by Fiona Lowe
She blew out a breath. “I remember being woken up at night by the sound of raised voices and if I wasn’t trying to soothe my crying baby brother, I was cuddling up to my teddy bear to try and block out the sound. They’re only vague recollections, though, because when I was in the fourth grade we moved to Highland Park.”
“Where’s that?”
“A leafy Chicago suburb. We had a big house with a yard and a swing hanging from an old oak tree. I went to private school and I grew up with pretty much everything a preteen and teen girl could want.”
He thought about her clothes. “Pink everything?”
She gave a wry smile. “Pink and purple did feature some, yes.”
He reached out to trace the length of her arm. “Did everything include a camera?”
“It did.” The smile in her voice wrapped around him. “Dad bought me my first camera at ten and it was pretty much love at first sight. There’s something about being able to isolate a moment in time and—”
She sat up abruptly, pulled on his T-shirt and padded into the other room.
He tugged on his pants and followed, finding her sitting at the counter eating ice cream. He sat down next to her, accepted the proffered spoon and squeezed her hand. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was a story that needed ice cream.”
She grimaced. “It’s a story that needs Jack but I don’t have any.”
Looking at the pain in her eyes he knew he should say if it’s going to upset you, you don’t have to tell me. Only he knew he couldn’t say that because he really wanted to know her story.
While he waited for her to start talking again, he sampled the ice cream. He’d always loved ice cream and he savored it with the same concentration that a sommelier tasted wine. It was good but nothing startling and he thought it could have been a lot creamier and the flavor more pronounced.
Erin twirled her spoon in her fingers. “When I was fourteen, the arguments started again. My mother always looked drawn and strained and Dad was away a lot. I retreated. I spent lots of time taking photos of my friends, of people having fun doing crazy things and I spent even more time in my darkroom developing them, even though by then I had a digital camera. I still love using film.” She scooped up more ice cream and sighed. “Just after my fifteenth birthday I came home to find a massive moving van parked out front and three burly guys marching all our possessions, including my cameras, out of the house. My father had gone to ground, leaving Mom to deal with the trauma and the embarrassment of losing everything while our neighbors stood on the sidewalk watching.”
He knew farmers who’d been forced off their land but he could only imagine the gut-wrenching trauma of losing everything. He didn’t know what to say. Sorry sounded lame so he pressed a kiss into her hair.
She blinked three or four times and ate more ice cream. “We had our clothes and that was about it. Without money, I had to change schools and obviously we had to move out of the area. Every connection I’d ever known, the camera club, Girl Scouts, school friends, all got severed. I learned really fast about the differences between true friendship and acquaintances. Tragically, so did my mother. We spent a month with my grandparents and then Dad showed up. I hated what he’d done to us but it took him less than two weeks to convince Mom we needed to be together as a family.”
She snorted. “So started three years of constant moving. I went to five high schools as we traipsed across the country with Dad, following the next surefire thing.”
“And did he find it?”
She nodded. “He did, but by then my mother had collapsed from emotional exhaustion and had spent time in the hospital. She never really recovered and she died crossing the street one day when she stepped out in front of a truck. Jesse and I ended up living with Mom’s sister and I went to community college.”
“And your dad?”
“He dropped in and out of our lives but I haven’t seen him in three years.” She bit her lip. “It’s better that way. It saves me hoping he’s changed and then getting hurt again.”
He didn’t know what to say. Right now things were rough between him and his father but just the thought of not seeing him hurt. Then again, Vernon hadn’t monumentally let him down.
Raising her head she looked straight at him, daring him not to pity her. “So that’s my sorry story but I promise you, I am never going to be put in a situation like that again. Ever.”
In her eyes he glimpsed the hurt, angry and bewildered fifteen-year-old who’d lost everything secure in her life. Now her tattoo and driving work ethic made total sense and so did her lovely clothes. After years of hand-me-downs he understood her need to wear clothes that she’d chosen. He, on the other hand, had grown up surrounded by stability—something he’d never really thought about much until recently when the solidness of the farm had started suffocating him.
He slid off the stool and drew her into his arms. Unlike other times when her body touched his and he instantly went hard and all his thoughts were about burying himself deep inside her, this time he had an irrational need to just hold her. Keep her safe and sheltered.
“Ah, Luke.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. “Too tight. You’re suffocating me.”
“Sorry.” With a jolt of panic, he realized what he was doing and dropped his arms.
She rubbed her upper arms against the potential bruise from his crushing hug. “No, I’m sorry. This is a perfect example of why I don’t tell people that story. That and I can’t afford the ice cream calorie consumption.” Her laugh held strain. “We need to lift the mood by finding happy and I know exactly where to find it.”
Her hands trailed down his chest and slid under the waistband of his pants until she was stroking him and all coherent thought fled. He stumbled backward, pulling her with him to the couch. He fell back but she didn’t follow. Instead, she kneeled between his knees.
He’d expected sex but the fact she was suggesting oral sex both excited and surprised him. She’d always been generous in bed, but she’d not initiated a blowjob before. Something made him say, “I don’t expect this. You don’t have to.”
