by Maisey Yates
She smiled, a spark glowing in her eyes. “It sounds good. I just... I want this to be a success, Garrett. The past six months have been really hard and I...” She stopped. “I just want a win. Plus, easy and fun and uncomplicated wouldn’t hurt, either. Does that make sense?”
It did. Given what she’d just told him, it made a whole lot of sense. And it was all stuff he could help her with. Certainly the fun and uncomplicated part.
The success though... If she wanted a win that badly, it must mean that in some way she’d had a loss.
Perhaps it was those panic attacks. Perhaps she felt she’d failed in some way.
“It does,” he said. “And I can help you out with all of that. But winning only matters if you’ve got something to prove. You know that, right?”
Color shifted in her cheeks. “Sure. But I don’t have anything to prove.”
“Then does it matter if it’s a success or not?”
“I’m sure the mayor who gave us the leases would have something to say about that.”
“I’m not talking about the mayor. I’m talking about you.”
“Okay, yes. It matters to me if it’s a success or not. I didn’t like that I had to take some time out from my career. And it would mean a lot for me to have something to show for it in the end.”
That made sense. She’d always been such a high achiever and he’d used to wonder back then what she was trying to prove, or who she was trying to prove herself to. Was it her dad? Given that she’d talked a lot about him and how badly he’d wanted her to succeed, that seemed likely.
It also seemed that, though she’d succeeded in doing everything she’d planned back then, she still felt the need to prove herself.
He wondered why that was and almost opened his mouth to ask her. But then he stopped, because it wasn’t his business to ask. It wasn’t his business to wonder, either.
Easy, fun, and uncomplicated, that was what she wanted. And that was what he’d give her.
He reached out and touched her cheek, letting his fingers brush over her skin. “You’ll get that win, doc. I’ll make sure of it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHARITY BARELY SPENT any time at the farmhouse over the following couple of weeks, since she had so much to do in the yarn store. But she shared gossip with her friends over the lunches they had together as the others got stuck into the hard work of restoration on their own stores, even though Pru complained the rest of them talked more about their men than they did about their stores. Hope was starry-eyed about Brooks, and Kit was all “Browning this” and “Browning that,” and to be fair, Charity wasn’t exactly blameless. She did mention Garrett rather often. But then, it wasn’t as if Pru didn’t stay quiet about Grant, either.
Privately, Charity wondered if there wasn’t something going on there, but she didn’t have too much time to think about it, because at the end of another day moving furniture or ripping up carpet or plastering walls, Garrett would turn up and she’d find herself staying until he’d finished whatever task she’d given him for the evening. Then he’d drive her back to the farmhouse so she could shower and change, before taking her home to his place.
They still hadn’t talked about personal stuff, not since she’d told him about the panic attacks, and she was glad. She didn’t need to talk about it. The sex was phenomenal and he made her laugh, his calm presence soothing something tense and aching inside her. One night he even taught her how to knit, which delighted her. She’d never have guessed that the sexy school bad boy knew how to knit his own socks, and the fact that he did and was quite matter-of-fact about it, charmed her completely. She wasn’t very good at it and that bothered her at first, but then Garrett said that if there weren’t any mistakes, then it wasn’t handmade. She liked that thought enough that she stopped worrying about loose tension and slipped stitches. She was content to knit a scarf with lots of holes that she ended up loving anyway because she’d made it herself.
It was enough.
Almost enough to make her forget that all of this was temporary. That after the centennial, she’d have to go back to work. But since there was no immediate pressure to think about it, she didn’t. She preferred to think about the easy, uncomplicated present with Garrett instead.
Toward the end of the week she did another of her mad dashes into the shower, before scrambling into a clean pair of jeans and a blouse of light green silk, then dashing down the farmhouse stairs, heading for the front door.
She and Garrett had just finished polishing the floor and the varnish was now dry enough to walk on, so they’d planned on sitting down and going through what stock needed to be ordered. It was still a working evening, but not one that was going to involve too much physical exertion, and she wanted to put on something pretty for him, hence the silk blouse.
It didn’t mean anything. Only that she wanted to look nice. Nothing more. Though, as she dashed out the door, Kit called out from her place on the front porch, “Who is that strange woman who keeps helping herself to our shower? Any of you guys know who she is?”
“Sorry,” Charity called back over her shoulder. “I have to get to the store.”
“Who wants to bet it’s not the store?” Pru said.
Hope said something else to that, but Charity didn’t bother to stay to find out.
She had other places to be.
She got Pru to give her a ride into Jasper Creek and when she got there saw the strange glow through the windows of the yarn store, a warm, flickering light.
Puzzled, she pushed open the door and then stopped, her breath catching.
A rug had been spread over the newly sanded and polished floorboards, and a few cushions were scattered about. On carefully positioned pieces of newspaper stood candleholders with little candles burning cheerfully in them.
