Preston's Honor

by Mia Sheridan

  And this time, we couldn’t pretend they didn’t exist or risk lapsing into the silence that had almost been the death of us. Almost. But not quite. There was still life in us, a small spark that had never gone out despite the cold that had engulfed us. The hope of that spark filled my chest so full so suddenly that I sucked in a breath and looked up at Preston.

  He smiled softly and turned me quickly, causing me to laugh just the way he had the first time he’d done that. “Promise me you won’t stop dancing with me, Preston. No matter what. If we just have this, I think . . . I think we can make it through anything. Just being held by you . . .”

  “I should have. I’m sorry. Know what else I should have done?”

  “No, what?”

  “I should have pulled you out of that guest room and asked you to share my bed with me. Even if I was asleep by eight and up at four that whole damn year. We could have shared each other’s warmth for those hours, and it would have helped us both.”

  “I would have said yes in a heartbeat.”

  Preston stopped moving and brought his hands to the sides of my head, weaving his fingers into my hair. “I know that now.” The words made my heart melt, but the picture of us tangled together in his bed—especially with his body so close to mine as it was in that moment—also made my body heat. My breasts were full and achy, and I felt the stirrings of desire between my legs. My young body had experienced the same things on that night in this Laundromat, and the feelings had made me confused and uncertain. I hadn’t known enough to realize that Preston’s body was reacting to me in the same way.

  I looked up at his darkened eyes and felt the hard ridge of his erection at my lower belly and smiled softly. I knew now. “I wanted you to kiss me that night, too,” I admitted.

  “You did?” His voice was deep and slightly throaty, and when I pressed myself against him, he hissed in a sharp breath.

  “Oh, yes.”

  His hands tightened on my scalp and I tipped my head backward so he had full access to my mouth. “Like this?” His head lowered, his lips met mine, and we both moaned. He slid his tongue into my mouth and I felt my brain go hazy at the taste of him.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and into the hair at the base of his skull, and he moaned again, a sexy sound of masculine pleasure that shot straight to my core and made my underwear feel wet and far too tight. Yes, like this. God yes, just like this.

  “You make me weak in the knees,” he whispered between kisses before pulling me even closer, his tongue slipping into my mouth once again. Our kiss went wild as our hands moved over each other and small gasps and moans filled the room. Neither one of us attempted to be quiet. We had the place to ourselves and were mostly hidden from view of the street by the rows of washers in front of us and the tinted glass of the front window.

  Preston walked me backward two steps and my back hit the folding counter and I let out a small cry of surprise that turned into a moan of bliss when his hands moved to my breasts and he circled my nipples over my uniform as he continued to kiss me. “Oh God, yes, Preston, I—”

  His lips broke from mine with a tortured sounding groan, and he set me away from him. I felt foggy and flushed and tingly with need, and I shook my head slightly, attempting to get my bearings, to drag my mind out of the lust-fog it had been in.

  Preston was staring at me with a pained expression, his chest heaving as if his heart was beating so rapidly it had stolen his breath. “We’re taking things slowly this time if it kills me,” he murmured. “And it just fucking might.”

  I couldn’t help laughing softly at his grimace, but I was in pain, too, and so my laughter was short-lived. “We don’t have to take things too slowly.”

  He let out a shuddery breath. “Yes, we do. I want to do things the way I should have done them the first time. And when we make love it’s going to be in a bed, and I’m going to take my time.”

  “Tell me more.”

  I saw him visibly swallow, watched the movement of his tanned, slightly stubbly masculine throat and for a moment became enthralled with that small part of him. I’d never had a chance to explore him. There must be so many unexpected places on his male body that were sexy and sensitive. I wanted—needed—to know them all, to find the small spots that affected him most.

  “I,” he started, and I forced myself to tear my eyes from his neck to his eyes, “I want to touch every inch of you. I want to drive you crazy with my mouth and my tongue until you don’t think you can take another minute of it. I want to slide into you and feel you clenching and shuddering around me. I want to make love to you in every way possible, and find a few new ways, too.”

