Staying Home (Roped by the Cowboy Duet Book 2)

by J.C. Valentine

  ***

  It didn’t take long for Vivian to show up on his doorstep. Or rather, his barn door step. Just a couple of hours, and there she was, like a ray of sunshine parting the clouds on a rainy day.

  Nash was in a terrible mood, and the only thing he could think to do to quell it—or at the very least ignore the full, oppressive weight of it—was to do something with his hands. So he set to work on finishing the broken down tractor that was nearly finished. All he needed to do was attach a few parts, tweak some gears, and adjust some fluids, and it should be running as good as new.

  He hoped.

  “You two drive me nuts,” Vivian stated by way of announcing herself.

  Nash was bent over the tractor’s stout hood, cranking away with his wrench. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” A pair of high heels click-clacked into the barn proper, and Nash felt a small smile twitch at his lips and a flicker of awareness roll through his gut and then lower. The sweet scent of her perfume—honeysuckle and lavender, he thought—reached him first, and then the warmth of her body radiated into his as she came to stand alongside him. “What are you doing?”

  Nash almost made a rude comment, his temper still a bit too high to be proper company, but he reigned it in before he said something he’d regret. The last thing he wanted to do was destroy the tentative connection they’d forged. After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

  “Tryin’ to fix this damned ancient tractor. Hell Almighty!” he cursed, dropping the wrench and yanking himself upright. In the moment of distraction—and probably due to his irritation as well—he’d lost the firm hold he’d had and the tool had slipped, pinching the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger between the hard metal.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” Vivian fretted.

  Nash grabbed the shop rag he kept hanging from his back pants pocket before he made a mess all over the floor and twisted it around his hand. “I’m fine. Just a scratch,” he downplayed. It certainly didn’t feel like just a scratch, and frankly, he was afraid to look to find out. It was his one true weakness—blood. Sometimes he could deal with it just fine. Other times, when tensions were high, like they were now, his internal wiring could go haywire in this sort of situation, and he’d end up sprawled out on the floor before he even knew what’d hit him.

  Nash wasn’t keen on making a fool of himself today, especially in front of Vivian.

  What kind of cowboy passed out like some kinda ninny over a little blood? It was downright embarrassing.

  Vivian was at his side, pushing him toward an old metal stool with a battered, circular wooden seat that he’d inherited from Pete’s workshop. Had his initials carved into the underside and everything. “Sit down before you fall down.” She stood over him, her concerned gaze examining. “You’re pale. Do you feel light-headed?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  She didn’t appear convinced. “Let me see that hand.”

  Nash didn’t argue. Transferring the cloth to her fingers, he looked away, not wanting to see the damage, no matter how big or small it turned out to be. Sometimes, he’d learned, anticipation was the true culprit and would knock him down quicker than a chicken on a Junebug.

  “Oh, it’s not so bad,” she appraised. “More than a scratch, I’d say, but it won’t need stitches.”

  Skeptical, Nash braved a look for himself. She was right. The meaty flap of skin between his finger and thumb was torn and bloody, but he could see that it wasn’t much beyond a superficial gash.

  Still, he wanted to give her a hard time. “And just how do you know that, darlin’?”

  Catching his cocky smirk, Vivian said, “I picked up a thing or two in a first-aid class I took a few years ago.”

  Nash’s eyebrow arched. “Needed somethin’ to pass the time?” She didn’t work, and she’d never mentioned having a job in her past life, saying only that she’d been one of those trophy wives, so Nash couldn’t really see her being the healer type. As far as he knew, that took a lot of time and dedication. Years, in fact.

  “Where are your bandages?” she asked.

  “In the house.”

  “You don’t keep anything out here for accidents?” She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Come on.” Giving his hand a little tug, she urged him toward the house. As they walked, Nash dug in a little deeper, eager to learn more about her.

  “So…” he hedged.

  She glanced up at him through her lashes. Her warm breath came out in puffy clouds as she spoke. “Why did I get into first-aid?” He nodded, and she shrugged. “There was a time I used to think I was going to grow up and become a nurse, help people.”

  “What happened?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Nash huffed. Was it this difficult getting answers from him? “Obviously. But why didn’t it happen? If you wanted to go, it sounds like you had plenty of opportunity to make it happen.”

  “You mean because my family has money?” she surmised. Nash didn’t bother confirming because they both knew that’s exactly what he’d meant. “My parents always kept their thumb on the pulse of my life. They decided what schools I went to, what classes I took. When it came time for me to go to college, they said ‘A young woman in your position with the kind of opportunities you have? A degree would be a waste of time and resources.’”

  As they reached the back door to his house and Nash opened the way, stepping back to allow her to go in first, he frowned. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “It means,” she said, as she took up the lead, finding the stairs to the second floor and starting the climb, “that I was to be married to a man of wealth and power so it was pointless for me to strive for anything more. Know my station, basically.”

  Nash didn’t like that at all. The very idea that someone would tell her to stunt her own personal growth in lieu of social status was absurd. That would be the day that he’d ever allow someone to dictate where he went and what he did with his life.

