Love in Deed: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 6)

by Smartypants Romance

  “No,” Naomi whispers, as if ashamed that she hadn’t, or maybe ashamed because she wishes she had. “I just … I like him, but then I told him about Jebediah—”

  “Stop blaming Jebediah for everything that happened to you. You didn’t hold the bottle before he drove.” My voice falters. Jebediah’s decisions were his own. Even if I wasn’t with him that night, I can sympathize with his plight. A desperate need to drown oneself. A deep desire to numb the pain. A stupid decision to drive. I’d made the same unforgivable choice. Only I’d survived my disaster—if survival is what you can call my existence—while Jebediah perished in his.

  Naomi and I were about to embark on an old argument, one she and I had agreed to respectfully disagree on years ago.

  “He made his own choices,” I state, implying Jebediah. “Besides, Nathan’s the one who walked out on you so quickly. Did he ever explain why he didn’t call?” Being left behind seems to be a Winters’ woman curse as Nathan Ryder ditched my sister after he got what he wanted from her, just as Howard abandoned me with a child and a farm, and Karl Simmons stepped out on Scotia.

  Naomi feeds me some malarkey about Nathan forgetting a phone number and roaming the Southern coast and blah, blah, blah. Men always have enlarged excuses instead of generous gumption.

  “That’s a cop-out. You deserve to know the reason. In fact, you deserve it right now.” I’m growing more agitated the longer I listen to my sister’s story and Nathan’s paltry palliation.

  She deserves the truth.

  She deserves an explanation.

  A storm brews within me with each consideration, but I’m no longer certain I’m talking about my sister.

  “You’re the one who’s all ‘girl power’ and ‘go goddess’, yet you still choose to blame yourself, and you need to stop. Quit faulting yourself for everything related to that night.” I exhale as I rant. The storm swirls to a full-on tempest. “Maybe you should have slept with him again.”

  “Beverly!” Naomi’s shocked retort startles us both.

  “Well, it’s one way to get over a man.” Is it? Am I listening to what I’m saying? Is sleeping with someone else the way to cure the pain and pining over someone who is never coming back? No, the answer is a resounding no. I’d been close to that position, too close, and it would not have eased my aches.

  “You could have slept with him to keep him, but then again, what do I know? All the sex in the world didn’t keep Howard home with me.” It’s true. I’d given myself to Howard too many times in too many ways, and it was embarrassing to admit. I hate him for what he did to me and how he made me feel, but I hate myself more for allowing it. I take a deep breath before I continue as I’m dangerously close to admitting things I don’t want to admit to another human being, even my sister. “Then again, Nathan is older, and maybe he has that erectile dysfunction thing you so often see advertised on television, and his penis doesn’t work like it sh—”

  “It works just fine,” she interjects, holding up a hand to stop me and flushing deep red.

  What can I say? I watch a lot of television. That’s where I learn these things.

  “How would you know if you haven’t slept with him?” I can’t fight the grin slowly curling my lips. What has my sister been up to with this man? Then I have another curious thought. “So he hasn’t called in three days?”

  She nods.

  “And you think he’s ghosting you again?” Another word I’ve learned from television—ghosting. The act of ending a relationship quite suddenly and without communicating an explanation.

  Howard Townsen ghosted me.

  “You need to go after him instead.” It was my best advice and my worst advice. I’d gone after Howard on a whim. Vernon Grady had told me he’d seen Howard in the area with a girl from the Pink Pony. Just when I thought I’d pulled myself back together, this news had broken me all over again. And then I broke myself by making a poor decision. Almost as poor as deciding to chase Howard in the first place. Almost. All I’d wanted was an answer. It was no longer a matter of what had I done wrong, but why had Howard done what he did?

  “You need closure, Naomi.” I speak as if I’m talking about myself. “You need to confront him and get your answers, so you can let him go. So you don’t spiral into believing something about yourself that isn’t true. If he walks away, let it rest on him, not you, but at least you’ll have said your piece. You can’t allow him a free pass.”