  Lust surged through me, and my breath picked up. “How many ways are there?”

  Preston chuckled, but it ended on a short groan. “A few. Or so I’ve heard.”

  I laughed, too, but it was laced with a small thread of jealousy. I wanted to know how many he’d tried—but I didn’t dare ask because I didn’t really want to know.

  I sighed, but nodded. I was turned on and frustrated, but I wanted to start over, too, and so if he meant to take things at a leisurely pace, I guess that had to be in all areas or it wouldn’t work in quite the same way.

  Our heartbeats slowed and after a minute, he pulled me back into his arms and moved me to the next song on the still-familiar playlist. I laughed. “I can’t believe the owner hasn’t changed the playlist in this place.”

  “Of course he hasn’t. The eighties never end here.”

  I leaned back to look in his face, raising my eyebrows in surprise. “You remembered.”

  “Ah, Annalia, I remember everything when it comes to you.”

  Feeling happy and hopeful, I smiled, resting my head against Preston’s chest as he pulled me closer and George Michael ruminated on all the harm one careless whisper could do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Preston

  It was harvest time for several of the crops and therefore necessary that I work from dawn until dusk. Annalia had two days off mid-week, and I asked if she wanted to come over to watch Hudson while I worked. Tracie might enjoy the days off. Annalia’s agreement was slightly breathless as if she was surprised, but I heard a hesitant edge to her voice and wondered why. But I supposed it was normal that she was a little nervous—the last time she’d spent an entire day caring for him, he’d been an infant. It would take some time for her to become used to all the ways he’d changed—and all the ways caring for him was different now than it had been.

  The timing was especially good because my mom would be out of the house, working at one of the charities she volunteered for in town for the next few days, so Lia would have the house to herself and plenty of bonding time with Hudson.

  As I worked outside that day, I thought about Lia and how good it had felt to hold her in my arms in the Laundromat, how kissing her had brought the same torrent of heat to my veins it always had, and how the taste of her still caused me to lose at least a little control. But I was bound and determined to keep a grasp on it this time, not just for her, but for myself as well. I wanted to ease us both back into a physical relationship. I wanted to explore slowly, to learn intimately, and to experience the steady—probably somewhat painful—buildup that we’d denied ourselves for so many years.

  We couldn’t go back—not really—but we damn sure could recreate at least a few experiences. My body throbbed hotly with the thought, and I took a deep breath, focusing on the work beneath my hands. The physical labor of farm work was hard enough without being in an uncomfortable state of arousal, too.

  Most of the crops we grew on our farm, like the lettuce I was helping pick today, had to be harvested gently—completely by hand—and I still couldn’t afford the labor force I really needed. Next year we’d be fully back in business, God willing. But I figured every farmer should know the back-breaking labor of working his own land—and what the realistic expectations should be—if he was going to be the kind of boss his employees were loyal
to. My father had taught us that work ethic. Experience had hit it home. Hard.

  “Farming is not for the faint of heart,” my father used to say as we stood on the edge of the farmland, looking out over it. He’d squeeze my shoulder, though, and when I looked up at him, the look on his face held such profound pride, it would cause my heart to swell in my chest.

  I glanced toward the house where I knew Lia was probably feeding Hudson his breakfast. She was there now, but she’d leave tonight and go back to the apartment she shared with her mother. I didn’t like it. But I was also hesitant to ask her to move back in with us. I’d done that once—wanted her close, wanted to know she was safe. As I examined my motives, I wasn’t impressed. Had it been for mostly selfish reasons? Had I felt satisfaction that she was okay by her physical presence alone? Maybe it had simply made it easier for me to ignore her emotional needs completely. Wrong. Very wrong.

