by Gina Watson
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Ashton groaned and for the first time when their eyes met, she saw him hopelessly grasping at her, pleading for his life.
***
While Ashton was being casted Harmony had cleaned his room and now worked on his bathroom. She’d dusted the furniture and ceiling fan, and then changed his sheets. The carpets and hardwood had been cleaned. Lucky for him, he was on the ground floor. Still, she heard his labored breathing as Jackson escorted him to his bedroom. She watched from the corner as he hopped and hobbled to the bed, his leg casted and one arm in a sling. His left foot was in a pink cast and his ribs were taped.
“He’s all yours. Crazy bastard won’t take painkillers, but I’ll leave them with you. I’d like him to take two more Advil tonight and again tomorrow morning and evening. Keep the shoulder iced. Call me if you have any questions. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.”
Ashton went down slowly to lie on the bed and she was at his side in an instant adjusting pillows to his liking. Only he didn’t like anything.
“You can leave, Harmony. I don’t need you.”
“You’re stuck with me. I already told Jackson I’d stay to see you through rehabilitation.”
He sighed and covered his brow with his left hand.
“Ashton, what were you doing out there?”
“Setting up an air rigger.”
“What’s that?”
“It extracts oil from the ground.”
“Hmm, well so much for that. Let me know if I can get you anything.”
His grumbling went with her as she walked to the bathroom to finish her cleaning and polishing. As she did so she thought his hair looked oily, not bad per se, but just like he hadn’t washed it. He needed a bath so she readied a plastic tub filled with soap and warm water. She giggled when she thought how much he’d hate it.
***
What the hell was she doing in the bathroom? And she’d cleaned his room! She walked slowly toward the bed with a tub of water, some of it sloshing out and spilling onto the white tank top she wore. Her jeans were old and tight and one leg had a tear across the thigh.
“What are you doing?”
“You need a bath.”
He cocked a brow at her. She couldn’t possibly be serious. There was no way in hell he was going to sit in bed and let her sponge bathe him—wait! What was he thinking? Of course he would let her. She’d be so disgusted at his behavior she’d leave forever.
“Fine! Do your worst.” Despite not wanting to, he felt his lips form a sneer. “Take off my shorts.” That’d be a nice little surprise for her. It was for the good doctor too when he’d cut away Ashton’s jeans.
Her eyes scanned him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, assessing his sincerity or wondering if athletic shorts were the whole of his attire. “What are you waiting for?”
“N … nothing.” She set the tub of water on the floor. Leaning over his waist she slid her thumbs into his shorts and fought with the elastic to pull them down. To her credit she didn’t flinch when she exposed his manhood to her gaze. She stood, but would not make eye contact. Her cheeks were rosy. “I um … I’ll just get a um …” she walked into the bathroom leaving him naked and chuckling on the bed.
From the bathroom she hollered, “By the way, I’m loving the hot-pink cast.”
“Bastard said it was the only color he had.”
She returned with a washcloth and bath gel. The sound of the water tinkling through her fingers soothed him and his eyes closed.
Feminine fingers combed through his hair, entrancing him. He caught her scent of vanilla and was delighted that she still smelled the way she had all those years ago. The warm rag on his face was bliss. Water slowly dripped to his neck and she followed with the rag. She washed his free arm, and then his chest. When she got to his stomach she lingered there before washing his exposed thigh.
“Um … do you want to …” She gesture with the rag toward his erection.
“Miss Clark, you insisted on giving me a sponge bath. If you can’t stomach it you shouldn’t have—”
He moaned involuntarily when she took his hardness with the rag, washing and squeezing. She held him with her fingers while she washed the underside and then she placed the rag to his balls. Her touch was confident and efficient and white hot.
When she was finished she tossed the rag into the bathroom. “Can you sit up?”
He carried out her orders. It was effortful, but he was hopeful he would be on the receiving end of more of her nursing skills. Instead she popped a warm shower cap on his head. “What is that?”
“I’m not quite sure. X-ray tech gave it to me. Said to wash your hair.”
When she leaned into his side to get a good grip on the cap it put her breasts right at his cheek. The motion she made as she massaged his head had her breasts jiggling against his face—all the while she remained oblivious. After his massage she pulled away to read the damn shower cap box.
“It says your hair will be fresh and clean without water. Towel dry. Hmm, kind of nifty, don’t you think?”
“Why are you here, Harmony?”
“I’m here because you need me to be.”
“What were you doing in my house, baking pies, cleaning? Why were you outside today?”
She pulled off the cap and threw a bath towel at him. “Just dry your damn hair.”
Then she was gone. Gone for quite a while, and he was not happy that her absence upset him as it did. She was just as beautiful as she was when they were kids. Even more so now that she’d lost her baby face and developed some curves and angles. He hadn’t recalled her breasts to be so large. No, they definitely weren’t big. They were rather petite. And the curve of her hips and her butt had become quite something. She was a woman now and the thought of all her assets going unused was just wasteful. He hadn’t been able to do anything about his desire when they were teens, but he could now.
