Ava rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. “You’re gonna read it, right?” she asked and felt the veins in his hand tense as he curled it into a fist.
“No,” he said flatly. He stood, folded it in half and shoved it in his back pocket. “How’s Owen doing with the two knuckleheads?”
He smiled, but she could tell it was forced. She could also tell that the discussion about the letter was over.
For now, she thought.
She slid out of her chair and rose to meet his gaze. “Well, I had a heart attack when he almost fell off of Cleo, but Luke caught him, and Walker was right next to him on Bella.”
“Christ,” he hissed. “You can tell Luke and Walker to lay off the riding. I didn’t invite you here to put your son in danger.”
Her breath hitched.
Your son.
He must have realized what he’d said because his eyes widened.
“Jesus, Ava. No. That’s not what I meant.” He rounded the table so he was in front of her, cupping her face in his hands. “Calling him mine?” he said. “That’s a privilege I haven’t earned yet.”
She got that. Hell, she knew ten years ago he hadn’t wanted such a privilege. Yet here they were, staying in his home with him. He wanted—something. Didn’t he?
“Your terms still,” he said, a tentative grin taking over his features. “As far as what happens between you and me while you’re here.”
If she kissed him now, the subject would be effectively changed. No letter. No talk of them as an “us” instead of a her, a him, and an Owen. But Owen deserved better.
“We’re lying to him, Jack. He’s out there having the time of his life with his uncles, and I feel like we’re playing some huge joke on him. He’s a good kid.”
“I know,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “No. He’s a great kid. The best, and he deserves the truth. I told myself I wasn’t going to give you an ultimatum, but for Owen’s sake I have to.” He kept talking so much about doing right by her and Owen that she hadn’t realized, until today, that they’d missed the mark.
“You’re right,” he said, his gaze fixed on hers.
Only in his eyes, that storm of blue, could she see his warring emotions—what she guessed was hesitation and fear mixed with his insistence on always doing what was best for everyone else.
“I thought I could wait,” she said. “I thought I could let you deal with your dad’s death and figure out this vineyard thing, but you’re leaving. I can’t let the month go by only for us to tell him right before you hop on a plane.” Owen deserved time with his father knowing who his father was.
“Everything this week is your call,” he said.
“Okay, then. It should be just the three of us, right?” Not that she had a clue. There was no protocol for something like this, but she figured it should happen without the whole Everett/Ellis entourage. “He has a baseball game Saturday morning. His first of the season. Come to the game, and we’ll take him out for lunch after. We’ll tell him and take it from there, and whatever happens, the two of you will have at least another week before—”
She didn’t want to say what came next, but Jack was good at filling in the blanks.
“Before I move to New York.”
She forced a smile, but it felt like her chest was caving in.
They stood there in that heavy silence for several long seconds, the lack of words passing between them saying more than if they’d stated the obvious. Whatever this was with him and her could only ever be temporary unless he gave up his job.
But it was more than a job. It was his career. And it wasn’t like he was asking her and Owen to drop everything and come with him to New York. She couldn’t, even if he did. She wouldn’t. Her life—her future—was here. So was Owen’s.
He reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “I got you something today,” he said. “After my meeting.”
Her eyes widened, and the change of subject made breathing a little easier.
“It’s still in the bed of my truck.”
He pulled her toward the door without another word.
When they reached the truck, he lowered the back door and pulled back a small tarp to reveal an easel, a blank canvas, and several tubes of paint.
Ava’s hand flew to her mouth.
“I know Owen said the painting wasn’t going so great lately, but I thought—I know how much you loved it, and that if things with us had worked out differently, you would have gone to art school ten years ago instead of just applying now. Aaand…I can’t tell if you’re smiling or crying right now, so if I’ve messed up again, please tell me. I can take it. I’m apparently on a roll.”
Her eyes shone bright. She was sure of it, but not because he’d messed up again. Far from it. So she dropped her hand to reveal a smile. Because despite her and Jack being virtual strangers, he still knew her enough to do something like this.
She threw her arms around him and hugged him close, whispering in his ear, “Thank you.” Then she kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you.”
He pressed his lips to her neck, and she shuddered. This was exactly what she needed. She’d let her body take over so she could give her brain—and heart—a rest.
“I did good, huh?” he said against her, and it was all she could do not to moan right there.
“You did really good,” she said, and he peppered her collarbone with more kisses.
This was the language they could speak, one of mutual understanding. And pleasure. They were really good when it came to pleasure.
“Owen and your brothers can probably see us,” she said.
He laughed, his warm breath making her warm in places he couldn’t see. “Nope. They’re on the far end of the stable loop. We’ve got at least three more minutes of being undetected…unless…”
He backed her around the side of the truck and up against the driver’s side door, which meant they were completely out of sight.
She gasped as he continued where they’d left off, lips trailing to where her cleavage peeked out from her T-shirt. He dipped his tongue between her breasts, and she hummed a soft moan.
