by Lia Riley
“I don’t think the other locals feel that way.”
“Are you kidding? I snagged the last piece. That’s why I came over, to bring you this cute Pyrex dish before someone walks off with it.” She removed it from under her arm and passed it over. “And by someone, I mean myself, because it’s adorable. Where’d you find it?”
“eBay,” Annie replied, taking the dish, slightly bewildered. People were eating her pie and liking it?
“You’re going to have to give me the recipe, unless it’s an ancient family secret.” Edie gave a conspiratorial grin. “And if that’s the case, you’ll have to tell me how much to bribe you for it.” She took another bite and this time moaned, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my goodness, look what you made me do. I sound like I’m having a moment over here.”
Annie chuckled. “I’ll happily share the recipe.”
“That reminds me, I told my cousin about you. He is having a function at his property in a few weeks and added you to the guest list. You’ll be getting an invitation soon.”
“I’m flattered, but an invitation sounds kind of formal for Brightwater.”
Edie gave a good-natured eye-roll. “That’s Quincy. He doesn’t do things by halves. He bought The Dales as a retreat from the city to relax. But if this is him relaxed, I’d hate to see him in LA. He’s lovely, but an all-work no-play sort of guy.”
“The Dales?” She glanced at Sawyer. “You mean—”
“The Dales Manor.” Sawyer gave a nod. “It recently sold.”
The Dales was Brightwater Valley’s largest home, built in the late nineteenth century by a Gold Baron as a mountain lodge. Annie and Claire had always called it “the castle.”
“You said your cousin worked in media?” Annie said, increasingly curious.
“Yes. Quincy Bankcroft.”
Annie’s jaw dropped. “Quincy Bankcroft as in the heir to the multi-million-dollar Bankcroft Media empire spanning the gamut from cable stations to newspapers?”
Edie raised her brows. “Tell him that and it will go to his head, but yes, one and the same.”
Annie laughed. “I can’t believe you casually suggested having lunch with Quincy Bankcroft.”
“Well, to me, he’s just Quincy. An older cousin, but a good friend. I owe him a lot.” Edie’s gaze ran to the horizon, temporarily lost in thought. “Anyway,” she said as she glanced at her watch. “I need to get back to the coffee shop. Three pies are still in the oven. I wandered up to have a quick look around the festivities. I’ve only been living here since late-March, still getting the lay of the land.”
With a quick wave, she was off.
“Looks like you two are hitting it off,” Sawyer said.
“We are, aren’t we? It’s nice.”
“I wonder if you’ll hit it off with her cousin too.”
Was that an undercurrent of jealousy in his voice?
She shouldn’t mess with him, but she couldn’t resist. The funnel cake, the friendship, and a warm summer night made her feel more herself again. The teasing old Annie, who liked to laugh and kid around.
“Haven’t you seen Quincy Bankcroft yet?” she asked with studied casualness.
“Nope, I haven’t had the pleasure,” Sawyer said.
“Well, he’s pretty famous, and oh, very handsome. If you like blond men with a bit of young Paul Newman in the face. And a lot of money. We’re talking a guy who could take Scrooge McDuck money baths.”
A muscle ticked in Sawyer’s jaw. “Sounds like every woman’s dream.”
“Yes. He really does, doesn’t he? Plus he was raised in England, so there’s that accent.”
The pop can Sawyer held audibly dented.
Time to relent.
“There is one slight problem. At least for me.”
“What’s that?” Sawyer rumbled. Whoa, that was actually more of a growl.
She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “He’d never be into me in a million years.”
Sawyer’s gaze shot to her face. “What guy in his right mind wouldn’t be . . . ” He broke off, realizing what he almost said.
Annie tried to play it off like she hadn’t noticed the slip up, but his words were still there, rising between them like a big cartoon bubble.
“He’s openly gay,” she said quickly. “An outspoken GLBTQ activist as well.”
