More than she’d wanted anyone for six years.
She’d sent him the video of the twins’ reactions the morning after he planted the surprise trees. Their enthusiastic reaction was contagious, her feelings as giddy as they were. She didn’t know whether her stomach-rolling excitement was from their elation over the miraculous trees, or the memory of how right her legs felt wrapped around Clay’s waist, his hands roaming over her body, his mouth on her breast.
When the kids, with wonder in their eyes, declared the trees magical beyond belief, she’d blinked back sudden tears at Clay’s thoughtfulness. Emotion had deepened her voice on the recording and she wondered if Clay would recognize it when he watched it.
But Clay hadn’t reached out to her after she sent the video. And he’d missed the next session with Seeley. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe the idea of a woman with two kids proved too much for him to deal with. He lived an unencumbered life, setting up house where he wanted, and moving without thought to what city he called home. She couldn’t do that with children. Even if she actually desired that kind of freedom, she couldn’t have it. She was a mom first. There would always be someone else to think about, consider and cater to.
Clay would be a fool to want to take on what other men shunned. And she knew he was no fool. She wished that thought didn’t make her so wistful.
His lack of response when she’d sent the recording had stung. Especially after the soul-searing kiss they’d shared in her yard under the starry sky.
It seemed to her that whenever they met one of them ended up mad, or hurt. Not a very promising set of circumstances for building a relationship.
Pip shrugged. “I doubt he’s interested anyway. I haven’t heard from him since that night.”
Jack laughed. “Pipsqueak, the sad look on your face is priceless. You like this guy. You really like him. As for him not calling, don’t worry. That’s male strategy. He’s interested. He’s just playing the game he thinks you women want.”
She perked up when Jack used the same word Clay had used the other night. Strategy. Could this be the campaign he’d mentioned? Her heart lightened at the idea of a plot to get her attention. In spite of how frustrating the man was, hope fizzed in her chest.
“Pip!” Rob shouted from the stage. She turned as he beckoned. “Time to roll.”
She shot him a thumbs-up, gave Jack a quick peck on the cheek and walked toward the stage to start doing what she loved best—sing her heart out.
* * * *
Following Scott into Big Red’s, Clay stopped dead in his tracks, transfixed by the familiar voice belting out a popular rock anthem. Pippa Sanders sat on stage with a spotlight trained on her, singing. And doing a damn fine job of it. He’d known she had an incredible gift from listening to her at the cemetery and while she worked with his mom, but this was a different side of her talent. His body tensed as her clear alto raced over the notes of the song and rocketed straight to his stomach—and lower.
Well, hell! He got hard just listening to her sing. He wondered idly if he’d be able to talk her into a private concert. Naked. Yeah, that’d be perfect.
The door opened again behind him, releasing his feet, which had planted themselves when he first walked in and heard her singing. Glancing around, he spied Scott at the bar, talking to two men and a woman he vaguely recognized. He wove through the tables to join the group.
As he approached, Scott bent low to speak to his friend, eyeing Clay’s approach. The other man turned and looked at Clay, speculation in his eyes.
What the hell was that about?
As Clay joined them, Scott made the introductions. “Clay Mathers, this is Sam Kerrigan, his brother Jack and Jack’s girlfriend, Jemima George. Jem owns Caro’s Taste.”
“The café in town?” That explained why she was familiar. “I’ve eaten there. Food is excellent.”
“Thanks,” Jem said. “I hope you’ll come back.”
Clay found his hand grasped firmly in Jack’s, and had the oddest sensation that he was being weighed and assessed. More than the normal size-up when guys met for the first time.
“Hey, man. I’ve heard of you. Well, more about your company. You did the renovation at Elder Pointe. My mom is a temporary guest there. You do nice work,” Clay said to Jack and shook Sam’s outstretched hand.
“Thanks. It was challenging, but we got ’er done.”
Jem scoffed. “Challenging doesn’t begin to describe it. You put your heart and soul into that project. And it shows.” A proud grin spread over her lips as she looked at Jack. “I’m going to talk to Lucie before she leaves. Nice to meet you, Clay.”