  I’d never said my piece with Howard. I was never able to face him and tell him how much he’d hurt me or how much I truly despised him. I’ve held onto my disgust for my husband and my desire for a justification for nearly two decades. And I am exhausted. At what point do I let him go? No, not him, the idea of him, the concept of a philandering husband and absentee father. When can I release Howard from my head and my heart so I can be whole?

  “I’m not allowing Nathan a pass.” Naomi interrupts my thoughts. And then, she smacks the table with her hand, and I jump on the booth bench, thankful I’m not sipping tea or even holding the cup. “You’re right.”

  “I usually am,” I mutter sarcastically. But am I? Have I been right in how I’ve handled my own desertion by Howard? How I’ve allowed Hannah to assist me? My thoughts flip back to the night Jedd joined us for dinner. Hannah didn’t let me speak, and it’s the first time I noticed I wasn’t speaking up for myself. Not wanting to cause a scene with her in front of a stranger, I allowed it to happen. I thought it best to excuse myself and disappear into my room as I’ve done on too many occasions to avoid confrontation with her. But I’m the mother. When did she overtake me?

  I’m giving sage advice to my sister to take what she needs and fight for vindication, but I’m not certain I’ve done the same for myself. I have all the answers to the questions of when, and how, and why.

  What I need to answer is what do I plan to do about it?

  In my determination to take back a little control, I go to the extreme the next time Jedd joins us for dinner.

  “Jedd, what’s the schedule with the land?” Hannah asks, expressing interest in the future. She could have been anything she wanted. The world was hers that first year of college, and then I had the accident. Me. My fault. She came home to help…and stayed.

  Who is to blame there? Howard’s voice niggles in my head.

  “I’ve actually got someone in mind to work the fields. Just need to get that old tractor running.” Everything has gone to rust at this old place, and there are no funds to invest in new equipment. I’m surprised how dedicated Jedd has been to The Jedd Juncture. He’s worked tirelessly in the barn, and I’m taken aback at his assessment of our old equipment and progression in seeking assistance. “I’ve worked out a trade with Vernon Grady about the tractor.”

  Vernon Grady? Oh, hell no.

  “Another exchange?” I snort, my tone acidic. This man is full of wheeling and dealing, and while I’m impressed with his determination, I’m still unsure of his intentions.

  “Vernon Grady,” Hannah’s voice interjects, raising an octave as her eyes shift to me, but I ignore her attention.

  “Momma, you remember Vernon Grady, right?”

  “How can I forget him?” My tone cuts.

  “We’ve used Mr. Grady’s services in the past. What kind of trade are you hoping to bargain with him?” Hannah’s voice remains cheerful, hopeful even. She’d grown attached to the big man who’d haul her over his shoulder like a bale of hay and toss her in a pile of it at his supply store. As a child, Hannah enjoyed their seasonal displays with Vernon’s three young sons, especially Grizzly. Ewell took us there often enough, allowing me to occasionally purchase flower seeds or starter plants. I always wanted more—more seeds, more flowers, just more—but Ewell said patience was the good Lord’s promise to a farmer.

  Life is sweeter when it grows from the hard work of your hands and results as the fruits of your land.

  Thoughts of Ewell make me miss him.

  “We aren’t bargaining wit
h Vernon.” My tone brooks no argument to my opinion on the subject—that’s final.

  “Well,” Jedd begins, ignoring me and turning to my daughter, “I’ve known Vernon since way back, and we’ll figure something out.”

  “Oh, and how do you know him?” Hannah asks. Over time, Hannah had stars in her eyes over a man who was kinder to her than her daddy.

  “He’d been my best friend growing up in these parts.” I ignore the mention of him growing up in the area because I’m too focused on Vernon.

  “We will not be indebted to Mr. Grady.”

  “Why not?” Jedd asks.

  “Because I said so,” I snap, smacking the table while I scold him like a child, exerting my authority. This is my farm. This is my land.

  Jedd’s eyes narrow, and his jaw sets. I read his expression. He is not asking for my permission.

