by Kaitlyn Rice
She chuckled again and folded her arms in front of her. “You don’t have to convince me of that.”
Jack frowned as he struggled to make his point clear. “He should have realized you were something special.”
“Thanks,” she said, just before she turned her pink-and-freckly face back to her peaches.
She’d dismissed him again, but he didn’t feel as if he’d said what he wanted to say. He rubbed his chin and stared at her braid again. Something felt odd about this whole situation. He was a man who was rarely at a loss for words, but he sure was now.
He loped past his office and down the hall to the bathroom to shower and shave. Abby would probably be up at dawn, working, and maybe he could help.
Besides, he knew he wouldn’t get anything done tonight. He was bothered even more than before. He’d said words that were soothing, just as he had intended.
For some reason, however, he kept feeling as if he’d barely scratched the surface.
CHAPTER TEN
“IT WAS GENEROUS OF YOU to take the boys out for pizza last weekend,” Sharon said from across the kitchen, where she was helping Abby with the seemingly endless chore of canning fruits while the twins napped upstairs.
Jack finished tightening a screw on the leg of Wyatt’s high chair, and stood up. “Oh, that was nothing,” he said. “I just thought a party was appropriate after a harvest.”
Sharon turned away from the counter to offer her trademark smile. “You’re right about that,” she said. “That’s why the community throws an annual harvest party. But your separate pizza feast for the kids was generous.”
Jack moved his eyes to Abby, who seemed oblivious to the conversation as she peered into a pot on the stove.
“There’s another party?” he asked. “Why don’t I know about it?”
“Oh!” Sharon’s eyes grew round and flew to Abby, too. She tapped Abby’s shoulder, and as soon as she had her attention, shrugged and made a face. Abby shrugged back.
It seemed to be some secret language for country women.
Then Sharon looked across at him again. “It’s Saturday night at seven,” she said. “And I guess you’re invited. Okay, Abby?”
“Sure, he can go,” Abby said, seeming unconcerned as she returned her attention to the bubbling pot.
“You sound as if you’re not going,” Sharon said.
“I’m not.”
“Why not?” Jack interjected. He returned the screwdriver to its pantry shelf and walked over to stand near the two women, waiting for Abby’s answer.
“I never go.”
“Well, you’re going this year, even if we have to drag you. Right, Jack?” This was from Sharon again.
“I’m not going,” Abby repeated.
Now Sharon started using that strange sign language on him. She looked directly at him, smiled that huge smile and winked.
And the stranger thing was, he got it. They would wait a while, develop a stronger argument and try again.
He nodded.
Since the twins were still asleep, he knew he should use the time to work. He also knew it was highly unlikely that he’d get anything done, so he looked at Abby’s profile and asked if there was anything else he could do to help.
That got both the women’s attention. Sharon did her megawatt smile thing, and Abby turned completely around to tilt her head at him.
He smiled, too, and waited. Surely, with all that was left to do, there was something more that needed a man’s touch.
Abby joined in the smiling party and pointed to the kitchen table. It was set up with a pile of wicker baskets, a tangle of navy-blue ribbons bedecked with sunflowers, and stacks and stacks of chubby mason jars. Apple Man’s Acres, read the label on each one.
“You can help assemble baskets,” Abby said, sliding into a chair and patting the one beside her. “Sit.”
He scowled at the table. “What?”
“That’s right…we’re decorating baskets. I make peach jelly, apple butter, strawberry preserves and candied pears. We arrange the jars in these baskets and sell them.”
“You want me to put jars in baskets and tie ribbons?”
“Absolutely. If I had to do this alone, I’d never get done,” she explained. “Paige and I used to have a great time with this phase of the process.”
Jack shrugged as he sat down. “I’ll help,” he said. “But only if I get to taste it before I devote time to packaging it. I won’t promote shoddy products.”
Abby’s jaw dropped. “These are superb, but you can judge for yourself.” She started to get up, but Sharon was already charging across the room, so she sat back down.
As discreetly as the most professional of waitresses, Sharon came to the table bearing a tray loaded with four open jars and a pile of toast and crackers.
“I saw that one coming,” she said, and then slipped back over to man the stove.
Jack bit into a toast point slathered with peaches. Its fresh, sweet taste was superb, exactly as promised. As he chewed, he watched Abby take a basket from the pile and fill it with blue and yellow corrugated confetti. Then, taking a jar from each of the stacks surrounding the table, she plunked them inside. Finally, she tied a ribbon around the whole thing and set it in a box on the floor.
“You get that?” she asked, and giggled when Jack rolled his eyes.
He began to follow her lead, frowning in concentration as he tried to tie his ribbon into a bow as perfect as hers. “This whole operation has been amazing,” he said. “And this is an ingenious marketing tool.”
“I figured a big-city boy would find all this a bit too rustic,” Abby said as she finished her second basket and placed it in the box.
Jack was still fumbling with the first ribbon, and he shook his head. “When I was a kid, we lived in the country for an entire year while my mom was involved with a farm hand. I’d forgotten how much I loved it.”