Dimples creased each side of Jack’s face as he watched Jem crossed to the bar. Clay couldn’t place him but he was sure he knew Jack. “She’s right. Most people might not notice, but I can see dedication to design in the details you maintained from the original structure.”
“Scott says you’re running Sleepy T Farms while your mom is recovering. I’ve met her,” Sam interjected, as he reached for the beer the bartender had placed in front of him. “How’s she doing?”
Clay hid his surprise. It was a small town after all. Everyone knew everyone else. There were no strangers. Though Clay had worked the two previous seasons at the farm, he’d rarely ventured off the property. Days spent among the rows of trees usually shifted into evenings consumed with writing deadlines. This was only his third time in Big Red’s, Granite Pointe’s locals-mostly pub. But he knew his mom was well liked, by the number of times the phone rang when he visited.
“She’s improving. They’re trying a new treatment with her. Music therapy. Mom’s been responding well to it.” He shifted to eye his mother’s therapist on the stage. The rock anthem had segued into a ballad, and he watched Pippa move to the beat as she sang.
Scott handed Clay a beer and walked away to grab a table, leaving him alone with the Kerrigan brothers. He turned to face Jack, who’d been watching him watch Pippa. Embarrassment rippled through him at being caught staring at her with his mouth hanging open. A feeling he crushed, rationalizing that Pip was single, beautiful and drop-dead sexy. And Jack had a hot girlfriend. Not as gorgeous as Pippa, but still very pretty. God, watching the spitfire move her body in time with the music made him remember her swaying in his arms in the moonlight.
Jack shot a frosty stare at Clay and gestured to the stage. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. My sister’s the resident MT specialist at Elder Pointe.”
That was it. Clay didn’t know Jack, but he recognized the family resemblance: the dimples, the brilliant blue eyes and dark, wayward hair. And he’d just been caught staring at the woman, thinking thoughts about her that had to be reflected on his face. His cheeks warmed as he struggled to erase the expression from his face. His gaze shifted from Jack, to Sam and back. Well, shit! “Pippa’s your sister?”
Jack scowled, his eyes daring Clay. “She is. And I gotta tell you, she’s kind of twisted up over you.”
She’d talked to her brother about him? Pippa’s voice wrapped around his senses and squeezed. He wanted her…all of her, in his bed, in her back yard, hell, anywhere he could get her. He shouldn’t, since he planned to leave as soon as his mom got back on her feet. He should avoid getting involved with a local whose roots ran deep. He’d go back to his life and he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, take her with him. He should leave her the hell alone. It was the right thing to do.
Unfortunately, holding her in the dark back yard, her tight, humming body crushed to his, felt more right. It had felt fucking awesome. “Yeah? Well, the feeling is mutual.”
Sam met his eye with a cheeky grin. “I have to tell you I approve of your campaign to win her over.”
Clay eyed Sam suspiciously. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The surprise trees? Man, that was a stroke of genius. The way to my sister’s heart is through her kids. But tread softly. Because the fastest way to land on her bad side is through those same kids. You know what I’m saying?”
The memory of how she’d gone from eager to zero when he’d frowned at her kids at the farm the other day coiled through him and he shifted uncomfortably.
Jack picked the conversation up from Sam. “She told Jem what happened in the yard the other night. Jem told me. I told Sam. Now everyone is up to speed.”
“It was mutual, believe me. I wouldn’t have touched her if I didn’t think she was interested.” He cringed. He sounded as defensive as a seventeen-year-old being scolded for bringing daddy’s little princess home past curfew. But he held Jack’s steely gaze, refusing to back down.
“Yeah, I believe you.”
“She’s got a hang-up about crossing a line because she’s my mom’s therapist.”
