Jessie Belle: The Women of Merryton - Book One

by Peel, Jennifer

  “Why didn’t you ask me?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “A girl gets tired of rejection.”

  “I’ve never rejected you, Jessica.”

  That was a matter of opinion. I slid my cookies into the fridge. “So what are you getting at?” I asked into the refrigerator.

  He came behind me and closed the refrigerator door. I turned and backed up against the cool stainless steel and he leaned his shoulder against it and close to me. I caught my breath as I looked up at him. I had forgotten how sexy he was. His gray eyes almost looked like charcoal burning as they drifted over me. For a brief moment I remembered why I fell in love with him. He affected me like no one ever had, like no one but him could.

  “Jessica,” he said barely above a whisper, “I wish you would ask me.”

  That was his way. He wouldn’t volunteer. He wanted it to be my choice—no, I think he needed it to be my choice.

  “What about work?” I managed to say. He was literally taking my breath away.

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  “There will be practices, and when the season starts sometimes we play twice a week.”

  He looked at me as if to say, “And?”

  I thought for a moment more and stared into those eyes of his. He leaned in a little bit closer. I could smell the mint on his breath and I was tempted to taste it. It had been far too long. “Blake, would you—”

  “Yes,” he said before I could finish. And before I could give into temptation he pushed off the refrigerator and went back to stirring his dinner.

  I almost reached into the freezer and grabbed a few ice cubes. There was some definite heat in the kitchen and it wasn’t coming from the stove.

  Chapter Six

  Well, it was a girl . . . a twelve-year-old girl. I knew it was true before the paternity test came back, but it still didn’t prepare me for the actual confirmation. I was going through all the stages of grief, but I kept getting stuck on the first one, denial. I figured it was better than anger or depression. Not as good as acceptance, I know, but it was a really large pill to swallow.

  My friendship with Cheyenne and Abby was once again the rock I clung to on my shaky ground. Blake received the results on May first, and on the second I found myself being whisked away to Denver for some shopping and pampering. I think Cheyenne’s words were, “You look like crap. Your clothes are hanging off you and we’re tired of seeing you in drab colors.” She said it with love, but it was true. I used to pride myself on my fashion sense and style.

  “So how does Blake feel about it?” Abby asked as we headed down to the big city; well, it was big for us.

  I briefly glanced her way since I was driving. Abby owned a minivan and Cheyenne drove a Camaro. We wanted to be comfortable, but not look like, well, you know, minivan owners. I had never wanted to own a minivan, and we always teased Abby about hers, but she was very proud of her honor-roll-bumper-sticker ride.

  “I think he has mixed emotions about it. I can tell he’s excited about it— well, as excited as he gets—but he’s nervous. Nervous about having a child and nervous about what it will do to our marriage.”

  “Are things getting any better?” Abby followed up.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. I feel like we are so uncomfortable with each other right now. It’s like we are trying to be extra cautious not to rock the boat, but I feel like maybe we should get wet and see what happens.”

  “It seems like he’s at least trying, joining the team and all this year,” Abby replied. She always looked for the silver lining. “And Shane says he’s a great player.”

  “Who cares how well he plays?” Cheyenne chimed in from the back. “The question is how good does he look in the uniform?”

  I scowled at her from the rearview mirror. “You better not be checking out my husband.”

  “See? You do still love him,” Cheyenne mocked.

  That was to be determined; but regardless, I didn’t want other women scoping him out.

  “Are you still going to wear that ridiculous shirt to the games?” Abby asked Cheyenne.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  Cheyenne proudly wore her “official baseball butt inspector” shirt to every game.

  Abby and I both laughed at her. Sometimes I wished I had her zeal for life, or at least her “I don’t care what other people think of me” attitude.

  “So, when are you going to meet this girl?” Cheyenne asked.

  “I don’t know. Blake hasn’t said much since he found out yesterday. I think he’s afraid I may jump ship if he says too much or pushes it.”

  “Are you heading overboard?” Cheyenne asked, skipping pretenses.

  I thought for a moment while my best friends looked between each other. They were talking about me with their eyes. “Right now I’m trying to fix me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to work on my marriage. I’m just lost,” I sighed pathetically.

  Cheyenne reached up and patted my head and Abby touched my shoulder.

  “You didn’t go anywhere. The fact that you’re not curled up in the fetal position is amazing after everything you’ve been through. Give yourself some credit, huh?” Cheyenne declared.

  Abby rubbed my arm some more. “You’re awesome.”

  “Thanks, ladies,” I sniffled. “I don’t know what I would ever do without you.”

  “Good thing we’re sticking around,” Cheyenne said. Then she went back to being her real self. “Enough of this sappy crap, let’s get to the mall and see if Jessie still has a body under all the clothing she’s been hiding under. No wonder your marriage is having issues. Blake would probably like to see a little skin from time to time.”

  We all laughed, but it was probably true. In my defense, I had been pregnant several times on and off over the last ten years. My body had been through the ringer. The fact it had any shape at all was a miracle.

  We hit the mall with a vengeance. I got a complete new wardrobe, from bras and panties all the way to casual and dress outfits. And, of course, an array of shoes. My debit card was on fire.

