Afternoon cookies are ready around two, and dinner is served at six. If you need extra towels, just let me know. And you can call the number on the bottom of your agreement at any time if you need anything at all. Okay? Any questions?” He smiles, continuing to annoy Jackson who is tapping his foot loudly behind me. “Oh yeah, you had a few boxes of what felt like bricks arrive yesterday. They’re already in your room waiting for you.” “I don’t have any questions at the moment and thank you so much. I really appreciate you letting me ship my things here,” I tell him. “Do you need any help with your suitcases?” he asks. I shake my head. “No, thanks. I got it.” He gives me a nod before making his way toward a swinging door where I’m sure the coffee is kept. As I turn around, Jackson just looks at me. “So where you from? Not these parts.” “From California. Los Angeles,” I respond. “Really? My sister lives in Sacramento. Been out west a few times. Not my cup of sweet tea. Too busy and weird,” he says with a chuckle. I smile. “Yeah, it’s different. But so is Texas.” “So you’re single?” he asks bluntly. My eyes go wide, and I’m sure he can see the confusion on my face. “Oh, I’m not asking for myself.” He proudly shows me his wedding ring. “I’m married. Just had our third baby. My wife is home taking care of the little angel now. But just wanted to warn ya that some men moseying around the ranch think they’re some real-life cowboy Casanovas if you know what I mean. You’re a pretty girl, and I’m not one to usually warn women, but—” I feel my cheeks heat. “Okay, okay. I get it. Thanks for letting me know.” But all I’m really wondering is if they look as good as these two and if they’d sign a waiver for me to take some pictures. My mind wanders. Do all cowboys have abs of steel? My thoughts are totally in the wrong place. I almost laugh but somehow hold it in when John comes back. “Coffee is brewing, jackass.” I snort and shake my head, then thank him again before going to my car to grab my bags. Though I know John offered to help, I’m not used to gentlemen and manners and can handle it myself. So being the independent woman I am, I carry my bags up the stairs. By the time I make it to my room, I’m exhausted. Pulling the keys from my pocket, I unlock the door, and when I step inside, I’m shocked to find the room isn’t purple. Instead, I see a little plaque in memory of one of their family members. Southerners. I already love them. Once I’m unpacked, I check out the scenery from one of the many large windows in the room. I have a direct view of a barn and a horse corral and can even see the rolling hills in the distance. The sunrise and sunset must be beautiful here, and I make it a point to remember to catch both so I can take photos of them. My exhaustion takes over, so I take a quick shower to wash off the travel stank and lie down for a nap before dinner. As I close my eyes, all I can do is smile because I’m really in Texas, and so far, it’s checked all my boxes. Including the one marked finding a real cowboy even though it seems cliché.