As I chewed a bite of tasteless, rubbery lasagna, I considered confiding in Jaime about what had happened in the barn. I wasn’t usually a kiss-and-tell kind of person, but maybe if I talked it out with Jaime, I could make more sense of it.
“Actually, I did a little more than that today.” I filled her in, and she was silent the whole time.
“Wow,” she said once I’d gotten to the part where he yelled at me to leave. “That is messed up.”
“I know.” Giving up on the lasagna for the moment, I took a bag of baby carrots out of the fridge and munched on them instead. They reminded me of the meal we’d had at Pete and Georgia’s house today at lunchtime—a delicious beet salad, everything from their own garden except the goat cheese (but that was made at a Michigan creamery) and some grilled pork tenderloin in barbecue sauce made with local peaches. I eyed the carrots in the bag, perfectly uniform and lacking in any personality whatsoever. Perfect could be so boring.
“And he’s a client,” Jaime reminded me.
“I know. I keep telling myself that. It’s just…I’m drawn to him for some reason, not that I could tell you what it is,” I said irritably. “I can list ten reasons I shouldn’t be.”
She laughed. “I’ll tell you what the reason is. He’s fucking hot. Here’s two more—he’s got a big dick, and you haven’t been laid since Tripp the Drip.”
I groaned. “Thanks for the reminder.” The memory of Jack’s dick pressing into my pelvic bone made my insides tighten.
“Sorry, Gogo. I shouldn’t tease. So what are you going to do?”
“Forget about him. What else is there to do?”
She sighed. “That’s probably for the best. I fully support getting outside your comfort zone, but a widowed Vet farmer who’s also a client might be too far out.”
“Way too far.” So far it shouldn’t matter this much.
“You OK? You need me to come up there for the meeting tomorrow?”
“No. I’m fine.” I tried to sound confident. “I promise this thing will not affect my work.”
“I know it won’t. You’re a perfectionist. That will never change.” She paused. “But did you really feed pigs today?”
That made me smile. “I sure did. And cows and horses and goats. And gathered eggs from chickens. Did you know they lay them from their butts?”
“No. And I really didn’t need to.”
I clucked my tongue. “Jaime Owens, you should really pay more attention to where your food comes from.”
“In this case, I think ignorance is bliss. Call me tomorrow?”
“Will do. Night.”
“Night.”
I spent the rest of the evening preparing for the meeting and trying to keep thoughts of Jack from distracting me.
But it was impossible.
I relived that kiss a thousand times. I felt his hands around my wrists. His tongue on my neck. His thigh between my legs.
Closing my eyes, I pictured him in his little house. What was he doing right now? Was he thinking about me? Did he still miss his wife at night? Did he ever try to ease the loneliness with other women? I felt a vicious stab of envy for any woman who’d been with him, and a pang of longing so fierce it shocked me.
Yes, his mood swings made me dizzy, but he was masculine and strong and real. He was a soldier. A survivor. And he’d worked for what he had—worked long and hard with his own two hands. He wasn’t afraid to get dirty.
That was sexy.
I’d never been so attracted to a man in my life.
But there was nothing I could do about it.
Thirteen
Jack
What the hell had I done?
You know what you did. You let your guard down. You lost control. You fucked up.
I had fucked up. Badly.
I’d been a complete asshole to Margot, who didn’t deserve it. I’d messed around with a woman who was working for me. And I’d betrayed Steph’s memory.
I felt guilty about everything. I needed to talk to someone…someone who knew me, someone who would understand.
It wasn’t that I sought forgiveness—I’d never have that—but more a need to remind myself who I was. So after I finished up in the barn, I went home, cleaned up, picked some of the wildflowers growing in front of the cabin, and drove out to the cemetery.
We’d buried Steph according to her family’s wishes. She and I had never even talked about what we wanted in terms of burial—who thinks of death when they’re young and newly married? And afterward I’d been in such a fog of grief and regret, I’d let her parents and sister make the decisions, everything from where she would be buried to what clothing she’d be buried in.
The only thing I’d asked was that they let her wear her boots.
“Hey, babe.” I lowered myself to the grass in front of her stone and hung my arms over my knees. “Brought you these.” Laying the wildflowers in front of the pink granite marker, I took a minute to pull some weeds that had sprouted around it since last week. I bet Margot likes hothouse roses, not wildflowers.
Tossing the weeds aside, I frowned and put Margot from my mind. Concentrated on imagining Steph here beside me, on all the familiar things I loved and missed about her until my heart ached. “I’m having kind of a rough time. August is always hard for me.”
If I closed my eyes, I could hear her voice, and I always knew what she’d say.
Are you sleeping OK?
“Not much at all.”
What about the meds?
“I don’t take them.”
She’d get exasperated. Jack. You have to! They were helping! You were finally getting a full night’s sleep on them.
“Fuck sleep.”
Did you come here to argue with me? We’ve been over this a thousand times.
“It’s my fault. Everything is my fault.”
You weren’t driving the car that hit me.
I closed my eyes and saw her walking along the highway, headlights careening toward her in the dark, felt the guilt slam into me with the force of five thousand pounds of metal and glass.
