I'm sorry for the nights I come home late, though it is not for any other reason than for the fact that I can't stand the idea of being away from you any longer than is absolutely necessary.
I'm sorry for not being hard enough on whatever children we may have. I know, deep in my heart, that when I look in their eyes and see you, I won't be able to reprimand them nearly as much as I'm sure any son or daughter of mine would deserve.
I'm sorry for the times when I forget how I feel right now, looking at the rest of forever with you. I can't imagine those days might come, but if they do, do me a favor and hand me this letter. It's my reminder to you and to me of the promise I'm making to you.
Finally, one thing I'm not sorry for—loving you. My love may irritate you when I'm overly protective or when I insist on taking care of you, but for those things, I can't apologize. I love you more than any person can love another person and maybe even more than that. To me, you are everything. You are the sun and the moon and the whole Earth, too. I love you. I love you. I love you. And I cannot wait to see you walking down that aisle toward me tomorrow.
Yours forever,
Daniel
Zoe brushed away a tear, all too aware of the urge to sob, just as Ian and his mother reentered the room side-by-side.
"Ah, you found my note," Charlene grinned. "Sweet, isn't it?"
Zoe nodded. "The sweetest. How long have you and your husband been together?"
"Thirty-five years now." Charlene beamed. "Good ones, too. All the men in my family have a romantic streak, isn't that right, Ian?"
She nudged her son, who looked momentarily sheepish before clearing his throat. "Where is Dad, Mom?"
"Went fishing. Should be back any moment for dinner, though. Come on. Coffee is ready." She led them both into the kitchen.
Zoe watched Ian from the corner of her eye, trying to figure out the secret behind what his mother had said. When no examples came to mind, she took her steaming mug of coffee and said, "What do you mean all the men in your family have a romantic streak?"
"Well, didn't Ian take you to that house of his?"
"Mom—" Ian started, but Charlene only rolled her eyes.
"He's got no need of that big old house. He works himself sore over it," she said.
Zoe frowned. "I don't get it."
"Me either. I keep telling him he ought to hire out the work, that he has enough to do, but my son is the first one to say he's in no rush."
"Because I'm not in a rush," Ian said, first to his mother and then to Zoe.
"Right." Zoe grinned. "But what's so romantic about that?"
Charlene grabbed a Ziploc container of something that looked like chicken in buttermilk from the fridge then raised her eyebrows. "It's a family home. He wants to give it to his wife when he gets married."
"It's just as much for me as it would be for her. It'd be near you," he said, and Charlene laughed.
"And who can think of a better gift than being nearer to me, I ask you?" She winked at her son. "Now, come on, missy. We're frying up some chicken."
Together they set up an assembly line for dinner, complete with a biscuit station and chicken battering station. The three of them worked in tandem to get dinner rolling. As they worked, Zoe peppered Charlene with questions, first about herself and her husband, but then about Ian, too.
"He was a sweet little boy. Always had new little girlfriends." Charlene nodded and Ian sucked in his cheeks.
"Is this necessary?" he asked Zoe. Then, to his mother, he added, "You know, you don't have to answer every question she asks you."
"Oh, I know. Half the fun is seeing the look on your face." Charlene winked again, and Zoe dissolved into giggles.
The teasing didn't go on much longer after that, but it was more than enough to have Ian glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Funny as it was, though, on those few occasions when she met his gaze, she could have sworn he was smiling. Like, in spite of all his protest, he was actually enjoying himself. Enjoying her company.
There was so much she still wanted to ask him about the house and about his life, how he felt about his parents, and how deeply, madly in love they were. But as the night wore on and Ian's father finally arrived, she found herself sinking deeper into her own thoughts.
Of course with a family like this, he would think pure, passionate love existed. He didn't know what it was like to grow up in a broken household. He'd never seen the downside of love. All he'd ever known was homemade biscuits and gravy with fried chicken and a big side of caring. What a life he must have led. What a dream.
"So, did Ian happen to tell you about Quinn?" she asked over her second helping of chicken.
Charlene's mouth thinned, her smile faltering. "He did, yes."
"And you guys haven't seen her?" She looked from Charlene to Daniel and back again.
Daniel shook his head. He was a handsome older man, still lean and muscular, though his hair was graying in spots—the spitting image of his son.
"I'm sure she'll be fine, though, sweetheart," Charlene added.
"If anything, that girl is resourceful. She'll land on her feet," Daniel said.
Ian glanced at Zoe, and she offered them all a shaky nod.
"Yeah, I'm sure you're right." Her heart went cold as she said the words.
By the time they got back in the truck, night had fallen, and they were both carrying massive bags filled with fried chicken, homemade pickles, and biscuits.
"Oh my God, how are you not a thousand pounds?" Zoe asked then lugged her bag into the passenger seat.
He laughed. "That good, huh?"
"Oh. My. God." Zoe switched the radio on, probably thinking he hadn't noticed the hair-band ballad pouring from his speakers.
He noticed.
"I'll have to tell my mom. Or I would if you hadn't already done it about a thousand times before we left."
