by Erin Wright
“It’s only the third day I’ve been here, and I’d explain why it’s taking so long, but I’ve already heard your rant about excuses, so I think I’ll skip it today,” she said blithely, knowing that she’d taken a giant leap across the line, but not really giving a damn.
As her boss began another lecture about her obligations to the bank and being polite to her superiors, Jennifer heard the sound of Stetson’s truck rumbling down from the barn and Greg’s voice faded away completely.
She watched the truck come to a stop in front of the house.
Her heart skipped a beat.
At the very edge of her awareness, she could still hear Greg droning on and on. She refocused for a second to make sure her boss was still raving and not actually talking to her, but he sounded like he was just getting warmed up, so she went back to ignoring him.
Stetson slipped from the truck and, looking at her on the porch, he nodded once in acknowledgement before leaning back into the cab to gather something from the console. When his head reappeared, Jennifer’s breathing quickened. The brooding storm clouds behind him threw his handsome figure into greater contrast, perfectly framed by the wilderness of the area. He belonged here. She had to make sure he stayed here.
“Jennifer!” Greg’s voice leapt to the front of her attention.
“I’m sorry,” Jennifer said, scrambling for a way to cover her inattention. “Ummm…you broke up there at the end. What was that last part?”
She watched as Stetson grabbed something from the bed of the truck, his hair plastered to his head from the rain. She wanted to run her fingers through it and straighten it out.
“I saaaaiiiiiddddd…the board wants options.”
“I’m exploring that right now,” Jennifer said, dropping her head in exasperation. “I have to see what assets—”
“Let me be frank,” he cut in. “The board wants to know if foreclosure is an option.”
“Well, yes, foreclosure is always an option,” she replied at the same time she heard the sound of Stetson’s boot hitting the porch step.
Her head snapped up. He was not smiling. There was no way Stetson missed hearing that last sentence.
Shit, shit, shit, shittiest shit of all shits.
She was screwed. She watched him storm past her into the house, the phone call completely forgotten in that instant.
Greg was still talking but for once, she didn’t wait for him to stop.
“I got it, Greg,” she said, talking over whatever the hell he was saying. “I’ll get you and the board my recommendation as quickly as I can. I gotta go.”
Jennifer hit the red button, ending the call. She turned and watched the screen door, still bouncing against the door frame from being slammed by Stetson.
She had no idea how to talk her way out of this one.
Chapter 20
Stetson
He knew it. He’d been thrown off there for a minute by her bright green eyes and how adorably tiny she was, like a Barbie doll come to life, but it’d all been an act. He’d known better, but he’d let his dick convince him otherwise.
Never listen to his dick. If he ever chose to get a tattoo, that should be what it read. Dad would’ve told him that he was being a dick by tattooing that to his body, but then again, Dad up and died on him, so Stetson wasn’t real sure why he should care.
Abandoned, yet again, by someone who should’ve been there for him. His mom, his dad, Michelle, even his brothers…this farm was the only thing that was his, and here was this green-eyed asshole of a beauty, trying to take it away from him too.
Carmelita came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. “What is wrong?” she asked, peering up at his stormy face.
“I don’t want to see her again,” he growled, taking a perverse pleasure in being snarly and grumpy and rude to Carmelita. He shouldn’t, but he liked it anyway. He was sick of being the good guy all the time. “If she ever comes back, she’d better do it when I’m not here. No food, no talking, nothing at all! She deserves nothing at all.” It was satisfying to say that twice, to really mean it. To rub it in.
Jennifer Kendall really did deserve nothing at all. Nothing except the worst in life.
“She is the enemy!” he shouted. The phrase he’d been telling himself for three days now slipped out, unbidden, but that didn’t make them any less true. She was the enemy. She pretended otherwise, but he knew better. He’d always known better, but with this last reminder…he wouldn’t forget this time.
Never forget.
Carmelita’s eyes widened but for once, he didn’t wait to hear what she had to say. He stormed into the family room, past his father’s recliner, and threw himself into his, turning on the TV and jacking up the sound until the walls were shaking.
Screw ‘em all. Screw the whole world.
Chapter 21
Jennifer
Okay, don’t panic. I can go in and explain the situation to him. He has to listen to me. He has to realize that foreclosure is a real possibility at this point. It doesn’t matter what I do or say, the possibility is out there and I may not be able to stop it.
She took a step towards the front door and then stopped. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to a word she said. She should give him space and deal with him in the morning. Maybe with some time to cool off, he’d be willing to hear her out.
She turned back to leave and then realized that except for her nylons, she was barefoot. No wonder she was so cold. Tiptoeing back, she eased the screen door and front door open as quietly as she could and retrieved her heels from just inside the house, where she’d kicked them off that morning.
Carmelita was saying something, her voice so quiet that the words were indistinguishable.
Shoes in hand, Jennifer backed away slowly.
Stetson said something in reply, and then… “She deserves nothing at all,” Stetson yelled, his voice raw with hatred. “She is the enemy!”