“I gotta say,” she started, her voice accompanied by small, sharp gasps, “these stolen moments with you are about the sexiest thing ever.”
His palms were on her hips, and he slipped his thumbs beneath her T-shirt. Then his hands slowly lifted the cotton up and over her breasts.
“God, I’m glad you don’t have neighbors,” she admitted, then cried out as he popped the cup of her demi bra down and took her hard peak into his mouth.
“I hate neighbors,” he said, his voice rough with what she hoped was a need that matched her own.
She knew they’d have to stop in seconds. Minutes at the most. She wouldn’t let Owen and his uncles catch them like this. But hell if she wouldn’t take what she could get.
She ran her hands through his golden waves. “Did you have neighbors in San Diego?” she asked.
He nodded, his five o’clock shadow scratching deliciously against her chest.
“Hated ’em,” he said before attending to what she hoped wouldn’t be a neglected left breast.
She laughed and then cut herself off with a gasp as he flicked his tongue against her nipple.
“You’re not capable of hate,” she said when she found her voice again.
He lifted his head at this, his gaze studying her for several long seconds. God, she wished she could read what went on behind the storm in those blue eyes.
“They’re walking the horses back into the stable,” he said. “We should probably—”
She kissed him then, taking her fill in hopes that what he gave her now would tide her over until their next stolen moment. But every kiss made her want another. And she wasn’t sure she’d ever truly get enough.
“God, Ava,” he said. And he kissed her harder, longer, like he was trying to quench a thirst as deep as a well. “You make me—”
But he didn’
t finish the thought. He kept kissing her as if this was the last time they’d get to do this.
The hell it was. And hell if she wasn’t going to pull some sort of revelation from him, no matter how small.
“What? I make you what?”
He rested his forehead against hers, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “You make me want,” he finally said.
She sighed and gave him one last soft kiss.
How long had she put herself on the bottom of the list? Owen came first. And that would never change. But maybe it was time to bump herself up a couple of notches. Maybe it was time to let herself want, too.
And hope.
“Well,” she whispered softly against his cheek. “I guess that makes two of us.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jack was happy to give Ava and Owen the guest room, but that meant he’d had to unexpectedly face at least one demon he’d thought he’d avoid—being back in his old room. It wasn’t the room so much as climbing that flight of stairs. When he reached the top, he reminded himself that there was no drunk Jack Senior on his arm, fighting off his son’s help, but that did nothing to keep the memory at bay. It didn’t matter much, just that tonight he’d be more restless than usual. There was also the matter of a chocolate Lab whimpering outside his door. Scully hadn’t woken him, only reminded him that it was past midnight and he was still wide awake.
He groaned and rolled out of bed, throwing on the T-shirt and jeans that lay on the floor.
“I’m coming, ya whiny mutt.” But really, he was happy for the company of someone who didn’t expect any more than to be taken for a walk and maybe play a little fetch with a now tooth-marked baseball. Besides, who could resist a dog named after the Dodgers’ former longtime announcer, Vin Scully?
He hadn’t confirmed this assumption with Ava or Owen, but he knew there was no other explanation. How had this kid who’d never known him turned out so much like he was when he was young? But if Owen could take after him without the two having ever met, then he could still end up like Jack Senior, couldn’t he? There was probably more of a chance after having grown up with the man.
Jack threw open the door, and Scully’s whimpers morphed quickly into excited panting and tail wagging.
“You’re so full of shit,” he told the dog, but gave him a scratch behind the ears anyway.
Luke and Walker’s doors were shut, but the master bedroom hung wide open at the other end of the hall. They’d left the room untouched so far—his brothers conveniently too busy to add it to their to-do lists. Luke always had to be somewhere when Jack brought it up, and Walker was usually gone with a six-pack if he was done working the ranch for the day.
Jack knew it was more than just clearing away the last of their father’s belongings. After their mother died, Jack Senior held on to all of Clare’s clothes, her bottle of perfume, and probably even her toothbrush. He’d left all of his wife’s earthly possessions exactly as they had been since the day they’d lost her.
He tried to forget about the times he’d successfully gotten a drunk Jack Senior into his own bed for the night, only to find him the next morning still passed out yet clutching one of his mom’s old T-shirts like a life preserver. Remembering shit like that tended to stir emotions—like sympathy—that he didn’t want stirred. But as he led Scully to the top of the staircase, his stirrings were thwarted as he recalled once again the last time he’d stood on that threshold with his father—and then was knocked violently down the wooden steps—and eventually out of the ranch for good.
“Until now,” he said aloud as he gripped the railing much in the way his father had held on to those T-shirts. Like a lifeline.
Scully scampered to the bottom as Jack moved slowly, steadily, holding his breath.
“Damn it,” he whispered as he stepped onto solid ground. “Let it go, already,” he told himself. But he’d been telling himself that for ten years.
“Come on, boy.”