Then it hit him—what if she was involved with someone? And she would be, wouldn’t she? She was beautiful, she was smart, she was feisty.
The dreaded strains of Hallelujah rang out louder than he’d ever heard before. Boards creaked from the room directly above him—a phenomenon that hadn’t plagued the house in a while.
No not that, anything but that.
Ashton grabbed at his aching head with his free hand. He couldn’t be with her. It would be a disgrace to his father’s memory and the last thing he needed was his father haunting his dreams. He resolved not to look at her or think of her or touch her. He needed to focus. He must never forget that her father was Scott Clark.
The song and the footsteps stopped and Ashton’s head jerked up. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“The song that was playing. It was loud.”
“I didn’t hear anything.” She precariously carried a tray into his room. She’d never been a graceful one. Shit, there he was thinking of the past again. A sandwich, some sort of veggie pasta salad, and grapes with cut up oranges decorated the tray. Rounding out the food were two Nutter Butter cookies. “Would you like some juice, water, or tea?”
“Whatever.”
She left him to it and he forked some of the rigatoni. It was creamy and seasoned and he devoured the rest of the little side dish. When she returned she carried another tray. She set it down on the table in his room, and then she passed him a glass of tepid water while she cracked the top on a mango tea and sipped it in front of him.
She took her chair and daintily spread a napkin over her crossed legs. She wrapped another around half of her sandwich and took a small bite.
“You’re eating in here?”
“Do you want to eat alone, Ashton? I can leave.”
No, he didn’t want to eat alone. He knew from experience it was depressing as all hell. Actually it was even more depressing than hell. At least in hell one wasn’t alone according to his understanding, but was surrounded by other
sinners.
“So did you know you’re looking at the new principal of St. Mary’s High School?” She smiled her dimpled smile at him. “I’m kind of excited about it actually. It’s a position that couples counseling with education.”
He’d had no idea she was interested in those two things. But he wasn’t supposed to be storing up knowledge of her in any form. “If you’re going to talk, you can leave.” She sighed. The pain of eating alone trumped the pain of being visited by his father during his sleep. He shuddered thinking of the last time it had happened.
He watched her take princess-sized bites of the pasta salad. She’d make a great principal. Her students would love her. So would her staff. She wasn’t a quitter, nor was she afraid to get her hands dirty.
“Do you remember Megan Price from high school? She was a good friend of mine.”
He nodded, noncommittal. “I went out with her and a few other friends last night. She admitted to having a one-nighter a few months back with none other than your brother Cameron.”
“I remember. It actually happened here in this house.”
“She mentioned that. Said you weren’t around.”
“No, I went to sleep in the stables.”
She giggled. “Why? This place is huge. Surely you could have found a room that was out of the way.”
“You’d think. They were quite loud.”
Her hand covered her mouth in a gesture he recalled from when they were younger.
“Oh, my goodness!”
Fuck it—he had to ask, the suspense was killing him. “Do you have a man in your life?”
The jubilance left her face in a flash. She looked down and picked at her salad with a fork. “Last year this time I was making wedding plans.” Her liquid honey eyes were no longer with him, but were wrapped in distant memories.
“What happened?”
She picked up an apple slice and twisted it between her thumb and index finger. “I had to call it off.”
Was she being deliberately vague?
“Do you want to tell me why?”
“Not really, but I will.”
She leaned forward. “Once you’ve experienced true love, there is no substitute. When I realized I didn’t love him I didn’t think it fair to marry him.”
“You didn’t love him?”
“I thought I did, but it turns out I just held him in high regard. I respected him. He was safe. We got on well. But there was no fire, no passion … no pain when we were separated.” She shrugged. “Love is just a bitch.”
Who the hell was she in love with? Did he even want to know? Whoever he was, he was a damned fool.
“So you’re back here then. Working at St. Mary’s.”
“Yeah. I’m glad to be home. It feels good. Like a well broken in pair of jeans.”
Why did she have to make that analogy—damn those jeans she wore! He had to get his mind off of them. “So you were in school, right?—Colorado.”
Her eyes tightened at his statement. She cocked her head and simmered at him. “California.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “What were you studying?”
“Behavioral neuroscience.”
What the fuck was that? “Cool. I figured you’d say education since you’re going to be working at the school.”
“My undergrad is in education.”
“So your Master’s is in neuroscience?”
“My Master’s is in industrial psychology.”
“And there’s a third?”
“A Ph.D. in behavioral neuroscience.” She huffed, seemingly irritated at him. Maybe because he was too stupid to even follow her discussion about degrees.
“That’s an impressive resume. My brother Max has a Ph.D.”
“In what?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“Don’t you know?”
“No, I’m sorry I’m not as intelligent as you are.”
She scoffed. “What?”
“All those fancy degrees you’re throwing around mean nothing to me.”
“I realize that, Ashton.”
“And, like Max, you’re prejudice against anyone who’s not up there in your ivory tower.”
“Wow, that’s hurtful. And so untrue.”
