Where It All Began

by Lucy Score

  “It’s not. But what is shit is you wasting your time here, Phoebe. Your paper doesn’t need polishing. It needs to be turned in.” His tone was flat, his eyes dark.

  “There are still some areas I want to work on,” she argued. There was some data she wanted to cross-reference, some points she wanted to shore up. A man she wasn’t ready to leave.

  But he was shaking his head. “Why are you putting it off?”

  “I’m not!”

  “You have a perfect, finished thesis. You could have your master’s degree in hand. Why are you sitting at my table?”

  “Are you kidding me right now?” she asked.

  He met her gaze coolly. “You’re wasting your time here.”

  “We have an agreement. You help me with my thesis. I help you for the summer. Just because one’s done doesn’t mean the other’s done, too.” She pushed away from the table and rinsed her mug in the sink. “You’re being ridiculous right now. I’ll see you out in the fields after you’ve had more coffee and start making sense again.”

  But before she could make it to the door, he had her by the arm and was towing her backwards.

  “I’m serious, Phoebe. I think you should go. Today.”

  She shook her head, certain she was misunderstanding him somehow. “John, no. We’re in the middle of picking squash, and I’m making burgers tonight. Elvira’s coming over tomorrow—”

  “There’s no point in you staying here prolonging the inevitable. You’re leaving. It might as well be now.”

  “Who’s going to help you?” she demanded, pointing toward the fields.

  “I got along just fine without you before you showed up here. I’m sure I can fumble my way through the harvest.”

  Tears inexplicably welled in her eyes. She’d earned her place here. She was valuable to him. Damn it, she had more to give him before she had to go.

  “Go spend time with your family before you start your job.”

  “How did you know—”

  “I heard you on the phone last night. You should have told me.” At least there was a hint of something besides disinterest now in his voice.

  “I was going to. I hadn’t decided…”

  “You haven’t decided what?” John shoved a hand through his dark hair. “To take it? That’s bullshit. This is exactly what you wanted. You’d be stupid to turn down an opportunity like this.”

  “Maybe I was hoping for another opportunity,” she shot back.

  “Like what exactly?” The condescension in John’s tone was heavy enough that Phoebe didn’t feel the need to respond.

  “I don’t know. I have time before I have to decide.” Twenty-three hours and forty minutes to be exact.

  “It’s what you want. Don’t start questioning it now.”

  “Don’t you want me to stay?” The words burned a trail up her throat and then hung in the air between them.

  She saw the flash in the depths of his eyes, felt the reflexive tightening of his fingers on her arm just before the lie.

  “No.”

  “John.” She was moving from hurt to pissed the fuck off with alarming speed. “Don’t pretend like I don’t mean anything to you.”

  “Don’t pretend like we have a future,” he countered. “What we had was… fun. But it’s over. There’s no reason for you to stay.”

  “You’re an idiot,” she snapped. Phoebe wrenched free from his grip. “I guess I have some packing to do.”

  She stormed out of the kitchen with her heart in pieces.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “This is everything,” Phoebe said, swiping her palms over the seat of her jeans. Her bags that she’d reluctantly packed while wiping away tears, sat at her feet.

  He was supposed to call her bluff now. Faced with a Phoebe-less life, he was supposed to come to his senses and beg her to stay.

  John nodded and took her suitcase for her. “I’ll carry this out for you.”

  Was he in that big of a hurry to get rid of her? Phoebe wondered. Didn’t he see that her heart was breaking? Or did he see and not care?

  She followed him out the front door, her heart shattering with every single step. She crossed the front porch that she’d miss so much, the rickety steps that kept getting pushed further and further down the fix list. He’d pulled her car around for her as if to hurry her along.

  How could he not care? After all those nights drowning in each other, pleasing each other, worshipping each other. How could it just end?

  All he needed to do was ask her to stay. One little word. “Stay.” And maybe three more words. “I’m an idiot.”

  But he was loading her suitcase into the trunk of her Triumph and then taking her typewriter and loading it, too.

  John shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, his expression unreadable.

  “Well, I guess this is it,” Phoebe began, staring down at the dirt and stone of the drive under her sandals.

  “Guess so,” he said. His face was stoic, not a hint of emotion. He could have been watching a golf tournament on TV instead of saying goodbye to the woman whose life he’d changed.

  It wasn’t fair. She was eviscerated, and he was fine. Absolutely fine. Just another day to him. He was probably excited to get his life back. He and Murdock could enjoy the peace and quiet of the farm without her.

  She, on the other hand, would turn into a hysterical blubbering mess every time she smelled hay and sunshine. Memories of John Pierce haunting her forever.

  “Thanks for… everything,” she said. Her voice quivered, and she wanted to punch herself in the face. If he wanted to do this the emotionless way, who was she to make a scene?

  Oh, fuck it all.

  “Damnit, John. Ask me to stay!” She shoved at his chest with the flat of her hand.

  His jaw clenched at her demand. But the twitch at his eye, the one that appeared when she’d pushed him past his breaking point, was absent.

