“Okay. Sure.” She took a deep breath. “I actually researched the CSA business model my senior year in college, and I loved it so much I convinced my parents to redesign their marketing strategy around it.”
“She’s pretty persuasive,” Joe said with a smile.
“So says a fond parent. Anyway, if you’re a customer, you buy a share in your local farm’s growing season. A big family might buy two shares. In return, you get a box of fresh vegetables every week. It’s a great system for farmers because they can do sales and marketing during the slow winter months, so by the time things get crazy in the spring and summer they’ve already sold their year’s worth of produce. And because they receive the money up front, cash flow is more predictable.”
She began to warm to her topic, because this was one of the things she was passionate about. “It’s really a wonderful program. Farmers get to know their customers; the people in a community get to know their local farms. There’s shared risk, too. If heavy rains wash away a crop one week, everyone’s disappointed together. If there’s a bumper crop of strawberries or tomatoes or corn, everyone benefits. You feel more connected to what’s happening locally with the weather and the land, and of course you get fresh, seasonal produce every week, which makes for a healthy diet.”
“You’re right, she is persuasive,” Rick said, turning to her father. “Is it too late in the season to buy a share?”
“Sorry,” Joe said. “Thanks to Allison’s help—she set up a website for us a few years ago, among other things—we usually sell out by the end of January. But we can put you on the waiting list for next year.”
“I’d like that.”
Joe asked Rick a question about his business, and at the same time Rick started stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. It was the smallest movement, featherlight on her skin, but she was glad that the two men could carry on the conversation by themselves for a few minutes, because that small movement was all she could think about.
But she didn’t feel an urge to pull away, to run and hide. She stayed right where she was, letting wave after wave of sensation radiate through her body, feeling warm and giddy and alive.
In spite of her preoccupation, one thing Rick said caught her attention.
“Did you say Hunter Systems is going to expand into educational software?”
“That’s right. I’ve got a VP with some fantastic ideas. We may be ready to put the first products on the shelves as early as next year.”
“Rick, that’s wonderful! You’re lucky to have the power to make something like that—something that will help children learn. I’m so—” she stopped abruptly.
“You’re so what?” he prodded. He shifted his hand so he could lace his fingers through hers, and a fresh wave of goose bumps prickled her skin.
“I was going to say, proud of you. But that sounds patronizing.”
He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.”
“I think I heard you tell Ben you’re designing a new game?” her father asked.
“That’s right,” Rick said. “Of course it’s only in the beginning stages at this point…”
“Rick! Are you serious? You’re creating something new?” Somehow, this made her even happier than the news about the software line. She squeezed his hand, and he smiled at her. “I thought you’d be happy about that,” he said softly.
The warmth in his eyes was making her feel a little light-headed. “I can’t wait to see the new game,” she said.
She thought she knew why Rick had stopped designing after “Magician’s Labyrinth.” As he got older, he moved further and further away from anything that might make him feel. He didn’t trust emotion, whether good or bad. And creating something was definitely an emotional process.
He was letting himself create again. Did that mean he was ready to let other emotions in, too?
“Dinner’s ready!” her mom called out, and her dad went to help as people sorted themselves out around the big table.
“Where should I sit?” Rick asked, letting go of her hand at last.
“Next to me,” Allison said.
“My favorite place.” He gave her a quick, private grin that made her heart beat faster.
She was aware of him all through dinner, as he talked with various members of her family and tucked away an impressive amount of chicken and stuffing and vegetables. When the meal was over and the table had been cleared her cousin Kate set up a laptop with a webcam on the table, and Allison forgot Rick for the first time all day when the face of her older brother came up on the screen.
“Hey, everybody,” Jake said with the old grin she remembered, even though his face looked worn and tired.
“Happy Birthday!” they all called out, and her mom brought out an enormous cake with Jake and Jenna spelled out in homemade frosting. Jenna blew out the candles for both of them, and then everyone started talking at once.
“Pipe down,” Irene said after a few minutes. “Did I hear that right, Jake? You’re really coming home for good?”
“Yeah, sometime this fall,” Jake said. “My commitment is up and I’m getting out.”
There was a chorus of cheers and excited talk, but Allison was quiet. There was something in Jake’s eyes that worried her. He’d deployed to Iraq three times and was in Afghanistan now, but this was the first time she’d seen his expression look so shuttered, so shadowed.
Beside her, Jenna was quiet, too. When Allison met her eyes she knew her sister had seen the same thing she had.
“He’ll be home soon,” she said softly, putting her arm around Jenna’s waist. Her sister nodded, leaning against her for just a minute before it was time to say goodbye to their brother. He blew them a kiss, and then the screen went blank.