You weren’t driving the car that hit me, Jack.
I shook my head, tears in my eyes. “Doesn’t matter how many times you say it. I’m to blame.”
Why do you think that?
In my mind, another car moved through the dark—toward me this time. “You know why. You’re the only one who knows why.”
Stop it.
“‘Just as he has done, so it shall be done to him.’”
Jack! I’ll never believe that. Never. You did what you had to do.
My throat constricted. I tried clearing it, but my voice still cracked. “The price was too high.”
She was silent. Of course she was.
She only ever saw the good in me. And yet what I’d done had cost her life—I was sure of it.
Even on my good days, I carried the burden with me.
The truth was, I didn’t deserve to sleep peacefully. I didn’t deserve the love and sympathy of my family. And I certainly didn’t deserve to give in to my desire for another woman.
No matter how much I wanted to.
Later that night, I was sitting on my back porch watching the sun set with a beer in my hand when Georgia appeared around the side of the cabin. In her hands was a plate covered with foil.
“Hey,” she said. “I brought you some dinner.”
“Thanks.”
She came up onto the porch. “I knocked in front but you didn’t answer.”
“Sorry. I didn’t hear.”
“Everything OK?”
“Fine.” I kept my eyes on a family of ducks in the pond.
Georgia was silent a minute. “You go to the cemetery today?”
How the hell she knew, I had no clue. But I didn’t have it in me to deny it. “Yeah.”
She nodded slowly, and for a second I hoped she’d ask me about being there, or say something about Steph, or just acknowledge her existence—or even her memory—in some wa
y. People rarely did. All they ever wanted to know was how I was doing, how I was feeling. Did they think by avoiding the subject, I wouldn’t feel the pain?
Sure enough, Georgia moved on.
“Have you eaten, or should I throw this in the fridge?” She held up the plate and grinned. “It’s fried chicken. Yum yum good.”
“I ate. Fridge is fine.” I hadn’t eaten, but I wasn’t hungry. I felt sick about what I’d done, but worse, I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss with Margot as I sat here. How much I’d liked the feel of her body against mine, her hair in my hands, her skin under my lips. How much I’d wanted to wrap myself up in her perfect, perfumed, pearl-necklace sweetness and forget for a while. How badly I wished I could.
You can’t. So stop fucking thinking about it.
Georgia sighed, but she went into the cabin and I heard the fridge door open and shut. Then a bottle being opened. “Mind if I have a beer with you?”
“No.” Actually, I wanted to be alone in my misery, but didn’t want to be a dick to Georgia. She was always good to me. Maybe she could distract me from thinking about Margot.
She came back out and dropped into the chair next to me. “How was the rest of your day with Margot?”
So much for that idea. “Fine.”
“She drive you crazy?”
Fuck yeah she did. She still is. “Yep.”
Georgia took a long drink of her beer, then laughed. “I know it’s not nice, but I keep picturing her doing chores in her little outfit with the fancy boots and jewelry.”
A smile threatened. “Farmer Barbie.”
Georgia slapped her leg. “Right? She’s so sweet, though. And it was nice of her to be so interested and offer to help. Don’t you think?”
“She wasn’t that much help,” I muttered wryly.
“I wasn’t either when I first got here. You guys used to laugh your asses off at me trying to get on a horse. Remember?”
“Ha. Yes.” But the memory of us laughing together actually made me a little sad. Steph had been there, too. “We thought you were hopeless.”
She reached over and poked my arm. “But I learned.”
“You learned.” I tipped up my beer, thinking about Margot riding a horse. “Actually, I think Margot knows how to ride a horse.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, she said she owned one growing up. She was pretty comfortable with ours today.”
She looked at me, her head cocked. “What do you know, you two have something in common. You should let her ride you while she’s here.”
I almost choked. “What?”
“I said, you should let her ride with you while she’s here. Maybe one day this week.”
“Oh.” Jesus, now the thought of Margot riding me was stuck in my head. I couldn’t get a moment’s fucking peace! “Maybe.”
“She’ll be over tomorrow morning to go over some ideas.” A not-so-subtle suggestion.
“Hmph.”
Georgia sighed and sat back, evidently giving up for now. We drank in companionable silence as the sun went down, slapping at the occasional mosquito and listening to the crickets. When our bottles were empty, she stood.
“Well, I should get back. Thanks for the beer.”
“Anytime. Thanks for bringing dinner.” I rose too. “It’s dark. I’ll walk you back.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
She knew better than to argue. If it was dark, I never let a woman walk anywhere alone.
When we reached the house, she gave me a quick hug. “Think about coming tomorrow, OK? Nine o’clock. I’m making the French toast casserole you like.”
I moaned. “With the brown sugar and banana? Now you’re just being mean.”
She laughed and patted my cheek. “Not mean, just smart. Maybe I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Maybe.”
“Night.”
I watched her go inside the house and shut the door before turning around to head back. As I walked through the trees, I remembered Margot falling out of the willow this morning, and shook my head. Now that I knew her a little better, I was amazed she’d even managed to climb it. She must have really wanted that better view. I smiled briefly, wondering what she’d thought once she got an eyeful. Had she liked what she’d seen? Then I wondered what she’d thought of the way I’d dropped to the ground when the branch snapped.
