Chance of Rain

by Lin, Amber

  “How long would you stay?”

  Surprise flickered in his eyes.

  She pressed on. “Will you show up at the diner tomorrow and we’ll tell everyone you’re my boyfriend now?”

  A brief pause. “No.”

  “No,” she repeated, her voice tinged with bitterness. “So I’m good enough to cop a feel in the dark but not for anyone to know. Well, sorry. Not interested.”

  “It wasn’t like that. You said you understood.”

  Had she? “I knew you were unhappy here. I just didn’t know why. I wish you would’ve opened up to me.”

  As she spoke the words, she realized it had been too much to ask of a frustrated, angry teenage-boy-turned-man. She ducked her head, confused and dismayed.

  He wasn’t so easily deterred. He reached out as if to take her hand, instead trailing curled fingers up the side of her hand. She didn’t even know that was a sensitive place, but his whispered caress lit a hundred nerve endings from her pinky to her wrist, like a shooting star streaking across the blank, dark expanse.

  “Can I stay the night?”

  Part of her thought, finally. After all these years. Finally.

  But Barry’s words had not only been true for Sawyer but for her. You don’t realize how much you changed while you were gone, or how everyone moved on without you. She had changed while Sawyer had been gone, she’d moved on, and she was not eager to offer herself up for rejection once again. Was she? Twelve years ago she hadn’t been enough to keep him. Grasping at smoke would only make it disappear.

  “I don’t—” she stuttered. “I can’t—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “It’s okay. Don’t explain.”

  Wearing a small smile, faintly rueful and sweetly understanding, he left.

  She peered out her window, watching the headlights of his truck break the darkness and drive away. Had she made a mistake? With each minute, each mile that fell between them, her body cooled, and her heart ached. The look in his eyes rubbed her raw until she finally identified it. Not only longing, not only lust—but loneliness.

  A cup of hot tea and a book failed to relax her. Her focus was snagged by mental snapshots—Sawyer’s grateful smile when she fed him, the solemn, yearning look in his eyes when he’d asked to come in. She picked up the phone and hit the number on speed dial. When they answered she said, “Dr. Carmichael, please.”

  A few minutes later, the soothing tones of her grandmother’s doctor came on the line.

  “Hello. Natalie?”

  “Hi, yes. I was calling to see if maybe...if she’d been lucid today and maybe I could speak to her.”

  “She’s been sleeping for two hours,” Dr. Carmichael said gently.

  “Right.” She knew that. Her grandmother slept more these days and it was already so late.

  “Are you doing okay?”

  The doctor did more than care for her grandmother. She’d also been Natalie’s counselor for the first few months after Gram moved in.

  “I just wish I could know she was happy. Or...happy enough.”

  “Your grandmother is doing well for her condition. And I think, if she were lucid, she’d want to know the same thing about you. Is Natalie happy?”

  There was a question. “Happy enough.”

  She made her excuses after that, promising to sit down with Dr. Carmichael for a session the next time she visited Gram.

  The truth was, she didn’t know how to be happy. She could be friendly and cheerful, but those were surface feelings. She wanted something deeper, something that touched a chord inside her until she vibrated with the joy of it. Maybe she asked too much from life, but she’d seen that it was possible. Those glimpses refused to let her settle for less.

  Like laughing in the darkened diner with an old friend. Like tending to ducklings, an ordinary act that filled her heart to the brim.

  In her bedroom, she pulled a shoe box from beneath her nightstand. As she lifted the lid, the collection of newspaper clippings and photos fluttered from their pile. Some of them were from her and Gram, others about the people and events of the town. But buried within were articles she’d found about Sawyer. Commendations and awards. Only one had a picture of him. A small, grainy picture with smudging black ink. Strong, even features that could have been any sailor, except that she’d recognized him immediately.

  He stared solemnly at the camera. Unflinching, the way he faced everything. He thought of himself as an outsider, but he embodied every value of these hills. And Natalie held herself back from him for fear of rejection. A coward, really. She wouldn’t really deserve him unless she was willing to risk something. She couldn’t expect to have that joy if she wasn’t willing to reach for it.

  Chapter Four

  Clouds hung heavy over the plains as Natalie drove out of Dearling’s city limits. Maybe she should turn around, but a whiff of the cherry pie from the passenger seat steeled her nerve. Besides, she had already changed into this cute sundress—sadly no longer weather appropriate—and refreshed her makeup after getting off at the diner.

  “Excuses,” she chided under her breath.

  One week. Seven days since he’d been in her apartment, since he’d propositioned her and she’d turned him away. Make sure he knows he’s welcome, Barry had said. And she’d done just the opposite.

  The only reason she knew he was still in town was because people told her about his trips to the hardware store, the lumberyard. He’d made it all the way around town and back without ever stopping at the diner again.

  She was shut out of his life again, only this time she’d been the one to close the door. So damn worried about being rejected that she’d rejected him.

  Her trusty old car whined as it rolled to a halt in the gravel driveway. A few drops splattered her window, distorting her view. White paint had faded to mottled gray, the green foliage like blue-green veins around a still heart. The house looked empty, ominous against the angry swaths of clouds. Her stomach fluttered with nerves that she preferred to attribute to the impending storm.