  “Vernon will assist me in fixing the tractor,” he states, ignoring me once again and directing his statement to Hannah, who hesitantly looks from him to me and back to him.

  “Unless your Tripper wants to help?” Jedd mutters, but his inability to speak quietly makes the statement loud enough for Hannah to hear.

  “Who’s—” Hannah begins, but I hold up a hand, halting her question. Not this. Not now. I’m in no mood to laugh, and I’m not addressing the Tripper issue.

  “Last I checked, I’m still the owner of this property,” I interject, ignoring his suggestion that a reality personality fix my tractor. Although I can’t say with confidence my statement is exactly true. The deed is still in Howard’s name as far as I know, having been passed to him upon the death of his father the year before Howard left. My hand slams on the table once again, causing the utensils to jump and clatter. “And I say no to Vernon.”

  “Momma,” Hannah hisses under her breath as her eyes shift to her plate.

  “Give me one good reason Vernon isn’t allowed to help,” Jedd questions.

  “Because I—” I’m about to repeat because I said so because I cannot admit the real truth to him, or Hannah, or anyone. My shame will go to the grave with me.

  “Not good enough,” Jedd cuts me off before I can finish, raising his hand to emphasize his disinterest in any concern I may offer. He pauses for a millisecond before addressing my daughter. “Hannah, what do you think?”

  My heart leaps to my throat, nearly choking off my airways as heat rushes my cheeks. How dare he ignore me and continue to speak to her? “She has no opinion on the manner.”

  “Oh.” Jedd sits taller in his seat. “Like she has no say in her life because she’s too busy taking care of you?”

  The collective gasp of Hannah and myself fills the kitchen and echoes into the silence which follows.

  “You’re out of line, Mr. Flemming,” Hannah states softly without much warning in her tone, but she’s stealing my thoughts all the same, and this pisses me off even more. How dare she have the same thoughts as me? My body hums with irritation, and if I had the wherewithal to stand, I’d lean across this table and smack Jedd.

  “No, I’m crossing the unspeakable line. I’ve watched you work night and day in this house, Hannah, and then go out and work two jobs. You can’t possibly believe this is enough for yourself. You’re almost thirty. Don’t you want more?” His questioning sympathy for my daughter eats at the core of concerns that keep me awake at night. Does she want more? Has she given too much of herself to me? Has she lost too much time?

  “Not that it’s any of your business, Mr. Flemming,” I retort, the anger in me building to lava pouring over a volcano lip. It’s my turn to speak, my turn to talk over my daughter. “Of course, she wants more. We both wanted more for her. She’s as smart as a whip and talented with her pretty voice, but who the hell do you think you are asking such things?”

  The confidence in Jedd’s expression tells me he knows exactly who he is.

  “A better question is, who are you, Beverly Townsen? You’re all shut up in this house, hardly going anywhere. You could do so much more yourself. You could be so much more.”

  “Mr. Flemming, that just isn’t true. Momma isn’t capable of—”

  “She’s more than capable, Hannah. With a little more practice, your momma could move about this farm just fine. You’re too young for this. You need to get out and find some fun. Live your life.” His voice rises with each declaration as does the bile in my throat. We’re spiraling out of control around my supper table.

  “Momma can’t do things for herself, Mr. Flemming. She needs me.”

  “She doesn’t,” Jedd calmly states, the volume loud while a vein strains in his neck, and the truth in both their statements hits me like a sucker punch to the gut.

  Flabbergasted, I fall back in my chair.

  Hannah believes I’m not able-bodied. Suddenly, I recall years of her telling me I can’t—can’t use the stove, can’t clean the house, can’t reach the washer, can’t work the soil—and then doing those things for me. She took control. Maybe unintentionally on her part, but I’ve allowed it to happen, and eventually, she stepped over me, just as Howard did. What I cannot do is allow this to continue.

  I turn to Hannah. “I see what you’re doing. You’re turning this on me. I’m the incapable one. I’m the stupid one, and by offering our land to him, you’ve secured things for yourself. You want him, but a man like him will not replace your daddy. He left you. He abandoned us. Men cannot be trusted.”