She pursed her lips. “Maybe I just want to.”
With a sharp jerk, she tugged his pants out of the way and then starting using her hands, mouth and teeth in a wicked yet determined combination. Silver spots spun across his vision.
His blood grew thick with pulsing need and he felt himself starting to spiral up into the pleasure whirl. His hands sought her hair, desperate to touch her, to feel her skin under his hands, to connect with her. He hadn’t realized how important that was to him until this very second but she shook his hands away and her mouth took him deeper.
Any regret that he wasn’t holding her fell away as his body took over, drowning in the rising, exquisite sensations and canceling all coherent thought. As every muscle in his body teetered on the edge of oblivion, she glanced up at him, her eyes overly bright, glittering green and swirling with memories.
He tumbled into the orgasm knowing she’d just used him to block out her past.
* * *
With the afternoon sunshine streaming in through the car window, Martha glanced across at the profile of her husband of thirty-six years. His hair, once as golden as ripened wheat, was now white but it was still as thick today as it ever had been. A life spent outdoors gave him a healthy tan and he was as fit as when she’d met him at the state fair all those years ago. She put her hand on his jean-clad thigh. He immediately covered it with his own and smiled before returning his gaze to the road ahead.
She sighed. “It was nice to visit with Gwen and have some time away from the farm.”
“You’ve had eleven months off of the farm,” Vern said mildly.
“I know, but these last few weeks haven’t quite been the vacation I imagined.”
Vern didn’t reply but she noticed
his jaw stiffen. Since arriving back in Wisconsin, her husband had been tense and irritable. She’d put it down to him missing his golf games. For a man who’d retired, he still rose every morning at dawn like he’d always done, only in Arizona he’d exchanged milking for golf. Now it was the other way around.
She gently squeezed his thigh. “Have you gotten any further with Luke, finding out what his plans are?”
Vernon thumped the steering wheel. “That boy doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”
She withdrew her hand. “You know that isn’t so. Something’s bothering him and we need to find out what it is. I’ve tried but no luck. I hoped he’d tell you.”
“He’s not saying squat.”
Just like you. Over the years she’d learned to ride out the times when Vern closed down. Early in their marriage she’d believed his distracted silences were the result of something she’d said or done to upset him, but with time and maturity came understanding. Nine times out of ten his silences had nothing to do with her and were usually related to a problem on the farm. It had taken her a long time to work out that those silences meant he was thinking—working his way through issues such as why the tractor wouldn’t start, why his best milker was off her feed and, in the early days when money was tight, how he’d manage to pay the vet’s bill or the bank. He’d be so busy working out the problem that he’d completely tune out everything else.
“Do you think it’s the farm, Vern? Is he losing money?”
He shook his head. “The books look good and his changes to the parlor have made milking easier.”
Martha heard the grudging respect in his voice. “Then what can it be?”
“Dunno, but what I do know is, we’re gonna have to move back here.”
No! Her heart hammered hard against her chest as trepidation settled in. “But this is our time.”
He frowned at her. “What were the last thirty years then?”
“Don’t be like that. You know what I mean. You’ve worked hard for years and now it’s time to slow down.”
“For God’s sake, Martha, I’m fifty-seven not seventy.” His sharp, critical tone sliced into her. “There’s no way I’m allowing the farm to be sold.”
“And what happens when you’re seventy?”
“Keri’s kids can continue the line.”
“Oh, Vern, they’re city kids. You know that isn’t going to happen.”
The jut of his jaw was intransigent and she could see her new life in Arizona—one of golf, bridge, volunteering and not an iota of snow—being torn from her. She’d given thirty years of service to the farm—to the family business. She’d served it with care and devotion, shared her husband with it and raised a family on it. Now it was time off for good behavior, to be free of the 24/7 demands that were both the joy and the bind of farm life.
No way was she letting her new life in Arizona slip away from her. Come hell or high water, she was going to find a solution that kept Luke on the farm.
* * *
Want to travel to reception on a hay cart. Arrange it. Connie.
A hay cart? Erin blinked at the text wondering why it had come to her and not Nicole. Connie, with her stiletto heels and designer clothes, was an urbanite through and through, but if she wanted a hay cart, she’d have a hay cart. Erin almost texted back, Do you know how scratchy that stuff is? But instead she typed, On it.
She and Luke had rolled in the hay—literally—two nights ago after she’d made a quip about him being boring and always wanting to have sex in a bed. He’d marched her to the barn, chased her up a ladder into the hay loft and pulled her down with him. The sex had been joyous and fun but she’d conceded that the bed was indeed a lot more comfortable than hay, which spiked her in a variety of places. Plus, she was still finding bits of it in her clothes.
Sex with Luke was always an adventure but she bit her lip against the trembling pull of need that she was fast losing control over. He just had to wink at her and she was wet and panting and although on one level it was amazingly erotic, on another it was downright terrifying. She didn’t want to need anyone because that way no one could let her down. It was safer that way.
