HERE WITH ME

TIA LOUISE

CONTENTS

Here With Me

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

Wait for Me

Prologue

Boss of Me

Prologue

Chapter 1

Books by Tia Louise

About the Author

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Here With Me

Copyright © TLM Productions LLC, 2020

Printed in the United States of America.

Cover design by Lori Jackson Design.

Photography by Wander Aguiar.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author.

Created with Vellum

HERE WITH ME

BY TIA LOUISE

Sawyer LaGrange.

He’s my best friend’s older brother.

He’s quiet, brooding, sinfully sexy…

Dark hair, a scruffy square jaw, and deep lines of muscle I trace my fingers along slowly, followed by my lips…

He always does what’s right.

Until me…

They say you get in life what you have the courage to ask for.

Well, I’m brave.

And I want him.

Secrets.

Everybody has them.

Big, small, innocent… forbidden.

Mindy was a line I should never have crossed.

But I did.

She was beautiful… sassy and tempting,

And rules were made to be broken.

We broke them all.

Now I’m home, released from service with hidden scars.

Now my secrets are the demons that grow stronger every day.

I try to send her away, but I can’t let her go.

She’s my reason to fight, and I’ll walk through hell to be the man she deserves.

To give her a reason to stay here with me.

(HERE WITH ME is a STAND-ALONE best friend’s older brother, second-chance, military romance. No cheating. No cliffhangers.)

For Renee.

PROLOGUE

Sawyer

Love was all around me when I was a kid.

It was the twinkle in my mamma’s eyes when my little sister Noel walked out on stage at the Princess Peach pageant. Even if she ducked her chin and wouldn’t look at anybody, much less the judges.

It was in her full-body laugh the time my baby brother Leon ate cocoa powder and started crying because it was so bitter. We all laughed until he got mad and wouldn’t speak to us for an hour. He said he wanted a new family.

It was walking with my daddy in the rows, listening to his thoughts on life. It was the warmth in his voice when he’d show me the green shoots of new growth on a peach tree. It was him calling me son.

One day, this will all be yours, son…

Sitting beside Hayes pond, I reach in a plastic box and pull out a brown cricket. Its spindly legs fan out as I thread the fish hook down its spine before tossing it onto the water. I don’t like fishing with insects, but they’re the best way to catch bass or perch, my daddy’s favorite.

I watch as it bobs along the short waves, slowly getting waterlogged, slowly sinking into the depths. The wind moves through the cold trees and the early-morning light is pale gray.

It’s quiet.

I like the quiet. It helps my mind relax, and I can sort through my thoughts, straightening them out like playing cards dropped on the floor.

Fifty-two card pickup.

A dirty trick played on little kids.

Noel went fishing with us once. She was only five, and she chattered nonstop. Daddy didn’t mind her flitting around, bouncing back and forth between us, but I was ten. I wanted her to sit down and shut up. Stop scaring away the fish.

When she saw us baiting our hooks with crickets, she fell back and got real quiet.

Finally, I thought, until I looked around and saw she’d opened the box and let all our bait hop away to freedom.

It was my mamma’s favorite story.

She’d make Daddy or me tell it every time she wanted a good laugh. Her hazel eyes would crinkle at the corners, and she’d smile that pretty smile, lips parting over straight white teeth.

People say I’ve got my mamma’s eyes…

Daddy and I used to go fishing every Sunday, but he hasn’t left his room since Mamma died last month. He sits in a chair, not speaking, not eating, just staring out the window, like he’s waiting for her to come back for him, waiting for her to tell him it’s time to get up and eat something, start living again.

Mamma had gone for a walk that evening around twilight. She was just over the hill on the narrow dirt road when that truck came out of nowhere and killed her instantly.

The driver said he never saw her.

The coroner said she probably never saw him.

I hope she didn’t.

I hope she was thinking about Noel freeing all our live bait that steamy summer morning. I hope she was laughing softly, thinking of her family, full of love as she slipped away to heaven.

When the sheriff told my daddy what happened, my daddy fell to his knees. The noise that came from him was raw and wild, something I’d never heard before or since. Mr. Vincent looked at me like he didn’t know what to do, so I went and carried my daddy inside to his room.

An ache lodged in the middle of my back that night, right between my shoulder blades.

I hope if I catch a mess of fish and cook them up how he likes, maybe Daddy will come back to us and stop sitting in that chair, silent and far away.

The line dips then a sharp tug almost pulls the pole out of my hand. My grip tightens, and I turn the spinner fast, reeling in a good-sized perch, a little bigger than my palm.

A few casts later, and I’ve caught enough to feed us all, once I clean them.

I’m walking back to my truck. At sixteen, I’ve been driving for about a year. It’s close enough to walk home but cold as fuck, which is why I drove.

The last thing I expect to see is a girl sitting on the ground this side of the fence. It’s Noel’s friend Mindy Ray. She’s wrapped in a thick, beige coat that looks like a teddy bear, and her frizzy, dark-brown head is pressed forward against her knees. She’s crying. I can hear her sharp sniffles as I get closer.

“Hey.” I put my hand on her shoulder, giving her a little shake. “You okay?”

She only pulls away from me, not lifting her head.

Frowning, I squint up to where my old red Chevy waits. I’m kind of maxed-out on the emotional front right now, but I can’t leave her this way.

Ever since Mamma passed, the adults have been lost in their own heads. It’s like they forgot about us kids, like they forgot we’re suffering, too, and we still need them. It’s made me feel like I need to step up and look out for us, and there’s no way in hell I’m leaving her out here in the cold.

Reaching down, I catch her skinny arm and pull her to her feet. “Come on.”

“Leave me alone!” She jerks her arm out of my grip and glares at me.

Mindy’s only eleven, but she’s got this look that kind of hits you right in the gut, bright green eyes, full lips, and all that thick, dark spirally-wild hair.

She’s beautiful.

For a little girl.

“Fine.” I start to go. I want to leave her after that outburst, but I only get a few steps before turning back. My jaw clenches, and my voice is more like a growl. “What’s wrong with you?”

She answers sharp and fast. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing you’d understand, Sawyer LaGrange. No one’s ever made fun of you.” She shoves a coiled lock of hair behind her ear. “Just forget you ever saw me here.”

Little drama queen. Fat chance of that. “I got to get back to the house. Don’t make me put you over my shoulder.”

Her lips press together, and she glares daggers at me for the space of a few blinks. But when I start walking, I hear her following me. Reaching over the side, I put the bucket of fish and my rod in the bed of the truck while she climbs in on the passenger’s side.

The engine is a low rumble in the quiet, and I shift it into gear before driving us slowly back toward my house. Mindy’s arms are crossed. She’s staring out the window, but her lower lip quivers. It makes me uncomfortable.

Still… “Want to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

Suits me just fine. I direct my gaze out the windshield, thinking about what’s waiting for me.

The sun rises slowly over the rows of peach trees that make up our family’s 100-acre orchard. Golden light tips the frost on the dark green leaves. Frost is okay now with no buds on the trees, but frost in April can wipe out an entire crop, all our income for the year.

As the oldest son, Daddy’s been grooming me to take over the place one day. Leon’s only seven, and Noel’s just a girl. I have mixed feelings about the idea.

Before Mamma died, I thought I might travel, maybe join the military. I’ve been in Harristown my whole life, and while it’s my home, I want to do something, see the world before I settle down and take over.

Resting my elbow on the window, I rub my forehead wondering what’s going to become of all that now. My mind’s a million miles away when Mindy’s voice pulls me back.

“Why do girls want to be in cliques?”

I look over at her. Her green eyes are red-rimmed, but she’s stopped crying.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Elizabeth Haynes said I look like I stuck my finger in a socket.” She tugs on the side of her hair. “Beth Hebert and everybody laughed. They said I must be adopted.”

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I don’t know why girls do what they do. “Why don’t you just hang out with Noel?”

Her chin drops, and she twists her fingers. “She’s kind of… out of it.” She quickly adds, “Which is understandable! I understand… I just get lonely.”

My mind returns to that thought I was having earlier about the adults being out to lunch and leaving us to figure it out.

“Listen.” Her green eyes fix on mine, and I’ve got her attention. I’m sixteen. I’m the oldest of all us kids, and they do what I say. “You’re gonna be really pretty one day. Some girls have a problem with that.”

Her slim brows furrow. “Gonna be? One day? Make me feel better next time.”

This is why I don’t say much. It always comes out all fucked up.

“I just mean people want to keep you in your place. You gotta blow that shit off and be yourself. Take the high road.”

Daddy always said I’m “old for my age.” I just keep my mouth shut and watch how people act. After a while, you start to notice patterns.

Mindy looks out the window again like she’s thinking about what I said. We’re pulling into my long driveway, and I see a few cars I wasn’t expecting. One of them is the sheriff’s, and my heart beats faster. What now?

The tightness in my shoulders moves around to the front of my neck, like somebody’s strangling me.

“I guess I understand.” Mindy’s still thinking about her problem.

Reaching over, I pat her shoulder. “If you ever need somebody to talk to, just come to me. I’ll take care of you.”

She looks up at me, and her green eyes fill with an emotion I half recognize. Trust. I’d remember it better if I weren’t doing my best to fight the panic settling on my skin like cold rain.

Sheriff Gautreaux stands on our front porch with Ed Daniels beside him. They both have that look on their faces—stony, preparing for what’s about to happen.

The fish in the back of my truck are forgotten as I climb out of the cab. Whatever brought them here is like a bad storm rolling in. It’s in the air around me, metallic on my tongue.

The sheriff is the first one to speak. “Sawyer, we need to talk to you, son.”

Son.

My insides clench, and my breath gets tight. A small hand slips into mine, and I look down. Beside me, Mindy’s brow is furrowed, her green eyes meet mine.

Somehow as small as she is, having her here beside me, holding my hand, I’m able to catch my breath. “Yes, sir?”

“It’s your daddy.” His voice is the same as the night he told us Mamma died. The knot between my shoulder blades twists tighter with every word. “We found him up on the old dirt road… I’m sorry.”

My daddy died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. They found him in the same place they found my mamma.

I guess he got tired of waiting for her.

I guess he decided she was too much to lose.

I guess he forgot about us.

Roaring fills my ears like a hurricane, destroying everything, and sweeping it all away. My parents, my home…

No.

Not my home.

I won’t let that happen.

Whatever it takes, I’ll hold us together.

Mindy’s small hand tightens around mine, and she holds me, an anchor in the middle of the storm.

I said I’d take care of her, and she’s standing here trusting me—they all are.

Old for my age.

That day changed everything, but she stood beside me. A girl who turned out to be stronger than I knew, a girl who would hold my hand in the darkest hour.

A girl who would change my life.

It all started the day I thought I’d lost everything…

1

Mindy

Present Day

Sawyer’s mouth slides across mine, slippery and warm. I pull his bottom lip gently with my teeth, and he groans, low and hungry. Warm energy floods my core.

Reaching between us, I move my hand up and down the hard rod in his jeans, curling my fingers so he can feel my nails through the fabric.

In a flash he grasps my wrist, dropping his head back against the cab of that red Chevy, exhaling low. “Mindy… stop.”

I love it when he says my name like that, like he wants me. Stretching higher, I kiss his neck, tracing my tongue along his Adam’s apple. Salty.

“Stop what?” A smile curls my lips. I’m being bad, and I love it. I meet his darkened hazel eyes and whisper. “Let me put it in my mouth.”

“No… fuck.” He exhales roughly, and I rise up onto my knees, straddling him.

My hands are in his dark hair, and I curl my fingers. Sawyer LaGrange is the sexiest man alive, and I can’t wait for him to be my first. He keeps putting me off, saying I’m too young. But he kisses me like I’m a woman. The rough capture of his lips, the invasion of his tongue tightens my nipples.

Leaning forward, my lips brush his ear. “I’m seventeen now.”

“And I’m twenty-two. Your ma would kill me. Hell, I could be arrested.”

I rock my hips on his lap. Strong hands span my waist, but he hesitates, letting me move against him. My panties are drenched, and in this skirt, I could slide them to the side and slip him in. “Just the tip.”

His hands grip the sides of my face, holding it directly in front of his. Fire burns in his eyes, shooting out and igniting my body. His struggle is tangible. It’s the most thrilling experience of my life.

“No.”

My shoulders fall. I ache for him so badly, I want to cry. “What can we do then?”

He pulls me into a firm hug and speaks in my ear this time. “I’m taking you home.”

I’m off his lap, deposited in the passenger’s seat just like that. He reaches forward to start the engine, and I squirm in my place. My eyes are on him, but he’s looking straight ahead like always—quiet, focused, so controlled.

The muscle in his square jaw moves, and I trace my finger along the line. “Are you coming to my graduation?”

“What do you think?”

“MINDY?” Ms. Jessica’s ancient voice snaps me into the present.

I look around her small room in the Pine Hills Nursing Home where I work, blinking away the persistent memory.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Are you okay? Your cheeks are so pink!”

“Of course!” My laugh is strained, so I clear my throat. “You said Noel’s coming for a visit?”

“I asked what do you think about Isabel graduating.” The old woman grins like she can read my mind, which she can’t. “But yes, Noel is coming by this evening—why do you ask?”

Ms. Jessica is settled in her room, and I start for the door. “She wanted royal jelly.”

“From your mother’s bees? Oh, she must be planning a new face cream.” The old lady’s brown eyes light. “Do you help her?”

“With her cosmetics?”

The old lady shakes her head. “Your mother. With the bees.”

“Oh, lord, no. The one time I tried that, I got stung. I only do her labels.” I created the tiny yellow and black watercolor bee that became my mom’s Honey Farms logo.

“And you created Noel’s logo for her cosmetics… You’re so talented.”

I think about the simple line of a sun rising over trees I drew at sixteen when my best friend got the idea to start an all-natural skin care line based on peaches.

“It’s pretty primitive. I wish she’d let me redo it.”

“Nonsense. It’s perfect. You have a gift.” She nods slowly. “Which means you’ll be leaving us soon. Heading to the big city where you can make some real money with your art degree.”

I pull her shawl around her shoulders. I’ve actually considered moving before, but I can’t leave my mom… Or something.

“Oprah says if you don’t know what to do, be still.”

“I know that handsome young man Deacon Dring is from Dallas.” Her eyes slant, and she’s grinning again like she knows something.

She doesn’t.

Everyone thinks Deacon and I are dating, and I guess we have gone out a few times. Still, our relationship is strictly platonic. The truth is we’re both in the same boat when it comes to love, and misery loves company.

“Deacon is from Plano, which is just outside Dallas.”

“Is he the reason you’re so distracted these days?”

