Chance of Rain

by Lin, Amber

  She rocked against him. “Barry will do it.”

  “Good idea.” He closed his mouth over her clit, swirling with his tongue, sucking her, drinking her, breathing only her as she cried out so loudly that anyone downstairs couldn’t miss it. He lapped at her tender flesh, easing her down from the orgasm until she became too sensitive to touch.

  When the bliss on her face receded to awareness, she flung an arm over her eyes. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  “What, the dream you just had? Sounded like a good one. You relax while I go find breakfast.”

  That got her interest. “You’re going to cook?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. I’m a grown man. Of course I can cook a simple meal.”

  That was a lie. His culinary repertoire included heating up cans of chili and boiling water. He wondered if she would eat spaghetti for breakfast. He checked the fridge and found some leftovers, but that would be cheating. The pantry had granola. Enough said. Maybe it would be worth making the walk of shame downstairs to get some real food.

  Natalie peeked around the corner. She’d put on a tank top and shorts, but that only made her more alluring. “Looking for something?”

  “I don’t suppose you have pancake mix. If it’s just-add-water there’s like a fifty-fifty chance I’ll make it right.”

  She grinned. “No mix. But if you want pancakes I can whip up some batter.”

  He grunted.

  Her smile slipped. “Okay, no pancakes. Omelets, then?”

  “I didn’t want to be an asshole. I showed up at your place uninvited and then fucked you silly.”

  “You mean like I did to you?”

  He snorted. “That wasn’t the same. Anyway, I didn’t want to make you cook for me.”

  She came to stand in front of him. “I like cooking for you. I like doing things for you...I like it when you—” she blushed, “—when you fuck me silly.”

  “You don’t feel like I’m using you?”

  “It makes me hot when you use me.”

  He groaned. “Shit. How hungry are you?”

  “Starving,” she said, her voice husky. Her gaze dipped to his cock, which was at full mast. “Why, you got something for me?”

  That was it. He dragged her back into the bedroom where they worked off their remaining calories until they both collapsed onto the damp sheets.

  “Now I’m really hungry,” she announced.

  “Okay, I’ll go get us something.” He blinked up at the ceiling. “Am I moving yet?”

  “I don’t know, I can’t open my eyes anymore.”

  He was quiet a moment. “I didn’t want to be an asshole like I was before. When I left.”

  “After graduation?”

  “I never explained. I should have.”

  “Lots of kids wanted to get out of here. Not me, of course, but I can see how you’d want something bigger. Something better. I didn’t blame you for it.”

  “Did you blame me for breaking up without an explanation?”

  She sat up, resting on one hand. Her hair spilled over her shoulder like honey. Golden light from the window illuminated her curves. “At the time, I guess. Typical high school angst. I’m not still mad about it. I get it now.”

  “Well, I am. I treated you like shit, and it wasn’t even you I was mad at.”

  Her eyebrow rose. “Who were you mad at?”

  His dad. Joe. “Myself, I guess. I had too much pride. Couldn’t accept being a punk-ass kid. I didn’t get any respect, but then I didn’t deserve any. That’s why I had to leave. I needed to know if I could make it on my own. I needed to prove that I could make it without the farm, without Dearling.”

  “And you did.”

  “Yeah. I went into the darkest, scariest situations and walked back out. It turns out I’m a hard guy to kill. And that’s a pretty low fucking bar to set for my life—staying alive, surviving. That’s not what Dearling is about, though, and you get that. You always knew.”

  “It’s about family.”

  “Even when my dad was alive, it wasn’t like that for us. I didn’t have that.”

  “You had me.” She said it without accusation.

  “And I let you go.”

  “You’ll always have a place here, even if you go away for a while.”

  “I won’t,” he vowed.

  “Okay.” Her smile was small.

  It slayed him to think she didn’t believe it. Maybe not in a discrete thought, but she wasn’t sure of him, of his commitment to this town and to her. As if one day he would walk away and she would, what, wait for him? He couldn’t comprehend that kind of loyalty...or maybe he could, now. Sometimes love was what a person did, like cooking for them or fucking each other silly. Other times love was about not doing, about waiting. About giving him space to grow up and be a man so that he could be her man. She honored him. She awed him.

  He kissed her. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being you.”

  “Is this a roundabout way of asking me to make breakfast?”

  “No, but I’ll remember that one for another time. Besides, it’s lunchtime.”

  She glanced at the clock and groaned. “Oh, man. They’re going to go bananas over this.”

  A short knock came at the door. Natalie bolted for the closet, but Sawyer slung on his jeans and opened the door. The short hallway was empty, but a brown paper bag sat outside the door, smelling delicious. He could get used to Dearling. They had their priorities straight, they really did.

  * * *

  Sawyer set down the box in the empty foyer. He assumed Natalie had already spirited the other upstairs, and a small creak in the floorboards above him confirmed it. He walked to the back door and looked out at the block of mud that was his lands now.