  “I can’t do that, Phoebe.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You know why not,” he snapped the words out. “You have a job lined up, you have plans, you have a family to support. You can’t do any of that from here.”

  “Help me find a way.” She hated herself for begging. Hated herself for wanting him to offer a solution. “Please. Help me, John.”

  “There’s no way, Phoebe.”

  All softness was gone. This was a perfunctory goodbye. If he’d cared, he would have tried harder… or at all.

  She cleared her throat, trying to reassemble the pieces of her dignity.

  “Nice knowing you,” she snapped out and climbed behind the wheel.

  “Phoebe.” His hand gripped her door.

  Finally, she breathed.

  “Drive safely.”

  She almost flipped him the bird, barely resisted the urge as she eased down the drive toward the road. After everything that had happened, she’d been the one to fall, and that son of a bitch had broken her heart. She hoped his farm burned down and he had to move in with the Nordemanns.

  Phoebe headed east instead of west not paying attention to the landscape that blurred through her window. She wasn’t in any shape to see the town she’d fallen hard for one last time. Blue Moon Bend would always be home to her, even if she never saw it again. She rounded a curve and broke through the wide swath of woods and slammed on the brakes.

  This was still John’s land. She was sure of it. The field he’d told her he was leaving fallow was no longer empty. In it bloomed thousands and thousands of sunflowers, reaching their lemon-yellow faces toward the sun. Soft green leaves, giant dark centers. They stretched on forever, staring at her, leaves waving gently in the breeze.

  It was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. And that asshole had planted them for her. He’d planted her a field of sunflowers and still let her go pretending that he didn’t love her.

  She maneuvered a sloppy three-point turn on the skinny
ribbon of road and headed back to heartache. She plowed down the driveway and braked in a cloud of dust.

  John was sitting on the front porch steps, his head in his hands.

  Phoebe hopped out and slammed the door hard enough to make the car shake. “Do you even know that you love me?”

  John lifted his head out of his hands and stared dumbfounded.

  “Hello?” she waved her hand in front of his face. “You planted me acres of sunflowers because they’re my favorite, and yet you send me off without even a ‘nice knowing you’? That’s a dick move, John.”

  “You’re back?” he whispered.

  “I’m back here to tell you you’re an idiot. You love me. I love you. And you still don’t even want to try to make this work.”

  “You love me?” He rose, and she took a step back, wondering if she’d made a mistake. But she was already committed to a tirade.

  “Yeah, I love you, you gigantic idiot.”

  He grabbed her. Hard. And pulled her into his arms. “I changed my mind.”

  Her face was flattened against his chest, and try as she might, she couldn’t wriggle her way free. “Changed your mind about what?” she asked, her voice muffled by his spectacular pectorals.

  “I can’t let you go. I thought I could. I thought it was best for your family. We’ll just have to think of something else. Maybe they can move in here with us until they get back on their feet? Or maybe they’ll want to stay when we have kids. Family’s important.”

  “What?” Her head was spinning.

  “We’ll figure it out. But you’re staying,” he fumbled through her pockets and grabbed her car keys out of her jeans. “I don’t care how good that job is. You won’t love it like you’ll learn to love me.” He pitched the keys over his shoulder, and they landed in a flowerbed.

  “What are you—”

  But his mouth was on hers with a desperation she’d never known in him. Patient, tender, demanding, yes. But he was kissing her like he was breathing her life into his body. And the way her knees buckled, she guessed he’d achieved his goal.

  His tongue licked into her mouth, and she tasted him. That flavor that she thought she’d go her entire life without ever experiencing again lit her up, scorching her from the inside out.

  She had to breathe, had to get her bearings.

  “Mmm, John. John!” She had to give him a hard shove to get him to break the kiss. “I don’t understand what you’re telling me.”

  “I’m telling you we’re getting married and your parents are moving in with us. I’ll get a second job if I need to. A third one, too. But you’re not going. I’m sorry. It’s a great opportunity. But you have to stay.”

  Murdock yipped in agreement at her heels.

  “We’re getting married?” She couldn’t think without an ounce of blood in her brain.

  “Of course, we are. How’s this weekend for you?”

  “This weekend?” She was repeating everything he said like she’d lost her damn mind. And maybe she had. But so had John.

  “I love you, Phoebe.” He pressed his mouth to hers again, and she finally started to understand. His hands, so big and strong baring the scars of hard work, stroked up her sides under the edge of her tank top and her legs turned to Jell-O.

  “Say it back,” he breathed, dropping kisses on her mouth and cheeks.

  “I love you, Phoebe,” she sighed.

  He pinched her and she managed a weak laugh. “I love you, John. And this weekend is just fine for me. But what about our parents? Won’t they want to see us get married?”

  “Mine are easy. They’ve been talking about coming back for a visit soon anyway. But someone’s going to have to break the news to your father that you broke up my marriage to Elvira.”

  Phoebe clapped a hand to her forehead. “Maybe we don’t need to tell our parents.”

  The phone in the house rang.

  “Ignore it. It’s been ringing for the past ten minutes.”

  “It might be something important,” Phoebe scolded him.