No. Again, I don’t say it out loud. Instead, I feign innocence. “Am I distracted?”

She gives my arm a squeeze. “You’re a smart girl, Mindy. I know you won’t let some boy determine your future. You’ll do what’s right for you.”

If only that were true. I suppose if she knew the full story, she wouldn’t be announcing her confidence in me so emphatically. But when you keep secrets, you have to be prepared to be misunderstood.

“Tell you what, I won’t move away without giving you plenty of notice. Okay?” She grins, and I squeeze her thin shoulders. “Night.”

It’s only five, but most of the residents have had their suppers and are getting ready for bed—the ones who are mobile, that is.

I retrace the familiar hallway to my desk just inside the front door. I’ve worked at the nursing home since I was a junior in high school, all through college, even now, after graduation, while I’m “figuring out my next steps”—which has lasted longer than it should.

I view it as a steady paycheck while I pick up freelance design jobs and do my own watercolors on the side. Harristown isn’t big enough to support a thriving arts community, but we get the yearly burst of tourists every summer around Peach Festival time who buy my art.

Peaches. Harristown is known for peaches, and my best friend’s family operates the biggest orchard in town—they have since before we were born, since before her parents died and her oldest brother Sawyer took over running the place.

My bottom lip slips between my teeth, and I glance up at the clock as I slowly collect my things, setting the jar of royal jelly on the edge of my desk.

Noel comes rushing through the glass front doors just as I’m slinging my purse over my shoulder. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey! No worries.” We give each other a quick hug and air kisses. “Everything okay? How’s Dove?”

Noel’s daughter was an unexpected burst of sunshine that appeared six years ago. I’d always thought of surprise pregnancies as a bad thing. I’m not so sure I feel that way anymore. At least not every time.

“Dove is Dove.” She pushes a smooth lock of dark brown hair behind her ear. Noel has perfect hair, which I do not envy. Much. “She’s practicing for the Princess Peach pageant nonstop, singing every Dolly Parton song she knows…”

“You have your mamma to thank for that.”

Noel’s mamma was a legend around here. When she was our age, she won every beauty pageant in the region, and she probably would have been Miss Louisiana and then Miss America if Noel’s daddy hadn’t put a ring on it.

Noel has never liked the pageant scene, but her daughter is hilariously precocious and the exact opposite.

“I guess liking things like pageants skips a generation. Oh!” her eyes light and she picks up the jar of bee product. “Yesss.” She turns it back and forth, gazing at it like it’s pure gold.

I can’t resist. “I’m pretty sure that stuff comes out of their butts.”

“Bee butts are so cute.”

“Or they vomit it up.”

“Don’t be gross.” She shoves the jar in her oversized bag. “I’m launching a whole new anti-aging line. Royal jelly provides a younger and clearer appearance to the skin.”

She passes me a twenty, and I shove it in my pocket. “You know Ma would never charge you for it.”

“Your mother has done more for my family than we can ever repay.”

Her words make my stomach tighten. My mother’s generosity is a big reason I’ve never had the one thing I can’t live without. “Yeah.”

“I’d better go check on Ms. Jessica. You coming by the house later?”

Her question makes me jump. It’s like she’s reading my mind or something. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Another hug, and I’m out the door, walking to my car. The sun is dipping toward the horizon, and the darker it grows, the tighter my insides twist.

It’s the same every year at this time, the same old memory, the same tension in my chest. I won’t sleep tonight. I’ll do my best to eat and smile and be brave around my mom, but only one person holds me together. When everyone goes to bed, I know where I’ll be headed.

And I’ll regret it like I always do, because it won’t change a damn thing.

“HOW WAS WORK?” Ma opens the Cruset pot on the stove and the tomatoey-licious aroma of marinara hits my nose. I snag a piece of bread and hurry to dip it, but she swats me away. “Don’t mess up my sauce!”

“Ow!” I rub my hand frowning. “I just wanted a taste.”

Ma is the quintessential Italian mother. She’s shorter than me, rounder than me, bossy as hell, and cooks like nobody’s business.

She likes to say how when she moved to Harristown years ago with my Scotch-Irish dad, she was referred to as “the dark one.” She laughs about how intimidated she was by their prejudice.

I don’t believe it.

My mom has never been anything but fierce.

“Tell me about your day. What happened at work?” She shoves a glossy-black sausage curl behind her ear.

I stomp over to pour myself a glass of wine from the decanter. “You know everything that happens at my work.”

“It’s called making conversation, Melinda Claire. Now, tell me about your day.”

“Let’s see…” I pop the un-sauced bread in my mouth, and sip my wine, thinking of what she doesn’t know. “Around lunchtime I caught Mr. Hebert sneaking into Ms. Turner’s room—after he’d just left Ms. Wilson’s room. That two-timing old goat’s going to get busted, and who knows if they’re even practicing safe sex.”

“What is this?” Ma’s eyes widen in horror. “You think I want to hear that?”

I shrug. “I was making conversation.”

“Let’s stick to topics that won’t make me barf in my mouth.”

“You’re being very old-school.” I take another sip of wine. “Elder sex is a beautiful thing… Provided the old ladies are getting their lube and the men have plenty of Viagra. Otherwise, it’s just a floppy, dry mess—”

Ma’s brow lowers, and she gives me The Look. “I will wash your mouth out with soap. And Mr. Hebert’s, too…”

I make a whatever face. “Mr. Grady wants to hold a senior beauty pageant to coincide with the Peach Festival this year, sponsored by Grady’s Used Cars, of course…”

“That man…” She waves her hand as she stirs. “He is always trying to find a way to sell cars.”

“Mrs. Irene says my aura is pure gold right now…”

She looks me up and down. “You look the same to me.”

“Maybe if you were blind you’d see my golden aura.”

“Maybe Mrs. Irene can see the sun.”

Mrs. Irene is my favorite eighty-something, blind mystic. “She says I’m illuminated and inspired.”

“Have you started your paintings for the festival?”

“Not yet.” Digging in my pocket, I hand over the twenty. “But Noel said thanks for the royal jelly.”

Ma waves it away. “Keep it. You probably need money for lunch.”

“I’m not in high school anymore.” Still, I shove the bill in my pocket.

“I don’t know why they haven’t made you administrator of that nursing home. You practically run the place as it is.” She’s been harping on that old string since I graduated from college.

“It’s simple. I don’t want to be the administrator. That job sucks.”

Her eyes fix on mine. “What do you want to do, Patatina?”

Be Sawyer LaGrange’s wife. I shoot the thought down as fast as it pops up. Stop being an idiot, Mindy.

It’s been that kind of day, so I decide to level with her. “I want to own my own design firm. I want to run ad campaigns and do marketing, plan PR events, create logos for businesses and entrepreneurs like you and Noel…”

My mother’s forehead wrinkles. “Is that something you could do in Harristown?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Worry fills her eyes, and anxiety fills my stomach. I know the idea of me leaving is hard for her. Hell, it’s hard for me.

After my dad died, Ma clung to my two sisters and me like we were all she had left in the world. Then when Tatum, my oldest sister, moved to Atlanta right out of high school, Ma cried for weeks.

Selfishly, I was kind of glad to see her go. She’d been Sawyer’s date to the homecoming dance and to prom, and I’d lain awake both nights in my bed, silent tears streaming down my cheeks.

She’d said they were nothing more than friends.

He never said a word either way.

I wanted to die.

Still, Tatum’s leaving and my mother’s reaction made a big impression on Tamara and me, not that my middle sister has ever wanted to leave this small town. She didn’t even move to New Orleans when her husband went to dental school for two years.

“Deacon’s helping me with my business plan. He knows I’d like to stay close if possible. Maybe we can find a way—”

“Deacon!” Ma’s eyes brighten. “He’s such a smart young man and so polite. Why don’t you ever invite him over to dinner? I’d like to get to know him better.”

Because he’s just a friend, and the last thing I need is you getting ideas?

“He was here at Thanksgiving, remember?”

“Six months ago!” She takes the pot of boiling pasta off the stove and carries it to the sink. “Have him come for dinner Friday. I’ll ask him to advise me about my bees.”

I take two bowls from the cabinet. “You can’t ask him for free financial advice. It’s his job, Ma.”

“I’m feeding him dinner, aren’t I? I bet he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal since Thanksgiving.”

Arguing with my mother is pointless, and anyway, Deacon likes visiting our house. He says it’s the home life he never had. I tell him to watch what you wish for.

“I’ll ask him.”

We sit down to steaming bowls of penne with marinara, French bread, and red wine. Before we start to eat, after we’ve said the blessing, she raises her glass and toasts my dad.

Thirteen years ago this night, he closed his eyes and never opened them again.

His favorite camellias were blooming milky white and red, neon-pink azaleas were bursting on the bushes in front of the house, and he left us as quiet as a spring breeze.

Unshed tears tighten my throat, but I take another, longer drink of wine to ease them away. She longs for him on his birthday, on their anniversary, but this night every year is mine. This is the night I can’t sleep.

Hours later, I’m lying awake in the darkness, staring at the blue shadows moving across the ceiling when I do what I always do. I get out of bed, pick up the small bag beside my dresser, grab my coat off the rack, and creep down the stairs and out to my car.

The oversized farmhouse is silent and dark when I arrive.

A street lamp sits high on a pole in the middle of the large yard separating the farm house from the foreman’s cottage a little farther down. I park behind the peach shed where no one will see and leave the bag and my keys inside.

I know this place so well. I’ve been coming here just about every day since I was a little girl, since my ma stepped in to help Sawyer with Noel and Leon.

Sawyer’s never needed anybody…

I go around to the ladder trellis reaching up to his second-floor window. I first climbed it the night after we buried my daddy. The night after we found him dead.

He said I could come to him if I needed somebody to talk to, and every year on this night I do just that.

The window is open a crack when I reach it. It slides without a sound, and I slip inside. He’s sitting up with his back against the headboard, but his eyes are closed. I hear his rhythmic breathing, and I know he’s fallen asleep.

It doesn’t matter. I go to the bed, leaving my jacket on the chair. The night is warm, and he’s not wearing a shirt. Silver moonlight deepens the lines of muscle in his arms, his broad shoulders. Sawyer works so hard, lifting crates of peaches, hauling boxes to the truck. He has the best body.

I can’t remember when he went from being the boy who held my hand and dried my tears to the man I can’t live without. I only know he’s owned my heart as long as I’ve been able to love.

Lifting the thin comforter, I slip in beside him and rest my cheek against his warm chest.

“Mm…” His voice vibrates against my skin. “Hey.”

Strong arms go around me, and I close my eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace relax my racing insides. I hold him, inhaling his scent of soap, cedar, and Sawyer.

“I tried not to wake you.” I sound so small.

“How you doing?” I love his voice, the low drawl, the touch of honey in his Louisiana accent.

“Same as every year.”

“I know, baby girl.” A large, callused hand slides up and down my bare arm, scratching my skin, waking my insides. “Let it happen. It’ll pass.”

Only the thinnest cotton nightgown separates my naked body from his, and I ache for him to want me again. One time will never be enough, and it’s been so long.

Ever since he came back from the military, there’s been this wall between us. He didn’t come back to me—he didn’t come back to anyone. Still, my heart waits for him, waits for the day he’ll let me in again.

Stretching my legs, arching my back, I search for his mouth in the darkness. My fingers fumble to his muscular neck, and I thread them in his soft hair, curling them and pulling his face to mine.

I don’t know if it’s because he’s drowsy or if it’s the darkness, but I manage to capture his full lips briefly. I push them apart, and our tongues meet. He kisses me back, before pulling away and settling me down at his side.

“You need to sleep.”

Squeezing my eyes shut against the tears, I nod and return to my place, sheltered at his side, under his arm, my heart irrevocably devoted to him.

2

Sawyer

My phone alarm lights up, vibrating in my face at six a.m., and I scramble to tap it off.

God, I hate this fucking time of year. I hate waking up at the crack of dawn. I hate busting my ass in the blazing heat all day for weeks without a break. I’ve hated it since I was sixteen and the world dropped out from under us, and I hate it now.

But you know what? I get my ass out of bed and do what needs to be done.

Mindy is curled up beside me in a little ball sleeping. Her hands are under her chin, and she looks so peaceful. She sleeps like a baby when she’s with me, and my stomach tightens with protective warmth. This girl.

She’s as fucking beautiful as she ever was. As I predicted, she went from being a pretty little girl crying in the field to this stunning woman with gorgeous curves, flashing green eyes, and wicked sense of humor.

I want to slide the chestnut wave off her cheek, but if she opens her bright green eyes, I don’t know what might happen. It’s morning, and I’m a healthy thirty-one-year-old man.

A man who knows to make the right decision and leave her alone. Mindy doesn’t want this life, and she sure as hell doesn’t need to deal with my shit. Joining the Marines was supposed to help me escape the past. Instead, it only heaped on more baggage.

I understand why she came here last night. I know the pain of losing your dad. No matter how many years pass, the anniversary always stings like hell. When she kissed me… Her soft lips, her smooth, velvety skin… I could taste the wine on her breath, and I wouldn’t take advantage of her vulnerable state.

Dealing with women is not my strong suit—it never was. They’re always talking, always reading shit into situations that Just. Isn’t. There.

Mindy’s not like that.

When she put her hand in mine that day, something happened between us. It’s like a strange connection…

Or maybe it’s just me.

Still, I can’t resist touching the side of her hair, carefully, so as not to wake her. She wears it in long, sleek waves now, and if I bury my face in it, I’ll be surrounded by her scent of fresh air and lilacs. It’s fucking irresistible.

It floods my mind with memories…

I was a little drunk the night I finally lowered my pants and took her—with her saying yes, yes the entire time. It makes me grin remembering.

Her spiral curls fell around us like a bubbly waterfall, and her small breasts bounced as she rode me… shit, I can still feel her in my hands, I can still remember the marks on her skin from my kisses. She shook and moaned so loudly when she came, I’m pretty sure it was the best orgasm of my life.

It was a desperate craving we’d denied from the time she was sixteen and started noticing me in the way I’d been trying not to notice her. She was nineteen, and I was leaving for who knew what might happen in the Marines. It was such a fucking relief to finally give in and be together…

And on that note, I slide my ass out of bed and grab my jeans, my henley, and my boots before I do something I’ll regret.

I’ll finish dressing in the bathroom then meet Taron at the truck. We’ll head to the Denny’s restaurant at the truck stop off Interstate 220. It’s where the farmers meet this time every year to divvy up the transient workers and decide who gets the rotations first.

We always get priority, since the peaches follow Mother Nature’s schedule, and they have to be harvested now. There’s also the Peach Festival and the annual onslaught of tourists who double the size of our small town for a week to eat peaches, peach ice cream, peach fudge, peach cider, peach bread…

God, I’m so sick of peaches.