  Holding her skirt down against the wind, she carried the pie to the door. She knocked, but only the approaching rumble of thunder answered. “Sawyer? Are you in there?”

  Uneasy, she crossed the porch. Maybe he’d gone out to clean up the fields. But even the most dedicated farmer would take a break during a storm like this. Besides, Sawyer would be the first to deny he was a farmer of any sort.

  With one last glance at the dark windows, she turned back to her car. The barn door slammed against the wall, snagging her attention. He could be in there. She set off across the small distance as the wind whipped her hair into a frenzy, ruining her hasty attempts at styling only an hour ago.

  Better that he see her for what she was, she tried to reassure herself. Every morning she did up her hair and put on her makeup, but inevitably by closing time it was falling down, her face bare and tired. Neatness was important, looking presentable, even pretty. But she was the girl next door, and Sawyer had never been satisfied with what this town had to offer. She was good, comfortable, safe—and either he wanted that or he didn’t.

  The barn looked deserted and sinister with the door flapping open in the wind, but he had to be around somewhere. What if he had gotten hurt? With no one around for miles. Maybe she should just step inside to check.

  * * *

  Sawyer let his head thunk against the coarse wood planks behind him. Damp wind reached through the slats, twining blessed coolness around his overheated body. He’d stumbled here, exhausted, more comfortable in the cold than he was in the warm, empty house. The old weather-worn building looked the same as it had when he hid here as a child. And now here he was as an adult, still hiding.

  Fucking humiliating.

  He didn’t need this. Outside this town he was competent, smart. Here h
e was continually reminded how stupid he could be. Why had he pushed himself on Natalie? Her dismissal couldn’t have been more clear. And now, in an effort not to make her uncomfortable with his presence, he denied himself his singular comfort of the diner.

  It was for the best that she didn’t see him when he was like this. He wasn’t sure he could restrain himself around her anymore. She made him a little crazy in those dresses that passed for a uniform. She always looked like she’d walked right out of a 1950s catalog. He really shouldn’t find it so hot. Her sweetly curving smile made him think of cookies fresh from the oven. Her legs, long as the day, made him want to bend her over the counter.

  The hair on his arms prickled. He squinted but could make out nothing. Still, his instincts were well honed.

  Someone else was here.

  Impossible. The only upside to living in his childhood house was its isolation. There should definitely not be anyone on his land, in his barn. Maybe it was a raccoon, driven inside by the storm.

  A creak came from one of the heavy stall doors—unlikely to be a rodent. The barn had long been empty of any livestock. He palmed the knife he always kept in his left boot, wishing he’d thought to bring the Glock he had stashed in the closet.

  It might have been the wind before, but then a twig cracked on the ground. He smelled something...sweet? God, he must have been more fucked up from his tours than he thought, because this was batshit. It smelled like warm ovens and forehead kisses—like home, except his house had never smelled like that.

  A shadow separated from the stalls, and this at least he recognized. An intruder, an enemy. Though he had never lost sight of where he was, his body was strung out like in the middle of a combat mission. His vision narrowed to a tunnel. Blood pumped thick and fast through his overheated veins.

  Moving silently along the wall, he circled his prey. Whoever it was stumbled into an old pile of lumber and grunted softly. Sawyer took the opening, catching the intruder off balance, pushing him face-first into the wall.

  A splat sounded beside him, and the strong smell of hot cherries suffused the air.

  Shit.

  He maintained a light grip on the slim arm he held, afraid to let go and confirm his mistake. The body had stopped moving but was breathing hard.

  “Sawyer?”

  “Christ, Natalie. What are you doing out here?”

  Her voice was small. “Bringing you pie?”

  He forced himself to release her, to relinquish her warmth in favor of the hard wall and harsh wind. “Jesus. Do you know what could have happened? I had a knife. What if I had a gun?”

  Her shadow straightened and smoothed its skirt. “I’m surprised you don’t. You’re a Navy SEAL living in Texas. I thought it was mandatory.”

  “I could’ve been anyone. A rapist. A serial killer.”

  “In your barn?” she asked dubiously.

  An exasperated sound escaped him. “You’ve been living in this town too long. It’s made you soft.”

  He felt her hackles rise, her ire vibrating in the air. “Or maybe the problem is you’ve been gone too long. Not everywhere is scary. Not everything is a fight.”

  “Okay.” He hadn’t meant to offend her—nor did he want to make this about him. “Calm down.”

  “Calm down?” She made an indignant slashing motion, stepped to the side...and planted her foot in a pile of what he strongly suspected was cherry pie. She clapped her hand to her forehead. “Oh, no. This is not how it was supposed to go.”

  Despite himself, remorse panged in his chest.

  He preferred to be left alone out here. If she violated that, she deserved what she got, including a footbath in cherry filling. But he knew she was only trying to be nice, to welcome him back into the small, slightly suffocating fold of Dearling. Plus, he was pretty bummed about not getting to eat that pie.