  “This is important,” he said, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. “This is the only important thing.”

  She heard the car coming down the drive and then another one and another one. “Are you throwing a party?” she demanded.

  John spun, his hands splayed across her ass. “What in the hell is this?”

  Elvira, Michael, and Hazel jumped out of the first car. “Phoebe!” Elvira jogged up, her face flushed and happy.

  More car doors slammed and Mooners flooded the yard.

  “You all missed the Sit-In!” Mrs. Nordemann huffed and puffed, dragging the elusive Mr. Nordemann along behind her.

  “You were supposed to be the guest of honor,” Bruce Oakleigh said, crossing his arms over the drum kit he wore around his waist. Phoebe wondered how he got in the car wearing it.

  “We like totally had a surprise for you,” Rainbow said, cracking her gum.

  Reluctantly, John released Phoebe, setting her on the ground.

  “Guys, we’re kind of busy right now,” he began. “We’re planning a wedding.”

  “We all better be invited,” Mrs. Nordemann announced, putting a finger in his face. “Hazel!” She waved the sheriff over. “Do the honors, will you?”

  Hazel stepped up between John and Phoebe and quick as a snake handcuffed them together.

  “What the hell is this?” Phoebe demanded holding up their joined wrists.

  Hazel cleared her throat. “Every year on this date, we host Blue Moon’s Annual Sit-In. And every year we choose a worthy cause that the whole town can agree upon. We host a community fair and donate all proceeds to that cause.”

  “Hazel, seriously, now is not a good time,” John began again.

  “Shut up, John,” she said amicably and pulled a wadded-up piece of paper from her pocket.

  “This year, Blue Moon really stepped up. We raised—”

  Bruce broke into a drum roll.

  “Thank you, Bruce.” Hazel rolled her eyes. “We raised $21,732.”

  Bruce stopped drumming and bumbled over to Hazel, the cymbals between his knees crashing. He handed something over with a flourish.

  Hazel turned to Phoebe, grabbed her uncuffed hand, and slapped a check in it.

  Phoebe stared down at it. It was made out to her parents.

  “What? What is this?” Shocked, she slid down onto the porch step behind her, her cuffed hand hanging over her head. John tried to slip his arm around her and only succeeded in bending her arm behind her back.

  But she couldn’t even feel the pain. Not with so much love, so bright and fierce like the sun, glowing inside her.

  “We take care of our own,” Hazel said briskly.

  Phoebe looked up at her. “I’m not one of you.”

  “Oh, yes you are,” Elvira argued. “And it’ll be official as soon as you marry this one.” She jerked her thumb in John’s direction.

  The crowd cheered.

  “Did you know?” Phoebe whispered to John.

  “Of course not. Do you think I’d let you drive away from me and twenty thousand dollars?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “If short-term memory serves, you were willing to let me drive away from you.”

  “I was stupid. Insane. An idiot. I must have had a stroke.”

  She stared hard at the check and its looping numbers. She held in her hand her family’s salvation. And Blue Moon had given it to her. No stipulations, no requirements, just pure generosity.

  “I don’t know how to accept this. It’s too much, too big. How can I ever say thank you?” Tears clouded her vision until she saw nothing but a blur of color sweeping out before her. They spilled over, hot on her cheeks.

  “You can spend the rest of your life here with the rest of us,” Bruce suggested.

  “They’re not going to start chanting ‘Join us, join us,’ are they?” Phoebe murmured up at John.

/>   “Wouldn’t put it past them.” He wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her back to her feet. “But remember, you’re mine first and a Mooner second.”

  “What would you have done if I hadn’t come back?”

  “Drank every beer in the fridge, polished off your wine, and when I sobered up, I was going to come find you and beg for your forgiveness.”

  “This way is a lot more efficient.”

  “How are you going to stand spending your life with such an idiot?” John asked, tracing her jaw tenderly with the tip of his finger.

  She sighed at the feelings that swamped her at his touch. “You can make it up to me by giving me all girls.”

  John sealed the deal with a kiss that Phoebe would remember for the rest of her life.

  Growing

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  1992

  John didn’t give her girls. He gave Phoebe three boys, each the spitting image of him. On the outside, there wasn’t a hint of Phoebe on a single one of them. But she’d made her mark on the inside. They were headstrong, stubborn to a fault, and had little regard for consequences.

  And most days, Phoebe couldn’t imagine her life any other way.

  But not today. Today, she was deciding which one of those little monsters she was going to murder first.

  Carter, the leader at six, still held the kitchen shears proudly in his little hands. He stood next to his younger brother Beckett. At four, Beckett was the middle child, and despite what so much psychology touted, the kid would never be overlooked. At least, not with the haircut his big brother had just given him.

  There were bald spots. Bald spots for God’s sake on his little head. And he was strutting around as if he’d just dropped eight bucks at the Snip Shack for a professional job.

  Phoebe rubbed a hand over her face, her wedding band cool on her overheated forehead. Usually she looked at the slim gold band and sent up a prayer of gratitude for her husband. Tonight, however, she cursed his name. John Pierce had done this to her.