Jennifer eased the doors shut, hastily slipped her shoes on, grabbed her bag from the rocking chair, and plunged into the rain. She practically threw herself into her car, mud and rain and tears mixing together into a soup of disaster and pain. Reaching into her bag, she rummaged around for her keys.
She had to get out of there. She had to go. She had to leave. Right now.
She found the keys. Fumbling, she finally got the right key in the ignition. Starting the car, she slammed the shifter into reverse and jammed her foot down.
Tears were already blurring her vision as she felt the wet gravel give way under the tires. Blindly, she slapped the shifter into drive and rocketed out of the farmyard.
“I am not the enemy!” she screamed, pounding the steering wheel.
The car slipped and then caught on the muddy road. Jennifer didn’t notice. She thought back to how she’d reached up and stroked his cheek. She’d listened to him talk about his father fighting cancer, and she’d felt for him. She’d bandaged his hand.
Sure, “Foreclosure is always an option” wasn’t the best statement in the world to overhear someone say, but didn’t she deserve at least a little bit of grace? A chance to explain herself?
She flipped the windshield wipers on high, not sure if it was the moisture outside or the moisture in her eyes that was blurring the world. They flapped hard, swishing maniacally across the windshield, but still, she could see almost nothing.
Tears it was, then.
She wondered what Carmelita was thinking in that moment. Was she listening to Stetson describe what he’d overheard, and wondering why she’d ever been nice to such a traitor? The thought of Carmelita hating her…it hurt almost as much as Stetson’s hatred.
“I am not the enemy!” she yelled again, pounding the steering wheel with every syllable.
She was already screaming when the front tire found a soft spot near the edge of the gravel road. The car jerked. The steering wheel twisted violently from her hands.
Terrified, Jennifer’s body pulled into itself as the car and inertia took contr
ol. Her forehead slammed into the steering wheel, pain exploding outward from the impact. She screamed again.
The tire caught in the eroded drainage channel that paralleled the roadway, directing the car forward as it quickly slowed. Finally, with a sudden jerk, the car came to a stop pointing away from the road.
Panicked, her body still curled into a defensive position, she sat there, her heart hammering painfully against the inside of her ribcage.
She didn’t know how much time had passed before she dared to move. She gave herself a personal inventory. She extended her legs and wiggled her toes; she watched as she made fists with both hands and then stretched her fingers outward.
Finally, she reached up and readjusted the rearview mirror that had been knocked askew so that she could look at her face. She couldn’t see any blood on her forehead, which she took as a good sign.
Luckily, she hadn’t been driving that fast. Too fast for the conditions, sure, but not so fast that the crash caused serious damage. She probed the tender spot in the center of her forehead. Ouch! She should’ve been wearing her seatbelt. She was usually so good at putting it on, but today…today, she’d just been too pissed to think clearly.
Self-check complete, she looked around the car for her stuff. Spotting it, she leaned over and grabbed her computer bag from where it had fallen onto the passenger-side floor, and pulled it up onto her lap.
She dug around in the front pockets until she found her phone.
Thank God it isn’t broken.
Then she realized that the phone was ringing. The screen read “Paul Limmer” before it turned itself off, the battery completely drained.
Chapter 22
Stetson
Stetson shifted around, trying to find a comfortable place in his leather recliner. Usually super comfy, tonight he just couldn’t find a good spot. Everything was lumpy and wrong and the wooden frame was digging into him.
Determined, Stetson shifted again, ignoring whatever was happening on the TV. Some sort of sports was on, although under threat of death, he couldn’t begin to guess what it was, and didn’t care. It was just serving as his signal to the world (ie, Carmelita) to leave him the hell alone.
Finally, he found just the right spot and sank in, letting the tension go just a little bit. Perfect. He was now in a great position to fully enjoy a nice wallow in his funk…
Which was when he heard a knock on the front door.
Stetson didn’t move. He wasn’t in the mood to put on a cheerful face and anyway, Carmelita liked to greet people.
“It is your house, Mr. Miller. You can answer the door,” Carmelita hollered from the kitchen.
Fine. Stetson sighed as he flipped up the handle releasing the foot rest, turning the volume down on the TV as he hoisted himself up. He’d never admit it to Carmelita, but the TV had honestly been hurting his ears. It had been just too damn loud, even for him.
When had he become such an old man?
Padding his way over to the front door in just his socks, he fully expected to find Declan or Wyatt, ready to tear into him now that they’d heard the news about the farm. To be perfectly honest, he was surprised they hadn’t heard the news before now. Sawyer wasn’t exactly the ideal town to try to hide news from others, good or bad. Just what he needed today – an ass-chewing from Wyatt.
Stetson’s shoulders tightened up at the thought. If Wyatt said one word – one word! – about Stetson being the baby of the family, he wasn’t sure he could be accountable for his actions after that. Wyatt deserved a can of whoop-ass to be delivered to him, anyway. Today was just the day to do it. In fact—
He jerked the heavy wooden door open, ready to tell Wyatt to just shut the hell up and get his nose out of places where it didn’t belong, when instead, he found Jennifer.
A soaked Jennifer, hunched over and shivering from the cold.
Dammit, why is she here? Why isn’t she in Franklin, eating dinner? Far, far away from me?