  There was also the matter of my mother. I was more aware now of the ways in which she’d undermined Lia and made her feel unwelcome while I’d been emotionally checked out and physically absent. I wouldn’t let that happen again without stepping in. But it was also a problem that my mother’s mere presence would interrupt the alone time Lia and I needed . . . and that I craved. And that made me feel just a little bit guilty because whether she loved it or not—and I didn’t think she ever really had—that farmhouse was my mother’s home.

  I stood, taking a moment to stretch my back, listening to one of the workers make a joke in Spanish about the size of the heads of lettuce in reference to his wife’s anatomy and laughed as I shook my head. One thing about working in the fields for almost two years now: I was practically bilingual. At the very least, I knew how to tell a joke in Spanish—some dirty, some just laugh-out-loud funny.

  Chuckling, I turned and looked in the direction of the newly formed lake. There was a wide-open area nearby, next to where the strawberry crops began. I stood for a moment simply staring at that space, picturing a smaller version of the old farmhouse, two bedrooms, maybe three, with a porch that faced the mountains. Even considering such a thing probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do, financially at least. I’d have to take out a loan—but the house we lived in now was paid off and, hell, most people had mortgages. It could be done.

  A buzz of excitement moved through me, but so did a prickle of doubt. I couldn’t help picturing the way Lia’s room had looked the morning she’d left—the bed still made and the closet empty—and anxiety filled my chest at the memory alone. God, I loved her. I wanted her. I just had to learn to trust her again.

  But for now, the fear was still there—the terror that things would get hard and she’d leave again, and it would fucking wreck me like it had the first time. Only this time it’d be a hundred times worse because I didn’t think I’d be able to muster the anger I’d once used like a shield against the pain, the loss.

  Time. That was just going to take time. That was the point of taking things slowly. No doubt her uncertainties about me lingered as well. How could they not?

  A few hours later, just as I was getting ready to head inside for lunch, I looked up and saw Lia come out the back door with Hudson on her hip. She held up her hand and waved and my heart lurched to see them standing there. My family. The doubts I’d had earlier melted away, and I made my way toward them, walking through the dirt of one of the now-empty lettuce rows.

  I squinted as I approached them, and Lia’s smile filled my heart. Hudson babbled something and reached his arms toward me. “Oh no,” Lia said, pulling him back. “Daddy’s as covered in soil as an earthworm. He has to wash up first.” She tickled Hudson’s tummy to distract him as I passed by and headed into the house, the sound of Hudson’s squeal of laughter following behind me.

  Inside, Lia had made me a sandwich, and it was sitting on the table with a large glass of iced tea. I washed up quickly and sat down, practically devouring the sandwich in two bites.

  Lia put Hudson in his high chair and smiled over at me. “I made a few if you’re still hungry after that one.”

  I finished chewing and took a drink of iced tea. “Oh, thank God.”

  She laughed, grabbing another sandwich wrapped in tin foil out of the refrigerator and set it in front of the plate that now only held a few bites of sandwich. “I’ll give you one to take back out with you, too. I remember how hungry you get when you’re working outside all day.”

  I paused, looking at her, really seeing her. “Thank you,” I said, my voice sounding raspy. I couldn’t help it.

  She tilted her head as she studied me. “For what?”

  “For everything you did for me while I was breaking my back to save this farm. I never thanked you and so . . . thank you. Thank you so much, Annalia.”

  The truth was, though I wouldn’t wish to relive the experience of her leaving for anything in the world, being left to father Hudson all by myself for a time had impressed upon me what hard work it was caring for a child. Lia had done it virtually alone for the first six months of his life while also caring for me in a hundred small ways I’d never even acknowledged.

  Lia’s eyes softened as she stared at me and then her lips turned up and she nodded, the movement so small I would have missed it if I’d blinked. “You’re welcome.”

  I returned to my lunch as Lia put some peas and carrots, small bits of cheese, and some macaroni onto Hudson’s tray, and he started picking it up and shoving it into his mouth with gusto. Lia watched him with amusement for a moment before looking over at me.

  “How’s it been going with him today?”