“Oh, well, I mean, good. Good for him.” Sawyer’s shoulders dropped. “And yes, you should meet with him. You like to write, or blog, or whatever it is you do.”
“Whatever it is I do?” She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be a little offended.
“I use a computer for work, when I have to. But I don’t spend time on it. For fun. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” He looked genuinely rattled, the effect was actually making her teeth ache with from the sweetness.
“Not at all. You don’t have to read my blog. You aren’t exactly my target audience.”
“When are the fireworks going to start?” Atticus crawled onto Annie’s lap.
“When it’s dark,” she said, giving him a kiss on the top of his head.
“Can we get our spot now?” Her son stared up with an apprehensive look. Fiery reds and pinks spread across the blue sky.
“Yes,” she said, fingering the plaid wool blanket she’d found in the chest in the living room. The one she used to use for making blanket forts on rainy days. “Sorry, we’re going to have to rain check on the meteor shower.”
“Is there a spot on your blanket for one more?” Sawyer asked. “Whoa there, champ.” Atticus leapt into his arms without warning. Sawyer held him a little stiffly but didn’t seem to mind.
“You’ll watch with us?” Atticus said.
“Sure, if your mom says it’s okay.”
Annie crossed one leg and then the other. Sitting in the dark and watching explosions overhead while trying not to catch fire from the sparks bursting between them? That sounded dangerous. But then, fireworks lasted only a few minutes. A lot of razzle dazzle and noise, and then poof! Everything returned to the way it was. Things had fizzled between her and Sawyer before.
The old Annie stirred inside her, the braver Annie. Maybe after the fireworks the sky would return to a quiet, black calm. But then there were always the stars.
“Yes,” she said softly, clearing her throat and repeating the word, for him, but also for her. “Yes. That does sound good.”
Chapter Eight
“SHOULD WE WAKE him up?” Sawyer asked Annie, staring down at Atticus’s sleeping face. The kid’s mouth was open slightly, and faint snores emanated from his skinny frame. Sawyer liked the way she stroked her child’s hair back from his forehead. He liked most everything about Annie, but seeing her as a mother was a whole new side, something he’d never imagined and yet indescribably completed her.
“Not yet,” Annie murmured, rolling back on her elbows and crossing her ankles. Her skirt was short, cut above the knee, and despite the fact she was a wisp of a woman, those were pretty legs stretching down to her sandals. “We’re way past his bedtime already. He’ll wake up when the show starts.”
Across the rodeo grounds, Neil Diamond’s “Coming to America” blared from the speakers. The quiet spreading between them wasn’t strained, but companionable. This was another thing he liked about Annie. They didn’t have to fill every second with conversation. Not that he minded talking to her, he never did. But sometimes it was nice to just sit with another person. Sit and simply be.
Finally, he knew it was time. “Hey, so I have to say something,” he said. Something that had been burning a hole in his chest since he saw her step away from him by the Five Diamonds chicken coop. Something that had been burning in his chest for ten long years.
Her baby blues locked on his, not flickering away as they usually did, but holding fast. The twilight had transformed to darknes
s. Perhaps she felt safer in the shadows. He rolled to his side, took off his hat and set it on the grass.
“That night, the party—”
“Oh, please. Let’s not talk about that.”
“We don’t have to talk about it. But I do owe you an apology.”
She fidgeted with the blanket’s edge. “It was a long time ago.”
“It was, but I need you to know one thing.”
“Okay.” She didn’t actually say the word, but her mouth moved silently.
“I—you—I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you in that closet. It wasn’t a joke to me. You have never been a joke to me. “I didn’t want our first kiss to happen with a group of idiots outside, snickering. You’re no game, you never were. I wanted it real between us, you and me and no one else’s damn business.”
“I waited,” she whispered. “People stood outside, laughing, making fun of me, and all I could think was that it would be worth it. Once you came.”
“People were drunk. They got out of hand. I couldn’t get to you. I tried, but I couldn’t. I failed. I failed us.”
“Us.” She ducked her head. “There has never been an us.”