  But then, he didn’t really know her life, did he? When she glanced back at him in question, Nash pointed to the bathroom door located at the end of the short hallway, and followed her inside. Vivian busied herself looking for the supplies she needed to fix him up, while Nash watched her, seeing her in a new light.

  He’d always assumed that being who she was—or rather, who she presented herself to be—meant that she was a privileged socialite with the world laid at her feet. He’d never stopped to consider it could be anything else.

  Now he was coming to realize that the growth he’d witnessed in her thus far, or what he’d assumed to be growth, may have actually been there all along. In fact, he wondered if she’d just been playing the role she was raised to play, but underneath it all, she had the depth of a woman who’d been forced to suppress all that she could be and was only now experiencing the freedom to pursue it.

  “I’m sorry,” was all Nash could think to say.

  Tearing open a bandage and laying it on the counter beside a square of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic, all several years old, she didn’t even look at him. “No need. It is what it is.”

  “Doesn’t make it right.”

  “No, but that’s life, and no one ever said it was fair.” She turned her attention to his injured hand, took it in hers, and held it over the sink. She poured the antiseptic wash over the wound. Nash hissed, and she spoke over him, continuing her work without missing a beat. “At least I got out. It took a huge wake-up call to do it, and a few bumps in the road along the way, but I think I’ve found my path.”

  “And what path is that? Do you really want to get stuck living in a small town the rest of your life?”

  “What’s wrong with that? You and Ms. Gretta seem to be doing just fine here.”

  “We grew up here, made a life here. We weren’t raised to want more. You were born with more.”

  Vivian considered this as she covered his hand with gauze and began wrapping it with the white adhesive strip to hold it
in place. “The funny thing is, I may have had everything most people could ever want, but I never wanted any of it. Sure, it was nice to have all those things. The best shoes and clothes and cars, and I loved my penthouse,” she stressed, her eyes rolling back as if in ecstasy, “but after I lost it all, I realized those were just things. I put a lot more emphasis on things than I should have because I wasn’t happy and those things were like shoving silly putty into a hole. I was trying to stop the feeling of dissatisfaction, but I never really succeeded.”

  “And you don’t feel like that anymore?” Nash questioned, curious.

  Her head tilted side to side. “A bit. But I still have some of my things, and all the stuff that really matters is here more so than out there, in the city.”

  “What about your mom? Your parents, family? Don’t you miss ‘em?”

  “Sometimes. But we were never that close. More like roommates. And we don’t get along that well because we can’t see eye to eye.”

  “Like you leavin’ all of that behind?”

  “Exactly. They can’t understand why I would go from having everything to nothing.”

  “Well, I can’t say I don’t agree.”

  “Would you give up what you have here to live there, in the city?”

  “I don’t know that world, so I can’t really say. But I don’t know nothin’ but this, so I guess not. But I’m sure your family misses ya.” Heck, he hadn’t known her all that long, and he’d felt her absence like a physical pain.

  “All fixed,” Vivian announced, and started gathering empty wrappers to throw in the trash. Was she pointedly ignoring his comment? Because that was the impression he got. But then she turned it around on him, and Nash found himself wishing he hadn’t stuck his big foot in his mouth. “And what about your parents, cowboy? Did you leave them behind someplace too?”

  SIXTEEN

  “More like they left me behind.” Nash swallowed down the growing lump in his throat. He didn’t like where the conversation was leading, but in order to get to know her, he knew he had to play the game too. Turnabout was fair play, after all. “First one, then the other.”

  Vivian wore a puzzled look mixed with what he thought was regret…and a host of questions that he didn’t want to answer but knew he would have to.

  “Both of them?”

  “Well, not at the same time, but yeah.” Unable to meet her eyes, Nash spread his hands helplessly. “Guess raising a kid wasn’t part of their dream future.”

  A flash of anger touched her eyes. “Then they shouldn’t have had one. Geez, Louise, that steams my noodle.”

  Caught off guard by her colorful use of distinctly southern language, Nash belted out a laugh.

  “What?” Vivian asked, a little chuckle erupting from her too.

  “Sounds like the South is rubbin’ off on ya.”

  Her expression softened. “I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.”

  Sensing her mild discomfort, unsure of herself in that moment, Nash took a step to close the gap between them and reached up to tuck a strand of her soft brown hair behind her ear. “It’s definitely not a bad thing.”

  The way she looked up at him, so open and honest and vulnerable, Nash couldn’t deny the urge to kiss her. Leaning down, he caught her mouth in a soft, tender kiss that wasn’t meant to be anything more than a confirmation that he understood and accepted her—everything that was her.

  Vivian leaned into the kiss, into him, and he embraced her, his body quickening the longer they connected, but she pumped the brakes a moment later, sucking in air as if he’d stolen it right out of her.

  “Woah there, cowboy.” She rubbed her kiss swollen lips with the tips of two fingers. “Let’s not get carried away just yet.” Nash frowned comically, and she pushed at the center of his chest, forcing him to back step out of the bathroom. “Let’s go downstairs and cool off. I have more questions that need answers.”