  She looked pensive for a moment. “Good.” She looked back at Hudson and smiled again. “We’ve been practicing walking. He’s got it if I hold on to him with one hand but as soon as I let go, he goes down. Tomorrow, though. He’s going to be walking by tomorrow.”

  I grinned. “Don’t encourage it too much. I hear it’s a whole new ballgame once they’re mobile.”

  She laughed softly. “You’re probably right.” She leaned toward him. “Then you’re going to get in all sorts of trouble, aren’t you?” He stopped eating just long enough to give her a messy grin before going back to his food.

  “Preston . . .” she started.

  I paused, mid chew. “What?”

  She picked up a napkin and wiped her hands on it, turning slightly toward me. “I was talking to my boss, Rosa, yesterday and, well, it’s an annual tradition that Abuelo’s makes three hundred tamales for the A Taste of Linmoor event on Sunday, but the kitchen is going to be closed this weekend because they’re upgrading several large appliances. Saturday is the day they usually prepare the food.”

  “Okay?”

  “Well, they’d make the tamales in Rosa’s kitchen, but it’s so tiny. I’ve been there. Three people can barely fit comfortably in it. And the other staff live in small houses or apartments, too.”

  “You want to offer them the use of this kitchen?”

  She let out a breath. “I don’t want to impose, and I know your mother would have to approve of it, too, but—”

  “It’s fine, Lia. My mom’s gone this weekend anyway. She’s going away with a couple of friends to San Francisco. I don’t know what time she’s leaving on Saturday, but I assume she’ll be gone early. She’s not back until Monday.”

  “Oh . . . and you’re sure you wouldn’t mind? Will you be working?”

  “Off and on. But no, I won’t mind.”

  “Thank you,” she said, so sweetly that my heart jumped. Her eyes were cast down but her cheeks were flushed, and she looked so pleased. That was a look I hadn’t seen on her before. And then it hit me. It was the first time she’d ever asked me for anything. In our whole lives, in all the time I’d known her, in all the years, she’d never once asked me for a single thing. The realization shocked me slightly.

  “You’re welcome. Lia . . . I . . . well, you don’t have to work at Abuelo’s. I’m still paying for your mom’s apartment, and I’m happy to keep it up.” Even if she wasn�
��t living with me right now, and even if we were moving slowly with our own relationship, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the mother of my child waitressing tables. It seemed . . . wrong somehow.

  She shook her head. “No, I like it.” She looked away and then back at me. “And I’m going to pay you back, for what you did for my mama, and for me.”

  I stared at her. “Pay me back? I don’t want that.”

  She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “Well, it . . . it means something to me and so I’m going to anyway. It’s . . . right.”

  I released an impatient breath. This wasn’t something I was willing to argue about. I’d take any money she gave me and put it in Hudson’s college account, the one I hadn’t contributed enough to over the past year since every cent I’d had went back into the farm.

  I started on the second sandwich, watching Lia as she watched Hudson, a small smile on her face.

  “Do you want more?” I asked.

  “More what?”

  “Kids.”

  Her eyes flew to mine and her face seemed to pale slightly. “I . . . no. I think one is enough.”

  I couldn’t help the disappointment I felt. “Really? You wouldn’t want to give him a brother or sister someday?”

  A line formed between her brows, and I hated that she looked so troubled. “I don’t . . . I mean, would you really want to go through all that again?”

  I took a sip of tea, watching her, the muscles of my stomach clenched. I didn’t want to take this personally, but I couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to have any more babies with me. I remembered her telling me she hadn’t thought she was a good mother, but like I’d told her at the time, she’d been wrong. I hadn’t been around a whole lot, but I knew she was devoted, saw the motherly adoration in her eyes when she looked at Hudson. It had just been the circumstances that had made those first six months of his life so difficult for her. “I know it was hard, and the timing wasn’t great, but it wouldn’t be the same again, Lia,” I said quietly. “It would be completely different. I’d make sure of it.” I’d be here with you. Emotionally and physically. Fuck, how I’d let her down.