“She’ll get over that. She likes you. More than she’ll admit. But here’s the deal. She’s pretty grounded here. Her kids…her whole life is in Granite Pointe. I would hate for her to get involved with you—with anyone—who isn’t planning to stick around. Pippa won’t do temporary. And you won’t be around long after your mom gets better.” Jack crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a glare at Clay. “She’s had a couple of rough years since Mark died. Raising those kids on her own hasn’t been easy. She’s finally happy. Lonely, but happy. If you don’t plan to stay, leave her alone. Don’t break her heart. Because if you do—”
Anger ripped through Clay like a chain saw. “You don’t know what I’m going to do. If Pippa chooses to get involved with me, that’s between us. I don’t plan to break her heart.”
Sam stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, as if making up his mind. “The farmer’s market.”
“Huh?”
“Pippa and the kids go to the farmer’s market every Saturday. I think you should stage the next phase of your plan there.” Sam laughed. “Yeah, we heard about that part too. This is the last weekend for the market this season. It will be a good place for a chance meeting, don’t you think?”
Clay smiled, his gaze drifting back toward Pippa, letting her music roll through his soul, as he considered the possibility. “Yeah? Yeah! Thanks for the tip.”
* * * *
Dewey shrank further into the shadowy corner, far away from the stage and the bar. It wasn’t that he minded being seen at Big Red’s. He just didn’t want Clay or Pippa to see him. It was the last thing he needed, given the company he kept tonight.
He pulled his eyes away from where Clay Fucking Mathers stood talking to Sam and Jack Kerrigan, and paid attention to his tablemates.
Big plans were brewing for the next funeral protest. This time they’d send a message to Washington. It was time to bring the troops home. They should never have been sent overseas to begin with. The war had raged for too damn long and had been entered illegally, at least as far as the Battalion was concerned. And even though he’d voted for the president at the time, if he could recast his vote, he would. In fact, he might not have voted for either candidate. At the time, it seemed like the lesser of two evils.
He’d thrown his full support behind Liberty Battalion. Their cause was just, but truth be told, he liked raising a ruckus whenever he could. He didn’t mind protesting military funerals, trying to get a response out of the mourners or the Patriot Honor Guard, even though he considered himself a Veteran. Especially after the treatment he’d received from the government after his discharge. It rankled that they’d never proved a fucking thing, but they still tossed him away like week-old trash. He swallowed the sour taste of hate. No need to let his current compatriots know his true intention.
His involvement was just a cover to get his kid out of Woodward. During the panic and pandemonium caused when the Battalion delivered their explosive message, Dewey would be hauling ass to get away with his son.
And Pippa Sanders was going to be his ticket into and out of the institution.
If his eyes could shoot daggers, well damn, skippy, that son of a bitch Clay Mathers would be jumping in pain right now. He’d have to watch that situation closely. The night Clay made nice about her kids so she’d fuck him, Dewey had been in the backyard, watching. Like watching some damn porno movie. Dewey shifted as his John Thomas stirred between his legs. The gal was smokin’ hot and he wouldn’t mind getting some of that.
Maybe after he sprang the kid.
For now, it was planning time.
10
“Mommy, can we buy some cider? It smells so good and it’s good for us.”
They’d just entered the market when Mia scored points, demonstrating the subtle art of persuasion by pointing out the nutritional value.
“Okay, but let’s get it when we leave. I don’t want to carry it around the market,” Pip replied.
A delighted smile broke out on Mia’s face, making Pip’s heart bubble lightly. Mason hung back by Pip’s side, clutching the cloth bags they’d brought to hold the fresh fruits and vegetables they’d buy. Mia skipped to the next booth.
“Mia, don’t get too far ahead.”
The Farm Stand opened every Saturday during the summer and fall. Autumn ranked as her favorite time of year. She loved the vibrant oranges and golds of seasonal vegetables and flowers, the smell of fresh herbs and fruit. The harvest atmosphere wrapped around her like a welcoming blanket. Even the sky participated, a glorious blue washed with warm sunshine. Crisp air with a hint of cool breeze blew through the covered market where produce vied with mums and gourds for attention. One farmer had set up a cider press, and the tang of apple mash sweetened the light wind. Bees buzzed drunkenly around bushels overflowing with bright red apples.