  It had been two weeks since he’d made his clumsy proposal. Two weeks since she’d accepted. He’d set the wedding for as soon as fucking possible, not wanting her to think too much and change her mind. She laughed when he mentioned it, but she didn’t see how much of a bum deal she was getting.

  She’d brought more clothes than she’d needed every night that he’d carted her back from the diner late at night. Barry started opening for her every morning, which was handy because no way was Sawyer letting her out of bed at four in the morning, not when they’d just tumbled into sleep at midnight. Already she was looking for ways to handle the diner, hiring temporary help. Permanent help.

  At first he’d been worried. He knew how much the diner meant to her. It was her link to Gram. Accompanying Natalie on a visit to the nursing home helped him realize how important that was, now that Gram didn’t communicate much. But Natalie’s relief appeared genuine. She spent less time at the diner and in turn had more enthusiasm in the hours she was there. And more enthusiasm in other places, something he’d certainly never complain about.

  No, he didn’t have much to complain about these days. A beautiful woman in his bed. Friends who had come out of the woodwork in town...well, they’d always been there. He’d just been too wrapped up in his inherited surly ways to realize it. And he still had a job waiting for him. He’d already spoken with his commander and a few of his friends who were flying out for the wedding next week. It just wasn’t the job he wanted anymore.

  Hell, every SEAL had to exit the game at some point—early enough to walk away instead of getting carried out. But that was an excuse. He wanted a home with Natalie, the life of a farmer and his lovely wife more than he could breathe. Sometimes it felt that way, as if he was suffocating under the weight of losing this place.

  They found a new memory every day. A nook from his childhood where he used to sit and read. A photograph of his mother from the attic that Natalie lovingly restored for him. Soft footfalls on the stairs alerted h
im to her arrival. His brow smoothed, his tension eased. She drew out the best in him, and he tried to repay that by giving it all to her.

  “The guest room’s shaping up,” she said.

  “You don’t have to go through any trouble. We could give them a bedroll in the barn and they’d be fine.”

  She looped her arms through his from behind and laid her cheek against his back. “All the same, I think I’ll get some new sheets.”

  “Are you sure you want to have the wedding here? It’s so...” Muddy. That was all he could think about, having worked directly in said mud every day. He’d continued working, even though it was clear he’d never finish in time. He couldn’t seem to stop.

  “It’s beautiful. And it’s your family home. Of course we should have it here.”

  Guilt tore at him anew. It was his family’s home, but not only his parents. It was hers. Natalie was family and he’d failed her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly.

  “Hey.” She drew back and came to stand in front of him. Her eyes searched his. “I know how hard you worked these past few weeks. I saw how hard. So you’ll go and tell the committee that. If they don’t listen, it’s their loss.”

  No, it was his loss, and they both knew it.

  He tugged her close for a quick kiss. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

  “Oh, Sawyer. Do you doubt me? I didn’t wait this many years only to back out because of where we live.”

  “It’s more than that. Being a sailor’s wife. A SEAL’s wife.”

  That knock on the door would show up someday. He’d never cared too much before, never felt he had anything to live for. Now he counted each day as something precious, and the thought of her crying for him left him raw.

  Accidents could happen anywhere, to anyone. Hearing about the passing of Joe’s wife had put a damper on any lingering animosity he felt toward his old friend. But being a SEAL was quite literally throwing himself into harm’s way. It was hard training and even harder fighting. It was being gone more than being with her.

  He wasn’t afraid of the work. His cut-up hands could attest to that. But he wanted to come to her every night. He wanted her to kiss the pain away and then return the favor until she begged him to stop.

  “We’ll make it work.” Worry shone in her eyes. “You don’t have to make any decisions now. Let’s wait and hear what the board says.”

  He knew what they’d say. Mrs. Cooper had laid it all out for him that day at the library. Speaking of which, he needed to get those books returned.

  “Come to bed,” Natalie said, with that look in her eyes that he always, always followed.

  Except today.

  “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  There was that sadness again. For him. It made him ache to fix it, to wave a magic wand and make the land fertile and rich. Instead they’d live in a dirt pile. Or they’d move to someplace that wasn’t his “family home.” All because he’d failed her. He’d come too late. The years stretched ahead of him, her quiet disappointment. Just because she’d accept the burden didn’t mean he had to give it to her.

  He nuzzled into her neck, trying to ease her mind. “Go get ready. Because when I get up there, you won’t have a break for hours.”

  She giggled. “Promises, promises.”

  “I promise you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, how about that?”

  “I don’t know,” she mused. “That doesn’t sound like something I should want.”

  “But you do. And don’t touch yourself without me.”

  “You won’t know,” she taunted.

  “Try me.” He’d lick her fingers and find out. He hoped she did disobey him. It would make the game fun. But then, she knew that. She let him be in charge, but she directed the game as much as he did. More, because he was helpless in pursuit of her pleasure. He tried every goddamn thing he could think of, carefully noting the things she liked—and then doing them over and over and over again. He was a simple man.

  She backed up, the wicked smile on her face almost making him chase after her. Almost.