“Untrue? Your face said it all. When I got the state wrong and didn’t recall the name of your degree you narrowed your eyes at me.”
“I narrowed my eyes at you because I …” She tucked her head to her chest. When she raised it her eyes swam with tears. “I was upset that you didn’t even know where I was or what I was doing.”
She wiped a stray tear from her eye and gathered the trays. “Let me know if you need anything. I have those painkillers.”
He felt guilty watching the sway of her hips on her way out, but he couldn’t help himself. Confused, he pondered her admission. How or why would he have known what was going on with her? They hadn’t spoken in almost ten years.
Chapter 8
The days passed, but their cohabitation never got any easier. Harmony had cleaned and dusted and painted so much that her hands had become raw. And still the house needed more work. She’d rented a sander for the floor and couldn’t wait to restain the den. She’d also made some gains at the little cottage. The inside had been completely cleaned and the door restored. The flowerbed was in full bloom and she’d picked out paint colors for the inside.
Today the cast was coming off and though Ashton hadn’t been told, a physical therapist was coming to the estate to do an assessment and give the all clear.
Hearing a knock at the door, she went to greet the therapist. She walked the nice man named Nathan Brown to the patient’s room.
Using her knuckles she lightly knocked on the open door. “Dr. Olivier, Nathan Brown is here to complete the assessment.”
In the front entry, Harmony plugged in the floor sander. She flicked the switch and the low hum of the motor purred to life. The gratification that came with each pass was satisfying and she found the work pleasant. The floor had been so worn that it didn’t take long before she had a quarter of the room sanded.
“Harmony, would you give us a hand in the den please?” Jackson asked.
“Oh, sure.”
Nathan sat writing in a file, but stood when Harmony entered. “I’ve assessed the patient. He handed her a sheet with various printed images depicting range of motion exercises. He’s to do these four times per day. He’ll need help with numbers three, seven, and ten. I’ll be back to reassess in a month when I predict he will be ready for discharge.”
“Okay, we’ll start today.”
“No, we won’t.” Mr. Brown, I’ll pay you cash money to come out here and do my physical therapy.”
“I don’t have room in my schedule for this. You can do these exercises without me. There are people that can’t walk who have more need of my services than you do. I’m only recommending physical therapy so the ankle doesn’t stiffen on you as you age.”
Ashton grumbled something under his breath. Jackson shot Harmony a consoling look.
Nathan collected his things. “I’ll see you next month.”
“Thank you.” Harmony countered.
“Once again Harmony, I leave him in your most capable hands, though I can’t figure out why you’ve signed yourself on for this torture.” Jackson gave Ashton a salute and left.
“Well why don’t we go ahead and knock out one of the four sets?”
“I can do it without you.”
Harmony balled up the sheet of exercises and threw it at the back of his head before she slipped out of the room.
She hummed as she settled into a rhythm with the sander. She was recalling their shared night in the little cottage when the motor stopped. She bent to flip the switch, but it didn’t whir to life. “Hmm.”
“What are you doing?”
She turned on her heels at the sound of a low, measured voice. “What does it look like I’m doing? Plug it back in.”
“Harmony, I know you have zero resp
ect for personal boundaries, but I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“This—Is—Not—Your—House!”
His yell was so loud her ears rang. He jerked the cord around his hand, forming a neat circle. “I’ve been asking you for weeks to leave. Now that I’m walking I’ll only ask you once more—get out of my house.”
“This isn’t a house. It’s a sprawling dilapidated black hole where cowards go to hide.”
She disengaged from the machine, intent on storming out.
“That’s rich coming from you. Rest assured, your conscience can sleep easily tonight. Your guilt has been assuaged. I assume that’s why you stayed during my infirm, to atone for your family’s sins.”
She felt nothing but sorrow at his words—for him, for her, for them. If that’s what he truly thought then he was more gone than she’d thought. To hurt him with a hasty rebuttal would be like offering candy to a child only to withdraw it as they reached for it. “Ashton, I’m not here to ease my guilt. I came because I saw on that day back in March that you were so broken I hardly recognized you. I only left because you had built up so much hatred against me. I thought with time your wounds would heal a little. I was wrong to leave you alone. You’re tormented and I had hoped to help you through it, but you’ve shut me out. The reason I couldn’t go through with my wedding is because I’ve never stopped loving you.”
His grimaced as her admission cut her deep. I’m sorry your father got behind the wheel that night and I’m sorry that it was my father that wrote the report that solidified his fate, but it wasn’t me. I’m here and I want to help you. I still love you, even through it all.”
His jaw was so tight she thought he would shatter teeth. “Don’t you get it? We can never be together because every time I look at you all I see is the noose around my father’s neck.”
She gasped. Nothing more needed to be said, for that statement hurt more than if he’d said he had no love for her.
***
Ashton stood at the front door, listening for the Hallelujah strains, but they never came. A pattern had begun to emerge. Whenever he thought about, desired, or was happy about something she’d done, the song would play. Footsteps creaking overhead would accompany his father’s sickening laughter. Now that she was gone, his father’s ghost had become contented.