After they’d eaten their cake the family drifted into the living room, breaking into smaller groups for conversation. Her dad acted as the bartender, filling drink orders for anyone who wanted anything, and the musical members of the family gravitated together as they always did, starting an informal jam session over by the piano. Allison saw Jenna relax a little once she had her guitar in her hands, and she went back into the kitchen where a few people lingered to wash dishes, including her mother and Rick.
They were side by side at the kitchen sink, Rick washing and her mother drying. Allison paused in the doorway to watch them, a slow smile spreading across her face.
“We really are putting you to work today,” she said after a minute.
They both turned their heads, and Rick gave her that grin again, the one that made her stomach muscles tighten. “Bring this one to dinner anytime,” her mother said. “Willing dishwashers are always welcome. But I understand you owe Rick a look at our photo albums.”
Allison started to laugh. “That’s right! I forgot. You really want to look through Landry family history?”
“Of course I do.”
Irene shooed them both toward the door. “The albums are upstairs in your dad’s study,” she said, turning back to the sink.
A few minutes later Rick was sitting beside her on the old leather sofa as they flipped through photos that Allison hadn’t looked at in years.
“Oh, my God,” she said for the tenth time, laughing at the sight of herself in braces, the worst haircut she’d ever had and her junior-high soccer uniform.
“You’re adorable in this picture,” Rick said.
“I’m hideous!”
“Adorable.”
She shook her head at him and turned the page. Her mother had put several pictures of Megan together here, collage style.
“You used this one in your memoir,” Rick said, pointing at Megan’s seventh-grade school photo.
“You read my memoir?”
He nodded. “I read it last week,” he said. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
She thought about it. Why did it surprise her so much? “Well, you stayed away from hospitals for almost twenty years after your mother died. I guess I thought you avoided the subject of cancer i
n general.”
“Yeah, I do. But I didn’t read your book because it was about cancer. I read it because you wrote it. I’m interested in you, in case you haven’t figured that out.”
“Oh.” She felt warm all over, and she found herself admitting something she hadn’t meant to. “I bought ‘Magician’s Labyrinth’ last week. I’ve been playing it at home, after work.”
It was his turn to look surprised.
“I didn’t think you liked video games.”
“I don’t, usually. But it’s like what you said about my book. You made it, so I’m interested in it.”
He grinned at her, and the warmth inside her deepened. “So what’s your verdict? Do you like it?”
“I didn’t think I would.”
“But you do?”
“I love it! I’m completely addicted. A couple of nights ago I played for two hours straight.”
He laughed out loud, and Allison couldn’t help laughing with him. He had a great laugh, big and deep and contagious.
“What about my book?” she asked, curious to know his opinion. “What did you think of it?”
“I thought it was amazing. But it did make me wonder about the parts you left out.”
She stared at him. “What do you mean, left out?”
He reached for one of the other albums on the coffee table—one she hadn’t planned to show him. Her mother had written dates on the covers, and she knew this one would have photos of her junior and senior year at Fisher Academy, a time in her life she didn’t particularly want to remember.
“Your book was so brave. You didn’t hold anything back—about Megan, anyway. About what she went through, and what you and your family went through while she was sick, and when you lost her.”
He’d opened the album, and was flipping slowly through it. “But you didn’t talk about yourself outside of Megan. You were a teenager—there must have been other things going on in your life. Things that didn’t have anything to do with Megan, or your family.”
“The book was about Megan, not me. She was important. My family was important,” Allison said, her voice tight as Rick turned pages. “I don’t—”
There it was, on the next page. Her junior prom picture.
There were probably several more pictures of her and Paul in this album. Years ago she’d thought about taking them out, but she’d been afraid her parents would notice. She’d been so successful at avoiding questions…she hadn’t wanted to do anything that would risk the precarious balance she’d found for herself.
She looked down at her lap, and saw her hands clenched into childish fists, her thumbs tucked inside as if she were trying to protect something.
“What happened?” Rick asked, his voice soft.
“What do you mean?”
“Just now. You were relaxed and laughing, and now you’re not. Won’t you tell me, Allison?”
“Tell you what?”
“Why this guy still has such a hold on your heart.”
“Is that what you think?” she asked, grateful that he was so far from the truth.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to glance at the picture. Paul was looking relaxed and confident and handsome, and she looked…young. Young and innocent and happy, and the sight made her feel so helpless, and then so angry, that she stretched her hands out and made fists again—the right way, this time.
“This isn’t something I talk about,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not important.”
He closed the album with more force than necessary and dropped it on the coffee table. “What’s not important? You?”
He got up and paced around the room, dragging a hand through his black hair. Allison’s emotions were a tight, unhappy knot inside her.
“Rick, I’m—” She took a deep breath. “I’m not ready for this,” she heard herself say. “Not yet.”
He stopped pacing and stared at her. After a moment, he came over to the coffee table and sat down on the edge of it, facing her. Their knees were almost touching.
“You’re not ready yet. But…someday?”