“There has to me,” he said. “I know you want to leave and think moving to the city will give you—”
Boom!
Atticus bolted upright as the first fireworks exploded in gold and purple. The crowd oohed and ahhed. Another followed, and another.
“Look,” Atticus said, pointing. “And look at that one, that’s my favorite. And that one, that’s my favorite too. And—”
Sawyer looked. But the beauty in the sky had nothing on the beauty of the woman on the opposite end of the blanket, face tilted up, bright lights reflected in her wide eyes.
She glanced over. “Aren’t you going to enjoy the show?”
“I am,” he replied.
She licked her lips and there went that damn muscle in his jaw twitching again.
The show could have lasted fifteen seconds, fifteen minutes, or fifteen hours. Sawyer lost all track of time. Last week, he’d have considered himself to be a happy man, or at least not unhappy. Now he realized that he’d been living around a hole, a hole that a small woman with a huge heart could fill. As good as this felt, as right and perfect, it was also scary as shit, because she’d made it clear Brightwater was a stopover on her journey, not the final destination.
This could end badly for him. Hope was dangerous. But time to know, at last, what the writing said on their wall. God hated a coward.
After the grand finale, the crowd rose in one collective motion, gathering blankets and lawn chairs and streaming for the exit.
“Think it’ll be a busy law enforcement night?” Annie asked, cradling Atticus, who was already drifting back to sleep.
“Could be. Kit and Leroy are on duty tonight. There are always one or two dumb shits who drink too much and think it’s a good idea to drive.”
“I’ll be extra careful.”
“Let me walk you out.”
“Oh, you don’t have to.”
“Maybe not, but I’d like to. Pass that little champ over here.” He reached out and gathered her son. “He’s heavier than he looks.”
“Don’t I know it,” she said with a grin. “Carrying him is what passes for my workout these days.”
He waited while she folded up the blanket and gathered her pie plate.
“You know, I had fun tonight.” A hint of wonder tinged her voice.
Hope set down another root in his stomach. “Brightwater has plenty of good things going for it.”
“Hmm” was all she said, suddenly very busy with her sandal’s buckle.
They walked slowly, on the fringes. A few people waved to him, did double takes at Annie, recognizing her after a moment. Asking where’d she’d been, about her plans.
Sawyer tried not to listen to her responses, all the talk about San Francisco. It had been a long time since he’d played ball, but one reason he could throw a pitch was because he had a knack for filtering out the crowd noise. The opposite team could yell taunts and jeers but he could zero in on the batter with single-minded focus, quieting the din.
A useful trick still.
At the purple car, Annie popped the locks and opened the back door. “I can get Atticus into his seat.”
“Nah, I’ve brought him this far.” Sawyer leaned in and settled Atticus into the high-backed booster. Incredibly, he barely stirred. Imagine sleeping that soundly. He’d wake every morning feeling like a million bucks. As Sawyer clipped the chest strap, the little boy reached out, eyes still closed, and gave him a hug. Every doubt he had about not knowing what to do around kids faded under a rush of affection. Maybe he didn’t know how to act around kids plural, but kids single? Atticus in particular? Yeah, he could probably figure that out fine.
He shut the door quietly and Annie was back by the trunk, putting away the blanket.
“It’s nice, spending time with you again,” she said, keeping her gaze averted. Her earlier contented stillness was gone, replaced by busy hands and words that couldn’t come fast enough. “It’s nice to be back on the farm too, actually. Dad always kept pestering me to come for a visit, but I always convinced him to fly to Portland instead. Or meet up with Claire in San Francisco. But I—”
“Annie.” She stilled. Those busy hands halting, reaching up to grip the trunk door instead. The parking lot had cleared out.
“Yes?”
“Look at me.”
“Um, hang on. I want to check and see if my sister keeps a spare tire in here. Some of these back roads are atrocious. It’s only a matter of time until I get a flat. Maybe we should contact the local representative and—”
“Annie, look at me.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because this.” He stepped behind her and placed a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck. She smelled sweet, pretty, a little like coconut, a little like flowers and a lot like woman.
