by Quinn, Taryn
We stood together looking out over the water. I could tell he needed to talk. Part of me still didn’t want to listen. It was easier to stay wrapped up tight in my anger and hurt.
But I had to give him a chance or tell him goodbye. It was as simple as that.
“Where have you been, Rory?”
He lifted our joined hands to his lips, but he didn’t look away from the water. “Home.”
“You ignored my calls.”
“I did. I wish I could say it was for a good reason, but it really was just because I couldn’t bear to let you go.”
“That is the definition of faulty logic.”
He gave a humorless laugh and drew me in front of him so we both faced the water. He linked his hands over my middle, drawing me back until we were flush. He brushed his cheek against mine. He had well past a bit of scruff after working with me for the last week. It was just long enough to be soft and not scratchy.
“When I left, I made you promise to let me go if you found someone. I didn’t believe I deserved a girl—no, a woman—like you. I still don’t, but I want it more than there are words inside of me. And for a man who lives by finding the right combination of words and notes, that was a scary thing.”
I stilled against him. I wanted to spin in his arms, to see the truth in his eyes, but the fact that he wasn’t looking at me seemed to be giving him the courage to talk.
“I went home to Ireland.”
I twisted enough to look up at him. “Ireland?”
“I’ve been a loner all my life, but I think it was self-inflicted now that I’ve done some soul-searching. I assumed that the life my parents had was full of duty and unhappiness. I didn’t want any part of that.”
“And your trip changed that?”
His voice was low in my ear. “So much. I think my glasses might be Ivy colored instead of rose. Or maybe it’s Ivy Rose-colored.”
I laughed. “Dork.”
He hugged me tighter, his fingers lightly playing over the curve of my belly. “And there it is. The venom I crave like a favorite wine.”
I elbowed him. “I only speak truth.”
“That’s the heart of it. I needed your truth, not the foggy and worn out prescription of my own.”
He told me about his brother and sister, about the new baby coming into his own family. The townsfolk he’d taken a little time to get to know again.
The music of his voice comforted. And there was no boredom in the telling.
I didn’t even feel the need to insert my own familial anecdotes. It was rare for him to share things with me. There was work of course, and I’d seen him in his element at the orchard, but he was different. He felt different.
“I told my ma about you.”
I turned in his arms, my heart racing. “You what?”
“I did. She knew it even before I opened my bleedin’ mouth. We spoke of you and all the feelings you churned up inside of me. The way I’d distanced myself from everyone to focus on work. She even poked a few wounds I didn’t want to face.”
I had so many questions, but what I saw when I twisted again to look into his eyes made everything go still inside me. “Another woman.”
He nodded slowly. “Quite a while ago. There hasn’t been anyone for me in so long that she kind of became this festering scab that never quite healed. I can’t say I was a total monk, but in my line of work, it was probably pretty close.”
I touched his chin. The hair there was nearing a beard. “Did you love her?”
“It was young love, but felt real enough to me. Obviously, she didn’t feel the same since she cheated on me.”
“Oh, God.”
“With my best mate.”
“That fucking whore.”
“Whoa.” He laughed and linked his hands at my lower back. “There’s my ginger fairy queen.”
“There’s no excuse for cheating. Ever. Fucking man up and break things off, but to do that—God, I can’t.”
He laughed and kissed me at the same time. The kiss was as sweet and wild as the breakers behind us. It had the potential for more, but he seemed to pull himself back as if he wanted to keep the moment light and soft.
I gripped his shirt, the simple vee of it stretching with my touch. I frowned as black ink peeked out of the place where whorls of hair used to be. “Did you get a tattoo?”
His neck flushed and his cheeks reddened. “Maybe.”
I pulled until the words came clear. “You don’t have any ink.”
“I didn’t used to have a fiery redhead in my life either. Things change.”
I traced my fingers over the words.