“What are you doing here?” he growled. He folded his arms over his chest and glared down at her. He leaned against the doorframe of the front door, blocking her entrance with his body. If she thought she would slip by him and into the house, she had another think a-comin’. She wasn’t welcome, and he was not going to budge on that fact.
“The better question is, why are you still standing on the front porch, shivering like a newborn kitten in the middle of winter?” asked an angry Spanish-accented voice from behind him.
Double damn. He should’ve known that Carmelita wouldn’t be able to resist coming to the door, even after ordering him to answer it. Nothing happened under her roof that she didn’t know about.
“I told you how I felt about this situation earlier today,” Stetson said over his shoulder to Carmelita through gritted teeth, “and that decision still stands.”
Smack! Stetson’s head lurched forward at the impact.
Every time Carmelita hit him on the back of the head, he had to wonder how a woman so short could reach so high.
“You have been rude enough for one day. I try to respect your feelings earlier today even if you were rude when you say them to me,” Carmelita said furiously. “Now there is young woman on the porch who needs warm and shelter of your home. I do not care who she is or where she come from, mi hijo, you will be rude no more.”
Carmelita’s English, usually better than his, worsened the angrier she was. Based on the speech she just gave, she was pissed.
And mi hijo? That was just low. She rarely called him that, but when she did…
She played to win, he’d give her that.
“Come in and I will find you a towel,” Stetson said in a voice so low, it was barely audible. He turned and slunk past Carmelita, his head still bent low.
“Come, come,” he heard the elderly woman say.
Returning with the towel he’d found in the guest bathroom, Jennifer was telling her about spinning off the road as Carmelita was squeezing the water out of Jennifer’s hair. Her jacket was hanging on a hook next to the door, dripping harmlessly onto the tile entryway. It was all for show and had obviously become soaked quickly, offering very little protection during her journey from wherever the hell she’d crashed her car.
Her white blouse was just as wet as the jacket, the thin white material clinging to her lace bra.
For just a second, Stetson forgot to be angry.
Blinking, trying to wipe the image from his mind, Stetson retrieved a raincoat from the alcove and handed it to her. Jennifer stared at him, resigned and disappointed.
He tugged on his boots and grabbed a second coat for himself from the row of hooks.
Carmelita was still fussing over her, grabbing the towel from Stetson’s hand and rubbing Jennifer’s hair with it.
“I will find you dry clothes. They will most likely not fit, but they will be dry. I will wash these and…”
“Before you get too dry, let’s go,” Stetson interrupted.
“Stetson Byron Miller!” Carmelita hollered.
“I need her to go back to the car with me,” Stetson interrupted again before she could really get on a roll, “and steer while I pull it out of the ditch with the truck. I don’t much see the point of getting her into dry clothes, just so she can get wet again.”
“You’d do that for me?” Jennifer asked, astonished.
“Carmelita says that I’ve been rude to everybody today, and I probably have. Some of the people I have been rude to did not deserve it,” he said, looking pointedly at Carmelita before turning back to Jennifer. “Some of those people probably did deserve it,” he looked even more pointedly at Jennifer, “but I’m not going to leave you stuck on the side of the road in the rain overnight, no matter why the hell you’re here.”
Stetson looked at the drenched woman. She seemed so small in that moment. Trails of water traced down her cheeks. He desperately hoped that it was rainwater. Crying always made him very uncomfortable.
Very, very uncomfortable.
Dammi
t, I think those are tears…
Chapter 23
Jennifer
The drive back to her car was uncomfortably quiet. That kind of quiet that makes a person want to break out into song, even if they’re tone deaf, just so that some sort of noise was being made.
Couldn’t the radio be playing something truly awful, like She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy? Or The Watermelon Crawl?
She knew she was desperate if she was willing to listen to The Watermelon Crawl.
But the radio was painfully silent and Stetson was painfully silent and the only noise was the swish of the wipers on the windshield and the growl of the engine and the spin of the tires as the rain-softened road slid and gave way beneath the giant tires of the truck.
Which had the unexpected side effect of making her feel slightly better, because if this truck was struggling, her little Civic had no chance at all, even if she had been driving with her mind totally on the task at hand.
Which she totally hadn’t been, of course.
She mentally sorted through her choices, sparse as they were. For the past three days, she’d held her tongue. She’d thought that actions spoke louder than words, and she still believed that. But that long-held belief aside, she probably needed to face the facts: It was within the realm of possibility that a few words of explanation could go a long ways.
Orrrrr…they could do nothing at all.
But dammit all, she had to try. Then, at least, she wouldn’t be playing the “What if?” game with herself for the next month.
Just as she was talking herself into talking, the rear end of her Honda appeared between the swipes of the wipers. Wow. She’d been so close to making it to the pavement. Another 50 yards, and she would’ve been long gone from the Miller farm.
Well, this was her sign – she had to talk now, before they got involved with the process of trying to pull the car out of the ditch. That would be chaotic and before she knew it, they’d have her car out of the ditch and Stetson would still not be talking to her and nothing would’ve changed. It was do-or-die time.