He opened the freezer and pulled out ice cube trays, listening as Jenna talked to the boys about how to wash, and then told them that if they made a mess, they had to clean it up. Her voice was soft with laughter and the twins jabbered nonstop.
The sounds were as foreign to him as Atlanta had once been, and yet, somehow it was all familiar, as if it had always been a part of his life.
Warning signs were going off, telling him to retreat, to get out of her world before he got pulled into something that hurt them all. But he couldn’t walk away.
Jenna walked into the kitchen as he was filling up two glasses and she pulled a container out of the cabinet. “Willow made chocolate chip cookies. Want one?”
“Can I have two?”
“Have as many as you want.” She took two and nodded to the table. “We can sit in here. Or on the porch.”
“The porch would be great.” Without asking, he grabbed her tea. She smiled and didn’t protest.
He followed her out the door onto the small porch with the two metal chairs and a swing. Lamplight glowed from the living room and he could hear the boys playing in the bathroom, just off the living room.
“I love nights like this.” Jenna sat down and reached for her glass. “I love it here.”
“It is a good place,” he admitted. He looked out at the lawn, at the sky that had turned deep twilight-blue. The stars were amazing, maybe because he hadn’t seen them like this in so many years. In Atlanta, he never looked up.
“Where’d you go today?” She sighed. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”
He smiled at her. “I went home. I saw my dad.”
“Good. A guy should always be able to go home.” She made it sound so easy.
He wished it was. Maybe it was, for other people. He had come to the conclusion that the water under the bridge had washed him downstream a little too far, taking him too far from his family, too far from where he’d grown up. And too far from faith.
Now none of it felt as far away as he’d once thought.
“Are you always such an optimist?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.
“Not always. I know what it’s like to have to forgive someone. I had to forgive my dad for hurting me, for hurting us, and for spending so much of my childhood drunk.”
“I’m sorry, Jenna.”
“I’ve worked through it. He’s in the nursing home now, suffering from dementia. Sometimes he doesn’t even know who I am. The past doesn’t seem as important as it used to.”
“Yeah, my dad told me that he’s had to do the funerals of friends his age. It does make you stop and think. I also realize I’ve spent too many years angry with him for pushing me the way he did.”
“You would have played anyway.” She smiled in the dim light on the porch, and her hand moved, like she meant to reach for his, but she didn’t. “You could have walked away. You went to college. If you hadn’t wanted this…”
“I could have done something else.” He laughed a little, because she never gave him any slack. “You’re right, I guess I could have. And now I am going to do something else. The job with the sports network.”
“See, doors opened because your dad pushed you.”
“Yes, he pushed.” Adam leaned back, thinking about those ladies and their whispered comments about the two of them. “Jenna, I’m not a good person.”
“Have you been reading too many stories about yourself and believing what other people say?” She winked, teasing with her smile.
“Don’t you believe those stories?”
“No, I don’t believe them. I think you’ve done things you regret. But I don’t believe that’s who you are.” She cocked her head to the side and he didn’t talk. He knew she was listening to her boys. They were still chattering, still splashing in the tub.
“The kids show up tomorrow for the first day of Camp Hope.”
“I know.” She shifted in the chair. “I might not be around for a day or two. I need to take some time with my horses.”
“You don’t have to explain that to me. I know you have a life.”
“I’m not explaining.” She laughed a little. “Okay, maybe I am. But the horses are important to me. When I was little, this is what I dreamed of.”
“Didn’t you have other dreams?” He turned in his chair, watching her in the soft light that glowed from the living room window.
She sighed a little. “I wanted to run away from home. I wanted to show horses on the national circuit and never come back to Dawson. Kind of like you. But my dream changed. Now it’s about this farm and raising my boys. What was your dream?”
His dream? The likely answer, the one he’d always given to reporters, was that he’d always wanted to play pro football. But there had to be other dreams, other things he wanted in life. He smiled, not looking at her, because he knew what she’d think.
“I wanted to be a fireman.”
Her laughter filled the night air. “Of course you did. Every little boy wants to be a fireman. But what else? What did you really want to be?”
“I’m serious. I wanted to be a fireman.”
“So, volunteer for the Dawson Rural Fire District. They can always use help.”
“I won’t be here long enough.” The words plunked into the night, having the opposite effect of her laughter. He wouldn’t be here long at all.
“No, I guess you won’t.”
He glanced at his watch, and then out at the dark sky. No streetlights, no traffic, no sirens. He had forgotten that this type of silence existed. He had forgotten, or maybe never known, what it was like to sit and talk to a woman like Jenna Cameron.
“I should go home.”
She stood when he stood. “Yes, it is getting late.”
And her smile was gone, and he knew that it was because he was leaving. Did she wonder if he would sell the camp? He wished he had an answer for her.
He picked up both their glasses. “I’ll take these in first.”
“Thank you.”
Jenna didn’t follow Adam into the house. She could hear the boys playing in the bath, fighting with toy men and splashing water, probably all over the floor. Adam came back, his face in shadows with the living room light behind him. She waited on the porch to tell him goodbye.