“I always wanted to live out here,” Abby said as she started another basket. “When we were kids, Paige and I would gather our stuffed animals around us and pretend we were running a farm.”
“I seem to remember pretending I had a dog,” Jack said as he continued to battle the ornery ribbon. “We moved around so much I never had a pet, but I begged for a puppy twice every year—just before Christmas—and just before my birthday.”
Abby pulled his basket away and tied a perfect bow before sliding it back to him. “Don’t you dare go out and buy a dog, Jack Kimball.”
“No. I won’t do that,” Jack said, disappointed that she’d squelched his idea. Then he brightened. “We could all go to the pound together and adopt one.” He pulled another basket from the pile and threw a handful of filler inside.
“And how would we divvy up this pup when you leave?” she asked in a sober voice that was sweetly familiar.
He didn’t answer, and he stopped working for a minute to look at her face.
He didn’t want to leave.
Frowning, he watched her freckled hands move nimbly from task to task. Just barely, he shook his head.
The bar hopping and woman juggling that had been getting old for a while now held no lingering allure, and neither did the prime downtown apartment he had once coveted.
He wanted to stay here on the farm with Abby. He wanted to try a real relationship.
That was what had been bugging him.
He reached across the table for a jar of peaches and nestled it carefully in the basket. He wanted to help her fill these baskets again next fall, and probably the year after that.
He could even imagine the two of them sitting across this same table in five years, chatting about the twins’ school days and sampling the year’s harvest.
He glanced at Abby’s face again. A tiny crease marred her brow as she concentrated, but she seemed unaware of the changes occurring across the table from her.
Of course she’d be unaware.
He separated three more jars from their stacks and slid them sluggishly across the oak
surface as he struggled to process a bombardment of feelings. He winced at the grating of glass against wood, then started at a clanging of metal from across the room.
Sharon had lifted a pot lid and returned it clumsily. He’d forgotten they had company.
He arranged the remaining jars in the basket and rubbed his chin as he stared at them. He’d have to wait until he was alone with Abby, but then he’d admit his own proposed arrangement was a flop.
Just the possibility of sharing her bed at night sent a cannonball of anticipation rocketing through his body.
He sneaked another peek at her, wondering how to approach the subject. Would she feel threatened by his news?
Probably, and he didn’t want that.
He had to find the right words. He had to explain.
She was still working, so he tugged a single ribbon from the tangled mass and tried to tie a bow as perfect as hers.
His was crooked. He blinked a few times and bent closer to the ribbon, struggling again to make it neat. After three failed attempts, he slid the whole thing across to Abby with a pleading expression.
Chuckling softly, she tied the ribbon and put the finished basket in the box. Without planning it, they developed an assembly line of sorts.
Abby filled a basket with confetti, Jack put the bottles inside and she tied the bows. The work went faster, and the lack of conversation in the kitchen made the thoughts screaming through his head more bearable.
After the pile of baskets had eroded to a foothill, Jack said, “Since I’m part owner of this farm, I should have been told about this party.”
“Well, you were,” Abby said, glancing across to Sharon.
He looked at Sharon, too, who gave a slight nod as a go-ahead. This secret language was a piece of cake. “No, I mean by you,” he said. “I think we should go together, in a show of cooperation between the owners of Apple Man’s Acres.”
Abby laughed. “But I’m not going, and you’re not really an owner, anyway. You’re more of a squatter.”
“I’m no squatter, and I have papers to prove it,” he said. “I want to attend this party. What do I have to do to get a date?”
“A date?”
He stopped working and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’d hate to invite one of them,” he said. “I don’t seem to care for apples or potatoes anymore.”
She snickered, but kept working. A stack of partially finished baskets began to accumulate in front of him.
He touched her hand. “I’d rather escort a real person.”
Abby’s mouth smiled, but her eyes looked confused.
“You,” he said.
She blinked a few times and said, “I can’t go.”
“Why not?”
He could practically see the gears turning in her head. Finally, she said, “I don’t have anything to wear.”
That was when Sharon leaped in. “You’ll come shopping with me,” she said. “I need a dress, too.”
Abby shook her head. “I can’t shop, I have to deliver these baskets.”
“I’ll help you,” Jack and Sharon said, both at the same time.
BAMBOOZLEMENT! That’s what it was.
Abby scowled as she made her way down the concrete steps of the cellar. For the past twenty minutes, Jack and Sharon had ganged up on her and practically forced her to say she’d go to that silly party.
And with Jack, to boot.
She was still scowling as she pulled the chain to light the damp, dark space. She hadn’t been down here since this spring, but she knew Paige had stored some extra jars of preserves down here.
When the strawberry supply had run low upstairs, she had immediately offered to come down and get more, just to escape all that persuading. Very soon, she was going to have a chat with Sharon about loyalty between friends.
Metal shelves lined one long wall in the back, and Abby went to rummage through the boxes stacked there. She was surprised when she encountered a couple of cartons of personal things.
After Paige died, Abby and her parents had sorted through her belongings. They’d donated much of it to charity, but they must have missed the boxes down here.