“Sawyer,” she gasped. When his hands bracketed her waist she leaned back against him.
“And this.” He kissed her neck, right over her pulse, deeper, more open-mouthed, adding a hint of tongue. She arched, her sweet ass driving him to the edge. Hell if he could be this close and not savor her. He couldn’t help the groan. She tasted gorgeous.
“Don’t forget this,” he whispered, sucking the lobe of her ear into his mouth, grazing her soft skin with his teeth until she trembled. “Good night, Annie.” He whispered. “Happy Fourth of July.”
Her ragged exhalation served as response.
Slowly, he turned and strode to his truck, glancing back to make sure she got inside her car okay. He waited until finally she started the engine, reversed and then left the parking lot, her rear lights disappearing into the dark. She wasn’t a woman to rush and that was fine, nothing good ever came easy. But he’d made his first move and was still hard from the way she’d responded, rocking against him, those soft, hitching breaths as he sucked her sweet skin.
It wasn’t until he set his head back against the cab that he spotted it, by the horizon, a single meteor.
The light wasn’t showy, it didn’t make any noise, but the pure, simple beauty tightened his throat.
Chapter Nine
[draft]
Musings of a Mighty Mama
Getting in the Groove
older posts>>
Dear Readers,
Day ten of the “Mighty Mama Thirty Days of Thankfulness.” Today, I want to give thanks for my body. It’s not perfect but it’s healthy, and strong. The more I work on the farm, the more new muscles make themselves known (for better and worse). Each night, I massage in my own homemade muscle rub of jojoba infused with lavender, ginger and peppermint essential oils. Click here for the recipe. Everything hurts, but it’s nice to feel in my b
ody, you know?
Being a mama is hard work. Sometimes it’s oh-so-easy to feel like you are losing yourself. Here are a few tips on how to find your missing mojo:
1. EAT ALL THE DARK CHOCOLATE WHILE CONTEMPLATING MASTURBATING TO THE GORGEOUS COWBOY? SHERIFF? COWBOY SHERIFF NEXT DOOR WHO KISSED YOU, BUT DIDN’T, BUT KIND OF DID.
Was it a kiss?
What’s a kiss, technically?
WHAT IS LIFE?
Ah forget it. Who needs kisses when there’s a sale at Save-U-More on Ben & Jerry’s Funky Monkey?
Draft Saved by Mighty Mama 08:35am in mama mojo, gratitude challenge, | Permalink | comments (0)
DURING THE NEXT two weeks, tiny miracles kept occurring around Five Diamonds. First, the screen door lost its irritating squeak, then the porch’s wonky step quit wobbling. The neglected boxwood hedges along the front walkway were pruned to something approaching order and the garbage can had a funny habit of wheeling itself to the end of the driveway on trash days. Annie realized she wasn’t going quietly nuts after discovering the hole in the barn floor—the one Atticus had stumbled into when he broke his arm—magically repaired. From that moment on there wasn’t much point refusing the facts.
No fairy godmother bibbity-bobbity-boo’d her way around the farm. She was in the debt of a hot—and sneaky—cowboy.
How the heck did Sawyer covertly pull off these chores? She rarely left the farm and hadn’t woken at dawn to any new hammer banging. And why didn’t he stop by for a visit? Knowing he was around but not around drove her crazy. She hadn’t felt empty since the fireworks. No, she had the opposite problem. She was too full, had to walk around carefully so as not to spill over and make a mess.
You had one job, Annie, one job.
Get Five Diamonds ready for sale. Not kiss the sexy neighbor, or whatever that was. Kissing but not lip kissing. Dear Lord, that was the hottest not lip kissing to ever go down this side of the Rockies.
Gah. High time she quit twisting her brain like a pretzel and take up an easier hobby, like studying quantum physics or the basics of thermodynamics.