She probably thought you were a fucking lunatic, but what does it matter? What she thinks about anything—you, this farm, that kiss—doesn’t mean shit.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About kissing her. About touching her. About getting to know her better. Was she just a spoiled rich girl intent on getting her way or was there more to her? Was she actually attracted to me or was she just messing around with the stable boy, so to speak? Did she think I was an asshole for grabbing her that way? Did she think I was a dick for pushing her away? What would have happened if I hadn’t?
It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter. In a few days she’ll leave town and go back to Detroit where she belongs and you’ll never see her again.
Something tightened in my gut.
I’d never see her again…unless I went to that meeting tomorrow.
Don’t. Seeing her again will only cause trouble.
Maybe. Or maybe by seeing her again and remaining in control of my temper and my desire, I could prove to myself—and to her—that yesterday was a fluke. I’d sit right across the table from her, look her dead in the eye, and force myself to feel nothing.
I was still a soldier, wasn’t I?
I could do it. I had to.
Fourteen
Margot
The first thing that threw me off was that Jack was there when I arrived at Pete and Georgia’s house the next morning. Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, looking a little tired but rugged and handsome and sexy as hell. His t-shirt hugged the muscles of his arms so tight, I went dry in the mouth and wet in the panties. All I could think of were those arms around me yesterday in the barn. Our eyes met—and both of us immediately looked away.
Frantic, I glanced around at everyone. Was it obvious there was awkwardness between us?
“Good morning, Margot,” Georgia chirped, setting a giant glass pan of something that looked and smelled delectable on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Um, yes. That looks amazing.” My heart was racing, and I turned away from the table to set my bag down in one corner of the room, telling myself to stay calm. This was a work meeting, and I was a professional. I had to act like it. Come on, Margot. You’re good at this. Grace under pressure. A few deep breaths later, I went back to the table.
“Why don’t you sit there, Margot?” Georgia said, indicating the chair across from Jack.
Great.
I lowered myself into the chair and smoothed my skirt. Patted my hair. Touched my necklace.
My necklace, where his tongue had been not even twenty-four hours ago. I risked a glance and caught him staring at my fingertips on the pearls. My stomach fluttered.
What the fuck? Now the butterflies made an appearance? I couldn’t handle butterflies right now!
So stop looking at him.
But I couldn’t help it. And when I looked again, I found him looking right back. Eyes hard. Jaw locked. Neck muscles tense. Almost as if he were angry with me. He swallowed. Sat up taller and squared his shoulders.
What the hell? What had I ever done to him?
Unexpectedly, my eyes filled and I furiously blinked the tears away. And something happened—his eyes softened for a second, his lips parting slightly before pressing together again. God, he was all over the place! Did he want to kiss me or punch me?
Just pretend he isn’t here.
It wasn’t easy. Although he said nothing, I felt his angry eyes on me constantly. I was so aware of his presence I might as well have been sitting on his lap. But I kept a mask of cheerful nonchalance on my face, praising the mea
l, sipping coffee with cream, and chatting with Pete and Georgia about New York. Beneath that mask, though, I was a nervous wreck.
“This is delicious! Is it French toast?” Please don’t let my cheeks be too pink.
“Could you pass the cream, please?” Oh God, I said that too loud, didn’t I?
“I love that restaurant! They have an amazing brunch.” Look at his forearms. Christ, they’re huge.
After breakfast was over and the table was cleared, I concentrated on pulling my notes from my bag and preparing to talk. Don’t look at him. Who cares if he’s staring at you like he can’t decide whether to tear your clothes off or tear you to shreds? He doesn’t care about this anyway. Focus on the issues and strategies. You got this. When everyone was seated again, I began.
I’d outlined a three-pronged strategy for building brand awareness as well as increasing revenue. The first involved the basics: they needed a logo, they needed a new website, they needed social media accounts and someone to run them. “I’ve listed contact information for a few graphic designers I know, but I encourage you to shop around for someone local as well,” I said. Brad threw a few names out, Pete asked a couple questions and took notes, and Georgia smiled at me as she bounced Cooper on her lap. Jack, however, sat with his arms crossed and continued to give me the evil eye.
Ignore him. Keep going.
The second prong involved creating content—they had to be prepared to put a lot of work into engaging potential customers and getting people talking. “And I don’t mean ads saying how great you are. I mean pictures and stories about what you’re doing here—the messes and the successes. Show off those funny-looking vegetables! Talk about the time you failed at beekeeping or whatever! Admit your first attempt at homemade pie crust was a disaster! People relate to that. Make them feel something, make them laugh, make them wonder. This isn’t about you—it’s about them.”
Jack snorted.
“I love that,” Georgia said, shooting Jack a look over Cooper’s head. “And I like to write, too.”
“Perfect.” I smiled at her with grateful relief. “Let them get to know you all. Be real, be fun, be visible. They’ll associate your brand with you as people, make that human connection.”
After We Fall Page 8