Plates had been placed on the rug too, with cheese and crackers, a salad, crusty French bread, and cold meats. Another plate held some delicious-looking chocolate desserts and a bottle of white wine stood open with a couple of glasses beside it.
Garrett was sitting on the rug. He looked up as she came in, meeting her wide-eyed gaze and smiling, the candlelight gleaming in his silver eyes. Charity felt her heart literally miss a beat.
The store was now freshly painted with pristine white walls and the floor was polished and gleaming. It was luminous. Light, airy, peaceful. A special place.
But not quite as special as the man sitting there with the picnic he’d clearly organized especially for her spread out around him.
Slowly, she shut the door and came over to where he’d spread the rug. The scent of varnish, new paint, and warm wax hung heavy in the air, and she knew that forever afterward, that would be the smell of happiness to her.
“Wow,” she said, her voice not quite as steady as she wanted it to be. “This is amazing, Garrett. What’s the occasion?”
“I thought we should celebrate finishing most of the hard physical work.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Come and sit. I’ll pour you some wine.”
She moved over to the cushion he’d indicated, her heart beating a little too fast for comfort. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done anything this nice for her.
He poured the wine, handed her a glass, then picked up his own. “Here’s to A Simple Thread.”
Charity blinked. “I thought you didn’t like the name?”
He grinned. “I changed my mind. I think Grandma would have loved it.”
Her throat closed and she couldn’t have said why. It was just a name after all, nothing worth of this sudden upwelling of emotion. And yet the fact that Garrett did like it after all mattered to her.
It shouldn’t.
Well, maybe not. But she could get a little emotional about the fact that he appreciated the name she’d picked. It didn’t have to mean anything if she didn’t want it to.
“Thank you.” She tried to keep her voice measured. “Thank you for your help. Thank you for...this.” She nodded to the food and the picnic setting.
Heat glittered in his gaze along with something else she couldn’t quite interpret. But all he said was, “No problem.”
A small, hot ball of emotion sat in the middle of Charity’s chest, but since it had no right to be there, she ignored it. It was just a few candles and some wine and food. A lovely gesture, but nothing worth getting emotional about. He was only helping her celebrate the refurbishment, that was all.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and breathed past the weight in her chest.
“A Simple Thread,” she murmured and clinked her glass with his. Then she took a sip of the wine, which was cool and tart on her tongue.
“So, what made you think of it?” she asked after a moment. “The food and candles, and the wine, I mean.”
“I could have taken you out somewhere nice for dinner, but I thought you might prefer to have it here.” The heat in his eyes glinted. “Plus, there is privacy.”
She flushed. Clearly the man had plans and she liked it. “Very true.”
Garrett held his wineglass in one long-fingered hand, a slightly wicked half smile curving his mouth. But there was a sharp look in his eyes, one that had nothing to do with desire.
“I wanted to ask you something. Why is this being a success so important for you?”
Great, so he wanted to talk about what she’d said the previous week about wanting a success. About needing a win. Damn, why had she said that? She felt like she’d given too much away.
“Why do you want to know?” she asked, taking another sip of her wine.
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You said you wanted easy and fun, and yet this also needs to be a success. I just wondered why you’re putting pressure on yourself, which doesn’t seem to indicate easy and fun to me.”
Charity fiddled with her wineglass. “I’m not putting pressure on myself.”
“So you didn’t say that you needed a win, then?”
Damn him. Why was he wanting to talk about this now?
“Does it matter?” she asked impatiently. “I thought we were going to talk about what stock to order, not have a Q and A about my motivations.”
If the sharp note in her voice bothered him, he gave no sign, pinning her with that relentless silver gaze of his. “Did you even like practicing medicine?”
Charity opened her mouth to tell him that of course she liked practicing medicine. That she loved it. You couldn’t put all the years of training into it if you didn’t love it.
But for some reason the words wouldn’t come out.
Did you really love it? Or was it all just for your dad?
She ignored the thought, clearing her throat and forcing the words out. “Naturally. I wouldn’t have put myself through all the time and expense if I hadn’t. What makes you think I don’t like it?”
“Because you don’t talk about it. In fact, apart from telling me about the panic attacks, you barely even mention it.”
Trying not to sound defensive, she asked, “So?”
“So, you talk about the yarn store all the time.”
Charity drew her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them, her wineglass still held in her hand, discomfort twisting around inside her. She didn’t want to talk about this, yet she also didn’t want to give away that it bothered her. “What’s that got to do with anything? You don’t talk about your ranch nonstop. Anyway, it’s not true that I never mention it. I told you some old ER stories.”
“Yeah, a couple of old stories last week and that’s it.” His stare was very direct. “Why don’t you like to talk about it?”
She shifted on her cushion. “I’m fine with talking about it. What about you? Did you love being a bull rider?”
Garrett didn’t even blink at the abrupt change of subject. “I enjoyed the adrenaline rush. And the beer. And the money.” A glimpse of a self-deprecating smile. “And the girls. So yeah, I loved those aspects of it. But after my uncle told me about Grandma, I realized that none of those things mattered. That people were more important.”