  Returning to the first floor, Nash started a fire in the fireplace and left Vivian in the living room, nestled on the couch, while he started a kettle to warm on the stove for tea. Deciding it was close enough to lunch to eat, he made a couple of simple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, too, and stacked them on a single plate for them to share. Once everything was ready, he joined her on the couch.

  There wasn’t a lot to tell, but he picked up where they’d left off. Nash shared with her the sad story of how his father left when he was still too young to remember his face, and how his momma didn’t love him enough to stick around either. “Long story short, Ms. Gretta and Pete took up my care soon after that, and they raised me up as their own. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to find answers. So when I was a teenager, I used the Web to track down my momma.”

  “Did you find her?” Vivian asked, licking peanut butter from her fingers. She had her feet tucked under her, her knees curled up beside him, and she looked so sweet and sexy, it made his heart leap.

  Her question quelled his desire, however, and Nash felt his chest constrict for a whole other reason. He swallowed.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Well?” she questioned when he went silent.

  Nash hadn’t told anyone what he was about to tell Vivian. Not even Carlene, who he shared everything with. It was a skeleton in his closet that he never thought to revisit once he’d closed it away, a painful memory that he sometimes wished he’d never given life to.

  His voice was thick and raspy with emotion when he finally spoke again. “She’d run off to New York. Become a dancer.” He cut her a sharp look. “And not a Broadway dancer.”

  By the sharp intake of breath she took, he knew Vivian had understood his meaning. That his mother had run off and hadn’t even made a better life for herself without him only made the cut deeper, making him consider if she had left him simply because she hadn’t wanted him.

  The things that did to an impressionable young man were too numerous to name, and Nash still continued to struggle with it.

  Abandoning her hunger, and with Nash’s long gone, Vivian took the plate and the half eaten sandwiches and set them on the coffee table he’d hewn from spare planks of wood and painted with a sky blue so soft it was nearly white, then sanded in spots to create a rustic feel.

  When she met his eyes again, she clasped his hands between both of hers. “Now it’s my turn to say I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For…everything. No one should have to go through that. You deserved better.”

  “I’m sure my situation wasn’t unique. Parents run away all the time.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  No, it didn’t. He understood that well and had faced that truth more than once. It didn’t make it any easier to deal with though.

  Then Vivian asked him a question he was hoping to avoid, one he’d only recently had the guts and insight to face.

  “Nash…” She seemed to struggle for a moment before continuing. “Did you…did you hold what your mom did to you against me? I mean, because we’re both from the city? Did you…associate what she did with me? Us both leaving and all of that?”

  Nash couldn’t lie to her. Not after all they’d faced, were facing, and would be facing together. They’d made some strides in the right direction, and he sensed that if he held back now, they would lose any ground they’d gained.

  “Yeah, I think I did. But not on purpose,” he promised. “I would never deliberately do somethin’ like that.”

  She nodded, as if understanding, though he couldn’t fathom how she could. “It makes sense, knowing what I know now. Your strong reaction to how things went…I think I get it.”

  That silence enveloped them again as they sat staring into the fire, both lost in their own thoughts, but it was a comfortable silence that didn’t warrant anything other than two people sitting beside one another, their presence enough.

  Nash had never been the sappy type, but he could say with certainty that if he could talk to Carlene and ask her opini
on, she would tell him that Vivian was the next best option to her for a life partner.

  He didn’t know how he could be so sure of someone when they hadn’t even known each other all that long, but when the heart found its mate, it was the kind of knowledge that went deeper than any human being could fathom, more than made sense. People tended to balk at that idea or even shy away from it themselves if it approached them, but Nash had experienced it once before in his life—with Carlene—and it had led him to many great years with one of the best people he’d ever met.

  Vivian gave him the same feeling. He just knew. Turning his attention from the fireplace, Nash gazed down at Vivian until she felt his eyes on her and looked up at him, and that feeling of coming home struck him like a blow to the chest.

  He was going to marry this woman.

  “What?” Vivian’s gorgeous eyes danced in the firelight, the soft glow carrying over to her gentle features. She was a goddess, to be sure. He almost thought second only to Carlene, but that wasn’t true. They were both beautiful in their own way, and Nash couldn’t make a comparison without detracting from one or the other.

  “I think I love you,” Nash blurted, surprising himself. Hell, surprising her. Vivian’s expression was all wide eyes and open mouth. Way to go, dummy. You scared her off!

  Nash backpedaled immediately, hoping to do some kind of damage control.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  She scowled. “So you don’t think you love me?”

  “I do. I mean…I don’t. I mean. Wait.” He took a deep breath, cringing at that fiery look in her eyes that challenged him to keep sticking his foot in his mouth and see where this ended up. Nowhere good, he guessed. “I’m muckin’ this all up.”

  Vivian crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d say so.”

  Sitting forward on the edge of the couch, Nash scrubbed his hands down his face. How could he fix this without offending her? “Okay, I do think—no, I know I do. I’m in love with you. There, I said it.” He turned to face her, returning that challenging look. He was putting his foot down, for both of them. He wouldn’t backpedal on his feelings, and he wouldn’t lie to her.