Standing in the bathroom mirror, I rub my hand across my face, over my cheeks and down to my jaw. Leaning closer, I look deep into my hazel eyes, straining to see I can see the shadows, the darkness lurking there.

After our ordeal in Mexico, the Marines did something they never do—they sent us all home.

It was a rescue mission. Our friend Marley was kidnapped by a band of thugs on a routine fuel run, and Taron, Patton, and I were assigned to get him back. When we found him, he’d been tortured almost to death.

Getting him out, Taron fell and suffered a pretty bad spinal injury. Marley almost died. They got purple hearts. Patton and I were given medical discharges, and I was told to see a therapist once a week until he or she released me.

Only, I wanted to stay.

I wanted to be a Marine…

Now, looking deep into my eyes, I search for their diagnosis—PTSD, possible suicidal tendencies…

It was a diagnosis that sent a chill down my spine. I’d watched Noel struggle with the ghost of my father’s actions, but I pushed back on the notion that demon could be lurking inside me as well…

Straightening, I clear the tension in my throat and push that shit away once more. I don’t care what they say, I’ve got responsibilities.

“This fucking wakeup call never gets easier, I swear.” Taron meets me at the truck with two silver travel mugs in his hand.

I only nod.

It’s too early for conversation, no matter how chatty he feels. He complains, but he’s a morning person one hundred percent.

He hands me one of the mugs of coffee, and I take a sip. Noel makes the best coffee—way better than that weak shit they’ll serve us at the Denny’s.

My little sister put her head down and worked alongside me, doing whatever it took to keep this orchard running. I’ve always watched out for her, and I know this guy loves her as much as I do. We’ve had a rough road, but I can trust him with her.

My cap is pulled low over my eyes, and I take the dirt road at a slow clip so as not to kick up dust all over everything. The sun isn’t quite up yet, and the mist rises over the rows of peach trees stretching up the hill. The place kind of glows, and as much as it wears on me, it’s beautiful this time of year.

It’s our family’s land.

It’s our legacy.

I take another sip of good coffee, and Taron looks out the window a beat before breaking the silence. “Crossing the yard this morning, I saw a gold Prius parked behind the peach shed.”

Silence fills the cab. It’s punctuated by the noise of tire wheels on the dirt road, and he’s looking at me like he expects an explanation.

I take another sip of coffee.

The problem with being friends with a guy for ten years and serving in the Marines with him and having him live on your place is he won’t let you get away with shit.

“Why was Mindy at the house last night?” A grin is in his tone. A gotcha.

We drive on for a bit longer, and I know he’s waiting for some reply. “It’s not what you think.”

“So set me straight.” He’s grinning, but I’m not.

I’m also not talking about it.

“Mindy’s a pretty girl. She’s smart and talented. She’d make a good wife.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Ah, man…” He looks out the window a minute, and when he turns back, all joking is gone. “You were always so wise. You always knew what to do. Why can’t you see what’s right in front of you?”

The road changes from dirt to asphalt, and we’re almost to our destination. Thankfully. “You ever think about what happened to us in Mexico?”

“I’ll never forget what I did.” His voice goes quiet, and I wish I hadn’t brought it up. “But I think about it less now, with Noel, Dove…”

“I think about it every day.”

“Did you do the therapy?”

I briefly recall the few sessions I attended. A perky young woman with bright blue eyes asking me how I felt, wanting me to tell her all about my feelings. Right.

“It wasn’t for me.”

My friend drops his chin and exhales a short laugh. “Why am I not surprised by that?”

We’re at the truck stop, and I pull into a space, shifting into park and killing the engine.

“My daddy would say it’s better to keep quiet and let people think you’re ignorant. Don’t open your mouth and prove them right.”

An empathetic grin is on his face, and he grabs my shoulder before we get out. “Still, it helps to do the work. Get that shit out of your head.”

“I’d rather sweat it out.”

“We got plenty of that on the horizon,” he chuckles. “It’s a type of therapy I love, being outside, breathing the fresh air. I could do it forever.”

“Come on. We need to be sure we’re on the schedule or this summer will feel like forever.”

Inside the restaurant, Taron smiles and greets Flo the waitress, then he starts shaking hands with the old timers, shooting the shit as they stand around drinking weak coffee. Taron fit in here like a round peg.

As for me, I know what I can do and the risks I’ll never take, and yes, I see what’s right in front of me. I don’t know if it’s wisdom, but I’ve seen a lot of good people fuck things up by not using their heads, thinking before speaking, making bad decisions.

I don’t need therapy.

I’ll figure my shit out like I always do—on my own.

3

Mindy

Mrs. Irene’s long white hair is thick and straight, and I carefully divide it into thirds. “Hallee from the Cuttin’ Corral is doing free shampoo and sets in the rec room. Not that you need it…”

She runs her fingers across the raised dots of a braille tablet on her lap. “Did you know researchers at Harvard are working on a course of antibodies that can reverse the damage of glaucoma and possibly restore sight to the blind?” Her voice is high and soft, but confident. “This young man from Australia is pioneering the study. He gives you a round of antibodies that specifically targets the eye.”

My hands move through her hair, weaving it into one fat braid down her back. “I wonder how soon he can get FDA approval for it.”

“I wonder if he’d be interested in an old blind lady to use as a guinea pig.” She turns the page.

“A beautiful old blind lady.” She tsks me, patting my arm as I tie off her plait. “Speaking of, watch out. Old Mr. Hebert is sneaking into rooms again.”

“Jimmy Hebert? How does he look now?”

Pressing my lips together, I think about the squat little man. “He’s a little paunchy. He still has hair, but it’s pretty thin.”

“Good looking?”

“He’s very earnest.”

She laughs. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” Pulling the band off my wrist, I use it to tie off the end of her hair. “George Costanza says a good-looking blind woman doesn’t know you’re not good enough for her. I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Mindy Ray!” She laughs even more, and Miss Jessica’s playful voice enters the room behind us.

“But would you date the deaf?”

“Well, look at you!” I step over to lightly touch her stiff dome of gray hair. “Nice style.”

“Oh, I wish I could see.” Mrs. Irene lifts her chin in the direction of our voices.

“Hallee is really good.”

“Tell me about it. I love my Brazilian blowout!”

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Irene places her hand on her chest. “I don’t know how you girls do all those waxes. Back in my day, women had hair down there.”

“Good night, Irene!” Miss Jessica cries. “She’s talking about her head hair.”

I guide Mrs. Irene’s hand to the side of my head. “Feel. It’s like a straightening treatment, but it’s not chemical… It’s keratin.”

“Well, I’ll be…” Her voice is full of awe. “But your curls are gone! I miss everything now.”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t think to tell you.” Harristown is so small, these old ladies have known me all my life.

“I just wish I didn’t feel like livestock.” Miss Jessica pats the side of her hair with an offended huff. “Who names a salon the Cuttin’ Corral? It’s like expecting me to buy clothes from a place called the Dress Barn. I am not a cow.”

“I think they’re riffing off Napoleon Dynamite.” I pick up the braille book that slid off Mrs. Irene’s lap.

“What’s that?” Miss Jessica frowns at me.

“I know this one!” Mrs. Irene waves her hands. “It’s that band who sings the song about all the small things.”

Chewing my lip, I decide to let that one go. “You know, I wonder if Mr. Hebert is getting dementia. Maybe he forgets which room is his.”

“Pah!” Miss Jessica cries. “Jimmy Hebert has been a hound dog since he was in high school, and he’s a hound dog now. He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

I throw up my hands. “Well, I tried.”

Miss Jessica keeps going. “Debbie Turner is a hussy, and Olivia Wilson is dumb as a box of rocks. If we were sixty years younger, they’d both be pregnant.”

“I guess you all’ve known each other longer than I have.” She’s more fired up than I’ve seen her in a while. “I don’t guess I should say anything to Beth.”

I’d like to be charitable, but I kind of relish the thought of informing my childhood nemesis her grandfather is an old man-whore.

“You just mind your own business.” Mrs. Irene pats my arm. “They’ll only turn it around on you.”

Miss Jessica sits on the couch nodding. “I think people need to mind their own business when it comes to love. When I was in high school, I fell in love with a man… best looking thing I’ve ever seen before or since.”

“Oh, I remember him.” Mrs. Irene nods. “Chris Hathaway?”

“He was like moving art. A statue… David…”

“I’ve never heard of him!” I hop on the couch, ready for the whole story. One of my favorite parts of the job is the old stories.

“Well, he didn’t live here long. My parents didn’t like him.”

“Nobody’s parents liked him,” Mrs. Irene interjects. “He was thirty and trying to date all the high school girls.”

“I wanted to do more than date him.”

“Miss Jessica!” I laugh-cry, not really shocked.

“Who knows? He could’ve been the love of my life. I’ll never know now.” She shakes her head and looks off wistfully.

“Is he why you never married?”

“The war is why I never married.” She pats my hand. “But never you mind. I don’t want to bore you with my old stories.”

“I love your old stores! They’re fun!”

Mrs. Irene reaches out, and I catch her hand in mine. “I know your dream is to be an artist.” Her eyes glisten as she speaks. “But your heart is here with us.”

“Maybe.” I slide my fingers over the blue veins in the back of her hand. “Or maybe I’m just a chicken. I know I’m safe here.”

“We love you here.”

I exhale a sigh.

This morning I decided it was time to make a Plan B and stick to it. It’s so easy to keep doing the same thing over and over and finding excuses for why things don’t change.

It’s called being crazy.

“I know one thing.” I squeeze her hand. “I’ve got to get working on my art or I won’t have the poster ready in time for the festival.”

For the last five years, the Grower’s Association has commissioned one of my watercolors for the official Peach Festival poster for the year. Residents and tourists alike collect them.

“I can’t wait to see it.” Miss Jessica hugs me.

“And I can’t wait to hear you describe it in glorious detail!” Mrs. Irene lifts her chin and shakes her hands as she says it. “Your aura is on fire today.”

Leaving them both with a hug and a wave, I stop off at the reception counter to be sure the new teenage intern has everything she needs before I head out to my car.

I shoot a quick text to my bestie. Okay if I hang out in your orchard for the next few days?

It doesn’t take long for Noel to reply. Come on. I’m up to my ears in balloons and glitter.

I can’t even imagine what that means, but I quickly text back. I’ll be there in ten.

Tossing my phone on the passenger’s seat, I steer my gold Prius toward Ma’s. I’ve got to collect my sketchpad and paints and drop off my nightgown and trench. Last thing I need is Noel looking in my car and getting curious.

4

Sawyer

“I’ll pick up the crates, get more netting and rope…” Taron tosses a tarp in the back of the ancient red Chevy. “Anything else?”

“That should do it for now.”

He takes off, and I switch on the water lines running to the cold bath for the fresh-picked fruit. Jay Hidalgo assembles a team every year to help with picking. They’ll clean every peach off the trees and dump them into the assembly line for our annual crop of teenagers to sort and crate. We tried using machines to do the work, but they damaged too many peaches.

We’ll work from sunup until it gets too hot to bear, usually around 3 p.m. The pickers call it a day, but we keep going until all the fruit is sorted and crated and either in the store or headed to the distribution center.

Female laughter meets me as I cross the yard to the house, and I see Mindy’s car parked in the driveway. My stomach tightens. I haven’t seen her since I left her asleep in bed.

“Beth Hebert was such a little bitch. I think we need to find a way to tell her.” Noel is wielding a glue gun over a pile of tiny multicolored balls and paper straws.

“Maybe we can ask her if Pop Pop knows the condom on the banana trick.”

“As if she’d even know. I’m surprised she didn’t get pregnant in high school.”

I pause at the door watching them laugh, and my stomach warms. It sounds like something old ladies say, but I can still see them as teenagers leaning all the way on the table, head to head, giggling and talking about makeup or whatever girls talk about when they’re young.

Their friendship is a bright light in our stormy lives. Sleeping with Mindy somehow felt like I was trespassing, like I changed everything. It’s part of the reason I held back for so long, even though I wanted it as badly as Mindy did… Maybe more.

My sister glues yellow, pink, and green puff balls on the side of a straw. “You should do a sex ed class in the rec room and invite Beth to help. Have her pass out flavored condoms.”

“I’m not sure the old ladies’ gag reflexes are up to it.” Mindy’s hair is in a high ponytail with the ends dancing around her shoulders. She’s so damn cute.

“As if those old coots can get it up.” My sister snorts.

“You’d be surprised. They’re all on Viagra now.”

What the hell? I pull the screen door as they fall back cackling. “Afternoon, ladies.”

Noel jumps and makes a little yip, and her dog Akela trots over to lick my hand. I pat her gray and white head. “What are you doing here?”

“Last I checked I live here. What are you doing?”

She holds up a festive straw. “Making decorations for Dove’s end of the year party. What do you need? Food?”

My eyes move to Mindy, who is very focused on drawing upside down Vs on a green balloon with a black sharpie. What do I need…

I pick up one of the green balloons with pink puff balls glued to the top. “What is it?”

Noel stands and takes it from my hand, picking up two smaller ones and sticking them together with tape. “Cactus.”

“Huh. I see it.” I have to hand it to my little sister, she’s really good at all this crafting shit.

“I’ve got to get moving.” Mindy stands, grabbing her bag off the back of the chair. “You mind if I’m out in the rows the next few days?”

Our eyes meet. Her tan complexion is darker from the sun, making her green eyes glow, and the strands of hair curling right around her face are highlighted gold. She’s so pretty, I almost forget what she asked me.

“Ah… sure.” I clear the thickness from my throat, the memory of last night’s kiss tries to push its way to the front of my brain.

She blinks away quick when my sister stands, catching her arm. “I told you it was fine. Jay’s men aren’t coming until Monday, right Sawyer?”

Noel looks back at me, and I wave, turning to the refrigerator. “Yeah, there’s time.”

“I just need to make some sketches. I’d like to go down to Hayes pond if that’s okay?”

“Take the three-wheeler.” Noel’s voice carries out the screen door, which closes with a bang.

I turn, leaning my back against the appliance and crossing my arms over my chest as I watch them in the yard. I’ve got so much work. I’ll lose these feelings like I always do, in straining muscles, blazing heat, and stinging sweat.

If manual labor doesn’t kill it, you’re not doing it right.

“Ugh, I hate harvest.” Noel bangs through the door again, dropping into the chair and scooping up the glue gun and another gold-striped straw. “It’s already hot as Africa out there.”

“What do you know about Africa?” I take a long drink of lemonade.