  At the last store of the day I came out of the dressing room in a peachy-pink strapless dress that was summery and flirty, definitely different from what I normally wore lately, which was a good thing. I needed a new look. I looked in the three-way mirror, and for the first time in a long time, I felt pretty.

  “Well, dang, girl! You do have a body, and it’s kind of hot!” Cheyenne exclaimed.

  I rolled my eyes at her.

  “It’s true,” Abby said.

  “You ladies are such good liars.”

  Cheyenne stood behind me and looked at me through the mirror. “Look at yourself. You’re gorgeous. I wish you could see that. You used to know that, Miss Prom and Homecoming Queen.”

  I sighed. “That was a long time ago.” Back when I thought my life would be perfect forever.

  “Yeah, it was, but you’re even more beautiful now,” Cheyenne responded.

  I wiped at my watery eyes. “You guys are the best.”

  “Yes, we are,” they said in unison.

  We walked out, loaded down with an assortment of bags and boxes.

  “Will Blake care that you spent all this money?” Abby asked worriedly.

  “No. Blake has his money and I have mine.”

  “Wow. That’s nice. Shane counts every penny and keeps us on a tight budget. I thought marrying a doctor would have more financial perks, but he’s a freak about saving money.”

  “You should tell Shane where to go,” Cheyenne counseled. “You stay at home and raise his kids. You should get to spend as much money as you want.”

  Abby and I both rolled our eyes at her. Cheyenne didn’t share well and she didn’t have a clue about budgeting or running a household, or being married, for that matter. I was surprised she had kept her salon afloat. I think she had a manager that she listened to and that took care of the money end of the business.

  I thought about what Abby said about Shane. I g
uess there were some perks about keeping our finances separate, but I did wish we shared more, or at least had a joint account. I know it sounds dumb, but when we were first married I wanted checks that had Blake and Jessica Summers printed on them.

  “Let’s go to dinner, my treat,” I offered.

  They didn’t hesitate to take me up on my offer.

  We stuffed ourselves with bacon cheeseburgers and curly fries, both things I never ate at home. Blake didn’t care what I ate, but he was just so healthy it made me feel uncomfortable indulging in real food around him. So, for good measure, I washed it down with a strawberry milkshake. Once again my stomach said, Hold on there, missy, you can’t throw food like that at me after barely eating for months. It probably wasn’t the best decision, but it tasted really good going down. Besides, I had been hitting the gym. Cheyenne was right—Rob, the new Zumba instructor, was amazing. He could probably make you lose two pounds in his hour-long class, if that’s what you were looking to do.

  Merryton was an hour from Denver and we rolled back into town around eight. It was the best day I’d had in a very long time. It also gave me incentive to clean out my closet and finally give away all of my maternity clothes. I don’t know why I was hanging on to them. I knew I would never have a reason to wear them again, but it was hard to let go.

  Carter’s room was still untouched. I never went in there, but it was the sweetest baby boy nursery ever. It had a vintage old west feel with a worn red color on the walls and faded blue as an accent. Blake had even made a cradle that rocked. He surprised me with it the day we found out we were having a boy. I’d had no idea he had been working on it. Sometimes he was so thoughtful.

  The cradle, crib, and all the other baby furniture sat empty and untouched in the room nearest ours.

  I could visit Carter’s grave, but going in his room was something I couldn’t bring myself to do. Maybe because of all the time I had spent in there before he died. I used to sit on the rocking chair in his room and read or rest, thinking about how excited I was to meet our little angel. But that time never came. I knew someday I would have to deal with that room, but I wasn’t even close to ready to tackle it.

  Instead I tackled my closet and organized it. Blake was busy in his shop when I got home, so it was good to have something to do. It made me feel less lonely in our big house that was meant for more than just one or two people. I boxed up almost everything I’d had previously hanging up and replaced it with my purchases from that day. I had to say, it was much more inviting and bright in there now. I hadn’t meant to get into such a rut, but boy had I dug myself in deep.

  As I ran my hands across my completely revamped wardrobe, I was startled by my name being called.

  “Jessica.”

  I placed my hand over my pounding heart and turned to find my husband standing at the door of the walk-in closet in his jeans and t-shirt covered in the usual amount of dust and dirt. I found it quite attractive.

  “You scared me.”

  “Sorry, I wanted to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and then ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. I had missed doing that myself. It was funny, the things I found myself missing lately—things that I had forgotten I enjoyed.

  “I’m going to fly to Salt Lake City tomorrow,” he blurted out.

  I steadied myself by gripping onto the bar closest me. “Oh.”

  “I would have invited you to come, but I know how you feel about flying and this is going to be a quick day trip.”

  I nodded my head and reminded myself to remain calm and collected and not cry. Of course he was anxious to meet her. My head completely understood that, but my heart ached. And I didn’t do planes if I could avoid it. Flying for me was a major deal. It involved Valium and time to psych myself up for it. Driving there on such short notice was out of the question; it was nine hours, one way. Not that I was sure I would go even if he was driving.