She pulled one of them down and opened the lid to look inside. Brilliant red and green Christmas balls and bright tinsel lay in a jumble inside. She smiled and returned the box to the shelf. She would always try to make holidays special, for Rosie and Wyatt. A few extra decorations would come in handy.
She pulled another box down and opened the lid. As soon as she saw what was inside, she sank to the floor.
Soft, sweet newborn clothes filled most of the box. She sat cross-legged and sifted through the contents with trembling fingers. On one side, there was a plastic bag containing several tiny silk headbands and a miniature bow tie, in cornflower blue. On the other side was a smaller bag containing the twins’ hospital bands.
Paige had probably been smiling when she put this box on the shelf. She’d probably been thinking of that day in the future when she’d show her children the things they’d worn when they were just born. She must have already thought of some of the anecdotes she would tell, about what they were like as babies.
She must have been so happy, thinking about it all.
And now she was gone.
Abby sat on that cold, hard cellar floor and started quaking. When the tears appeared from nowhere, she didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“Abby, do you need help carrying the boxes up?” Jack said from the top of the steps.
She knew he would come down here if she didn’t answer, but she couldn’t talk just yet. She closed her eyes, drew her arms around her middle and rocked. And let herself cry, really hard.
And let herself miss her sister, and all that was lost.
Within seconds, she felt Jack’s fingers against her hair. He didn’t speak, either, but sat down beside her, wrapped his arms around her and rocked with her for a long time. After a while, her tears started subsiding. Only then, did he whisper consoling words against her hair.
She turned, just slightly, to look at him, and realized his eyes were wet. That cosmopolitan man was crying, too—and she knew he’d just claimed another big chunk of her heart. She drew closer to kiss him for his kindness, and he kissed her back, very softly. His lips tasted salty.
They felt warm and vital and alive.
She couldn’t pull away. She opened her mouth and kissed him the way she’d wanted to for a long time. She let the built-up longing take over, and swayed in pleasure at his eager response.
She felt his hands roam down her back, and let hers sculpt the firmness of his chest. When he dipped his tongue into her mouth, she met it eagerly.
He tugged her next to his heat.
She tugged him down to the floor.
The hard, cold concrete was strangely arousing against her back. His hard, hot body was definitely arousing against her front.
Their kisses grew bolder, and so did their hands. Before long, both of their T-shirts were gone.
Jack stopped kissing her and started running his palms over the peaks of her breasts. With soft touches, he teased her nipples until she squirmed, and he smiled at her moans.
She loved his tenderness, but she needed something more elemental. She grabbed his hands and pressed them against her breasts, then inhaled a hissing breath when he moved her bra out of the way and swirled his tongue against her skin.
As his body settled on top of hers, the coldness of the floor seeped painfully into her muscles, but she didn’t care. It suited her mood. She wanted more of his heat.
“I need you,” she whispered, sliding a hand between them to grasp his arousal, leaving no doubt about what she wanted now.
He groaned and pulled her hand up to kiss it, then moved away to slide off the rest of his clothes. She trembled as she watched, wanting him to hurry back and warm her again with his vibrancy.
In the time he was gone, she hurried to undress, too, and was ready when he knelt beside her. As he covered her body w
ith his, he kissed her once, hard, then backed up slightly to search her eyes. “Are you sure, Abby?”
She nodded. She wouldn’t run away this time.
Swiftly and completely, he filled her. She gasped and felt tears dampen her eyes again.
The intimacy was stronger than she remembered. The satisfaction was immediate and intense.
She closed her eyes, sending a few straggling tears down her cheeks as she began to rock with him, welcoming more of his comfort. Soothing more of his sorrow.
This was what she’d needed. To feel this deeply alive.
She moved her hips to his rhythm, clutching his back to keep him close, and never allowing him to slow. His roving kisses warmed her neck and lips, his hot puffs of breath batting against her skin with each growl of approval.
As if they were one, she quickened her pace with his through the sharpening sensations, until she couldn’t see or hear or feel anything except the high, lingering comfort of release.
Then they lay hand in hand on the cellar floor, listening to their breathing slow and staring at the bare white lightbulb above them.
“Jack? Abby? You guys okay down there?”
“We’re fine!” Jack hollered, squeezing Abby’s hand.
They bounded up together. Jack threw her shirt into her hands and pulled his over his head in practically the same movement. When she had her shirt on, he winked at her.
“I wouldn’t bother you,” Sharon hollered again, “but the twins woke up a minute ago, and I couldn’t handle both of them and the stove.”
“Be up in a minute,” Abby shouted, responding to Jack with a roll of her eyes and an embarrassed grimace.
He chuckled and kissed her again, softly and sweetly this time. “Did you find the extra jars?”
She pointed to a separate stack of boxes on the shelf, with bold black marker clearly detailing the contents.
He scooped up the rest of their clothes, handing hers to her before pulling his on, and went to grab a box.
“Take your time,” he said on his way to the steps. “I’ll make up a story about us ransacking the cellar in search of these strawberries.”
Abby waited to dress until Jack was gone. She needed a few minutes to pull her emotions together. Things had gone further than she had intended, but she felt no regret.