“I know it has deserts, and it’s so hot people have to ride camels because horses would drop dead. And that’s just the north part.”

“It’ll be over soon. Time flies during harvest.” I see Taron pulling the truck into the lot behind the shed, and I start for the door.

“Because we barely have time to think.”

Pushing out the screen door, I shake my head. Noel always exaggerates, but in this case, she’s not far wrong. My mind drifts to Mindy in the rows sketching, and I wish I could go to her. My chest aches for her more with each passing week. It was so hard last night to keep from doing more…

But she doesn’t belong here. She’s fucking talented and smart. Hell, some of the paintings she’s shown me—figures and portraits—are really unique, emotional and edgy. They’re totally different from the Peach Festival posters, which are just mass produced and watered down for public consumption. I want to see her follow her dreams. I don’t want to see her give them up for this grueling existence.

“Hey!” Taron shouts to me from inside the shed. “Was that Mindy on the three-wheeler?”

I grab the last of the crates from the bed of the truck and toss them on the loading dock. “Yeah, why?”

He grunts as he pushes up onto the concrete slab. “Looks like she had an accident. I’ll finish here if you want to go check on her.”

“What the fuck?” Fear seizes my chest, and I’m in the cab of the Chevy before he even finishes speaking.

He shouts something behind me as I blast out of the dirt lot, but I’m not listening. I’m fighting visions of Mindy lying injured in the field or worse…

Which is completely illogical. Taron would’ve stopped if she were hurt.

I work to calm my thoughts, but it’s not easy—a reality I’m not prepared to examine too closely right now.

It takes less than two minutes for me to cross from our place into the Hayes’s old orchard, which is now full of dead trees, cow weed, and black-eyed Susans.

Dutch Hayes owned the orchard adjacent to ours for years until they over-harvested their trees. Now he and his son Digger grow cotton all the way from here to Delta. It’s a lot of cotton, but it takes a lot to make anything off that crop.

I’m over the last small hill leading to the Hayes pond when I see her and exhale heavily. Shit. She’s on her knees beside the small vehicle with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. One of the back tires is completely flat.

Dropping my speed, I park the truck close by and climb out, slamming the door. “Are you okay?”

She rises, pushing a strand of hair off her forehead. Her hands are shaking, and I cup them in mine before catching her chin, lifting her eyes as I search for signs of dilation.

“Just shook up a little.” She blinks away from my gaze. “Damn thing exploded so loud I nearly had a heart attack.”

Relief mixes with the adrenaline in my veins, and I want to pull her against my chest and hold her. I want to slide my hand down the back of her head and feel her safe in my arms. I want to kiss her gently.

I guess I’m overreacting.

“You sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine.” She nods. “But this is stuck.”

We walk around to look. The rim is in a muddy rut, and I trace her route a few paces until I find looks like a broken keg tap hidden in a clump of grass. Snatching it up, I carry it back and toss it in the bed of my truck.

“Found the culprit at least. Probably some kids threw it out.”

“Idiots.” Mindy grumbles, glancing at the jagged piece of metal.

“I don’t know if I can lift this thing.” I squat beside it thinking. I don’t have a spare tire, and I’m not sure Taron can help me. “Where were you headed? I can give you a ride.”

She sighs and pulls her bag over her shoulder. “Here.” She waves a hand toward the pond. “I was going to sit on the pier and do some sketching. I probably could’ve walked.”

We leave the vehicles in the field and walk slowly toward the old fishing pond. A pipe rises in the middle, aerating the water by spraying it in an arc over the surface.

“You’re going to sketch the fountain?”

“I had this image in my head of a boy with a fishing pole sitting on the bank…” Her voice drifts as she studies the scene. “He could be framed by peach tree branches and blossoms, like it’s his world…”

“That so?”

Clearing her throat, she shakes it away. “Or I don’t know. It’s probably a dumb idea.”

“I like it.” I think about fishing out here with my dad all the time as kid, and I think about the day I found her crying and alone, the day my life changed forever.

The day she put her hand in mine.

She pulls out the sketch pad and starts flipping pages. I catch glimpses of pencil drawings, but a few of the pages have color on them.

“Can I see that?” I reach forward to stop one of them before she flips it away fast.

“What?” Her brow furrows, and she turns back. “Oh…”

Her shoulders rise, and she tries to cover it again. I stop her. “Hang on, what is it?”

“Sawyer…” Her tone is pleading.

It’s a watercolor of a couple in a bed. They’re both dark-haired. The woman’s is long and flowing in waves around her shoulders. She’s lying on her back with the man above her, and her fingers are threaded in the side of his hair.

It’s so familiar, so much emotion is in their faces, their lips almost touching. It looks like us. I want to ask… but I see pink in her cheeks and change my mind.

“It’s really good.”

“Thank you.” She takes the sketchbook out of my hands and quickly closes the cover.

I want to hold her that way. I want her fingers in my hair, pulling me closer to her like she did in bed last night.

“You doing okay today? Sorry I had to take off this morning. You know. Harvest.”

“I know.”

She does know. She’s grown up in this world. A long time ago, I told her she could tell me anything… I think about telling her everything. I’m not sure how she’d take it, but I can guess she’d want to help. I’ve seen her at the nursing home with the old ladies.

Then she’d be trapped here, the same way I’m trapped.

Obligation.

Fuck that.

Last Christmas Mindy wanted to leave. She wanted to move to Dallas and pursue her art career. She didn’t go for some reason she never shared… Probably her Ma, but I know she has dreams and ambitions that are bigger than this small town.

I step back as she squints up at me. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m going to make you tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking I’d better get moving if I’m going to fix that flat.”

“I’ll be here if you need any help.” She turns, continuing to the pond, and I hesitate a moment, watching the sway of her cute little ass in that short dress.

Yeah, I’d better get back to work.

5

Mindy

I close my eyes and remember Sawyer in high school, his hair dark and shaggy around his head, his body tall and lanky. He didn’t get muscular until after that horrible winter.

Everybody in town helped them. Ma was best friends with Penny LaGrange, their mother, so she took their care personally. We were over at their house every day making sure everyone ate, clothes were clean, homework was done… hugs and comfort was administered.

The best thing about my ma is she has plenty of affection for an army of kids. None of us felt left out of the love—if anything, we got too much.

I was eleven. It’s an age where you’re still too young to be taken seriously, but you see and feel things deeply. I understood the seriousness of what was happening to them. I knew what a big responsibility had fallen on Sawyer’s shoulders, and I think I fell in love with him then, before I knew what love really meant.

He was only sixteen, but he seemed so strong and solid. He got up early and went to the meetings with the grown men, talked to them like he was one of them. He wasn’t like any boy I ever knew before or since…

Sitting on the pier now, I think of him at twenty-one… He was a man with lines of muscle tracing across his chest, down his arms, that V dropping into his jeans. It felt so cruel we couldn’t be together until I was eighteen, and I did everything I could to wear him down.

I should’ve known anyone who could take on what he did was strong enough to hold me at arm’s length, at least a few years.

My hand moves over the sketchpad, and I trace out a line for the bank. Below it I’ll fill in the lake with sparkles of light tipping the surface. Above it, I’ll add the heavy brush where he would sit and fish, watching the water so quietly.

He’s always been that way, quiet, patient, waiting. It made his groans in my ear when I’d straddle him and kiss him, even more thrilling. It was like I’d made it to a place nobody was allowed.

Dropping my hand lower on the page, I draw a curved line for his broad shoulder, following it to his muscular biceps. His arm is bent, and his hands clutch my shoulders. I quickly sketch them, narrow and raised. My chin is raised, and his head is lowered. Our lips are almost touching, a breath apart… Closing my eyes, my body heats as I feel it.

“Sawyer said you got stuck?” Leon’s loud voice makes me scream and toss my sketch pad.

“Leon, what the hell!”

“Holy shit…” His voice breaks off with snorts of laughter.

Just like his brother, Leon is long and lean with dark shaggy hair, but he’s always been full of mischief.

“Sawyer said you’re working on the Peach Festival poster?”

Reaching down, I scoop my pad off the pier thankful it didn’t land in the water. “I was trying to. Until somebody broke my concentration.”

“Is that why you jumped a mile in the air? All those peach trees?” His dark eyes twinkle.

“Do you need something from me?”

“Not really. Sawyer went to town to get a new tire. I figured I’d come check out the damage. Saw you sitting up here gazing at the lake like Aquaman’s about to show up or something.”

“I was not. I was thinking about my sketch.”

“Is it going to be X-rated this year?”

Opening my bag, I stuff my sketchpad inside. “I’m heading back to the house. It’s too distracting out here.”

“I’m sorry,” he laughs. “Did I interrupt your artistic flow?”

“No more than you ever do.”

I’m walking quickly in the direction of the house, Leon keeping pace, not letting up for a minute on the teasing.

“You know your face gets all pink when you’re drawing dirty pictures. You chew your lip, and—”

Stopping short, I cut him with a glare. “I was not drawing dirty pictures.”

“Bullshit.” He crosses his arm, grinning down at me. “Open that sketch book and prove me wrong.”

I hesitate. I don’t remember how far I’d gotten in my illustrated memory of Sawyer and me together, and the last thing I need is Leon knowing our secret.

Although, to be honest, I don’t know why it’s still be a secret. We’re both old enough to be together now, and my mom would be thrilled—mostly because I’d be staying in Harristown.

I say all this as if I have any reason to think Sawyer and I would be together. We never defined the relationship before he left, and since he returned from the Marines, I’m back at arm’s length. I’m not really sure why, and it’s getting old.

“That’s what I thought.” Leon laughs, turning on his bootheel and heading toward the wrecked ATV. “Now let’s see what you’ve done to this.”

“It wasn’t me. Some idiot threw a broken tap in the pasture.”

“It’s stuck pretty good.” He tries to push it, but it won’t budge. “I’ll have to come back with Sawyer.”

Now I feel like shit. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s nothing my big brother can’t fix.” He throws an arm around my shoulders. “I think he likes fixing all our crap.”

I’m not sure that’s true… In fact, I know it’s not, which makes me feel even worse, but I don’t want to seem too familiar with the inner workings of his brother’s mind.

He drops his arm off my shoulder and adjusts the cap on his head. “Deacon’s at the house.”

“Is he back from Dallas?” I remember my mom’s invitation.

“Hell, I don’t know. Nobody tells me anything.”

“Is that so?” That makes me laugh. “Have you told anybody what you’re going to do with that degree yet?”

Leon graduated from the small college in town last month with a general studies degree, and so far, he still hasn’t announced any plans for the future.

Not that I’m one to throw stones. Hell, I’m still sitting on my art degree, waiting…

“I want to be more involved in the orchard.” His expression turns serious. “Deacon says there’s tax advantages to having me on as an employee. But I don’t want to be just an employee.”

We’ve been walking as we talked, and we’re in eye-shot of the house when I stop. “Have you talked to Sawyer about this?”

He stops with me, dropping his chin and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sawyer’s ten years older than me.”

“So?”

“So he still looks at me like a kid. Even though I’m five years older than he was when he took over.”

My brow furrows, and I think about the few times Sawyer’s talked to me about his feelings—always when he’s had a little too much whiskey. He has dreams just like all of us. He wanted to travel, go to the south Pacific, explore Asia…

“You should talk to Sawyer about this.”

Leon chuffs a laugh and turns away toward the shed. “Yeah, maybe one day. When he takes me seriously.”

My lips tighten, and I watch him jog away toward the shed. I’ve been waiting for Sawyer to come to me, you know, the whole, when you love something set it free? Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for my bird to fly home and go get it.

DEACON IS at the table with Noel when I push through the door. He lifts his chin and gives me a little nod. I hop over and give him a shoulder-hug.

“How was Dallas? Aunt Winnie still busting your balls?”

“Pretty much.” He presses his full lips together and passes Noel what looks like a profit and loss spreadsheet. “See what you think.”

My friend takes it and turns it over in her hands. “This is it? My five-year plan?”

“It’s what you told me. You don’t have to follow it unless it’s really what you want to do.”

Deacon’s wearing Armani, but his collar is unbuttoned and his jacket is open. He’s the most casual rich boy I’ve ever known in my life—so accustomed to the finer things, he doesn’t even consider being careful with his expensive suit.

I remember freshman year when he walked into our accounting class. Thick, dark hair and piercing blue eyes… all the female students sat up straighter in their chairs. Then he walked over and sat right by me. I didn’t know whether to be smug or feel sad. Sawyer had claimed my heart so completely, I had no interest in this sexy Dallas boy at my side.

“What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night?” I punch his shoulder, and his brow furrows.

“You asking me out again?” He’s teasing, but Noel’s eyes are on us. She’s been determined we’re hooking up since college.

“Ma wants you to come over for dinner. She thinks she can feed you and get free financial advice for her bee business.”

“Your mom can bribe me with food any day of the week.” He winks, but I just shake my head.

“I’ll tell her you said yes. I’m sorry I bothered y’all.” I kiss Noel’s head, and she slants her eyes at me.

“You’re not bothering us. I’ll give you a call later.”

I want to help with the mess I’ve created for Sawyer. Leon’s right. He looks at us as things he needs to take care of, responsibilities… burdens.

His truck pulls up behind the shed, and I head for the door. It’s time to show him I can take care of myself.

6

Sawyer

“Now I feel like shit. I didn’t know you’d have to fix it by yourself.” Mindy stands beside me watching.

I’m on my knees in the muck doing my best not to knock the three-wheeler off its unstable jack.

“Who’d you think was going to help me?” The words come out on a grunt as I push against the socket wrench. “The tire fairy?”

She leans forward at my shoulder, and the scent of lilac drifts to me. It’s a nice contrast to the mud.

“I thought Leon would help you.”

“I sent him with Taron to get more palettes.” The wheel’s off, and I stand.

She steps back, facing me, still in that thin sundress, her dark hair falling in slick waves over her shoulders. By contrast, I’ve got sweat running down the sides of my neck, and I’m covered in mud from the knees down. Nice.

“I got this.” I carry the flat over to where the replacement waits. “Can’t have Taron throwing his back out this close to harvest.”

“I can help you.”

I quickly remove the damaged rubber from the rim and grab a tire iron to ease the new one in place. She stands watching with her hands on her hips.

For some reason, it makes me chuckle. “How?”

“Well…” She looks back and forth from me to the waiting ATV. “I can keep you company.”

“I don’t need company. Do what you need to do.” The rubber is on the rim, and I check the seal. A few minutes hooked to the air compressor has it full and ready to go.

“I can drive it back to the house… if you trust me on it.”

“Actually, that would be helpful.” I lower the jack and carry the tools to my truck, dropping them in the back. “Hop on and make sure I got it secure.”