“I just can't believe you have that skill set in your arsenal and you don't total obliterate it. If I could cook like your mom, I'd be as big as a house." She shook her head, and he did his best not to laugh again as he pulled away from the house and back onto the street.
It had been a good night with her, and seeing her there with his parents…
Well, that was something that made him feel warm and happy, not just because he knew how few and far between her own family moments were, but because she seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly. She'd asked his parents about a dozen questions about their courtship and their lives, even about Ian himself. All the while she'd looked at them with real, deep contentment, like she was studying up for a book she was about to write.
Before he left, his mother had hugged him tight and whispered, "I like this one." Now, as he looked at her and half-listened to her continued ravings about his mother's cooking…?
Well, he was pretty sure he liked her, too.
"So, what do you want to do?" he asked, and she looked bemused for a minute before he went on.
“What do you want to do tonight? Go back to Connecticut or…?"
The question stretched between them, and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
"Well, Quinn might be back at your place. We're going to have to check there."
He nodded. "Right."
"So let's go and sleep at your house, just in case she comes back, and in the morning we'll decide what we want to do?"
The chances of Quinn going back to the house were slim, he knew that—especially if she'd seen her sister's bag in the doorway—but he couldn't bring himself to point that out to Zoe. Instead, he headed for the house, thinking of what the two of them would do when they got there and hating all the lustful thoughts that filled his head.
Like, for instance, pulling Zoe into the shower with him and seeing exactly what lay underneath that prim and proper exterior of hers.
Briefly, he wondered if she was as staid and serious in bed as she was everywhere else. But then, what if she wasn't?
Well, that would mean every ounce of
wildness in her would be reserved for the bedroom, and God only knew what that could mean for a woman like her.
In his mind's eye, he could see her on top of him, riding him hard and fast while her blond curls tumbled over her shoulders and covered her pretty, pink breasts.
She'd look good like that. Really good.
"I don't see her car," Zoe said, and in that instant, the spell was broken.
Right. Shit. Quinn. They were on this trip because of Quinn.
"Well, let's head inside anyway. It's going to get cold soon." He grabbed the bags from between them and rushed for the house, hoping his head start would buy him enough time to hide the evidence of exactly what she did to him.
But God help him if they didn't find Quinn soon.
Six
Quinn wasn't coming back here.
She'd known it the whole ride home and the long trudge up the steps. If she knew her sister—and she was sure she did—there was no way on Earth Quinn would have stayed for any longer than strictly necessary when it came to people finding out where she was when she didn't want to be found. Which left Zoe…where?
It wasn't exactly like they had limitless options, and time was running short. If her resources through Ian were gone and Dad was gone and she wasn't bringing Zoe into this… then who was left? Maybe Paul if she hadn't ditched him at the altar, but as it was…
Zoe blew a long sigh out through her nose. She'd told Ian she was going to take a quick shower and ducked into the guest room, reminding herself yet again that it made sense, much more sense, to stay here tonight than in some motel on the way back to Connecticut. They'd been on the road for two days now, and they both deserved a little rest and relaxation.
The only trouble was, she knew exactly how she wanted to unwind…
Which was, of course, the most ridiculous thing of all. It had hit her like a bolt from the blue, somewhere between buying that diamond necklace and spending tonight with his parents. Whenever she looked at Ian now, her pulse quickened and her hands shook—not with her usual surge of rage, but with something else. Something a whole lot more pleasurable.
Grabbing her pajamas, she held them tight and realized he hadn't been kidding about exactly how cold it got at night. If this was the state of the guest room, then maybe it wasn't finished being insulated yet. Maybe they'd simply have to snuggle together for warmth tonight…
She shook her head and stepped into the bathroom, turning on the spray of the elegant waterfall shower with a flick of the wrist. As she undressed, though, her thoughts again returned to Ian, and she ran her hands over her body, wondering what he'd think of it, of her… if he'd compare her to Quinn.
It was an unspoken understanding, of course, but that didn't make it any less of an understanding. Ever since they'd been young, she'd known that Ian loved Quinn, that he only had eyes for her. And if he slept with Zoe tonight, would it be because of what his mother had said today? They just looked so much alike?
She stepped into the shower and took another long, deep breath, allowing the water to sluice over her back and slick her hair.
It was stupid, thinking about sleeping with Ian like it was an actual prospect. They'd known each other forever, and as far as she could tell, she was just about the last woman on Earth he was interested in seeing. Except, of course, for the fact that he kept wanting to grab her hand that night in the casino.
And, lest she forget, Ian would fuck just about anything that moved.
She gave herself a quick scrub, mentally flicking through all the women she'd seen on Ian's arm through the years. He wasn't a complete playboy, maybe, but there had certainly been more than she could count on two hands, and the caliber of women…
Well, they weren't like her.
They were the kind of women who had standing appointments at salons and were used to the higher-class life. The life Zoe still couldn't manage to understand. Maybe it was simply that she'd spent so many years skimping and saving and scraping for everything she had, but everything that wasn't completely necessary felt like a waste, like a disservice to someone who needed her money more.