The comment touched a chord inside her, making her momentarily forget her discomfort. He was a much more complex man than she’d thought, and he saw far too much, which was not the most comfortable combination.
But certainly people mattered to him. And they mattered to her too, but she knew deep down that wasn’t why she’d gone into medicine. It was because the man who’d raised her had had such high standards for her. It came from a belief in her abilities, she understood that, but it also set such a tremendously high bar for her to reach.
Could you ever reach it? Were you ever good enough for the dreams he had for you?
He’d loved her, she had no doubt of that, and had believed in her. And she’d loved him too, which was why she’d tried so hard. But that love had ended up being such an enormous pressure, and here she was, still trapped in it.
“So it was easy to walk away?” she asked, not wanting to think about that thought. “You don’t regret it?”
“No.” The word was unhesitating. “I got to spend Gran’s last few years with her and that was worth any amount of money or trophies. I couldn’t have gone on for much longer anyway. Bull riding as a profession has a very limited life span.”
“And now you’re ranching.” She sipped her wine, watching his face. “You ever miss it? The adrenaline rushes? The fame?” And then, because she couldn’t help it, she added, “The girls?”
His eyes gleamed in the candlelight and something twisted inside her, something she didn’t want to think was jealousy. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “The money was good and yeah, I liked the adrenaline rush. But the ranch is where I need to be. Gran left it to me and I wanted to do her proud since Dad neglected it so badly. Plus, my uncle wants to buy it from me because he disagrees with the way I do things. He thinks I’m not looking after it properly. And I want to prove him wrong.”
There was determination in his eyes and his will was an almost palpable force. Charity found the combination almost unbearably attractive. She’d always liked a man who made decisions. Still, there was a certain irony in what he’d said.
“Is that why you keep asking me about what I have to prove?” she asked. “Because you have to prove yourself to your uncle?”
“I don’t want to prove myself to my uncle. I want to prove him wrong.” His grin flashed. “There’s a difference.”
“Why does he think you’re not looking after it?” Charity asked, curious. Talking about him was much more interesting than talking about herself.
Garrett lifted one muscular shoulder. “I’m trying to do things in an environmentally friendly way and he doesn’t like that. He thinks it doesn’t work. Plus, he blames me for leaving Gran in the lurch when I went off on the circuit. He saw it as irresponsible. Too much like Dad, apparently.”
“I’m sorry, Garrett,” she said, not quite sure what else to say. She hadn’t been expecting to have quite such a personal conversation. “That sounds tough.”
“Well, I guess it was irresponsible of Dad to go off the way he did. But...he was only ever happy riding bulls.” Garrett looked down at the wineglass in his hand. “He certainly wasn’t happy on the ranch. So yeah, he neglected it. People said he was a bad father, but when he was home, he wasn’t.”
She could see it in his face all of a sudden, hear it in his voice. Garrett had loved his father. “Garrett, I—”
“When he died, I was angry,” he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, clearly in the grip of some kind of memory he couldn’t break out of. “I didn’t want my gran. I wanted my dad. But she was so patient with me, even when I went off the rails. She wasn’t happy with me going off chasing his ghost, but she knew it was something I had to do. So she let
me go in the end.”
Charity said nothing; she just let him talk.
“And I had a gift for it, like he did. But then Gran needed someone to look after her.” A smile that had nothing to do with amusement twisted his beautiful mouth. “My uncle didn’t want me to. He thought I’d do what my dad did with one foot in the ranch, the other in the circuit. That Gran would be left on her own. But I wanted to show him that I was better than that. That I was better, period.”
He’s not wrong. You’re still trying to prove yourself too.
No, it was different with Charity. She wasn’t trying to prove herself to her dad. He already thought she was capable of doing amazing things. It was more that she was trying to live up to what he wanted for her.
Or wanted for himself; there was no getting around that.
The thought sat uncomfortably inside her. That somehow her own career trajectory looked a lot like the trajectory her father had wanted for himself. Only, he’d never had it, because his wife had died leaving him with a small baby to care for.
You stopped him from achieving it, as well you know.
Yet, he’d never blamed her for what he’d lost. Her dad had been a good father, bringing her up with love and kindness. And she loved him very much in return. Which was what made her failure so much worse. He’d sacrificed so much for her and yet, it had all been for nothing...
Charity swallowed. “You’re not like your father, Garrett,” she said aloud, concentrating on him instead of the stupid thoughts that went around and around in her skull. “You made a choice to come home and stay home. For your grandmother and for the ranch. You’re nothing like him at all.”
Garrett’s silver eyes held hers for a moment. “I thought I wasn’t. But...there are a lot of things I should be dealing with at home, and yet I’ve done nothing the past week but spend time with you. And now I’m trying to figure out how I can spend even more time with you.” He paused. “And that’s a problem.”