He stepped onto the porch and the dog came up, rolling over in front of Adam so he could scratch its belly. Adam gave the dog the attention it wanted and then straightened, reaching for his hat that he’d left on the table.
Jenna knew that he should go. For her sake and for the boys’. They didn’t need to get attached to him, or get used to him in their lives.
Adam still stood on her porch, though. He smelled like mountains and cedar. And when he was this close, she could hardly breathe.
She needed to breathe.
She took a step back, taking in a deep breath of humid June air. Adam backed up a step in the other direction. He had to know as well as she did that this—whatever this was—couldn’t be real. It was moonlight and missing something they’d never had, would never have. She had two kids. He had career plans that included Atlanta, not Dawson.
“Adam, you should go now.”
She had a list of reasons why he should go. She had a five-year plan that didn’t include dating. Her boys were in the bathroom splashing, playing and needing for her to be there for them.
If she closed her eyes she could remember how it felt when Jeff looked at her that day that he said goodbye. She could remember how his gaze had lingered on her leg. She would never open herself up that way again, to feel that way, with a man looking at her as if she was less than beautiful.
She was past the anger, past the hurt. She had worked through so many stages of grief. She couldn’t remember them all, but she knew that it had left something raw and painful inside her, an unwillingness to ever be hurt that way again.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Or in a few days.” Adam’s voice, reminding her of this night, and her life here.
&nbs
p; She opened her eyes and nodded. “I’ll be around.”
“Okay then.” He didn’t walk away. “Jenna, people are talking about us.”
“Oh?” What was she supposed to say? “I haven’t heard, but I can imagine.”
“It’s just that I know how you feel, about the boys.”
“Don’t worry, I know you’re going back to Atlanta. The boys know it, too.”
The boys yelled that they were finished, saving her from saying more, or doing something stupid, something she would regret.
“See you later.” He tipped his hat, pivoted and walked off the porch, a dark figure in the night. Her dog followed him.
Jenna walked back into the house, knowing that Adam wasn’t a superstar, or a man who’d dated more women than Dawson had people. He was really just a cowboy who had dreamed of being a fireman.
And before long, he would be a memory.
Jenna had always dreamed of training horses. But the morning after Adam’s visit, with the sun barely up, she was trying to remember why that dream had been important—especially on a morning when she would have liked to sleep late, a morning after a sleepless night.
She cinched the saddle on the gray gelding she was hoping to sell, talking to him, distracting him because he had a tendency to hold his breath and once she got the girth strap tight, he’d let his air out and the strap would be loose, causing the saddle to slide.
But she knew a few tricks, too. She moved him forward, slapped his belly and gave the strap a yank. The horse sidestepped and nodded his head a few times, his ears back to let her know that he didn’t like losing.
“Oh, you poor baby.” She led him to the mounting block Clint had made for her, to help her mount without the stirrups. There were challenges. Each day she faced something new, but horses she knew how to handle. She felt free when she rode, as if nothing could stop her, not even her injury.
Amputation. She could say it. Her life didn’t need a man to be complete. It was complete because she was alive and she was content.
As she settled into the saddle, Jack moved a little, adjusting to the weight in the saddle. He reached back, nipping at her booted foot. She nudged his head away and urged him forward.
She rode him into the arena and from the saddle she pulled the gate closed. Jack skittered a little to the side, but she held him tight, talking to him as she edged him forward, not letting him take control.
After a few laps walking around the arena, she loosened the reins and leaned slightly. With that sign of permission, he broke into an easy lope around the arena, taking the lead with his inside front leg.
“Jack, maybe I shouldn’t sell you. You really are a pretty decent guy. And decent guys are hard to find.” She laughed softly because his ears twitched and went back, as if he wasn’t sure if her words were an insult or compliment.
She slowed him to a walk and then stopped him with barely a flick of her wrist and the tightening of her legs. A touch of her left foot and he turned away from the pressure. She could feel his giant body rippling beneath her, beneath the saddle. He was more than a half ton of power, and yet he submitted to her control.
A truck rumbled up the drive. Jenna flicked a glance over her shoulder, expecting her brother.
It wasn’t Clint.
Jack shifted, stepping a little to the right and then backing up against the pressure of the reins. She took him around the arena again.
Adam stepped out of the truck and walked across the lawn. He looked like every other Oklahoma cowboy that she knew—faded jeans and a short-sleeved shirt buttoned up, but not tucked in. The deep red of the shirt worked with his golden tan and sandy-brown hair. This morning he wore a baseball cap, not the white cowboy hat he normally wore.
Memories of last night, of a moment when she had wanted to be held, rushed back, and so did the realization that those feelings had been hers, not his. She might not give credence to tabloids, but single at thirty-three and the number of relationships in his past did point to a possible commitment phobia on his part.
She reminded herself that she had the same phobia, because she was tired of getting left behind. And he would definitely leave her behind. He’d made that clear last night.