In jeans and sneakers, they fit right in at the market. She’d opted to wear a light sweater over her t-shirt, but her children decided to wear their matching Bruins sweatshirts. She’d tucked her short hair into a cap to control the curls. They were dressed like most other patrons, although Pip had seen several cowboy hats and one hipster with a fedora. A perfect fall day for a family outing.
Moving lazily along the row of vendors, she stopped to chat with several neighbors who’d also made the journey to the last Saturday event for the season. Mason and Mia ran ahead, but stayed in sight, coming back frequently to check in. She traded money for butternut squash at one display and stashed the gourd in a bag she’d retrieved from Mason.
Keeping the kids in sight from the corner of her eye, she paused at a stand selling potatoes. After selecting three large bakers and a basket of smaller golden spuds, she dug in her pocket for cash and looked up at the attendant, ready to hand him a ten-dollar bill.
And stared into the scary eyes of Dewey.
A sinister sneer curled his lips and stopped her breath. This was the protester who’d accosted her at Mark’s grave, spouting his terrible rhetoric about the illegal war, and how dead her husband really was. The man Clay had saved her from.
And warned her about. Oh sugar! She averted her gaze. What if he recognized her? What should she do? When she raised her eyes, the hard glint of hatred and contempt bloomed across the man’s rough features.
Dewey snorted. “Well, if it ain’t the grieving widow. How’s it going? You keep bumping into me, don’t’cha? Ya stalkin’ me or what?”
“No, I…uh…”
“That’s four dollars,” he growled.
Forcing her hand forward, she tried to control the fear-induced tremors long enough to drop the bill into his meaty paw. He brushed his fingers rudely across her palm when he took the money. She barely suppressed the shudder of disgust and fear slithering down her spine. Dewey continued to stare at her, not bothering to hide his anger. What had she done to deserve his dislike of her?
“You here alone today, sweet cheeks?”
Her mouth opened to respond to his question, but she closed her lips around the words. She would not tell this man who scared the wits out of her that she had young children. She snatched her change from Dewey’s hand and shoved it in her back pocket. Without a word, she turned to walk away. His scoffing laughter followed her retreat, along with his mumbled promise that h
e’d see her soon.
Not if she could help it.
She scanned the market, suddenly desperate to find the twins and move as far from Dewey as possible. She spied Mason two booths away.
Her breath shortened as she darted her gaze over the crowds around her, looking for her daughter. There were so many people in the narrow aisle. It was easy to lose sight of a child as small as Mia. Dewey’s harsh laughter echoed in her ears and panic scratched its way across her neck. She cast a glance backward to find that Dewey was no longer in the booth.
She swallowed hard against the coppery taste of fear.
* * * *
Clay had finished his business and looked forward to people watching until he accidentally ran into Pippa. He’d invited a pumpkin farmer to set up a stand in front of the Sleepy T gift shop for weekends in October. Offering fall gourds and pumpkins was a value he could advertise to boost early sales when the farm opened for tree tagging each weekend in November. The competitive nature of the Christmas tree business still surprised him.
He was chatting idly with the owner of the stand about plans for a corn maze, when a little girl bounced up to the booth and starting counting the pumpkins on display. She ran small fingers over the bright orange globes before turning to him, delight creasing sweet dimples in her cheeks.
Well, what do you know? Mia, Pippa’s daughter, had the same dark curls as her mother but her eyes flashed chocolate brown when she looked at him and her grin grew wider. “I know you! You’re Mr. Clay,” she said. “Did you hear ’bout the magic trees you gave us? They grew overnight to this tall.” Mia stretched her hands high over her head to demonstrate.
“Pretty amazing, huh? Your mom sent pictures of them because I didn’t believe it.”
“Do you want to come over to see them?”
“You better ask if it’s okay first.” He scanned the crowd looking for Pippa. “Where is your mom?”
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