  Hannah stares at me as though I’ve struck her, something I’ve never done. Her mouth hangs open, and her face turns red while tears well in her eyes.

  Jedd’s words rang equally as stunting. I’ve conditioned myself to believe Hannah is correct in her assessment—I can’t. She has replaced Howard in her condemnation of my abilities. My accident has given her a good reason to enable my behavior instead of enforce rehabilitation. I couldn’t do anything for myself, so I accepted her doing things for me. I’ve given her the power to crush my control. But Jedd’s the stranger here—the porch intruder, the barn invader—and we don’t need him telling us how our life is or how to live it.

  I turn on Jedd next. “And you, thinking you can smooth talk your way onto my land, maybe into my daughter’s bed by giving her all your attention. I will not let you near her, trying to manipulate her by asking her opinion, feeding her pretty lines of promises to fix things and plant fields. You’re just like Howard, manipulating young girls with promises you won’t keep.”

  Jedd’s hand hammers on the table, forcing the silverware to collide with the plates. We glare at one another. He’s angry, angry enough to maim, and I’ve no doubt he’s done so in the military, but I don’t care. My body vibrates with hatred and disappointment and disgust. In myself.

  “Get. Out.”

  Hannah looks over at me with terror in her eyes. “Momma, he can’t leave.”

  “Don’t you ‘Momma’ me.” My voice drips, the venom of my words salivating in my mouth. I point between the two of them. “You want each other?” I question, looking from one to the other. “Well, my daughter, who takes her clothes off so men can gawk, will not call the shots in this house. You don’t want him to leave?” I direct to Hannah. “You don’t want him to run off like your daddy did? If you think fucking this man will keep him here, you won’t do it under my roof.”

  Hannah’s face is ashen, mortified by what I’ve said, and I admit I don’t even recognize my own voice. Self-loathing possesses me as I’m hit with the ugly truth of being used by a man, manipulated by my offspring, and called to task by an outsider.

  “Apologize to your daughter,” Jedd commands, his voice terrifyingly calm as his hand fists on the table.

  I don’t react.

  I’m tired of apologizing.

  I’m tired of asking for forgiveness. From Howard, it was always for what I didn’t do, say, or think as he wished.

  I’m tired of offering a continuous apology to my child for an accident—it was an accident, an unforgiveable, despicable crime—that threw both our live
s off course.

  I’m tired of praying for redemption when I’ve suffered enough.

  When will I’m sorry be enough?

  I glare at Jedd in defiance. How dare he come into our lives, into our home, and make us question ourselves? But I don’t have time to continue my list of curses against this stranger with murderous midnight eyes and a jaw edged in justice. He pushes back his chair and kicks at the leg of mine. My hands clutch the seat, daring him with my eyes to do his worst damage. I’m not afraid he’ll hit me. His body language does not suggest he’d use the power of his stature to cause me harm, but he’s looking to square off with me, and I’m itching to fight. If I thought I’d get away with it, I’d throw a swing, wanting a good punch at the smirk on his face, and the firmness of his chest, and the appeal of his physique. Because despite our faulty bodies, my body is drawn to his in a way I can’t explain and don’t wish to define. I desire him when it’s the last thing I should desire, especially with the fire flaming from each of our eyes.

  Within a second of heavy breathing and smoke practically coming out of our nostrils, Jedd scoops me into his arms, lifting me from the kitchen chair and pressing me into his very capable chest.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand. “Put me down.”

  “Mr. Flemming,” Hannah calls after him as he turns for the kitchen door and maneuvers the knob to open it. Within seconds, we are outside in the crisp, fall night air, and Jedd calls over his shoulder.

  “Just giving your momma some fresh air to cool down.”

  “I don’t need to cool down,” I scream. “I will not cool down!”

  “You need to settle,” he tells me, and while I am overheated—between my temper and the closeness of his body—I yell at him once again.