Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 16

                   

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

If you think I should do a PRAIRIE update SPAM (like I did this week with STRONG), I want you to stomp your cowboy boots on the dance floor three times, as hard as you can. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! Just like that. *listens*

*****

Just you and I
Sharing our love together
And I know in time
We'll build the dreams we treasure
And we'll be alright
Just you and I

                -Eddie Rabbitt

*****

HARRY:

I don't like to talk about my own personal business.  I'd just as soon punch somebody in the face (which I have before, twice) and get on with my day.  My emotions toward Frankie are a big jumbled mess. Like if there was only one piece of bacon left and she wanted it, I'd want her to have it. For Chrissakes, I let her sleep in my own bed while my ass was getting' itchy out in the damned barn. Something serious is happening here. I want to know everything there is to know about this girl. I trust her, and I want her to trust me. And that means I'm gonna have to talk about shit I don't wanna talk about, but for her – I think it'll be worth it.

"I have to believe everything happens for a reason, Frankie.  I have to believe it because my parents are dead. They died in a fire when I was nearly 18." There. I just blurt it out there. The hard part is over.

*****

FRANKIE:

My heart breaks at Harry's confession, and I want to ask him a million questions, but I don't. I know it took a lot for him to even tell me that much, so I won't henpeck him for the details. "I guess you and I are a lot alike in regard to neither of us having any real kinfolk. You did have more years with your folks than me though."

"I suppose I should be thankful for that," Harry responds. "What do you remember about your folks?"

I figured he'd ask about them sooner or later, I just don't think I have the guts to tell him. What would he think of me if he knew the truth about my childhood? About my mother? My father?

I take a look over at him, his shirt still hanging over the tree branch. I bet it's dry by now. My eyes wander to his chest, his arms. The muscles in his arms flex from the way he leans back on his hands. He's so strong, always building things, and he caught me that time I fell from the loft ladder. I remember him holding me against him that day, the musky man scent radiating from his chest and making me dizzy.

Harry clears his throat and my eyes snap to meet his, only to see that cocky smirk on his face cause he knows I'm eyein' him. If I didn't know how sweet he is, surely I'd believe he's the devil in disguise.

"I was askin' about your folks, but I feel like you might be thinkin' about somethin' else?" Harry raises his eyebrows up and down. That no-good rascally mind-reader.

"You're terrible, Harry!" I punch him in the knee.

"I'm terrible? You're the one who can't look away from my manly chest," he teases me, puffing his chest out in pride.

"Harry Styles! You're infuriatin'!" I pummel him with my fists. His laugh is almost a cackle and he throws his head back in a way that makes his hat fall off. I laugh when I realize I must look like a child punching the strong man at the circus.

Harry's eyes have a glint of wildness in them when our gaze meets again. He grabs my wrists and wrestles me into his lap, bringing my feeble punches to a halt. "Is this how you treat all your gentleman callers, Frankie?" He leans forward and purrs in my ear, "Is it?"