His eyes were intense. She looked down, unable to meet them. She knew what he was really asking her.
Her breath was stuck in her throat. Her lungs ached, but she couldn’t seem to take a full breath. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, her voice so low she wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear her.
“You don’t know?” he repeated.
She looked up at him again. The knot inside her loosened, and instead she felt the low, coiling warmth that had teased at her for the last few hours.
His face had become so familiar to her. The black hair falling over his forehead, the green eyes under dark brows, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. She could read tension in his face, and in the muscles of his arms and shoulders. She remembered him helping her down from the fence and setting her on her feet, the same strain in every line of his body.
His tension made him hard as stone, power leashed in every muscle, while hers had the opposite effect. She felt herself softening, unraveling, her very bones melting. She wanted to touch him, to press the curves of her body against the hardness of his, to see if the tension in him eased or turned into something else.
“I want to be,” she said. Her face flooded with color, as if she’d propositioned him.
“You do?” His voice was soft, but there was heat in his gaze.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Yes.”
“When you’re ready…will you tell me?”
The air around her was thick, shimmering, liquid. She had to fight to speak through it.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Then I can wait.” He smiled at her slowly, and her body felt weightless. She closed her hands around the sofa cushion beneath her, as if that could keep her from floating away.
“Here you are,” her cousin Kate said, coming into the room. “The group sing’s about to start downstairs and they’re asking for you.”
Allison had to repeat the words in her mind before they made any sense. “We’ll be right down,” she said in a voice she didn’t recognize.
“I’ll let them know,” Kate said, glancing at Rick. “Unless you’d rather I said you were…busy?”
“No,” she said quickly, jumping to her feet. “We’re coming.”
“Group sing?” Rick asked, following her out of the room.
“I apologize in advance,” Allison said as they went down the stairs. She could feel her composure returning. “You’re about to be subjected to a Landry family tradition. Whenever we get together for a party, someone starts singing Irish songs. We don’t have to stay for it, though. If you want, we could say our goodbyes and—”
“Not a chance,” Rick said firmly. “We’re singing. I’ve been told I have a pleasant baritone voice, and we might as well put it to good use.”
Half an hour later Rick had downed his third shot of Irish whiskey and was singing arm in arm with her dad and her uncle Sean. She took the opportunity to grab Jenna away from the musicians’ circle and pull her into the kitchen.
“I need you to come shopping with me,” she said without preamble.
Jenna stared at her. “Right now?”
“No, not now. Tomorrow. I need something to wear to a charity ball.”
Jenna leaned against the counter. “Would Rick be taking you to this ball?”
“Yes.”
She folded her arms. “Why don’t you just wear something you already have? What makes this event so special?”
Allison glared at her. “Stop trying to make a point and say you’ll go with me. I suck at shopping and I need your help.”
“Fine, fine. What kind of dress are you looking for?”
“I want…” She hesitated. “I want a dress that will send a message.” She took a deep breath. “I want something feminine. Something that says I’m in the mood to be romantic.”
“As opposed to all
those masculine dresses that say I’m in the mood for a monster truck rally?”
“Will you be serious?”
Jenna grinned. “Sorry. I’m just trying to make up for the last ten years, when I haven’t been able to tease you about guys. But of course I’ll help you. We’ll go to that new boutique downtown and find a dress that will make Rick’s head explode.”
“I don’t need his head to explode. I just need him to know that I’m…”
Ready. She needed Rick to know she was ready.
Because she was. Sometime in the last half hour, watching his dark head tilt back as he drank a shot of whiskey, listening to him sing ballads with her family, catching his eye when he turned his head to look for her, she’d made her decision.
She knew it wouldn’t last forever. Rick’s relationships were never more than temporary, and she couldn’t expect that to change. In fact, she fully expected to be left with a broken heart…the kind she might never recover from.
But for the first time in her life, she didn’t care about the future. She didn’t care about the consequences. She wanted Rick, and she was going to have him.
At least for a little while.
Chapter Ten
She made him helpless.
It was the one thing he’d worked his entire life to avoid, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. His body was hard and hot when he was with her, his mind dense with images when they were apart. He worked in a fog, got through the day in a fog, except when the fever of desire burned through and he imagined making love to Allison until she was every bit as helpless as he was.
He’d never felt like this before. He wanted to send her flowers, buy her jewelry, do all the things men had done for centuries when they wanted a woman so badly they couldn’t think straight. The entire world seemed to glow, his desire for Allison coloring everything he saw and heard and touched, until the beat of blood through his veins seemed to echo in the air around him.
And he couldn’t act on it. The next step of their relationship was in her hands, and he couldn’t rush her. If he wanted to earn her trust he had to go at her pace.
They talked once or twice a day, and every night before they went to sleep. One of them would call to say hi, and before they knew it, an hour or more had gone by.
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