Tomorrow I’ll be on a plane
Gone far away
A lock of flame in my pocket
The words I couldn’t say
The song he’d written and sang to me in the clearing at Happy Acres. The words were heavier now that I knew his truth. And that he’d come back for me even though he’d practically dared the worst to happen between us by ignoring my call.
So much made sense now. To lose your girl and your best friend was a lot for anyone. I looked up at him and his eyes softened.
“Don’t cry for me, Ivy Rose.”
I dashed at the tears. “I blame the baby. I’ve never cried so much in my life as I have since this little bit of news.”
“Scary news for sure, but good.”
My eyes stung again. “Yeah?”
“Maybe a bit out of order with how I’d figured things would go. And boy, is my mum going to flip. She’s excited to meet you simply for the fact that you brought her boy home. Her words, not mine. Now? Well, let’s just say the good graces train is covered with hearts and flowers.”
“Rory…” My voice trailed off. That was heavy and huge. I’d concentrated so hard about how I could move on without him, that this about-face was messing with my head.
He cupped my jaw and tipped it up so our gazes locked. I couldn’t look away. Not from the urgency there in his hurricane wild blue eyes. “A ghrá, you have no idea the happiness you’ll bring my family. And have already done with me.”
I curled my fingers around his wrist. “I—”
The crack of lightning breaking the sky made us both jump. We’d been so focused on talking that the storm that had been in the far distance was sitting on top of us. Thunder followed almost immediately. Close didn’t even cover it.
And with it came sheets of rain as if the heavens opened up with buckets of it and some hail for good measure.
Was this an omen?
He practically dragged me away from the waterline and up the path. “Come on,” he shouted.
His hand was clamped around mine, drawing me to the far path.
“Rory, there’s a closer one,” I yelled over the whipping wind. Another slice of lightning lit the roiling sky, and the boom of thunder seemed to disperse the sharp scent of ozone in the air.
“Are you daft? All those trees? I’m not risking you or the baby.”
My chest tightened and seemed to crack. I didn’t even mind getting thoroughly soaked because of his plan. I was too focused on the fact that his sole focus was safety for us.
Thanks to the rocky path, it wasn’t too muddy and we both managed to climb without falling. By the end of it, we were laughing. My dress was completely see-through at that point, and I was shivering.
His hair was plastered to his forehead as was his shirt. I swallowed thickly. And mercy, so were his pants. He raked his hands through his hair to slick it back and finally got a good look at me.
“You are a vision.”
“Drowned rats are your jam?” The rain lightened to a soaking instead of a deluge. I quickly twisted my thick ropes of hair into a braid and flipped it over my shoulder.
He stepped forward, wrapping my braid around his hand. “I have dreams of this fiery hair. Some nights it’s wrapped around me like chains.”
“You think I’m trying to trap you.”
His other hand came up to my face.
“No. It’s the kind of chains I want. The kind that makes me sit still and stop fucking running. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Ivy Rose Beck.”
My heart skipped. The way he said it sounded so big and profound. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I wanted to give the same back to him, but a little part of me was still so unsure.
We were so new. There was so much unknown between us.
Instead of holding my silence against me, he fused our mouths together. This I understood. The passion and the sparring that was so much a part of us.
I gripped his shoulders and leaned into the tempest between us that matched the one around us.
It felt like it had been forever since he’d touched me. And everything was different. My body, my hormones, my emotions—everything was heightened.
The tight hold on my braid loosened, and his kiss softened. “As much as I love the taste of you in the rain, I need to get you back to the car.”
I nodded. “Right. And I’m freezing.”
“We’ll get you home and dry.”
“So much for our date.”
He laughed. “Better than you getting sick. Or the wee one.”
“Think he or she is all toasty in there. Me? I’m frozen.”
“Right.” He took my hand and we circumnavigated the stone wall to the road. We both slowed at the flashing lights. “Well, shit.”
I laughed, because honestly, this was our luck.
