"Did you mean it?" Jesse asked softly, after a moment of silence.
"Mean what?" I asked, as I felt his chest rising and falling in time with mine, lying on the grassy bank as the sun set over the tobacco fields ahead of us.
"What you said before, about-"
"Oh! Yeah, I meant it," I smiled, as Jesse's hand, rough and tanned from working the fields, fell still on my shoulder.
A genuine smile spread over his face, the fading colours of the sunset reflected in those stormy blue eyes. A light breeze brushed my skin, and I shivered, Jesse pulling me in close as he sat up, the heat of his body shielding mine from the chill of the evening air.
He was always there, always ready to listen or comfort or tease or laugh or push me in the right direction. Nearly fifteen years, and I'd never felt closer to him than in this moment, sitting under the fading light of the prettiest sunset I'd ever seen. Right there, with my best friend and my wonderful horse right beside me, dressed in a faded John Deere cap, my scuffed cowboy boots and possibly the least fashionable work-shirt I owned, and yet I'd never felt more comfortable and at home. I knew now that I was Katie Morgan, barrel-racer, cowgirl, farmer's daughter, Southern Baptist and the best friend of Jesse Chandler. And nothing anyone said or did could ever take that away from me.
YOU ARE READING
Cowgirls Don't Cry
General FictionIt's tobacco cutting time again in the vast fields of Hudson County, Georgia, USA, and 14-yr-old Katie Morgan is sick of it. With burning temperatures, endless rows of tobacco just begging to be cut and high school just around the corner, her first...