She finished rinsing herself, stepped from the shower feeling even more confused and conflicted than she'd felt before, and toweled off before slipping into her pajamas. Now that she was here, she'd have to find something to do with her night… preferably something that wasn't near Ian and his lean, chiseled muscles.
She shivered a little then stepped into the hallway to find Ian at the edge of the stairs, half dressed in a tank and sleep pants.
She gulped, all too aware of the way his biceps flexed when he turned to look at her. "Hey," she said.
"Hey." He speared a hand through his hair. "I was just about to head down and open a bottle of wine. Wanna split it with me over the fire pit?"
You, and wine, and a fire? Um, no thank you. My lady parts might freaking explode from the sexiness.
"After all, there's not much to do around here anyway. Come relax," he added then motioned for her to join him without bothering to look and see if she'd follow.
Which, of course, she did.
Because she was weak-willed and thinking with her body instead of her brain.
Dammit. There wasn't even a good excuse for her to run away and hide, either. She had no computer, no tablet, no books. She was on vacation from work because she'd thought she would have been house-sitting for Quinn. So that was that.
She just had to follow Ian and hope she didn't act like a complete idiot in the process. Which, judging by the pounding of her pulse in her ears at the sound of his voice, was going to be no small task.
"What kind of wine do you have?" she asked, skirting into the kitchen.
He pulled a bottle from the shelf above the microwave and brandished the label. "The finest Two Buck Chuck." He laughed. "I haven't been here since the season started, so I've only got my emergency wine."
"No, no. That's my favorite, actually. The cab?" She grinned, and he beamed back at her, nodding.
"That's the one.” He grabbed a corkscrew from a nearby drawer and handed it to her. "You wanna open that and pour? I'll start the fire."
She did as he asked, careful not to stare at his ass as he moved from the kitchen to the outdoor patio. Because that would have been wrong. And besides, it was hard to get a good look in those plaid sleep pants of his anyway.
Though she wouldn't know because she wasn't looking. Obviously.
Hands still shaking, she found the wine glasses in a cabinet beside the sink and poured then walked onto the patio just in time to see the fire ignite. It was early in the year, still, but on the edge of the property, just near the lake, she could see a few fireflies beginning to light up the night. She smiled at them, wondering what this place must look like in August.
No doubt it would light up like a Christmas tree, and Ian would be able to sit out here and watch it all, his fishing rod in hand and a cold beer at his side.
What a good, simple life. What a practical, beautiful dream.
She held his wine glass out for him, and he took it with another grateful smile before showing her to a seat beside the firepit.
Chairs circled the entire thing, but he settled in beside her all the same.
Probably, she thought, to stare out at the lake. Probably.
"Beautiful night," she said.
"It is." He nodded.
The silence stretched between them for a long moment. Then he said, "Are you worried about Quinn?"
"I'm always worried about Quinn." She laughed. "All my life, I've worried about Quinn."
"You ought to give yourself a break about that. She's a big girl. She can handle herself."
Zoe laughed again. "You would think that."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
She hedged, wondering about the best way to say it. "Look, I get it. But we don't have to pretend, right? There's only one reason you would take off work and come with me to chase after her."
Ian frowned. "Because she's my friend."
/>
Zoe sighed. "Really? Even now?"
"Look, if you're saying I love Quinn, I do."
Her heart stopped dead in her chest.
"But I love Quinn the way you do. Like a sister." He spread his hands wide in front of him.
"And that's why you missed her wedding?" Zoe raised her eyebrows.
"You know why I didn't go, and I would think after you met my parents, you'd be able to understand that a little better. What Quinn and Paul had? That was friendship. She needed something better, something deeper. Something like they have." He shrugged, like it was the simplest explanation in the world.
"You have to know that it's a one-in-a-million chance of finding someone like that," Zoe shot back.
Ian's mouth quirked to the side, and in the firelight, she could see the faintest hint of his five o'clock shadow. "That means there's a chance, though. Doesn't seem worth it not to try and have the best."
"That's why you do so much looking?" Zoe asked then wanted to clap her hand over her mouth or hide in the trees.
"Well, someone is feeling feisty tonight." Ian laughed. "You know, Quinn told me you thought that about me, and I didn't believe her."
"Thought that about you? Isn't it a fact?"
"My last girlfriend was three years ago," Ian said.
"I'm not talking about girlfriends," she challenged, and he leveled a stare at her.
"Ah, and what makes you so concerned about who warms my bed at night?"
"I'm not." She said the words too quickly, but there was no taking them back any more than there was a chance of taking back the others.
"You seem awfully interested for someone who isn't interested," Ian said. "What about you, Little Miss Love-is-for-chumps? When was the last time you got laid?"
For the first time since she'd sat down, she was grateful for the firelight, if only because it would hide the color she knew was rising to her cheeks. "I don't see how that's any of your business. And I never said love was for chumps."
Ride: Hearts Wild Series Page 5