I walk back to where she’s already carefully stepping over the mud to straddle the vehicle.

She rises on the pegs to kick the starter and her skirt floats up, giving me a teasing glimpse of the smooth skin running up the back of her thigh.

I’m sure it’s why I make the rookie mistake of standing right behind the damn three-wheeler when she hits the throttle and the new tire spins, showering me with a spray of thick, black mud.

“Shit… Ease off!” I shout over the noise of the engine.

It takes a few seconds for the large tire to find traction, and when she lets go of the throttle the vehicle rolls forward to firm ground.

“What’s wrong?” Mindy looks over her shoulder at me, and her eyes go round as saucers… right before she explodes in peals of laughter. “Oh no! Sawyer!”

“Yeah. Oh no.” My voice is flat.

She kills the engine and hops off, running to where I’m looking down at the mud covering the entire front half of my body. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…” She’s saying the words, but they’re punctuated by nonstop giggles.

“For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

“No, I really am… Sorry…” She snorts.

She actually snorts.

“I’ll let you drive my truck back.” I’m not getting in it like this.

“Hang on.” She grabs my hand and gives me a tug. “Come on.”

I glance up at the pond, and my stomach tightens. With the way my mind has been fixed on her today, it feels dangerous. “No, I’ll head back—”

“Sawyer LaGrange.” Her voice adorably fussy. “It’s hot, you’re a mess, and the pond is right there. Noel will have a fit if you go in the house like this.”

She’s right, and I figure I’m mature enough to handle swimming in a pond with an old friend. Until she elbows me in the ribs.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” She takes off running, and I must have a moment of temporary insanity. I take off after her, almost beating her to the pier.

She lets out a shriek when she spots me, but I lose time pulling off my cowboy boots. Her bare feet thump on the boards as she runs all the way to the end of the pier and lets out a victory yell.

I only have a second to register her pink lace panties as she grabs the hem of her dress and whips it over her head before jumping into the water.

I guess I’m the rotten egg.

Instead of stripping off my muddy clothes, I wade into the warm waters, slowly making my way to where her dark head breaks the surface.

“This feels so good!” She cries, turning to face me and immediately frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get the mud off my clothes.”

“Seriously?” She dog paddles towards me. “How are you going to get home with your clothes all wet?”

“The same way I was going to get home with them all muddy.” I’m moving deeper into the pond, closing the space between us, feeling like I’m venturing into a house fire.

She grabs at my waist. “Take that off.”

“Hang on…” I catch her hands beneath the surface.

“Take it off, and I’ll help you scrub it.”

I do as she says, going under to get the shirt over my head. When I come up, I stand, my jeans heavy on my hips.

“Now take those off and scrub them.” She turns her back, moving away with my shirt. “Old prude.”

Her mutter makes me grin as I struggle with wet denim. “I heard that.”

“You should’ve taken them off first.” She swims to the end of the pier and pulls herself up to hang my shirt on the edge, giving me a glimpse of her wet body in her now-transparent bra.

Her dark areolas are visible through the thin nylon, and heat rises below my belt. She drops into the water again and swims over to take my jeans.

“I didn’t want to be a rotten egg.” The tease in my voice surprises me.

Her pretty green eyes narrow with her grin. “Too late, old man. You’re it.”

She shoots off toward the pier, but I swim after her. I might be playing with fire, but hell, it’s been a long day in the sun. “Old man? I’m only thirty.”

“Thirty-one.” Again, she pulls herself out of the water to hang my jeans on the other corner of the pier. This time I get a full shot of her butt covered only by wet pink lace.

I want to touch her. I want to pull her against my chest and kiss her like we did last night… before I stopped it. I don’t have time to consider the consequences when she shoots forward into my arms, lifting her fingers to the side of my face.

“You’ve got mud all over you.” She scrubs her fingers gently above my ear, along my hairline.

“I can’t believe I stood there like an idiot.”

Another giggle bubbles up from her chest, and it makes me grin. Warmth is humming in my chest. I like holding her this way, letting her take care of me.

I am not being wise.

She lowers her hand, and when our eyes meet, I’m very aware of her body pressed against mine beneath the surface. She was in my bed last night, curled against my chest in the darkness, but this feels more intimate somehow.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, and her green eyes flutter to my mouth.

“Hey.” Mine is deeper, but equally quiet. I don’t know what to say, so I stick to what’s safe. “Feeling better today?”

“Yes, thank you.” Her cute nose curls, and she blinks up to my eyes again. “Glad I was able to get some sleep last night.”

“Glad I was able to help.”

“You always help me.” Her eyes drop, and she traces a finger along the top of my shoulder. It feels good. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“You never bother me.” It’s the truth.

“Thank you.” She hugs closer to me, placing her cheek against mine.

My eyes slide closed. My hands move from her waist to the soft skin of her back, and I hold her in a hug for a heartbeat. She feels good in my arms, right. Taron’s words are in my head, what’s right in front of me…

There’s no denying my body’s response to her. We’re out here in this lake, alone and secluded from the rest of the world. Anything could happen. Clearing my throat, I slide my hands to her waist again, easing us apart.

Cold water fills the place where she was. “We haven’t really talked since I’ve been back.”

“Okay.” Green eyes blink to mine expectantly.

“A lot has changed.” I’ve been waiting to feel ready for this, but it never seems to happen. Now I’ve got harvest hanging over my head…

“A lot is still the same.”

I exhale a short laugh. “Nothing changes here.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Frustration tightens my stomach. None of this is going right. Releasing her, I swim to the pier and hoist myself out of the water. Standing on the pier, I push the water off my skin roughly with my hands.

“I thought you were moving to Dallas.”

She’s in the water holding her hand up for me to help her. I bend down and lift her out of the pond.

“Is that what’s bothering you?” She’s standing in front of me practically naked, dripping wet, and my blood is hot in my veins.

“Nothing’s bothering me. Taron and Leon are probably wondering where I am.”

I’m not sure why I’m pissed all of a sudden. My clothes are still damp, but there’s no way I’m riding back to the house in boxer briefs. I pull my jeans over my hips.

“I talked to Leon earlier.” She slips the dress over her head. “He really wants to get more involved in running the orchard.”

“Is that what he’s saying now?” I scoop up my shirt and we’re walking back to the waiting vehicles. “Last year he wanted to work in sports radio.”

“Maybe… sometimes you think you want one thing, and situations change. You realize you want something different.” A tiny smile curls her lips.

“Leon is too young to know what he wants.”

“He’s older than you were when you took over the place.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Hey.” She catches my arm, stopping me. “What happened back there?”

“I just remembered I’ve got a lot to do.”

Her eyes narrow, and the smile disappears. I don’t know why I’m pushing her away, other than I’m frustrated. I don’t like feeling like I have no options.

I want her to have everything she wants, and I’ve got one hundred acres of peaches to harvest. How does that situation play out? I don’t know, and it’s getting to me.

7

Mindy

Oprah says, you are where you are in life because of what you believe is possible for yourself. Maybe I don’t believe it’s possible for me to be with Sawyer. Or maybe I don’t really believe I can show him I’m a strong, independent woman.

All I know is he pissed me off yesterday at the pond. I practically threw my naked body at him. I was in his arms in the water, sure he was going to kiss me. Hell, I could feel his semi against my thigh, and he just shut down, pushed me away.

We haven’t talked since he got back? No shit, Sherlock.

Maybe this is more like the situation where Oprah says a man will only treat you how you let him.

“Melinda Claire, I need your help!” Ma is down in the kitchen cooking enough food for an army.

I got home from work and ran upstairs for a quick shower. Now I’m dashing around my bedroom, pulling on a denim skirt and tank top, smoothing some lotion on my freshly cleaned face. Adding a touch of eyeliner and pink lip gloss. I don’t bother with shoes, running downstairs to take over pasta preparation.

“Is that what you’re going to wear?” She holds out a hand. “You’re not even wearing makeup.”

“It’s just Deacon, Ma.” I put the quart-sized boiling pot under the sink to fill, then spin around her to add it to the stove. “Why are you making so much food? He’s not a glutton.”

The door opens as if on cue, and Noel pushes inside, balancing a glass casserole dish in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other.

“Hey, you look pretty!” She smiles and sets the dish down before giving me a hug. “We’re a little early, I hope that’s okay?”

“What are you…” My jaw drops along with my stomach. “Who all is coming?”

“I told you not to bring any food.” Ma gives her a hug, always fussing.

“It’s just a little dessert. I found this tiramisu recipe online, and I figure you’ll tell me if it’s garbage.”

“Hmm… You made it, so we’ll eat it.”

“Nice.” Noel gives me a look, but I’m too distracted by the men filing in behind her.

“Smells delicious in here.” Taron steps forward to kiss my mom’s cheek. “Did you make all this?”

“What do you think?” I deadpan as he makes his way to me.

Sawyer is the last to enter, and he barely makes eye contact. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Only want the people who want you. I recite my Oprah mantra.

“Where is my little angel?” Ma cries, breaking my mantra-moment.

“Dove wanted to stay home with Leon and practice her singing.” Noel rolls her eyes.

“Well, where is Leon?” Ma is relentless.

“He’s going to bed early, if you can believe it.” My bestie puts the bread on the counter and cuts it into slices. “He wants to get up and meet with the men in the morning.”

I can’t resist tossing a told you so look at Sawyer. He dismisses it, and Ma shouts at me, “Mindy! Your water’s boiling.”

I hop over to the cabinet to grab a handful of linguine while she tosses a pinch of salt into the bubbling pot. Deacon arrives as I’m breaking noodles and lowering them carefully into the water.

“I didn’t know it was a party.” A smile is in his voice, and I glance up to see him kiss my mother’s cheek.

“Such a gentleman.” She dips her chin, and I’m pretty sure she blushes. What the heck?

Noel dances over to give him a big hug. “I read over your plan last night, and it’s perfect! I’m so excited.”

“Writing everything down helps.” His voice is warm.

“It really feels real now. Like it’s going to happen.” Noel’s eyes are so bright as she blinks up at him, and I have to wonder what the heck is up with my friend Deacon all of a sudden.

“Let a fella breathe,” I call from the stove. “He hasn’t even made it in the door yet.”

“Look at you.” He walks over to kiss my cheek before glancing at my bare feet. “I didn’t know this was going to be formal.”

“Don’t be an asshole.” I bump him with my hip.

“Melinda Claire!” Ma shouts, and Deacon snickers.

“Sorry, Ma.” My pasta has come to a boil, so I cut the heat before it boils over and push past him to the sink. “Make yourself useful and pour us a glass of wine.”

He lifts a dark green bottle of Sangiovese. “This okay?”

“That’s perfect.” As I’m returning to the stove, I catch Sawyer at the table glowering at us.

He can get over himself. If he has a problem with Deacon giving me attention, he can step up and do something about it.

Ma tosses the pasta into a bowl, and I carry the salad to the table. Noel is sitting beside Ma’s chair at the head with Taron between her and Sawyer. Deacon sits to Ma’s left, leaving me across from Mr. Impossible.

We say a quick grace, and then it’s a free for all as the salad is passed followed by the pasta and the sauce, the fresh-ground parmesan, the bread. I try not to steal glances at Sawyer and fail. I used to feel like I knew him so well, but now I have no idea what’s going on in his head.

“Ma didn’t tell me you all were coming over.” I pass the marinara to him, hoping to break the tension.

“I didn’t know until an hour ago.” His voice is low and irritated.

“Sounds like you guys need to start talking to each other more,” Noel quips from the other end of the table.

“Is something wrong with Sawyer?” Ma checks in from whatever planet she’s been on. “Is everything okay down there?”

He looks up and actually smiles at her. “I’m good, Miss J. Dinner’s delicious.”

She nods and returns to fawning over her new favorite visitor. “So Deacon, what should I do with my bees?”

Deacon’s blazer hangs on the chair behind him, and when he props an elbow on the table, I can’t help noticing his biceps… even if his table manners aren’t so great.

“What are your goals?” Ma makes a confused face, and Deacon continues, “Try thinking about the next year, the next two years, then the next five and write down what you want to happen.”

Ma pauses with her fork between her plate and her mouth. “Well, I don’t know exactly. I guess I’ve never thought about it.”

Deacon pops a piece of bread in his mouth. “That’s okay. Just start brainstorming and when you’re ready, we can talk about it.” He bumps my arm. “Hey, good work on the pasta.”

I laugh and push his arm. “Elbows off the table.”

“Winnie would be so ashamed.” He grins at me, and I stab my lettuce, my eyes flickering to Sawyer.

He’s holding his fork over his plate watching us. My eyebrows rise, and I think put a ring on it as I swirl a fresh bite of pasta and lift it to my mouth.

“Deacon just helped me write my five-year plan.” Noel holds a napkin over her mouth as she speaks. “He thinks it’s important for women to be financially independent.”

“Is there a reason for that?” Taron winks at him.

“Prettier clients.” Deacon grins, taking a big bite of pasta.

“That is not true,” I argue, pushing his arm. “He really feels strongly about it. Tell them.”

His brow furrows, and he finishes his bite before speaking. “We all know or have heard about a woman who gets married young, dedicates her life to her kids and family, then her husband dies, and she’s left with nothing.”

Ma shakes her head, lifting a hand to the heavens. “Thank the Lord Mr. Ray prepared for the worst.”

I lean closer to Deacon. “Benjamin had the Benjamins.”

He nods, continuing. “Not all women, but many shelve their dreams and financial security for marriage or family. I want to be sure they’re protected… and happy.”

“I agree with you.” Sawyer’s quiet assent surprises me, but he’s studying the glass of wine in front of him, not looking at us.

“That’s very noble of you.” Noel adds. “Were you raised by a single mom?”

“Single dad, actually, but money was never a problem at our house.” He almost seems embarrassed to admit it.

“Deacon takes care of his great-aunt Winnie,” I tell them, and Ma puts a hand on her chest.

“Are you close with your aunt?”

“Not very. No.” The words come out on a bitter laugh, and my ma is confused.

“Ma, remember how people acted when you moved here with Dad? What they said about you?” My mother nods at me. “She’s like that.”

“Oh…” Ma’s chin rises, and she pats Deacon’s hand. “Looks like you managed to rise above it.”

“I think the more people you know, all kinds of people, the less racism makes sense.”

We’re finished eating, holding glasses of wine, and Noel hops up to grab the tiramisu. I stand and start collecting dinner plates to carry to the kitchen.

“Deacon is so dreamy. No wonder you want to go to Dallas with him.” My bestie is practically bouncing on her toes.

“I wasn’t going to Dallas with him.” I rinse the plates and start loading the dishwasher. “I was going for a job in design.”

