Cowboy Kissed
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Natalie K
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1,8M
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47
Welcome to Nashville
The Welcome, yâall sign I see as I walk through Nashvilleâs airport makes me cringe and sigh loudly.
Where the fuck have I been sent? And what have I done to deserve this punishment?
My dad claims itâs to attend the university, but I know thatâs bull. He wants me out of the way so he can marry his current squeeze.
Itâs common knowledge the hussy he is planning on sharing everything with is a big fan of mining for precious metals, only my dadâs too dumb to see it.
Iâm the only person who tells it to him straight and he hates it. Heâs always hated it, but this time heâs gone to extremes to show me he means business.
Heâs signed me up to do my MA in economics at a university here in Nashville, starting in August for two yearsâtwo years committed to this hellhole!
Iâm twenty-three, so I could just tell him to shove it up his arse, but I know my dad and if I donât at least come here and look like Iâm playing ball, the consequences will be far worse.
Last time he was pissed at me, he cut all my money off and my car even got towed because he stopped paying the tax and insurance on it.
Iâm staying with my old Uncle Frankie. I mean, who sends a young female to stay with some random old geezer? Heâs my dadâs older brother, and I only met him once when I was about fifteenâheâs literally a stranger.
Iâm surprised as I look around the arrivals section; I thought it would be all cowboy hats and cow-shit boots, but I havenât seen any yet.
Maybe the town has moved on since my dad lived here. In his old pictures, he and my mum were always in country getups.
Iâm playing Spot the Cowboy, listening to my earbuds, when an old woman bumps into me. I roll my eyes in annoyance and she grunts; she smells like old people and looks like sheâs been dug up.
Old people annoy meâthey always think they are owed something from their youths, like we should go out of our ways to let them go first or give our seats up for them. Screw that, theyâll get enough time to rest when theyâre dead!
I pull out my phone and see the pictures and videos my friends back in England have been posting on their socials.
They were out having fun while I was in departures alone at Heathrow airport, sitting on the plane next to an annoying toddler in first-class, and standing in the queue at passport control.
There are pictures of VIP lounges, champagne, cocktail trees, and sexy men all splashed across my phone, making me hate my dad even more.
Itâs the icing on the cake when I walk out of arrivals, sweating and flustered, to find the man I will be living with.
Old is an understatementâhe looks ancient, and I wonder if the family secret is that he is actually my dadâs dad rather than his brother.
He is also the only guy in here wearing a fucking cowboy hat. I have to take a picture, as no one back home will believe my life right now.
An old man in double denims with a cowboy hat collecting me from the airportâyou couldnât make this shit up!
âIsobella,â he beams as he tries to hug me.
I pull back out of his reach. âHey,â I say. âI assume youâre Frankie?â
He tilts the front of his hat and smiles. âYou assume right. How was the flight?â
âAnnoying and long,â I reply.
He takes my suitcase and struggles to figure out how to move it.
âIt has wheels underneath, you just push.â
âAh, never seen a snazzy one like this. Mine are all good old lift-by-the-handle bags.â
I roll my eyes and let him walk in front. I will stick this out for a couple of monthsâa couple of months before I call Dad and tell him how much I hate it, how I canât make friends or continue to live here.
I donât know why I am surprised when Frankie stops at the most run-down shit heap of a truck. I shake my head. Iâm sure my dad will find this hilarious.
âNot like the vehicles youâre used to, I bet,â he says as he opens the passenger door for me.
The seat has shit all over it, so I wait for him to clear it before climbing in.
âItâs just some old tools Iâm cleaning up,â he says as he throws them to the ground. âI just need to call into the garage on the way to the house. You can pick up anything you need while weâre there. There isnât much around once you get up to the ranch.â
Great, he lives in the fucking wilderness!
âDo you have Wi-Fi?â I ask.
âWhy what?â he questions.
Holy shit!
I spend the rest of the journey on my phone. I get the message out to my friends that at some point I may only be on text messaging.
I also text my dad to tell him what an absolute arsehole he is and remind him how much I hate him right now.
âRightâthere are shops here, you can get any toiletries or womenâs things you need. I will be over at Billâs, just over there,â he points somewhere. âShall we say meet here in about half an hour?â
âWhatever,â I sigh. A half-hour isnât enough time for me to hit the shops.
As I walk away from Billâs Garage, I see a street with a total of two bars and two shops.
A young guy with a cowboy hat bows his head from a shop doorway as I pass him. I pull a face, and his friendly smile turns to a frown.
I head to the food aisle of one of the shops. If Iâm going to be locked in a room, I assume I will need some snacks.
They do things bigger hereâthe crisp bags are huge, and everything is in multipacks. I grab what I can and head back out onto the hot street.
Iâve packed a lot of things I need, and I should have a car to drive at some point. When that comes, I can drive into Nashville, which I know has a lot more variety.
âDid you find your way around?â Frankie shouts to me as I return to the garage after ten minutes.
âHardly a big place, is it?â I mutter, but he doesnât hear me.
âMack, meet my niece, Isobella,â he says as I approach the garage with my I Heart Nashville reusable bag.
The fat old man basking in the sun smiles at me.
âYou sure look like your mama,â he comments.
I frown. Nobody talks about my mother anymore, and it feels odd coming from some strange old man.
âWe will be out of here in no time,â Frankie says. âJust waiting on young Tobiasâhe needs a ride back to the ranch.â
Iâm hot, tired, and agitated as hell. The long flight took all my energy, and now Iâm standing in the summer heat by a greasy old garage waiting for some random guy to get a lift.
I push my earbuds in and lean against the wall, waiting.
I see Frankie saying something but canât hear him over David Guetta. When I next lift my eyes from the floor, I see the young man we have been waiting for.
Itâs the cowboy from the shop. Heâs wearing light-blue ripped jeans, the type that are no longer in fashion back in the UK. A crisp white T-shirt shows his cowboy muscles, and heâs got a stupid fucking hat.
Itâs a shameâif he was in the UK and dressed decently, he would be a good-looking guy. I pull out my earbuds and follow Frankie to his truck without speaking.
âThanks for hanging around,â the young guy says to Frankie, ignoring me.
âNo problem, young man. I do want a favor from you, though, in return,â Frankie says.
âOh yeah, not that darn roof of yours again?â
âNo, my niece Isobella here, she doesnât know anyone. Can you take her under your wing?â
I shake my head in protest. âIâm good thanks, I donât plan on sticking around for long.â
The cowboyâs eyes narrow at me as he looks me up and down.
âI donât reckon your type would last long around these parts.â
âMy type?â
âWhere we come from, we work for what we got,â he says as he jumps into the back of the truck.
I climb into the cabin and feel irritated by the cowboy.
Who does he think he is, judging me? He doesnât know me!