  He watched her skip up the stairs, admiring her—her body, her mind. Her sweetness, something he hadn’t known how much he wanted. Not needed, not really. He’d proven quite nicely he could survive without her, and he’d almost lost what was most important in the process. He wanted more than existence now. Happiness meant giving Natalie the life she wanted.

  A knock came at the door, a little tapped-out rhythm that warned Sawyer who it was before he opened the door. Sure enough, Joe stood there, thumbs in his jean pockets.

  Sawyer had been pretty stiff with the guy when he showed up to take Natalie away, even if he’d only been acting like a good friend and sheriff. Since he and Natalie had gotten together, Joe had come around a few times. He’d always been polite to Sawyer, but a fog of caution colored the air between them.

  “Sorry to bother you so late. Came to pick up Lucy’s needles.”

  “Her what?”

  “Knitting,” Joe clarified. “She mentioned something about a potted plant.”

  “Ah.” Natalie had hosted the quilting circle the night before.

  They combed the living room together until he found a plastic case tucked into the soil of a leafy green plant Natalie had installed when she moved in. He held up the case.

  “Thanks.” Joe took it from him. “I don’t even want to know how that got there.”

  “No, you don’t.” A man didn’t soon forget something like that.

  Sawyer followed Joe to the door, a little frustrated at the stiltedness between them. He had ceased being angry some time ago, but it would be stranger to say so. Still, they had to find some sort of peace. Now that they were practically neighbors, it wouldn’t be a bad thing for them to find some of their old camaraderie. In these past years, he’d had teammates—it would be nice to have his old friend again.

  Joe paused on the porch, looking out. “Can’t even see the town over the hills.”

  “Yup. Like we’re alone out here.”

  Joe’s eyes narrowed. “But you’re not. You know that, right? Luce and I are just a couple miles away. You can call if you need anything. Anytime.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” But Sawyer didn’t read too much into it. The Dearling way was to lend a helping hand, even to a mortal enemy. “Same goes to you.”

  A small smile as he opened the door to leave. “Well, I’ll head out now. Lucy’ll be after me for this for these needles. She’s trying to get some present done before your wedding. Don’t tell her I said that.”

  “Wait.”

  Joe turned back. His silhouette sliced through the dwindling sunset. “Yeah?”

  “About the wedding.” He hesitated. “I’m gonna need a best man.”

  His voice was cautious. “I heard you had navy buddies flying in.”

  “Yeah, and they could serve, all right. But I just thought...I’ve known you longer. I figured you might have my back.”

  In a way Joe hadn’t done before, but they were kids then. Stupid, prideful kids, the both of them. Time had carried them down different paths than either could have expected. What really mattered was whether Joe would stand up for him now, as men.

  Joe looked somber. “I’d be honored.”

  Sawyer nodded, his throat a little tight for comfort. The other man turned to leave, and Sawyer went back inside. He found the library books tucked against a cabinet. Natalie must have straightened them up. As he flipped through the papers, a loose page fluttered to the floor.

  The McClellan land survey again. How the hell had that gotten in a library book, anyway? He supposed one of the McClellan men had been doing the same thing he’d done. Only they’d kept their rights.

  His father had been unable to accept help or deviate from his
stated path in any way. And look how miserable he had been. Sawyer had spent quite a bit of time and energy trying to be different from Wilson Nolan, only to discover he’d become the same person. Insisting on doing everything himself—and succeeding in being completely alone.

  It wasn’t about where he lived or what he did every day, it was trading in a small bit of pride for a larger portion of joy. It was placing someone else above him and thereby finding peace for himself. He wanted to be a farmer, to give that life to Natalie, and he wanted to do that here. But he couldn’t have that, so now he had to do something else. Something new. Something mildly terrifying. Compromise.

  He wondered if the McClellans would be open to selling.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sawyer spent the next week making sure the outside of the house looked in good shape, repainting and wrangling back some mutant weeds. They borrowed chairs and tables from the church and set them up the morning of the wedding.

  Lucy put herself in charge of the affair, ordering Sawyer to stay in his bedroom until it was time. He swore at the cummerbund that refused to stay in place. How had he gotten roped into wearing a tux? Oh, right. Natalie had asked him to. He found it increasingly difficult to tell her no, to anything.

  Mostly it was because he liked making her happy. Yes, the quilting club can hold their bi-weekly meetings at our house. Yes, the poufy bedspread in a color called merlot would be great. And yes, we probably should break it in with some extra-dirty sex.

  He hoped his wedding gift would make her happy, as well.

  It would have taken too long to complete the purchase of the McClellan farm. Besides, he wanted her with them when they signed the title. To purchase it in her name as well as his.

  He’d inquired about the land and learned that though the family lived in Dallas, they had continued to use up their water allotment each year. Much like the address on a driver’s license or a child’s library card, no one bothered to challenge the status quo unless it came to their attention.

  Now he had an offer on the table and the real estate agent said acceptance would likely come within the week. They could live there, farm there, just like they would have here. Without the threat of revocation, he could spend the next year prepping the land and be ready for next year’s planting.