“Uh huh.” Her voice is sarcastic.

“I can help you with this.” Sawyer’s deep voice behind me almost makes me drop the plate.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”

He stops me before I can continue. “I said I’ll help you.”

My shoulders drop, and I let him take over loading the dishes into the dishwasher while I collect the rest from the table then start loading the leftovers into plastic bins. We’re quiet, listening to the other four discuss business plans and the tiramisu, which evidently isn’t as bad as my mother anticipated.

“Where did you get this recipe?” Her voice is amazed.

“Everyday Italian.” Noel shoves another big bite in her mouth.

“Save some for me,” I call from the kitchen.

They go on, and Sawyer takes the heavy cast-iron bowl from me, washing it in the sink. I lean back against the counter, watching his muscles flex beneath his black tee, which is tucked into faded jeans. My eyes drift down to that ass… and I exhale a little sigh. It’s kind of pointless to pretend I’m not still head over heels for him.

The muscle in his scruffy jaw moves, and his eyes are focused on the task. I wish I knew what he was thinking. “Did you have a good day?”

That makes me blink. Is he making conversation with me? I try to think of anything new at the nursing home. “It was pretty much the same as always… Oh, wait, I forgot you hate that.”

Hazel eyes cut up to mine. “I think you misunderstood me.”

“I’m sure I did. I don’t understand anything about you these days.” My arms are crossed, and his rejection at the pond rekindles my irritation. “You used to care.”

He shuts off the water and puts the pot upside down on the drying rack before turning to me. “I still care.”

The way he says it, the emotion in his eyes hits me right in the chest. My arms loosen and lower, and I want to step forward and put my arms around him when Taron enters the room.

“I can barely move, I’m so full.” He pulls me in for a side hug. “We’d better get going if we’re getting up at six.”

Sawyer still has my eyes captured in his, but he blinks away. “You’re right.” Stepping to the side, he waves. “Thanks for dinner. Good seeing everybody.”

“You boys work hard. You need a good meal.” Ma walks with Noel to the kitchen.

Deacon follows behind them. His blazer is on, and he squeezes my arm. “Let me know if you need to talk.”

“I will.” I nod, and when I look up, I catch Sawyer’s eyes on us again from the porch.

My stomach squeezes, but I won’t let him play me like a yo-yo. Deacon’s right. I need to make a business plan. I need to take care of myself.

An hour later, I’m sitting at the small desk in my room thinking about everything. I’ve changed into shorts and a thin tank, and my hair is up in a messy bun.

For whatever reason, I always think better when I write things down. I’m holding a pen, tapping it on an open notebook when a tapping starts on my window, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

My eyes widen when I see Sawyer outside the glass. Running to my bedroom door, I lock it before crossing quickly and sliding open the window.

“This is a switch,” I whisper, helping him over the sill. “What are you doing here?”

His hair is messy over his eyes, and he seems agitated. He’s breathing fast, and I think I smell the faintest hint of whiskey on his breath, hot and syrupy.

“I thought you had to get up early.”

“I do.” He hesitates, sitting back on the edge of the sill. His eyes are down, and he looks at his palm. “Deacon seems like a good guy.”

“He likes helping people with their finances.”

Sawyer’s eyes flash at me. “He seems really familiar with you.”

An edge is in his tone, and my chest tightens. I can’t decide if I’m pissed or I’m happy. “We spent a lot of time together in college.”

“When I was gone.” His voice is low, like rolling thunder. “Is he in your business?”

“Not yet. I haven’t decided what I want to do.” Yes, I’m taunting him.

He stands quickly, angrily. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

I race to get between him and the window. “Why did you come here?”

His eyes are lowered, and his jaw tightens. “I don’t know.”

“You do know. Tell me” My breath comes fast, my breasts rising and falling.

His eyes flicker down, hunger in them. They rise to mine, and I won’t let him stop us this time. My arms go around his neck, and I kiss him hard, pushing his lips apart so I can touch his tongue with mine.

It’s like a spark to kindling. Strong hands grip my waist, his fingers cutting into my skin, and I feel him fighting. I feel it when he breaks. His mouth moves, and a low groan rumbles from his chest. It sends heat racing to my core.

Our mouths break apart, and I gasp as his lips move roughly along my jawline to my ear. “I don’t like him touching you.”

His hands slide lower, and I gather his shirt in my hands, pulling it higher, uncovering his luscious, lined stomach, his chest covered in sparse hair.

He only hesitates a moment before letting me lift his shirt over his head. My eyes hold his, and I lift mine over my head, baring my breasts.

“Then you touch me.”

8

Sawyer

Mindy smells like lavender and lilacs and fresh air. I bury my face against her soft neck and inhale deeply.

My hands slide from her shoulders down her smooth skin. With my palm flat against the curve of her back, I hold her flush against my chest, skin against skin. She exhales a sigh as her breasts press against me.

She kisses the side of my neck, full lips touching my skin, white teeth nibbling, pulling…

Every touch, every moan registers straight to my aching cock. I’ve wanted her so long. I wanted her in the pond yesterday. I wanted her in my bed two nights ago…

Sliding my hands under her ass, I lift her off her feet. Her legs wrap around my waist, and she threads her fingers in my hair.

“Kiss me again.” Her voice is thick, and her body moves against mine like a wave.

She doesn’t have to ask twice.

The three fingers of whiskey I drank when I got back to the house pretty much killed my better judgment. It was supposed to make me forget, sleep, but lying in my bed, all I could feel was desire hot in my veins, this yearning in my stomach driving me out of the house, into the night to find her.

Deacon’s hand on her arm infuriated me. The way she looked at him, smiling and teasing… The way he looked down at her, like he could see how special she was, like nothing could stop him if he decided to have her.

Except me.

I’m stopping him.

Mindy is mine.

Her lips are warm and inviting, and she tastes like cool water and minty toothpaste. I lie her back on the bed, and her dark hair spills around her shoulders. I want to kiss her everywhere.

She rises up on her elbows when I kneel, reaching for the waist of her short shorts and pulling them down her hips.

“Do you want this?” My voice is deep, hungry.

“Yes.” Her answer is a gasp.

“Good, because I won’t stop this time.” She falls back onto the bed with a groan, and I slide my palms over the insides of her thighs. “I want to hear you say my name.”

“Sawyer…” Her hips rise, and I lean down to trace my tongue up the seam of her pussy, focusing on the place that makes her jump. “Oh, God, Sawyer…” Her back arches, and I make another tight circle over her clit.

She moans louder, and I rise, kissing her navel on the way to putting my palm over her mouth. “If you’re too loud, your mother will wake up.” I kiss her temple, exhaling against her soft hair. “Then I won’t make you come.”

She twists her lips out of my hand and dives into my mouth. Our teeth clink as she kisses me, curling her tongue with mine and groaning hungrily. I’m right there with her, pulling her lips, claiming her mouth.

“I’ve missed you so much.” She speaks against my cheek, and her green eyes hold mine. “Don’t leave me again.”

“Lie back and let me finish.”

She collapses on the bed, and I lean to the side, running my palm down her flat stomach, watching the way it quivers under my touch. She’s so responsive. I want to be inside her now, feeling every pull and spasm, feeling her climax all around me.

She’s right, it’s been way too long.

I dip my head, tracing my tongue over her clit, sliding it up gently and around, watching her body rise. I do it again and again, as her hips move in time, savoring the fresh-ocean taste of her. She’s gorgeous and delicious and so ready.

I continue kissing her, sucking her, until she’s shaking and whimpering. Her knees rise and she holds her fist over her mouth, trembling with orgasm. It’s fucking hot watching her come, muffling her cries. I want to hold her down and fuck her hard.

Standing, I shove my jeans to my ankles and pull them off my feet. My boxer briefs are next, and when I straighten, my erection springs free, pointing right at her. Right at what it wants.

I grasp it in my palm, sliding my hand up and down as her thighs rub together. Her eyes sparkle as they follow my hand.

“What do you want, baby girl?”

“You.” Her thighs fall open and she curls up, reaching for me.

“That’s right.” It’s a growl, a little rough and a lot possessive.

Climbing onto the bed, I place one hand on her shoulder, spreading her thighs with mine as I slide my tip up and down her wetness. I’m ready to claim her, press her into the mattress when she sits up and pushes my chest so I fall back against the headboard.

“What?” I laugh, as she straddles me, her dark hair cascading around us in silky waves.

“You’re mine.” She grasps my cock, positioning it between her legs as she drops down, seating me fully inside her.

“Fuck…” It feels so good, my eyes squeeze shut.

“That’s right.” She leans forward, giggling darkly as she nips the side of my jaw with her teeth.

Her hips rock back and forth, pulling and massaging my erection. She’s so damn tight, it’s almost impossible to think. My pelvis rises to meet her, as instinct takes over.

Making love to Mindy is sexy, daring, hot. Only this time, it feels more like a wrestling match. It takes all my strength to roll us so I’m on top again. She’s on her back, and I’m dominating, letting her know she belongs to me.

Leaning down, I bite the side of her jaw gently. “My turn.”

“Oh, God, yes.” Her head falls back and her back arches as I thrust harder. “You’re going to make me come again.”

Moonlight touches her neck down to her breasts. The tips of her nipples point up at me, and I pull one into my mouth. Maybe I do want her on top. I give her another deep thrust, and she moans. My arms are around her waist, and I pull her up again.

“Ride me. I want to see your sexy body move.”

Her eyes narrow, and she smiles, sitting up straighter and rocking her hips. She cups her breasts in her hands, tweaking her hard nipples with her fingers.

“You like what you see?” It’s a sultry whisper.

Fuck me. “Yes.”

“You like watching me ride your cock?”

“Mindy…” I grip her ass, moving her harder, faster, until her hands fly to the headboard and she joins me.

She moans softly. “Don’t stop…”

Blinding pleasure snakes up my thighs, centering in my pelvis, and I let out a loud groan as I come hard, as she drops her head back and bucks on my lap.

I’m pulsing deep, and she’s pulling for more. Sitting up, my arms go around her waist, holding her as her body shakes. Closing my eyes, we ride it out, finishing with a soft moan, a gentle kiss.

Her lips trace a line along my forehead, kissing her way to my ear. “You still got it, old man.”

This girl. I can’t help a laugh, “Were you worried?”

“Not a bit.” Leaning back, she catches my eye. “I was only worried you’d never come back to me.”

She’s serious, and my chest tightens. Her green eyes are round, expectant, and my brow furrows. I want to tell her I’ll always come to her. How could I not? She’s my anchor.

Instead, I lift her small body, turning her so her back is to my chest. With her spooned in front of me, I slide my hand along the side of her cheek, down her upper arm. Leaning on my elbow, I gaze at her closed eyes, the curve of her lips. Her fingers thread with mine, and she pulls my arm around her waist.

“Sleep here with me,” she whispers.

“We still shouldn’t let your mom find out this way.” As if I have any intention of leaving her tonight.

“You’ll be gone before she wakes up.” Mindy’s voice is softer, and I think she’s falling asleep in my arms.

I kiss the top of her cheek, the side of her jaw, her neck. Then I slide down behind her, closing my eyes. I expect to lie awake trying to figure out how to tell her all the things I need to tell her. How to turn what I’ve started here into something real.

Instead, I crash hard.

I’m sleeping better than I have in weeks, hell, maybe years when the light buzzes in my face. Only, I realize it’s my regular alarm, and I’m at Mindy’s house. Shit.

I don’t have time for anything besides slipping out of the bed and scooping up my clothes. I jerk my jeans over my hips and pull the tee over my head. The last thing I see as I dash out the window is Mindy curled up like always. Her hand is under her chin and her face is so peaceful.

It’s how I always want her to be.

“ONE OF THESE mornings I’m going to hold you down until you confess.” Taron stands with his back to my Silverado, arms crossed.

“I’d like to see you try.” I managed to make it to the house in time to change clothes, but I didn’t beat Taron to the truck.

I’m sure he saw me sneaking in as well.

Damn whiskey. I had a few drinks last night and wound up walking all the way to Ms. Jenny’s house in the dark. My blood had been up since I held Mindy’s nearly naked body against mine in the pond, since I touched her then forced myself to stop touching her.

Taron levels his gaze on me. “Three days ago, you flew out of here like a bat out of hell when I suggested Mindy might be in trouble. Then after scowling at her and Deacon all through supper, you barely made it home this morning in time to change clothes.”

“Ms. Gautreaux has a sewing circle that meets every Tuesday.” I pull the keys out of my pocket. “It’s a bunch of old ladies who like to sit around and gossip. I bet they’d welcome you.”

“I’m not gossiping.”

“We ready?” Leon trots up with his hands in his pockets. He’s got a red plaid shirt pulled over a white tee, and he’s wearing jeans and a ball cap.

I step back and check him out. “What are you doing out here?”

“What does it look like?”

“Listen,” I walk over and put a hand on his shoulder. “These old guys… well, it’s not something you do for three weeks then drop for aeronautics or whatever.”

“Atmospheric phenomena.” Leon has the nerve to look annoyed.

“What’s that?” Taron hands my little brother his travel mug of coffee.

“Storm chasers.”

“Is that so?” Taron looks over at me. “Sounds like something you’d like. Storm chasing. Or is it skirt chasing?”

I don’t have time for this. “Here.” I toss the keys to my friend. “You two go, and I’ll get started here.”

Taron’s about to complain when Leon steps forward, cutting him off. “Okay!” He takes the keys. “I got this. I’ll let you know what they say.”

“I’m sure I can guess.” I turn on my heel and start for the house.

Taron’s still muttering as he climbs in the cab. I pause on the steps, watching Leon take off down the dirt road way too fast, sending clouds of dust all over everything.

Shaking my head, I pull the screen door open, holding it so it doesn’t slam. It doesn’t matter. The whole house is awake. Dove hops down from the chair she was standing in, leaning forward on the table coloring.

Noel looks up from where she’s sitting, sipping coffee. “You didn’t go with them?”

“Didn’t see the need.”

My little niece holds up her arms to me, and I lift her onto my hip like I’ve done every morning since she started walking. I carry her to the table and she picks up her crayon again.

We’ve only had her six years, but I can’t remember this house without her. “Y’all are up early on a Saturday.”

“This one woke with her daddy, which means I woke with her daddy. Now she’s pouting.”

I lean to the side and see her bottom lip poking out. “What’s the matter with you?” I give her a nudge.

“Leon said I’m too little to go to the peach meeting.”

“Trust me.” I slide a golden curl off her shoulder. “You don’t want to go. It’s just a bunch of old men being boring.”

She sits back and crosses her arms. “Then why did Leon want to go so bad?”

