1
COPE MURPHY
Fall is by far my favorite season. I know there are the die-hard summer lovers, with the beach and the heat and the bikinis, and then there’re the winter wonderland fanatics who go ape shit over the snow, the holidays, and the cold weather, sitting in front of a fire with eggnog.
Eggnog is disgusting, first of all.
And the snow is nothing more than a nuisance. Yeah, it’s pretty to look at until it comes time to drive in it, and then you’re surrounded by a bunch of idiots who don’t know what the hell they’re doing. Then the snow turns into sludge, and suddenly, it’s not so pretty anymore. Growing up in Copper Lake, I’m quite acquainted with the snow and the cold during the winter months, but that doesn’t mean I like it.
Spring’s okay. It’s the start of the rodeo season after all, so it deserves its recognition. But fall is where it’s at. The crisp, cool air, the leaves changing colors, all the hoodies that can come out of hibernation. Not to mention it’s the perfect season for hard cider around a campfire. You just can’t beat it.
It’s early October, the season fully upon us, and I’m in my element as I’m driving home from the gym this afternoon. Thesun is shining down, the temperature a comfortable sixty-four degrees, the driver’s side window is rolled down in my pickup, and Zach Bryan is singing through the stereo. Taking a right onto the dirt road that eventually leads to my property, I take in the trees surrounding the road, the animals grazing in the grass to the left and right. Mr. and Mrs. Timmins just got a couple of new cows that are hanging out in the pasture right now, and I make a mental note to go over there this week.
When I bought my house, I did it with the intention of one day having a family to fill the inside and some animals to occupy the yard. That day is not today, and while my house may be a little big for just myself, I loathe the process of home buying and moving in general, so when given the opportunity to go big or go home, I chose to go big. It’s nothing huge and outrageous, but I definitely don’t need four bedrooms and fifty acres for just me—but I work hard and deserve it, okay? And besides, I’d rather have room to grow than to outgrow my home.
My house is toward the end of this long, narrow dirt road. It’s a couple of miles long, and it’s one of those where you have to pull off to the side if someone else is driving down the opposite direction. Which is why it’s not unusual for there to be a car pulled over on the shoulder as I near the end of the road. Whatisunusual, though, is that I’ve never seen this car before, and typically, it’s the same several vehicles going up and down this road on a daily basis, and the fact that this car’s hood is lifted and the driver’s side door is swung open, a foot coming from inside planted on the ground.
Curiosity has me coming to a stop behind the car. It’s a dark green Nissan Altima that’s seen better days with Washington plates on the back. I leave the truck running as I hop out, shoving my phone into my pocket just in case, and approach the open door. A guy with black shaggy hair beneath a hot pink beanie sits in the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a black hoodie anda pair of ripped jeans with Vans on his feet. When he hears me approach, he turns his head, our gaze colliding. Ice-blue eyes meet mine, and there’s a furrow in his dark brows, most likely from frustration over whatever’s going on with his car, if I had to guess. He looks to be a little bit older than my twenty-five, but I could be wrong.
“Oh, uh, hi. Hey.” His head turns, and he looks into the rearview mirror before returning his attention to me. “Am I in your way? I’m so sorry. My car broke down, and I don’t know what to do. I’m the least car savvy person I’ve ever met. It started smoking, and it freaked me out. I didn’t know if it was going to catch on fire or what. I’m not even that far from where I’m supposed to be going, but the stupid thing won’t start.” He lets out a disgruntled sigh, the stress he’s feeling damn near emanating from his pores.
I breathe out a small laugh at his rambling before I can stop myself. “No, you’re good. I could easily get around you, but I wanted to make sure you were okay?”
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You’re… You stopped to see if I—a stranger—was okay?”
“Yes?”
“Why?”
“Um…” I frown, my brows pinching together in confusion. “Because you’re clearly having car trouble, and it’s the least I can do.”
“No, I’m a complete stranger to you. The least you could do is drive right on past me and get to wherever you need to be because you don’t owe me—again, astranger—anything.”
The wind’s kicked up in the last few minutes, and his pale cheeks have turned pink. I glance around him into the car. Starbucks cups take up both cup holders, and there’s even one in the door, and it looks like his back and passenger seat are filledwith shit. “You’re not from around here, are you?” I ask him, ignoring his weird comment from before.
“What makes you ask that?”
“Well, it looks like everything you own is in the car with you,” I reply plainly, indicating behind him. “And the Washington plates are kind of a dead giveaway.”
“Right,” he mutters, but offers nothing else. His hands are in his lap, fingers fiddling with one another and picking at the skin around his thumb. Chipped black polish litters a few of the nails, while others seem to have none.
“If you’re this far down the road, you’re probably heading one of three places. My house, Ms. Dawson’s, or the Hendrickson’s. And seeing as how I’ve never seen you in my life, I’m assuming it’s not my place. So, which of the two is your destination?”
He tosses me a look I can’t decipher. “Dawson,” he supplies. “My aunt.”
Taking a step back, I say, “Come on. I can give you a lift.” Motioning my arm toward my truck, I watch as bewilderment takes over his face all over again. He doesn’t move. “I’m her neighbor, and once we get back there, I can grab the stuff from my garage to hook your car up to the back of my truck and tow it to her place.”
When he still doesn’t make any attempt at getting out of the car, I trudge back to my truck before pulling out my phone and checking the time.
“Come on. I swear, I don’t bite, and it’s on my way anyway.” I open the door before adding, “And once we get your car back, I can call my buddy, who’s the mechanic in town. He can probably come take a look at it this evening.”
This finally gets him to slide out of the car and stand up. “But you don’t even know me,” is all he says.
Is he concerned because I’m a stranger? Like, worried I’m going to chop him into a million pieces or something?It’s literally, like, a mile down the road, if that.
“I don’t need to know you to give you a lift down the road,” I say slowly. “You’re stuck, and I want to help. It’s not a big deal. If it makes you feel better…” I walk over to him, extending my hand. “I’m Cope, and you are?”
Surprisingly, he slips his hand into mine. I notice how warm it is, and how much softer it is than my own. “Xander.”
