by Natasha Deen
“Uh-huh, that’s true.” She kept her voice calm, conversational, but her mind raced to figure out why he wanted to leave the farm.
“I figure...” He took another breath. “If you sold the farm and we had money, we could...move.”
Ah. “Leave Montana and go somewhere...like Texas, maybe?”
He blushed. “What makes you think of Texas?”
She smiled. “Because you love Jessica, and you have ever since you were little.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You knew?”
“Always.”
“Oh.” His eyebrows descended.
“So...tell me about moving to Houston.”
He cast a desperate glance her way, rising to his knees and saying, “I know you think it’s a stupid idea―”
She shook her head. “I never said that. I think it’s a fine idea, if we think it through.”
He rocked back onto his heels. “Really?”
“Really. You tell me what you think, and I’ll do the same. Maybe we’ll find a compromise.” She patted the soft spot of earth in front of her. “Come here, baby. Sit with me and let’s talk.”
He crawled into the cradle of her arms, his back against her chest, his head under her chin. Perfect. Now, if her eyes welled up with tears, he wouldn’t see. She was about to break his heart all over again, but she didn’t want him to know how badly it would hurt her to do so. “Tell me all about the plan to sell the farm and move.”
Sheepishness threaded his laugh. “That’s all I have. You sell the farm, we move to Houston—not just so I can be with Jessica.” He twisted, turning, and she saw the earnest sincerity in his eyes. “You could go back to your art, and Pops would have all the medical attention he needs—”
“Is he sick?”
Spencer’s eyebrows scrunched together. “No, but you know Dr. Walker’s been talking to him about his heart and stuff. Houston has really good hospitals.”
“Oh, right.”
His face crumpled. “You’re just humoring me, aren’t you?”
“Never. I’m open, if you can convince me this is a good plan...what happens to Destina?”
“She comes with us, of course.”
Aya smiled. “Of course.”
Spencer turned and wriggled back into place.
“What happens next?”
“Next?”
“Other than you and Jessica marrying in twenty years or so. What happens between now and then?” She pulled him close, welcoming the warmth of his small body, the way his breaths made her hands rise and fall. And still, she pulled him closer until the scent of shampoo curled around her, and the light of the sun’s dying rays gave his hair a red-gold glow.
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, there’s the issue of money. Mason St. John will pay us a nice amount, but there’s moving costs and finding a new home. Houston will be far more expensive than Wolf Point. We’ll have to be very careful. Jessica’s mom and dad make good money, but their jobs are secure—I won’t have a job, or any income coming in. So, we won’t be able to live in the same neighborhood, but that’s okay. At least, you’ll be in the same city...only...”
“Only, what?”
“Honey, what are you going to do if her parents move again?”
The weight of her words hit, she knew by the way he slumped against her.
“I never thought of that,” he said.
Spencer lapsed into silence and she held him, let the breeze tease his hair and caress her cheeks as she watched twilight descend.
“I’m an idiot.”
“Spencer!”
“I am!” He wrenched himself free, bolted to his feet, and stumbled back. “Following a girl to another city isn’t proof of my love, it’s stupid—” Fat teardrops fell down his cheeks. “And I’m stupid.”
“You are not.” She jumped up, sped toward him. Aya wrapped her hands around either side of his face, and looked into his red-rimmed eyes. “You’re just in love, and that’s okay.”
“I’m really going to lose her, aren’t I?”
“Do you love her—really love her?”
“Yes.”
She bent down and enfolded him in her arms. “Then you can’t lose her. If the two of you are meant to be, it’ll happen.”
“That’s so cliché.” His breath warmed her neck.
“But true. Maybe you and Jessica need to have different experiences, to grow apart before you can grow together. You’re nine years old, and there’s time yet for you to still end up together.” She dropped her arms, leaned back until his sweet face came into view. “You just have to let go.”
“It’s so hard.”
“I know, baby,” she said, her thoughts going to Nate, the incredible kiss, and the hopelessness of her feelings for him, then drifted to her parents and how hard she was trying to save the farm for them...was it honor, or her inability to let go that was behind her tenacity?
“Does this get easier?”
Her lips twisted as she tried not to cry. Her heart hurt—for her son, for herself—for the tricks Fate played and the ways it pulled the people she loved away. “No.”
His eyes welled with tears. “At least, you’re honest.” Sorrow crushed the wan light from his face. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to stop loving her.” Then he started to cry.
Aya held him tight, the shared pain of their plight not lost on her. Nate would leave. Soon. And when her time came to say good bye, how would she learn to stop loving him?
Chapter Eight
“Hi.”
Aya’s gaze flitted from the book in her hands, to Nate, and back. He stood in the center of the family room. The sun kissed his muscular frame with buttery lips, glinted off his hair, and spotlighted his sensuous mouth. A blush stampeded its way up her cheeks, betraying her self-consciousness and her thoughts. “Hi.”
“We didn’t get a chance to talk about...last night...”
Oh, God, here is comes: it was a mistake, I wasn’t thinking, it’ll never happen again. She glanced down. Trepidation made the words jump on the page, and when Nate moved toward her, apprehension turned the letters into a black blur. She closed the novel. “There’s nothing to say,” she said.