He stopped at the arena, leaning against the top rail of the enclosure.
“What are you doing up and around this early?” She rode Jack up to the fence. Adam ran a hand over the horse’s jaw and down his neck. She glanced away, toward the house, where there was still no sign of the boys, and back to Adam. He leaned against the fence, tall and confidant.
“I thought I’d return the favor you’ve done me and help you out a little.”
She pulled the horse back so he could step inside the enclosure. “Help me?”
“With the horses. I know you have a lot to get done this week.”
“Don’t you have kids showing up at your camp?”
“I do, but not until noon. Pastor Todd is going to be there in an hour. He’s bringing kitchen staff to start lunch. I’ll stay here a couple of hours and head that way.”
“If you insist. But you won’t like the job.”
“I bet I won’t mind.”
“Could you clean the stalls? I need to work him for another fifteen minutes or so, and those stalls really need to be cleaned.”
“I can clean stalls, if you have coffee.”
“I keep a pot of coffee inside the tack room. I know, bad habit, but I can’t help myself.”
“Works for me. Pitchfork?”
Jenna smiled, because he was really going to do this. “Adam, you really don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.”
“Fine. Pitchfork and wheelbarrow in the first stall.”
He tipped his hat and nodded. “Where are the boys?”
“They’ll sleep late. We stayed up and watched a movie last night.”
“They’re great kids. Not that I’m an expert.” He didn’t move away from the fence.
And Jenna couldn’t untangle her thoughts from the memory of being away from the boys, worrying about them when she couldn’t hold them.
“They are great. It wouldn’t seem like a mom would miss much in an eight- or nine-month time period, but I missed a lot.”
“You were in Iraq all that time?”
Of course he didn’t know. “No, I was in rehab for nearly five months. I’ve only been home for five months. They were with Willow and Clint.”
“I used to think I was strong.” He winked and walked away, and she didn’t know what to do with his statement or the way it made her feel. But he was walking away and she couldn’t tell him, couldn’t tell him how it felt to be so afraid, and to not feel strong at all.
The barn was stifling hot, even that early in the morning. There wasn’t any breeze at all, and all of the heat got trapped inside that building beneath the metal roof. Adam pushed the wheelbarrow toward the open double doors at the end of the barn, feeling a little breeze as he got closer to the opening. He brushed his arm across his forehead and paused to watch the woman outside, pulling the saddle off the big gray horse. It was heavy and she backed up, not steady on her feet, but strong.
He knew she wouldn’t want his help. He pushed the wheelbarrow out to the heap a short distance from the barn. It didn’t take a genius to know that he needed to dump the old straw in that pile. He lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow and lifted, giving it a good shake and then turning it to the side to get the rest out.
Jenna walked up behind him. “You look like you could use something a little colder than coffee.”
He turned, and she wrinkled her nose and smiled. “Ice water would be good. I just finished the last stall.”
“You’re good help. I might keep…” She laughed. “Forget that I said that.”
“Yeah, I know, good help is hard to find. The boys are on the front porch.”
“I saw them. They know not to come running down here when I’m working a horse. I nearly got dumped a month or so back.”
“You’ve done all of this in a matter of months? That’s pretty impressive.”
“I didn’t want to waste a single day getting back to life and making my dreams come true. Come on, let’s get something to drink. And I have boiled eggs in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“I had breakfast at The Mad Cow. Vera wanted to give me the latest on Jess and his attempts at stopping the camp. He has a lawyer, some second cousin twice removed, who is willing to help him.”
“Great, that would be Kevin, and he’s only doing it to help his career, which is nonexistent. But I guess this would get a guy some good publicity, trying to take down a camp owned by Adam Mackenzie.”
“I guess this is one more reason for me to sell or sign the camp over to the church.”
“If you think so,” she said, as if she wanted to say more.
She wanted to tell him he was a quitter. She didn’t need to say it, because he knew that’s what she would say if she thought she could get away with it.
“Jenna, I’m not staying. And if Jess gets his way, this camp won’t last. If he’s doing this to get money from me, signing the camp over to the church will end that.”
“I know that.” She stopped and smiled up at him. “I’ll miss you, that’s all. And don’t get that trapped look. I’m not after anything. It’s just that you feel like a friend. One that I won’t see again after you leave here.”
“Yeah, I know.” He reached for her hand. “Jenna, thank you for being the first person in a long time who doesn’t want something from me.”
She squeezed his hand once and let go. “You’re welcome.”
The boys were off the porch and running toward them, blond hair sticking up, feet bare. They wrapped their arms around Jenna and started to tell her about the mouse they’d seen the cat catch. He didn’t even know that she had a cat.
“I’m going to get back to the camp. Todd will be there, and…”
She nodded. “Go ahead, I understand.”
He was escaping, and she knew it. He walked away, not even understanding what he needed to escape from, or how she knew him so well, sometimes better than he seemed to know himself.
That scared him. When had anyone known him that well?
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