Georgia had always been known to be stifling in the summer, but even I was more than a little surprised at the string of oppressively hot days that had been plaguing us for weeks. Even throughout the nights the moisture in the air hung like a wet blanket over our noses and mouths, making it hard to breathe. The temperatures remained at a very warm 75 degrees while we slept, or tried to for that matter, allowing those lacking central air the pleasure of awaking sticky and sweaty. It was the kind of heat that induced fatigue but kept you from sleeping. That evening the air was thick and heavy, laden with scorching heat and oppressive humidity even though the sun had long ago been put to rest and the high-hanging moon shone brightly in the clear night sky. I lay face-up on the cool grass and breathed deeply as my eyes closed. I savored the pureness and the innocence of the beauty that surrounded me.
The earth smelled sweet, like summer after she rains, and the tiny tree frogs peeped unabashedly in the otherwise quiet night. The tiny waves of the kettle pond lapped timidly at its shores as a wonderfully refreshing zephyr caressed its surface and traveled past my flushed cheeks. It was my last night in Georgia before I left for my first year of college in Boston. As I opened my eyes, I caught a glimpse of an orange streak leaving its mark on the dark velvet sky. As if put there for only my eyes, I smiled to myself and whispered aloud, "Star light, star bright, the first shooting star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight." I closed my eyes once again, breathed deeply and without hesitation began my request to the heavens.
#
The weather had come as a shock to me when I had stepped into the humid air at the Hartsfield-Jackson airport in Atlanta. It was the end of April but it was already in the mid-80's, much different than the cool temperatures I was used to in Boston. After I unpacked my things and rearranged my room, I ventured out jean-clad to the barn to get reacquainted with the horses I hadn't seen since the September before. A slight breeze made the heat a little more bearable on the quarter mile walk, but as I got closer my heart began to beat faster, and not from the brief amount of exercise. As I peered down the center isle of stalls I saw someone I didn't recognize. He opened the door to one of the stalls and stepped in, shutting it behind him.
No one else was around, so it struck me as odd that someone I didn't know was in there as our family had a strict rule that one may only be in the barn unattended if they were an employee or, obviously, a member of the family. Having never seen him before I quickened my pace and jogged into the barn. I slid Patches' already unlocked door open and stared at the stranger. He turned around and cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. The man looked like he might have been 5 or so years older than my 19, and he wore and old-West style cowboy hat that dipped down over messy sandy brown hair. It offset his sun-darkened complexion nicely and occasionally strayed into his deep chocolate eyes. His short sleeved tee-shirt was frayed at the shoulders and showed off his toned arms and slight farmer's tan. If Adonis had been a southern country boy, that is exactly what he would have looked like.
"Can I help you, miss?" he asked with a look that gave me the distinct impression that I was intruding.
"I believe I should be asking you the same question," I scoffed with a furrowed brow.
"Miss, I'm sorry. This here's private property. Do you have an appointment with one of the Whitmans?"
"I am a Whitman!" I told him.
"With all due respect, miss, I live with the Whitmans and I can assure you that I've never seen you around."
"You live where?" I asked incredulously.
"Right over yonder," he drawled with a finger pointed at my house. "Now, I'm sorry to have to do this, but I'm going to have to escort you off the property if you haven't got business here."
"I own that horse you're standing next to," I replied, "and I've got more business being here than you do. I've been here for nineteen years now. I'm Piper Whitman and the reason you've never seen me around is because I've been at college for the last eight months. If you don't believe me, I'm the one who lives in the navy blue room upstairs, third door on the left with the white trim, not that I have to prove anything to you. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to know who you are."
"I'm Brayden Roddick," he said with a pearly smile. "I'm the farm hand the Whitmans hired to take care of the stable. I live on the second floor as well, but the fourth door on the left. Looks like we're neighbors. Now Piper, if you don't mind ending the interrogation, I've got some work I need to do. I think you can show yourself out."
I was stunned at his brazen rudeness. I turned around and grabbed Patches' halter off of the hook outside the stall and pushed past Brayden. I slipped it over her muzzle and led her out into the aisle without a word. I groomed her and prepared her for a ride in the ring as Brayden tried to lecture me.
"That one's real sensitive like, so maybe you shouldn't take her out. She don't like to be yanked all over. Rider's gotta know what they're doin'."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," I sneered with squinted eyes. "I hadn't figured that out in the six years I've owned and ridden her. Why don't you go lecture someone who needs it, hm?" With that I led Patches out of the barn and into the riding ring.
"I can see this summer's gon' be heaps of fun!" he called after me.
"Yeah, if you measure those heaps in cow dung!" I shot back as I mounted and began my ride. He sure has some nerve, I thought angrily as I rode. 'I think you can show yourself out.' Hmph. We'll see who's leaving soon enough. He's going to wish he hadn't crossed me. I can't believe I actually thought he was attractive. He's --
"Whoo-wee, that's terrible form," he commented hanging on the fence. "I know you're a country girl and all, but I'd expect an accomplished rider such as yourself with all those pretty ribbons you've won to be able to ride English-style a tad better 'an that." I pulled Patches up alongside the fence where Brayden was standing.
"Who said anything about me being an accomplished rider?" I asked dubiously.
"I've seen all those pictures your parents have plastered up on the walls. Dressage, hunter, you name it. I've also seen all the ribbons hanging with the trophies in your room. Far as I'm concerned, that's pretty 'accomplished'."
"I thought you didn't know who I was!"
"Aw, c'mon now, Piper," he said with a broad smile. "I was just joshin' ya a bit. Didn't think you'd take it to heart like you did. Did you really think I'd be living in your house and not know who you were? Your parents told me you were coming today when they went to pick you up from the airport. 'Course I knew who you were. Could tell the minute you walked in. You're the spittin' image of your daddy."
"I didn't appreciate your humor," I said, indignant. "You were awful rude and if that's your idea of making a good first impression, you need to think again." I nudged Patches and began to walk away. Brayden followed on the other side of the fence.
"Don't be so sore about this, Piper! I'm sorry, I was just pullin' your leg earlier. We got off on the wrong foot, so let's change the shoes." I ignored his comments and continued to walk Patches. "All right, have it your way. Don't blame me when we have to awkwardly handle situations like dinner tonight." I spurred Patches into a canter and traveled a few more times around the ring before giving her a cool down walk and bringing her back to the barn for a little T.L.C. It was nearly six when I'd finished brushing and watering her, so I returned to the house to shower and get ready for dinner. I trudged sweaty and dusty up to my room where I was promptly greeted by Brayden's loud singing coming from our connecting bathroom.
"Wanna talk about me, wanna talk about I, wanna talk about number one oh my me my!" he sang off-key.
"Hey, Brayden!" I called into the steamy room.
"Yeah?"