Scully followed him to the front door, where he slid his feet into his boots. The cold night air bit at his flesh, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. The dog ran around the front yard, took a quick piss, and then ran back to Jack’s feet, where he stood wagging his tail. He was ready to grab a ball from the back of his truck when someone yelled “Shit!” from behind the house.
Instead of a ball, he grabbed a bat and rounded the side of the ranch as stealthily as he could with an excited pooch at his heels. He gripped the bat firmly in one hand, poised to react—until he climbed up on the deck, only to find it littered with crushed beer cans. Luke and Walker had left their lawn chairs abandoned as they poked at something with a stick in the fire pit below.
He dropped the bat onto the ground. “What the hell are you assholes doing?”
He bellied up to the deck rail while Scully leaned down on his front paws, his ass in the air as he still wagged that damned tail.
“Lost a full can in there.” Walker stared toward the blaze.
Luke snorted with laughter. “Some shitheads lack the hand-eye coordination needed to open a goddamn can of beer.”
Walker pushed his brother good-naturedly, but Luke stumbled too close to the fire for Jack’s comfort.
“Consider the can a sacrifice, and get your drunk asses back up here before it explodes or something.”
He could see the can. It wasn’t exactly in the flames, but retrieving it would be no easy feat, even if sober. He had enough on his plate as it was. He didn’t need his drunk brothers ending up in a burn unit on top of it.
Luke and Walker stumbled back up the porch steps, and Scully immediately dropped to his back, tongue dangling out the side of his mouth as he lay in wait for a belly rub. Walker obliged.
“Did I miss the invitation to the party?” Jack asked. “Or is this a nightly routine I’m only now learning about?”
“That depends,” Luke said. “Does the party include you filling us in on that meeting you had with Jack Senior’s lawyer? I get that you’re the most qualified for all that legal speak, but we’re not kids. We’ve been running this place for almost as long as you’ve been gone, big brother. I think we can probably grasp some of the finer details of what’s going on.”
Jack found the source of the beer cans—a cooler outside the sliding glass door—and decided he’d rather join his brothers than lecture them, as long as they stayed the hell away from the fire.
“You’re right,” he said, collapsing onto the bench that ran along the deck’s side rail. “I was waiting until I knew how I wanted to proceed, but it’s as much your decision as it is mine.” He took a long sip of beer and then tilted his head back against the rail ledge. “Thomas—Dad’s lawyer—found a buyer for the vineyard.”
All three of them were silent for several beats after that. It was Walker who finally spoke up. “Is it a good price?”
Jack nodded. “Best we could hope for, especially without knowing how much crop we’ll yield. How to actually turn the grapes into wine. Can we really sit tight and wait for wine to age before even knowing if it’s any good? Plus, no tasting room.” He scratched the back of his neck. “The deck is stacked against us.”
“We could build that tasting room,” Walker reminded him. “We get the Callahan brothers involved, and we could get a real good place done for little more than cost.”
Jack sighed. “And that would take months more.”
“How long we got to decide on the offer?” Luke asked.
Walker stood now and crossed his arms next to his brother. Scully sprang to his feet as well, so he was faced with a line of brotherly and canine interrogators.
“A week,” Jack said. “The offer is good for a week.”
Walker shook his head and let out a bitter laugh. “And if we sell—I mean when we sell because you sure as shit want the hell out of Oak Bluff—you take off to New York, right?”
Jack laughed bitterly. “You act like it’s a choice I’m making. I accepted a goddamn partnership. Everything I own
that’s not in my truck is already in Manhattan.” The truth was, the This is my career argument was starting to sound less and less convincing even to himself.
“You tell Red about this?” Luke asked.
Jack clenched his jaw and shook his head. “And you won’t either. I don’t want to tell her anything before I have an answer. She knows about New York, and it’s not like me staying was ever on the table.”
Because there was that other niggling piece of truth—the one he couldn’t admit out loud that had the power to change everything. Ava had never said anything about wanting him to stay. Everything had changed since he’d returned, yet at the same time felt like déjà vu. She’d pushed him away before because she’d thought it was what he needed, and maybe it was. And maybe it was what he’d thought he needed when he accepted the partnership in New York. But that was before he’d pulled up in front of the Ellis property, before he’d seen his son. Before he’d started falling for the woman he’d never been able to forget.
“I just—I think she and Owen deserve better,” he said. Because despite everything that had changed in a matter of weeks, he was still the son of Jackson Everett Senior. He was still the kid who’d put another guy in the hospital when he’d completely lost control. And he was still the man who was terrified of what kind of father he’d truly be when he never intended on being one at all.
Walker scoffed. “Better than what? The son of an abusive drunk?”
Jack rose to his feet so he was eye-to-eye with his accuser. “Yes, Walker. Hell yes. They deserve better than the son of an abusive drunk who has no damned clue if he’ll be one someday, too. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
Walker moved closer so their chests almost bumped. Jack knew he was riling Walker up, but hell if he wasn’t going to try to make them understand.
“If you’re so damn sure you’re him, then hit me,” Walker said.
Jack’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you talking about?”
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