The sheriff car was pulled up behind Rory’s car.
“Seriously?” Rory’s voice was exasperated. He picked up his pace and dragged me behind him.
The town sheriff climbed out of the car. His usual laid-back uniform shirt and jeans were made a little more formal with a hat against the elements. With it on, the already imposing Jared Brooks seemed just a touch more intense.
Especially when his face tightened. “Problem, folks?”
“No, Sheriff.”
“Did we do anything wrong?” Rory interrupted.
I resisted the urge to hide my head in my hands. “What he means is, we’re sorry, Sheriff Brooks. We were…” Having a make-up session that started with an argument. Like our entire lives.
His gaze dropped to my middle. It wasn’t exactly a secret in town that I was pregnant, but I hadn’t taken out a billboard either. “I don’t have to add another incident of public indecency to your tally, do I?”
Rory stiffened at my side. Evidently, Sheriff Brooks remembered our lovely meeting in the spring. It was kind of surprising since half of Jared’s job consisted of breaking up clinches at the various make-out points around town. The other half was picking up drunk and disorderlies at The Spinning Wheel and traffic stops.
We weren’t exactly a hotbed of crime in Crescent Cove.
Then again, Jared Brooks was best friends with Gina, my coworker. But my shifts at the diner had become less and less as I got the truck ready. I wasn’t sure he’d really seen me in all my popping glory yet.
“Can I get her into the car at least?” Rory asked. “Then you can write your citation.”
The sheriff’s brows rose. “Getting your sweetheart pregnant isn’t a crime in this town. At least not yet.”
Rory wiped his hand down his face. “Right. Apologies. I just wasn’t expecting—”
A loud chime and buzz went off. Immediately, Rory’s hand went to his pocket, but he didn’t go for the phone. When it sounded another series of chimes, he winced. “Sorry.” He reached for it and Jared’s hand slid to his side arm. Rory raised his hands. “Just my phone.”
Sheriff Brooks gave him a bland stare.
The chimes went off again.
“It’s Ian,” he said to me out of the side of his mouth.
“Oh.” At his worried glance, I turned to Jared. Ian and Zoe were due soon. “Oh, that might be something important. Can he check it? Please?”
Jared sighed. “Yeah. Keep your movements slow.”
Rory shook his head. “Not sure you know, but where I come from, we don’t have guns. Not even the coppers.”
“Yes, well, you’re not in England.”
“Ireland,” Rory spat.
I hid a laugh.
The phone sounded another series of tones as Rory pulled it out. “Shit. Shit. Holy shit, it’s time. Oh, God. I promised him I wouldn’t let him be alone for this.”
“Of course, go. Jared can take me back to town.”
“No.”
“No?” The sheriff frowned. “I’m not going to put her in the back of the truck. This time, you have your clothes on. You technically didn’t do anything other than show bad judgment in the rain, Mr. Ferguson.”
Man, he even remembered Rory’s name. I cleared my throat and crossed my arms over my very see-through dress. “Do you have a jacket in the car?”
“No.” Rory frowned. “But I have something.” He rushed to the trunk and Jared followed.
“I’m not quite sure who you think I am, sir. But I’m no criminal. The only thing you’ll find in my trunk are instruments and a few bags.”
“Ever seen Desperado?”
Rory laughed. “Actually, I have. Cool movie. No impressive guitar case for me though. Unless you count the signed slider from B. B. King inside mine.”
Jared hooked his thumb in the belt loop in front of his gun. “Wouldn’t mind seeing that.”
“Freezing,” I called out.
“Right.” Rory popped the trunk and rummaged in a small suitcase. “Here.” He flashed the cream sweater at Jared then brought it over to me. “I’ve been trying to find a way to give this to you.”
It was cloud-soft and intricately patterned in a way that only a handmade sweater could be. I recognized it because every woman in a cold climate like Crescent Cove lived for a cozy sweater. Especially the famous Irish fisherman’s sweater that wasn’t easy to find or afford. “Oh, Rory.”