“Heck if I know.” Noel shoots me a look, and I shrug. “It’s the truth.”

Dove scoots around to face me. “Why do you always go?”

“Just in case they say anything important.”

“I want to go.”

“Tell you what. If you still want to go, I’ll take you with me next time.”

That satisfies her. She gives me a hug and then hops off my lap, to go watch her cartoons. Akela follows her, and I watch her drag her stuffed brown mouse, confident in me. I think about the choice my daddy made so long ago. Having Dove makes it even harder to find peace with what he did.

Maybe I never will.

Noel stands and goes to the coffee pot, refreshing her cup and pouring me one. “You should encourage Leon more. He wants to take a leadership role around here.”

“That’s what everybody keeps telling me.” I return my thoughts to now. “He hasn’t said a word to me about it.”

“Well…” She sits down, putting a mug in front of me. “You can be a real grump sometimes.”

I chuckle as I take a sip. “It’s never stopped you.”

“That’s because I know your bark is worse than your bite.”

“Humph.” I stand, walking over to the window above the sink and looking out at the sun rising higher over trees loaded with peaches.

It’s already so damn hot, and it’s not even eight.

I wonder if Mindy will be in the rows today working on her poster. She’s so pretty when she’s drawing or painting. Her brow furrows, and her full lips press together. Her green eyes seem to glow…

“Speaking of…” Noel puts her mug in the sink beside me. “Why were you so pissed last night?”

“I wasn’t pissed.”

“Oh, really?” She slants her eyes as she pulls out the carton of eggs.

“I was hungry… I was tired from working all day.” I’ll be damned if I’m going to say I wanted to punch Deacon in the nose.

“Well, you do seem to be in a better mood this morning.”

“What was that five-year plan all about?”

She starts cracking eggs into a glass bowl. “Just, you know… business stuff. Saving for Dove’s college, retirement…”

“I need to make sure you’re in line to take over this place. If anything were to happen to me—”

“Which it never will.” She returns the carton to the refrigerator and takes out cheese, cream. “Deacon’s really good with that stuff if you want him to look over anything for you.”

That’s about the last thing I’m in the mood to do. “I can take care of it.” Putting my mug in the sink, I start for the door. “Tell Taron I’m checking the new trees in the back forty.”

“And Leon!”

I don’t stop, and she yells something about me being stubborn as a horse’s rear end. I’ve got more important things on my mind at the moment.

9

Mindy

The small, brown brush touches the thick, cream paper, and a bubble of russet paint spreads into the space I’ve allowed for her hair. I’ve sketched out a woman propped on her elbow over a man lying on his back in a bed of what will eventually be deep green.

A lock of hair falls over her shoulder as she gazes down with so much love in her eyes. His dark hair is messy, and his hand is on her neck, holding her, finally admitting with his body what he still hasn’t said with his lips…

The brown tries to escape, and I exhale a little swear, touching the page gently with a paper towel. Watercolor is an unforgiving medium, and I have to stay focused, not let my mind drift to Sawyer.

The way he showed up at my window last night was so hot. His eyes were desperate and angry, and his jaw tightened… I grin, lifting my chin and smiling at the sunshine. He’s so damn sexy when he wants me.

Chewing my lip, my cheeks heat as I remember Sawyer’s hands on my ass, gripping me, his rough lips bruising mine as he kissed me. I shift in my seat, and I feel the memory of him inside me. It sends energy racing through my stomach.

My heart belongs to this man so completely. How can he not know my body does, too? How can he stay away? Every time we’re together, it’s like slipping into our own private paradise. I never want to leave. I see my future…

“I wondered if you’d be out here.” Sawyer’s voice jumps me out of my daydream.

He’s standing by one of the peach trees, looking at me with those eyes. Every nerve ending in my body comes alive.

“Don’t move.” I grab my phone, quickly opening the camera app.

“What are you doing?” He starts to move, but I hold up a hand.

“Stop!” I touch the red dot, taking several photos.

He’s sun-drenched and gorgeous, surrounded by tree leaves and a warm golden glow. Sliding my finger over the phone face, I go back to make sure I got it. The intensity of his gaze, the warmth of the sunshine. It’s perfect.

“Why are you taking pictures of me?” He’s closer now, and I look up to see the smallest grin curling his lips.

“You’re my inspiration.”

“For what?”

Everything… “This year’s poster.”

I open the photo app, and step closer to show him. He’s so close, all hot and sweaty. He’s a hard-working man, and his scent floods my senses, tingling my insides.

He looks down at the pictures I took, and when I look at them, I have to suppress a swoon. I got it all—his dark smolder, the way his hazel eyes brim with desire when he looks at me. Am I imagining it?

“You’re not putting me on your poster.” He steps back, hands on his hips.

“I’m doing a watercolor this year, so your features won’t be precise. Nobody will know it’s you.”

“I’ll know.”

“You’ll know because I told you…”

“Can I see what you’ve done so far?”

My shoulders tense. “I’ll show it to you when it’s ready. Not right now.”

I move the sketchbook behind me. I don’t want to show him what I was working on, and I can’t really turn the page just yet. The paint is still wet.

He steps around me, catching the book. “Let me see…”

“Sawyer!” I try to take it from him, but he turns his back to me, blocking my reach.

“Hmm… I’m not sure this will pass the general audience test.”

“I’m not sending that one to the Grower’s Association.”

Before I have a chance to register, he pivots, catching me around the waist and pulling me hard against his chest. My breath disappears as his lips seal over mine, full and warm. He opens my mouth, and salt is on my tongue.

It’s so unexpected, but I want it. I grasp his shoulders, not hesitating to pull him closer, kissing him deeper, hungry for more. I love the feel of his strong arms around me. I love that I’m only wearing a thin dress, so the heat of his body imprints on mine.

My insides burn with desire. I want him to lay me down and take me right here in the middle of the orchard.

Instead, he lifts his face and smiles. “You’re so talented.”

My cheeks flush, and when he releases me, I have a hard time finding my balance again. “You seem really happy today.”

“I slept better than I have in a while last night.”

“Oh really? What do you think made the difference?”

“I think you have a better mattress than I do.”

“Sawyer!”

He laughs, and I start to laugh, too. It’s so perfect. Just how I want it to be between us—with a lot more sex.

He passes the sketchbook to me again. “Are you hungry? It’s lunchtime.”

“Oh, I have an idea.” Gathering my things, I catch his hand. “Come with me.”

Burgers n Suds has been in the middle of Harristown for generations, and the old-school frosty mug sign adorned with neon lights is a landmark. It’s not even a real restaurant, just a shack with glass windows and picnic tables on the side. Patrons park and walk to the window to order and either eat on the premises or take the food with them.

“I haven’t been here in ages. Do they still have the best burgers in town?” Sawyer climbing out of my gold Prius makes me grin.

He’s way more suited to the old red Chevy or his newer Silverado, but I’m not complaining.

“You’ll have to let me know. Mr. Comeaux retired a few years back, but they say he left his secret recipe behind.”

“Not so secret anymore?”

We’re walking to the window, and I notice a small cluster of women sitting around one of the picnic tables. My throat tightens when I recognize Beth Hebert and Elizabeth Haynes McMillan among them. To my dismay, they notice me at the same time.

“Mindy! Hey, girl, how’s it going?” Elizabeth rises and walks over to where I’m standing, waiting for Sawyer to finish ordering.

“I’m okay.” I look down, wondering why this woman still has the power to make me feel small.

“What do we have to expect for this year’s poster? I really loved the still life you did last year.”

“Can I get you something?” Sawyer steps up beside me. “Cheeseburger? Fries?”

“I’m not feeling so hungry anymore.” I look up at him, and he frowns.

“Why Sawyer LaGrange, aren’t you just as handsome as always.” Elizabeth actually twirls the side of her hair.

“Hey, Liz.” Sawyer’s voice is dismissive. “How’s Pat doing?”

“Same as always.” She blinks up at him, and I want to kick her in the shins.

First, she’s married, and second, is she really flirting with Sawyer right in front of me?

Not that anyone knows about us…

“You don’t want anything?” He frowns down at me, and I shake my head.

“I’ll just wait in the car.”

“Hey, Mindy!” Beth jogs up beside her friend. “Where’s Deacon?”

She’s always asking about him. “Probably in his office.”

“Is that Sawyer LaGrange you’re with? Lord, I haven’t seen him outside the peach orchard in ages.” She looks at me, and I feel my cheeks heat. “Is something going on between you two?”

“Well, I declare.” Elizabeth looks me up and down. “No wonder you get that peach poster every year. Cozying up with the biggest orchard in the county—”

“It’s not like that at all!” The Peach Festival poster isn’t a big deal, but suggesting I’d use Sawyer to get the job offends me.

Beth shakes her head like it’s a foregone conclusion. “I don’t know why I didn’t put that together before now.”

“Put what together?” Sawyer walks up holding a cone of chocolate-vanilla swirl soft serve ice cream. “Here. I know you love ice cream.”

I take it from him, but my throat is so tight, I’ll never be able to choke it down. Still, I try giving it a little lick.

“Beth and Elizabeth think you help me get the poster commission every year.”

He leans back and laughs. “I don’t know shit about art… Other than Mindy’s work is really good.” He gives me a wink. “Andre Caron wouldn’t give two cents for my opinion. He recognizes talent.”

“And big money.” Beth’s voice is just above a murmur as she walks back to the picnic tables.

Elizabeth runs her finger along the top of Sawyer’s sleeve. “Why don’t you ever come by the house and visit Pat?”

“We’re pretty busy with harvest.” I appreciate him stepping away, making his tone more serious.

“Harvest is so punishing. I guess that’s how you keep such an amazing physique year after year…”

“I think your order’s ready.” I nod toward the window, and Sawyer steps around me.

“I’ll meet you in the car.” He says, turning his head to me. “See you later, Liz. Tell Pat I said Hi.”

Driving back to the farm, the aroma of really good burger surrounds us. I dumped the ice cream in the garbage as it started to melt everywhere. Now I’m doing my best to shake off that chance encounter with the adolescent mean girls.

Sawyer looks out the window, quiet as always. “I guess I missed out on all of that kind of stuff growing up.”

“You didn’t miss much.”

“It seemed like you were pretty tight with them in high school. Like they finally let you in.”

“Looked like it, didn’t it?” He studies me, his dark brow lowered, and I glance out the window. “I thought we were friends, then I’d find out they all took a trip to Gulf Shores and didn’t invite me. They’d post BFF pictures all over social media.”

Loneliness aches in my stomach, and it’s like I’m right back in eleventh grade, looking at their pictures and wondering why I was left out. I’m amazed these old wounds still hurt so much.

Blinking down a tear hits my cheek, and I shove it away hard. “God, I’m such a dork. You had real problems growing up. I just had stupid girl shit to worry about.”

His warm hand covers mine, and we’re quiet as we pull into the yard. I don’t kill the engine. I’m ready to go home, when he reaches over and turns it off.

“What are you doing?” I look up at him.

“Come on.” He gets out, slipping my keys into the front of his jeans.

“Sawyer…” I stand out of the car. “I’d better get on back. I need to get serious about this year’s poster or Andre is going to be pissed.”

“I said come on.”

I watch as he drops the brown paper bag in the rack on the front of the three-wheeler and throws a leg over the seat. One push and it roars to life. He sits on the black leather seat looking at me, waiting.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere so long as my keys are in your pocket.”

I walk over and climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my cheek against his shoulder. His body is warm against mine, his strength melting away the cattiness. I close my eyes and let the hot wind push my hair back, blowing the bad memories out of my mind like carbon off an engine.

We bounce over the small ruts and hills, until finally he slows to a stop. I lift my head and see he’s driven us out to the pond. A quick dismount, and he reaches out, taking my hand as I climb off the seat.

I thread our fingers together as we walk the short distance, up the small rise to where the pier stretches out over the water. It’s like he’s my real boyfriend. It’s how I’ve always wanted him to be.

He leads me down the wooden planks, pausing to toe off his boots. I do the same, and we sit side by side, our legs hanging off the end, toes dipping in the water. He takes out his hamburger and breaks it in half, handing me one side while he takes a big bite of the other.

“Damn.” He shakes his head. “I think it’s still the best burger in town.”

I take a bite, and the rich, perfectly cooked meat with the peppery tang fills my mouth. “What is that? Vinegar? Mustard? It’s more than just black pepper.”

“Some mixture of spices, I’m sure.”

We sit for a minute, chewing quietly as we watch the fountain spray water in an arc. A fine mist coats our skin, breaking the punishing heat of the sun. I wonder if I should’ve applied sunscreen, like everybody’s always saying. I wasn’t expecting to be out here with him.

“You know what I think?” He hands me a fry and pops one in his mouth. “I think you should stop trying to fit into a square hole.”

Pulling my brows together, I consider this. “I don’t know. I just wanted to be part of a group. I wanted to have people proud to be my friend, posting pictures of us together all over social media and stuff…” Then I laugh, hearing it out loud. “I’m so dumb.”

“You’re not dumb.” He thinks about this a beat. “Somebody said success is the best revenge… But I don’t know. I think revenge sounds vindictive. Maybe success is the best medicine.”

He gets quiet, but I want to know more. Sawyer has always listened to me. He’s always taken me seriously, even when I was eleven years old, crying about my frizzy hair.

“Medicine for me or them?”

“You.” He elbows my side. “They might never see your worth, but accomplishing your goals helps you see your value.”

I study his profile, the muscle moving in his square jaw as he chews. I really love this guy.

“Oprah says you should turn your wounds into wisdom.”

He nods. “I like that.”

“You’ve always done it. You make it look so easy.”

His chin drops and he shakes his head. “I don’t know about that.”

His words bother me. Sawyer has always been sure about everything. When we were kids, life hit him with the hardest blow imaginable, and he manned up. He shook off the dust, picked up his little brother and sister, and kept walking.

Ever since he came back from the Marines, though, he’s been different. He was always quiet, but now he seems shaken, like he’s not so sure anymore. I want to ask why, but I want him to come to me on his own.

I’m thinking these things when he looks over at me, giving me a warm smile. “You’re part of our group. Here…” Shifting to the side, he fishes out a phone I almost never see him use and holds it up. “Take a selfie with me.”

My face heats, and I feel tears burning my eyes again. “You don’t know how to take a selfie.”

“How hard can it be?” He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his chest, resting his cheek against mine. “Say cheese.”

“You don’t say cheese in selfies. You make duck lips.”

“I’m not doing that. Say cheese.” He taps the button then pulls the phone down, looking at the face. “That’s pretty good. Here.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see he’s texted the picture to me. I open it, and I’m caught off guard. It’s actually a really good picture of us. Sawyer’s arm is around me, and my eyes are wide and happy. My hair spills over one shoulder, and he’s winking, giving the camera a cocky grin like the sex god he is.