  “Hang on.” He found an empty tin feed tub, rinsed it out and brought it back half-filled with water. Wobbling, she put her foot inside. He should have left her to it, but something compelled him to kneel and finish the job. He ran his fingers along her slender foot, cheated a little and caressed her calf. Her skin was a pale moon against the black night, impossibly smooth, some otherworldly concoction of silk and cream. Would she notice if he had a taste? Probably, though that didn’t stop him from leaning in.

  Her foot in the water and his slippery hands on her skin created quiet, wet sounds that reminded him of receiving oral sex. His dick hardened as if he was a teenager again. He got excited over a bit of skin inside her ankle as if he’d never touched a woman at all.

  It was dark, so he didn’t have to be embarrassed. Besides, she was beautiful. What did she expect to happen, driving around the countryside in her sexy-adorable dresses, bringing crazed men pie?

  He really needed her to go. She’d made it clear at her apartment that they weren’t going sleep together. Upon reflection and after beating off three times that night, he’d decided she had been wise.

  Don’t fraternize with the locals. That was the rule in the SEALs, and he’d do well to apply it here. But for the first time, he feared his body would overrule his brain. Maybe because he’d always known, always been sure that Natalie wasn’t the enemy. He’d picked a fight with the whole goddamn world, but she always ended up on his side.

  * * *

  Would it be rude to invite herself inside the house? Washing off in a barn was well and good, but Natalie didn’t want her feet to be sticky on the drive home. She wasn’t sure the rinsing had been all that thorough either. It had been hard to pay attention...or to breathe. The sight of Sawyer kneeling in front of her, touching her, was distracting.

  At least she had shaved her legs in the shower this morning. She’d known she was visiting him tonight and, hey, it could happen. Sex wasn’t why she had come. Not entirely.

  She curled her toes in the cold water. “Do you maybe have some soap? I’m afraid I’m still a little dirty.”

  Her voice had gone sultry low on the last words, and he must have caught it because his own was husky. “Hang on a sec.”

  He handed her a bar of something that smelled very strongly of chemicals. She wasn’t a snob about her cosmetics, but this was pushing it. Still, she didn’t want to be rude and refuse. She bent over and sloshed it around in the water for a minute, pretending.

  She looked longingly out the barn doors to the house. The water really was cold. “Thank you for that...soap. But the problem is I’m so wet.”

  “What?” he said, sounding choked.

  Confession: that one had been on purpose. She wasn’t opposed to the occasional tease when warranted. With a man like Sawyer it was always warranted.

  Innocently, she lifted a dripping foot to illustrate. “I’m guessing you don’t have any towels out here.”

  “I...no.”

  “Maybe we could take this inside?”

  “I don’t think so.” She heard fabric rustling, and then he lifted her out of the tub and set her down on something soft. Her hands had held on to his shoulders midflight, and she let her palms rest there even as she stepped lightly, drying off her feet. His bare, tense shoulders, because—oh, yes—he was shirtless. If she squeezed her hands a little, it was only because she needed help balancing.

  Up close, she could smell his musky scent, feel his warmth, the tickle of his breath. Little sparks set off in her core, reminding her of her purpose here. A fling. No, more than that. A real relationship but with an expiration date. To snatch a few weeks of happiness from the ether and hope it would be enough.

  “Listen.” She licked her lips. “Do you think—”

  His look was knowing...and stark. “No.”

  “You know I like you,” she continued, unwilling to stop now. Because they wanted each other, and one of these days, that was going to be enough. “I’ve always lik
ed you. And I think you like me too, especially after the other night.”

  Stop babbling!

  “I thought maybe we could go out to dinner sometime. Someplace that isn’t the diner.”

  There was a pause. A long pointed one. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

  Ouch. Message received. If her stomach suddenly felt hollow, it was only because she was hungry. And tired. And lonely.

  Oh, Sawyer.

  She pulled away, struggling to get her sandals back onto her still damp feet. A hot tear fell down her cheek, but thankfully it was too dark for him to see.

  He seemed to know anyway. “Wait, Natalie. It’s not what you think.”

  Of course it was, and it made her angry that he would pretend otherwise. She hadn’t been enough for him then, and she wasn’t now. “You mean it’s not because of the way I look. Because of the way I am. Because I bring you pie. Don’t deny it!”

  Babbling again.

  He threw up his hands, all confused male. “I’m not.”

  “I should have skipped the baked goods, I see that now. I should have spent more time on my hair or bright red lipstick. I should have come here naked.” Okay, that would have been weird. “I mean, with a robe or a trench coat or something. See? I don’t even know how to do this. I don’t know how people do it.”

  “How people do what?” He sounded strained. She was pushing him too far. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t see her that way. It wasn’t his fault she was the perpetual friendly waitress, the confidant. But, dammit, she had hoped.

  Her eyes pricked. She stifled a sniffle. “To make you want me.”

  He turned away, his voice muffled. “I want you, Natalie.”

  “I’m sorry I went off on you like that.”

  His hands rested against the low wall of one of the stalls, his head bowed. “Jesus, I want you, but it’s not that simple.”

  The words washed over her, cool replenishment for her flagging courage. She wasn’t alone in this strange sea of need and desire. They might not step off on the same beach, but now they might be content to drift together.