  He quickly and abruptly changed the subject. “It looks like you’ve been busy,” he said as he looked at all the boxes.

  “Spring cleaning, I guess,” I said in response.

  “What are you going to do with all of the boxes?”

  “I was planning on taking them to Goodwill.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  He stepped closer and then even closer. He reached out and touched my hair ever so lightly as he stared into my on-the-verge-of-crying eyes. “I know I don’t need to, but I want to.”

  “Thanks,” I replied quietly.

  “It will be okay,” he said, almost as if it were a question. “It will be okay,” he repeated, this time as a statement. He then took my face in his rough, calloused hands and leaned in and kissed me hard once on the lips. His lips lingered as they pressed against mine. It had been too long since we had shown each other such affection and the emotion of it all sent tears trickling down my cheeks and onto his hands.

  “Jess,” he whispered against my lips.

  “I’m scared,” I admitted to him.

  “Me, too.” And with that he kissed me once more and left me standing in my closet, feeling too many emotions.

  As I crawled into bed that night after midnight, I pondered my life and marriage. I wondered if we could weather this storm, or any storm, for that matter. I almost forgot what smooth sailing felt like. Was there such a thing? Our marriage had always seemed to have difficulties, even from the beginning. Sure, we were in love with each other, but moving to Merryton was a sacrifice for Blake. It wasn’t his first choice, but Jessie Belle’s was going to be mine, and even as a young girl I had dreamed of running it when I got older.

  I knew it was difficult for Blake—it meant him giving up a well-paying job with one of the top construction companies in Utah and starting over. I did offer to move to Utah. I had even talked it over with my mom, but Blake insisted this was where we would put down roots. His dad had left him and his mom when he was a teenager, and his mom passed away in his early twenties. Blake had a half-brother somewhere out there, but we never saw him or Blake’s dad. I think Blake liked the idea of having family nearby, although my dad had been anything but a loving father-in-law. But my mom and Blake had a good relationship, probably a better one than I currently had with him.

  Sometimes I thought Merryton was suffocating for him. He grew up in Phoenix and had lived in bigger cities his whole life until we married. He didn’t like big cities because of the people and attractions, but you couldn’t hide at all in Merryton. He never complained, but I did wonder. I also wondered if I should offer to move, but his business did well and so did mine. I didn’t know if I wanted to start over at our age, though we were still relatively young. But maybe it would be better to go somewhere else, to a place where there weren’t reminders around every corner about what we had lost.

  I just didn’t know. And that was the thought I drifted off to sleep with.

  I was woken up well before sunrise by the lightest of touches. Blake sat close to me on the bed. I could barely make him out when I opened my eyes, but there he sat, looking at me tenderly.

  “I wanted to say goodbye before I left for the airport.”

  I sat up some and ran my fingers through my mess of hair. “Do you want me to drive you?”

  “No. I’m leaving from Denver International. I planned on leaving my truck there. I’ll be back early tomorrow.”

  I nodded my head in acknowledgement. That made sense. I wasn’t sure our small municipal airport flew to Salt Lake City, unless he got something private.

  “Jessica, this doesn’t change how I feel about you. You know that, right?”

  I stayed silent. I had wondered if he thought about trading me in for a working version—someone that could give him lots of Madelines, someone that he knew loved him and someone that wasn’t me.

  His eyes narrowed in concern when I didn’t respond other than to pull up the sheet like that would some
how comfort me or protect me. Protect me from what, I didn’t know.

  “I love you. This is going to be okay.” He kept saying that phrase like saying it would make it come true.

  “I want to believe you.”

  He drew me into him and I let him. For a moment I felt safe and warm.

  “I promise,” he whispered in my ear before kissing my head and letting me go.

  I watched him walk toward the door. There he stopped. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

  I nodded and he turned to leave. “Blake,” I called out.

  He immediately turned my way.

  “Do you ever think about moving?”

  “I want to be wherever you are.”

  Chapter Seven

  “How do you feel about Blake meeting his daughter?” my mom asked as we prepared Sunday dinner together.

  “That’s a loaded question if I ever heard one.”

  My mom looked up from the roast beef she was slicing and grinned.

  I finished seasoning the mashed potatoes. I was in need of some serious comfort food. My mother was a saint. “I suppose I’m happy for him. Does that make any sense? But on the other hand I feel like I want to strangle him. Like he betrayed me somehow.”

  “You can’t make this all about you.”

  “Yes, Mother, I know.”

  She set down the carving knife and gave me her I’m-still-your-mother look. “I’m on your side.”

  “I know that, too,” I replied with less attitude.

  “When are you going to meet her?”

  “Blake mentioned something about us planning a trip there next month.”

  “You two are working it out then?” My mom asked relieved.

  “We’re trying, but it’s like walking on eggs.”

  “Don’t you mean egg shells?”

  “No, I mean eggs. We are easy to break and it’s messy.”

  My mom laughed. “Well at least you’re keeping a sense of humor about it.”

  “Not really.”

  My mom scooted closer to me and wrapped her arms around me. “I’m proud of you, Jessie Belle.”

  “I don’t know why.”