Pulling her mind back to business, she forwarded Connie’s message to Nicole who was a magician at sourcing things. The wedding was getting closer and both she and Nicole were dividing up the thousand details that made a wedding memorable. One part of her was pleased Nicole was on board because Connie’s requests seemed to be doubling daily and she had no desire to swap photography for wedding planning.
She moved on to the next text.
Picnic in the woods behind the B&B at noon. Have made Caesar salad wraps. Please come and bring Maggie-May. Wade.
She hung up her cleaning bucket and checked her watch. It was 11:50. Perfect timing. She could enjoy a lunch she hadn’t made herself and still have time to keep her appointment with Lindsay and Keith who were now back from their honeymoon. She couldn’t wait to show them her suggestions for their album.
As she called Maggie-May, her phone beeped two more times.
Erin, your dear old dad is feeling unloved. I miss you.
A throb set up at her temple and her thumb hovered over the call button but she couldn’t make herself press it. She opened the other text.
The scarecrow says thank you. L
A picture was attached and she laughed out loud. Her cow pajamas were now gracing the scarecrow near the sunflower field, complete with the large hole Mac and Maggie-May had torn into one of the pant legs.
While she and Maggie-May walked down the trail that led from the cottages into the woods, she texted back, Tell Scarecrow that theft of pajamas means I only have my rubber boots to wear to bed.
The reply was instant. The scarecrow wants pictures.
Laughter and a melee of voices, including children, floated on the air and Maggie-May strained on the leash, wanting to hurl herself into the middle of the action. Wade had tied a red ribbon around a tree trunk and she cut off the path through the grove of birches following the noise. Just before she cleared the grove, she stopped and brought her camera up to her eye.
In the clearing, a girl and a boy were squealing with delight and chasing Wade who was dodging and weaving to avoid being tagged. Mac was barking and racing around the perimeter, trying to round them up as if they were sheep. A woman, who had the same keen eyes as Luke and the stocky build of Wade, sat watching them, calling out tips and egging them on to bring Uncle Wade down. A man she assumed was the woman’s husband lay on a picnic rug with one arm slung over his eyes and the other resting gently on the woman’s back.
She set her camera to a fast shutter speed to catch the action and took ten shots in quick succession. Then she moved her camera left. Luke squatted at the fence line. Even though he was technically sharing the same space as the other picnickers, he was completely distanced from the group. One hand held soil which dribbled through his fingers, and his gaze was fixed far in the distance, out across the emerald fields of the farm. He was a man surveying his domain. His land. She reset her camera, zoomed in, focused and captured the moment.
Maggie-May took advantage of her distraction and with much joyous barking, raced into the melee of kids and dog and tag.
Luke immediately stood up and looked beyond Maggie-May, his face creased in a frown until his gaze found her. Then he smiled.
Erin’s chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. She gave herself a shake, wondering what on earth was wrong with her. It wasn’t like Luke never smiled at her. He did—every time he saw her—and mostly it involved a wicked twinkle in his eyes which meant he was planning to get her clothes off her as fast as possible. An intent that suited both of them.
He strode toward her, surprise clear on his face but when he met her, he walked her back slightly until the trees screened them from view. He pulled her cl
ose, kissing her. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Neither did I until Wade texted me.” She scanned his face wondering if her being here crossed the unspoken rule of summer flings. “It looks like a family thing though. I don’t have to stay if it’s going to make things weird.”
A slight frown marred his high forehead. “It’s not going to make things weird. My family is that already.” He caught her hand, and before she could protest, he walked her into the center of the group. “Keri, Phil, this is Erin.”
“The photographer who can cook?” Keri shot to her feet, her face filled with interest. She gave Phil a nudge to get up.
Luke rolled his eyes at his sister and squeezed Erin’s hand as if reassuring her. “Yes, but don’t even think about putting her in service to bake for you. That’s why you have Phil.”
Phil wrapped his arms around his wife, pulled her back against him and rested his chin on her head. “I baked her a lemon meringue pie the night I proposed, Erin. It was my guarantee of getting a yes.”
Erin quickly disengaged her hand from Luke’s, not wanting to give his family the impression they were a real couple. At the same time, she tried to shrug off the odd feeling that Keri knew about her. “I’m really more of a photographer than a cook.”
Keri’s eyes lit up. “Could you take our photo?”
“Keri.” Luke’s tone held a warning growl.
“What?” His sister’s eyes filled with feigned innocence. “I meant all of us together. It would be a great present for Mom and Dad to take back to Arizona.” She fixed her attention on Erin. “Of course, we’ll visit you at your studio and pay you for your time.”
Erin smiled at Keri. “I’m happy to take a family shot. Let’s do it now.”
Keri looked askance. “But we’re not dressed.”
“You look dressed to me and more importantly you look happy and relaxed. Wouldn’t your parents want a photo of you all together on the farm? Where you grew up? A place that belongs to you all?”
“Did you hear that, Luke?” Wade asked with an edge to his voice as he joined the group. “The farm belongs to us all.”