“My ma made it for you.”
“What?” I brought it to my face, then instantly pulled it over my head. It felt like a dream. While I was still soaked, at least my purple bra wasn’t on display anymore.
Rory’s phone chimed again, and he took it out to look. “Ian’s in full meltdown status.”
“Is it okay if we go, Jar—Sheriff Brooks?” I burrowed my face into the neck of the sweater.
The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Just get out of here.”
Rory opened the door for me and got me settled before rounding the hood and opening his own door.
“Slowly, Mr. Ferguson.”
“Of course.” He got into the car.
“I can seriously go home with Jared.”
Rory turned to me, his hand already on the gear shift. “I’d like you with me if you’re not too tired.”
“Oh.” The comforting sweater and his little confession warmed me right up. I swallowed against the knot in my throat and turned up the heat. “Yes. I’d like to go with you.”
“Good.” He leaned over and kissed me hard on the mouth. “Good. Thank you.” He handed me his phone. “Now can you text Ian that I’m on my way so the sheriff doesn’t send out the state cops?”
I laughed. “Yes, I can do that.”
It felt far too easy to do such a relationship-ish thing for him. Not the least bit scary at all.
Maybe I could do this.
I slid a smile at Rory before sending the text. Maybe we could.
Twenty-Five
It felt like it took forever to get to Happy Acres, and of course the storm seemed to be chasing us out there. From the information relayed by each successive rant and panic induced text from Ian, Zoe had decided to use a doula and have a home birth.
Without machines and doctors and drugs.
Horrific.
“You’re not doing this doula thing, right?”
“Maybe.” Ivy didn’t look up from my phone as her fingers flew.
The windshield washers squeaked against the incessant rain and it took me a moment to find my voice. My knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “What?
”
She shot me a look. “Relax, Rory. I’m all about the drugs and doctors. No home births for this girl.”
“Sweet Jesus.” Blood began to circulate in my fingers again as I relaxed my grip. “Don’t scare me like that.”
She giggled and curled deeper into her sweater. I was roasting my balls off, but I’d sit on hot coals before I asked her to turn the heat down. She was the mother of my child and she’d been wet to the skin. Whatever she wanted, she got.
Finally, the sign for the orchard came into view. “Where are we going?”
“She’s set up in the barn it says.”
“What is she Mother Mary, for feck’s sake?”
“Is there going to be a manger?” She glanced at me and snorted. “I’m kidding, Rory.”
“I don’t know how this works. But the barn has some significance for them, that I do know.” I was pretty sure they had actually lived in it at one time, but it sounded almost too ridiculous to say that out loud.
“Barn it is.” She pointed to the far building close to the taproom we’d been to in the spring. “I think that’s the barn. Zoe mentioned she uses it as a studio most of the time.”
“Fecking baby in a goddamn art barn,” I muttered as I parked.
“Your Irish is intense today.”
I arched my eyebrow. “I’m Irish every day.”
“As well as intense at times.” She laughed. “It’s not a bad thing. I’m just saying your accent is thicker.”
“Welcome to me and stress, ginger fairy.”
“Well, let’s go see our friends.”
It warmed me that she called them her friends too. I came around and opened the door for her and we both trudged through the canopy of trees to the large structure.
Three men paced outside. Her brothers. Beckett, the eldest one I knew the least, was smoking a cigarette as he paced. A motorcycle helmet was clutched in his other hand like an extension of him. And quite possibly a pseudo club.
A shout from inside made us both pick up the pace.
“Go in there at your own risk.” Hayes held up a flask, then took a long drink. The fact that he swayed a little freaked me out. Firstly, Hayes had the tolerance of an eighty-seven-year-old career drinker with an eighteen-year-old liver, so that was alarming in its own right. And second, he wasn’t one to imbibe in the middle of the day.