“Nothing?” His dark eyebrows rose in speculation. “All things considered, we need to talk.” He jiggled the ceramic mug in his hand. “I made coffee. Do you want a cup?”
“It’s not necessary, the coffee or the talk.”
She watched him from the corner of her eye. Every detail of his chiseled perfection etched her mind. His mouth thinned into an obstinate line. God, how she wanted to feel his lips pressed against hers, once more. She ached to taste him, tease him, lick every delicious inch of him. He sat beside her; his jeans brushed against her thighs, and she moved away before she suited action to her thoughts. Nate frowned and moved closer. She inched aside, he closed the meagre distance; confusion muddied his eyes. Again, she moved, again he matched her.
When the arm of the couch hemmed her in, he leaned forward, peered around her and said, “The only thing left for you is to jump the couch—or bolt for the stairs.” His eyebrow quirked upwards. “What’s your next move?”
Retreat like a frightened bunny or fall off the cushions and further underscore her idiocy. She sighed, pressed the book to her chest, curled her feet under her and turned to face him. “I’ll stay and listen.”
He nodded. “So...the caterpillar crawl you were just doing—were you afraid I was going to try and force myself on you, again?”
The paperback novel slid from her hands. “You didn’t force anything.”
He smiled, a self-effacing glint in his eyes. “Thank God. For a moment, I wondered if I’d lost my touch.”
She swallowed. The memory of his touch sent a hot flash of desire thrumming through her. “You haven’t lost anything.” She met his gaze. “You were fantastic.”
Light flared in his eyes, searing, and volcano hot. His fingers reached toward her; his thumb ran across h
er lower lip. “So were you,” he growled. He blinked and shook his head. “But that’s not the point. We need to talk—”
She pushed away from his touch and the eddy of desire swirling around her which made her thoughts muffled and slow. “Don’t say it,” she begged.
He frowned. “Say what?”
“The gentle placations, soft rejections. ‘Thanks for the kiss, Aya, but it was a mistake and I regret it.’” She blinked, pushing back unwanted tears.
His fingers caught her under the chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “It was a mistake—there are too many complications for us to pursue a relationship.” His gaze dipped to her mouth. “But I don’t regret it.”
Her breath came in a sharp, staccato gasp. “You don’t?”
“Not for a solitary moment.” He lifted his hand to her hair, his fingers entwined in the loose strands. “I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment I set eyes on you.”
The air began to shift, change, and become the same drowsy, sparkling fog that had overtaken her the night before. Her lids grew heavy, the room became blurry, and the only thing she focused on was Nate. Common sense said to fight the emotions, but her heart told her to give in.
He groaned, soft, regretful. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?” His irises were a thin band of brown encircling his enlarged pupils. “Don’t look at you like you’re looking at me?”
“I don’t have that look on my face—I can’t have that look on my face.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s madness, and one of us needs to stay sane.”
“I am sane.”
“This can’t happen,” he said.
“I know.” She inched toward him. Their legs touched and he closed his eyes. She put her hand on his thigh, felt the muscle contract, and heard him moan.
“Aya.”
“Shh, nothing’s going to happen.” She rose on her knees, until they were eye to eye, breath to breath. “You said yesterday shouldn’t have happened.”
He swallowed convulsively. “Right.”
“So,” she whispered, “I’m going to undo it.”
He froze, granite still. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me.”
Nate stared at her. “How?”
She smiled. “I’m going to give you back your kiss.”
It didn’t seem possible, but he froze further, seeming to retreat into himself until he resembled a sexy piece of sculpture. The silence stretched, the tension ratcheted upwards until Aya’s heart and soul screamed with strain. Her pulse galloped and her lungs held themselves immobile, waiting for his response.
For his part, Nate didn’t seem to be breathing, either. He just kept staring at her, his emotions well-concealed from her searching gaze.
“Nate, do you want it back?”
He jerked back and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Yes. Now. For God’s sake, now.”
Then his hands were on either side of her face yanking her toward him. She fell into him, into the embrace of his kiss, and let the movement of his mouth and tongue return her to the sweet place of pleasure. The taste of coffee and cinnamon surrounded her. Then the lush, sumptuous flavor of sex touched her senses, making her blood rush and her heart pound. Aya moaned, pushed forward, and drove him backwards onto the couch. His hands gripped the back of her neck and head, and pulled her into him. The hard, firm lines of his body slammed against her, their breaths coming in sharp gasps of need and want.
“Aya, Nate?”
The sound of her grandfather’s voice ripped her from Nate’s embrace. She scrambled into a sitting position, feeling like a teenager caught making out. As Nate struggled to free himself, she turned to see Pops, Destina, and, oh no, Spencer standing in the threshold of the room. She glanced at Nate, and his eyes mirrored the feeling of horror and embarrassment swirling in her.
Stumbling to her feet, she wiped the back of her hand against her mouth, as though the action might diminish the throbbing sensation, or reduce the swelling of her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.
“Obviously.” Pops smiled, but sadness breathed in the air, and pulled his mouth down.
Was he disappointed in her? Convinced she was making the same mistakes again? The questions invaded her brain, chattered in her head, but she pushed them aside. Her priority was Spencer, and he stood in front of her with an unfathomable expression on his tiny face.
An awkward, uncomfortable silence pressed into the room.
Destina took a step forward. “I need to get dinner on the table. Spencer, why don’t you help me?”
“I think...I’d rather go to my room.”
Aya closed her eyes against the words. Hope she hadn’t hurt her son evaporated in a sharp, painful breath. If he’d been okay seeing his mother with her tongue down a man’s throat, Spencer would have helped with dinner. That he wanted to retreat to solitude, indicted her, and condemned her impetuous decision.
“Spence—”
“It’s okay, Mom,” he said, but his eyes held a vacant, detached look.
He turned away and headed up the stairs, the muffled thump of his steps seemed heavy and leaden to Aya’s guilt-conscious ears.
“I’m sorry.” Nate’s voice sounded behind her. “This is my fault.”
“No, it isn’t.” She turned and gave him a feeble smile. “It was my lack of judgment.”
His lips compressed together and he gave a small shake of his head, but said nothing else.
“I should go and talk to Spencer.”
She moved toward the hall, and her grandfather caught her by the wrist. “It’s no one’s fault,” he said quietly as he followed her. “You’re allowed to fall in love.”
She glanced back at Nate, who had moved to the window and now stood with his back to her, though the hunch in his shoulders trumpeted his low emotions. “Maybe, but he’s a bad choice—you’ve said as much, and I know you’re disappointed in—”
The iron grip of his hand locked under her jaw. “Never in you, Aya. I’m proud of you.” The fierce light in his eyes died out as he regarded her. “This is just a no-win situation for all involved. If there’s any blame to this situation, it falls on me. I’m the one who asked Nate to come.” The sadness she’d glimpsed earlier poured out in his words.
“Pops.” She threaded her fingers through his, and pulled his hand from her face. “This isn’t life or death—it’s just the wrong circumstances. Trust me, Nate and I can weather a small crush.”
“But it isn’t infatuation for you, is it?”
The kindness in his words, the love in his eyes unraveled her brash words. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll be gone. What I did was stupid, and now I’ve confused my son.” And myself.
She pulled free and went up the stairs. At the door of Spencer’s room, Aya took a deep breath and knocked.
“I’m fine, Mom. Go away.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“You have a distinctive knock.”
She looked at her knuckles. “I do?”
“Yes. Look, it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m okay.”
“What do I think?”
“That I’m upset about you and Nate, but you’re wrong. I’m happy for both of you.” His voice hitched as he spoke and her heart skipped a beat.
“Sorry, kiddo, you’re the one who’s wrong.”
Silence, then, “What are you thinking?”
“How much I hate talking to doors.” After a brief silence, she heard the metal springs of his bed creak, then the door opened. His face looked puffy and bloated, and his eyes were red-rimmed. She restrained the impulse to pull him into her arms, or point out he’d been crying. Instead, she smiled and asked, “Can I come in? Please?”
He stepped aside and she walked to his bed and sat down.
Spencer flopped down on the other side. “I’m really not upset about you and Nate. I think it’s great.”
“The deadpan voice really
shows your support and enthusiasm.”
He rolled over, and shoved a pillow under his head. “I am happy for you.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Ah.” She scooted down the bed and laid her head on the pillow.
“I’ve never lied to you, Mom.”
“That’s true.” She turned and looked at him. “You’re sure you don’t want to talk?”
“Positive.”
“Do you want to be alone?”
Tears filled his eyes. “No.” He yanked his glasses off, and scrubbed at his face with the hem of his powder-blue T-shirt. When he finished and looked at her, she reached out her hand. He took it. They lay in silence, though Aya’s brain careened from one direction to another, as she tried to figure out what was bothering her son. The wind blew in through the open window, ruffling the curtains and made Spencer’s hair wave in the breeze.
She watched him for any sign, a small indication of his thoughts. But he remained still, his body curled into a semi-fetal position, and his eyes closed. His comfortable posture, however, was marred by his shallow breathing.
“I love you.”
His eyes snapped open. He stared at her. “I’m jealous of you.”
Jessica. Of course. She gave him a too-innocent look. “’Cause I got to kiss Nate? I’ll have to let him know, he’ll be flattered.”
Spencer rolled his eyes, but he giggled, and that was worth all the stupid jokes in the world. “Gross, Mom, like I’d want to kiss him.”
“Why are you jealous?”
The light and laughter died in his eyes. “Because you’re brave, and I’m nothing but a coward.”
“What are you talking about? Come here.” She patted the spot beside her. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s not just you—it’s everyone.” He wriggled into her embrace, his head found the spot under her chin. “I’m the only one in the house without someone in my life.”
“We’re in your li—”
“A Jessica-kind of someone.”
“Oh.”
“You took a chance with Nate—” He tilted his head back to look at her. “Or did he take the chance with you?”
“I think...” Her memories took her back to the night before, but she couldn’t remember who kissed whom. “I think we took a mutual risk.”