“Congrats,” I laugh. “You’re a natural.”

“Now how do I blast it all over social media?”

“Are you on Facebook?”

“Ahh… no.”

“Instagram?”

His eyes narrow, and I shake my head with a light laugh. I can’t help thinking the best people aren’t on social media.

He stuffs our trash in the paper bag and moves it away, turning to face me. “Look at me.” I do as he says. Our legs are crossed, and he catches my cheeks in his hands. “I told you a long time ago you can talk to me.”

I put my hands over his, blinking and nodding. “Okay.”

“I don’t have any trips to the beach planned, but I want to go sailing one day.”

“Do you know how to sail?”

“A little. Marines are a branch of the Navy, you know.”

Is there anything this man can’t do? “You need a boat.”

He grins, and the light shining in his eyes is so pretty. “Minor hurdle.”

Warmth squeezes my chest, and our smiles collide as his warm lips cover mine, pushing them apart. Our tongues curl together, and my insides melt. The arches of my feet melt. My hands slide along his firm arms, and I let his kiss take away all my sadness. It feels so good. I want so much more. I want everything.

“Oh shit.” He breaks our kiss, hopping up and grabbing the trash. “I’ve been gone too long.”

He pulls me to my feet, but I’m floating on air as we hurry to the waiting ATV.

Sawyer LaGrange has been my hero since I was a little girl, and being in his arms last night was a big piece of heaven. Hell, being in his arms today after crashing into my old demons reminds me why I’ve waited for him so long.

I close my eyes and hold his waist as we bounce across the fields to the house. My cheek is pressed against his shoulder, and I’m sure I have him now. We’ve come this far. I won’t let him retreat from me again.

10

Sawyer

Harvest doesn’t give a shit what’s going on in your life. Jay’s crew arrives Monday before dawn, and those peaches are coming off the trees. I take one crew out to the back forty. Taron goes with another to the middle, and Leon heads up the final team nearer the house.

We work eight-hour shifts every day, sweeping the trees, pulling every ripe fruit off, even the ones that aren’t so ripe, and hauling them to the shed where the teens are waiting to sort them for distribution, immediate sale, or cooking.

It’s back-breaking work in temperatures so hot and humidity so high, I’m surprised we all don’t end up with heat stroke.

Of course, we don’t.

We’ve grown up in this climate.

Still, it leaves me tired as fuck by mid-afternoon every day.

Now that Leon is heading up a crew, Noel spends the mornings in the shed overseeing the teens at the sorting tables. Dove stands on a chair beside the high-schoolers, sorting peaches like a pro. When I’m there, I can’t help feeling a mixture of amusement and a real sense of pride watching them.

Long story short, I haven’t had a break to think about anything since we started. Every June is the same way, but this year is different for me. Things have happened I don’t want to neglect. Still, when I look up, it’s Wednesday. I haven’t seen or talked to Mindy since Saturday. Dammit.

Correction, I sent her a text before I crashed last night. My eyes were closing on their own, but I pulled up that picture I took of us on the pier. She’s so pretty sitting on my lap. Her smile is pure and full of emotion, and I want to know what she’s thinking.

She was upset because of Beth and Liz. Those girls have been catty little bitches all their lives. To be honest, I’ve never paid any attention to them, but I realize now Mindy does. She cares what they think, which surprises me. I thought she was over all that kind of stuff.

I guess you’re never really over wanting to be a part of something.

“We’re making good progress.” Leon’s at my side talking fast, clearly excited. “Jay says we’re ahead of where we were this time last year.”

“That’s good.” I pull my cap lower over my eyes.

It’s six o’clock, and the workers are gearing up to head out. We’re moving a little slower than Monday, but like horses headed to the barn, we’ll pick up the pace by Friday.

I was just about to send Mindy a text. I want to check in with her before another day gets away from me.

“If we’re done this weekend, maybe we should think about planting more trees for next year.” My little brother is so young. He never gets tired.

“We can look at where we stand when we’re done and talk about it.”

“Okay!” He pulls his hat down over his eyes, similar to mine.

I pat his shoulder and walk over to where I’ll have a sliver of privacy. Opening my messages, I text quickly, Sorry I’ve been slammed this week. Maybe we can catch up this weekend.

My thumb hovers over the red dot, hesitating before I hit send. If I do this, I’m going down a road I’ve avoided many times… Still, something deep in me drives my thumb forward. Maybe it’s that selfie I took. Maybe it’s looking into Mindy’s eyes in that photograph, so vulnerable. She looks at me like she loves me.

With a quick tap, I send it.

“Let’s go.” Taron slaps me on the shoulder, and I shove my phone in my back pocket.

It’s time to bust our asses all day.

We call it a day at two, and I’m back at the house, heading to the shed to finish sorting what we’ve just brought in from the fields. Sometime across the morning I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, but I didn’t have a chance to stop and look at it.

Now, standing behind my sister at the table, I take a quick peek. Ma’s heading to Hammond to pick up new bees on Friday. Maybe I can cook dinner for you?

Scratching my forehead with my thumb, I think about spending Friday night alone with Mindy. It sounds pretty fucking perfect… If I can get away from this house without facing the Spanish Inquisition.

Plan on it. I’ll figure out how to get away.

“Am I having a heat stroke?” Noel’s voice causes me to put my phone away fast.

I turn, ready to examine her pupils for dilation, her cheeks for pallor. I don’t see any of it. “Are you feeling light headed?”

Her brown eyes narrow. “Were you sending a text? My brother Sawyer who hates cell phones?”

My stomach tightens. “You going to make us some lunch or what?”

Dove turns around on her chair. She’s wearing denim overalls, and Noel tied a red scarf around her head. She looks like a mini Rosie the Riveter.

“I sorted two whole baskets today!” She’s practically shouting.

“That’s my girl.” I swing her up into the air, and she squeals with laughter, grabbing my neck. “Run help your mamma make us some lunch.”

I put her on her feet, and she hops over to grab Noel’s hand. My sister is still giving me the stink-eye. “You can’t distract me with my own child. You’re up to something, Sawyer LaGrange.”

“I’m about to starve to death. I bet Leon is, too. And you probably want to be inside in the A/C.”

She’s about to make another snarky remark when Dove pulls her hand towards the house. “I’ve got my eye on you.” She does her two fingers at her eyes and at mine.

I turn to the table shaking my head. Still, Noel keeping her eyes on me only makes everything more complicated.

Sliding my fingers over the fuzzy, rose-gold fruits, I turn them, looking for splits, feeling for ripeness. The battered ones go in the baskets for us to turn into fudge or ice cream—or for my sister to turn into cosmetics. The whole, ripe, and near-ripe ones go into the crates for shipping to the distribution center.

I’m always surprised we don’t have more bruised peaches. Jay’s people are good at their jobs, but with how fast we move, it’s impressive we don’t damage more.

Sorting is mindless work, which allows me to think about Mindy’s invitation. Alone on a Friday night is kind of the perfect opportunity. Mindy and I need to talk. Talking is not my strong suit, and I’m going to be dead tired by Friday night.

It’s another in my long line of excuses for shoving these feelings down and burying them. If I tell Mindy everything, lay all my cards on the table, she’ll say what I’ve said to myself so many times.

She’ll say it’s not true. I don’t have PTSD. I don’t have scars you can’t see… I don’t believe it either.

Until Taron calls me out for losing my shit because she’s stuck in a field with a flat tire. Another soft, amber fruit touches my fingers, and I turn it over, then the next, checking the fragile produce, sorting them into baskets or crates.

My chest is tight when I remember that day. I almost had a panic attack thinking she might be hurt or worse… But that’s normal. Everyone worries about their friends and loved ones, and I stopped my spiraling thoughts. I controlled it. I’m okay.

The final yellow-pink fruit races toward my hand, and I pick it up. It looks perfect, smooth skin, plump and round. I turn it over, and wince when I see a big, ugly gash hidden on the other side. I drop it in the basket feeling like it’s a bad omen.

Which is something my sister would think. Ridiculous.

I don’t have any hidden gashes. I just need people to get out of my head.

Switching off the table, I wave to the rest of the teens. “Be sure to mark your time. See y’all tomorrow.”

I haul the baskets to the office and the crates to the trucks. It’s another two hours of manual labor, hauling and lifting bushels of peaches. Sweat runs down my back, and my mind is lost in the repetitive labor, the heat, and my straining muscles.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Noel sends Dove out with a cooler of food. I eat in between working, and when it’s all finally done, I head to the house exhausted and ready to sleep.

After dinner, upstairs in my bedroom, I stand at my dresser. A cedar box is there, and I lift the lid. My medals and officer badges are inside along with a ribbon and an old monogrammed handkerchief. Under these items is a pistol. I lift it, turning it to the side to be sure the safety is still on.

A card falls out. It’s for a therapist in Nashville. Taron gave it to me when he got back, and I shoved it in here with the rest of the relics.

Turning it over in my hand, I think about Taron’s words. I think about the incident.

And I shove it back into the pile, lowering the gun and closing the lid.

11

Mindy

“You’ve got Ma buying more bees.” It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m sitting on the porch swing with Deacon.

He laughs, pushing us with his feet. “Why don’t you sound happy?”

He stopped by to give her buying tips before she got on the road, and now he’s heading to Dallas for the weekend. I’m having a beer before I make the special dinner I’ve planned for Sawyer.

Noel is a killer cook, but I’ve got Ma’s authentic Italian recipes. I’m baking an Eggplant Parmigiana he’s going to dream about for a week—I know I do every time she makes it.

“Your mom and Noel are sitting on a gold mine.” Deacon closes my mom’s portfolio. “I’m trying to get them to combine forces and go national.”

“Peaches and bees. Who knew?”

“The best ideas are the simple ones. Consumers like simplicity.” He rises, straightening his slacks. “And clean beauty products are huge right now.”

“I didn’t even know beauty products could be dirty.” I take another sip of beer.

“Speaking of dirty. You’re expecting company?” He slants an eye at me.

I don’t even bother pretending. Deacon knows everything anyway. “Yes, and thank you very much for getting her out of the house for me.”

“Does this mean you and Sawyer are officially together?”

“I hope so.” My chest squeezes at the thought. I really hope so.

“It’s about time. Although, what does this mean for your business plan?”

My nose wrinkles, and I’m almost embarrassed. “On hold. For now.”

A hint of concern flickers in his eyes. “I don’t like the sound of that. You told him about your plan, right?”

“Yes? Sort of…”

“Sort of?”

“He knows. I mean, of course he does. Everybody knows I wanted to move to Dallas. They all thought I was going with you.”

“Listen…” He’s in front of me now, and I stop swinging. “I’ve learned whenever you think people know things, they don’t. You have to tell him. Straight out.”

I’m frustrated by this advice. “That feels like a boner-killer.”

“Secrets kill relationships, Min.”

“I’m not keeping secrets.”

“Have you told him what you want?”

“I’ve shown him.”

He’s quiet, studying me. “He’s been back how long, and you’re still not talking about your goals? You’re not a kid anymore.”

“You’re one to talk. You’re still visiting your racist old aunt every time you go home.”

“For my dad. You know he asked me to look after her.”

“Even if it hurts Angelica?

“Angel would tell me if it bothered her.”

I wouldn’t be so sure… I glance up to see his expression is dark, so I drop it.

“Sawyer’s a special case. We’ve known each other a long time, and it’s hard for him to see me as a grown woman.”

“But you’re sleeping with him.”

I don’t answer that.

He exhales impatiently. “What happened to the kickass Mindy Ray I know? The one who speaks her mind and gets what she wants?”

I shift in the swing, picking the label on my beer. “Is that who I am?”

“Yes.”

My lips tighten, and I think about what he’s saying. I think about seeing Beth and Elizabeth, and how I let their condescension distract me from the person I’ve worked hard to become since high school. They’re not superior to me… Maybe they never were.

“You know,” I exhale a little laugh. “I think I lost sight of her for a minute.” I blink up, and his smile gives me the kick in the pants I need. “You’re right. No shelving my plans. I’ll tell him what I want to do… But I want to do it here. Can you help me?”

“Of course, I can.” Deacon is always so certain. “You can easily headquarter your business in Harristown. It would help if you went to Dallas and established a physical presence there. Meet with clients, put a face to your name, and they’ll be willing to work with you anywhere.”

“How do I do that?”

“Do you have any friends who’d help you? Some place you can send mail for a little while?”

I think about this. “William!” My old design classmate from college, who I said I’d move to Dallas with at Christmas… until I backed out.

Noel was my excuse last Christmas, and my mom.

And who am I kidding? I didn’t want to leave Sawyer.

“Give him a call. We’ll reconvene next week and work out the details.” Deacon starts down the porch steps. “Don’t let anybody make you lose sight of your goals.”

“You’re a really great guy, you know that?”

He waves before climbing into his truck. “Just telling you what they tell us boys.”

Speaking of boys, I jump up and dash inside. Sawyer is going to be here in a few hours, and I’ve got to get ready. I’ve got to prep dinner. I want to look cool, sexy, and sophisticated… Like I didn’t even break a sweat preparing for his visit.

Which means I’ll be running until the doorbell rings.

After a quick shower, I pull on my dark green sweater with the low V-neck that shows off a little cleavage. My hair is curlier than usual because I haven’t had time to see Halle. It’ll have to do.

I’m in the kitchen balancing Ma’s ancient, handwritten recipe book while I stir the pot of eggplant. It’s actually labeled Melanzane alla Parmigiana, which I’m guessing means eggplant parm in Italian.

“Secret ingredient, the zest of one lemon.” I’m reading softly as I cut the deep purple vegetable into coin-sized slices. “Interesting.”

Running to the fridge, I chant a prayer. “Please have a lemon, please have a lemon, please have a—a lemon!” I shout, snatching the little yellow fruit out of the drawer.

Back to the cutting board, I do not allow myself to consider how I’m chopping up a phallic emoji symbol. This dish is delicious when Ma makes it, and I had no clue she put lemon zest in it.

I imagine sitting at the table, gazing at Sawyer through the golden candlelight, which flickers off our crystal wine goblets. He takes a bite of perfectly baked eggplant with bubbling tomato sauce and zesty, melted cheese.

“Why, Mindy! It’s so good… there must be a secret ingredient!”

I’m not sure why Sawyer sounds like Mr. Peanut in my fantasy. It’s seriously not sexy.

“How did you guess?” I bat my eyes. “It’s our secret family recipe…”

Okay, that daydream is creepy AF. I need to socialize outside the nursing home more.

Returning to the tomato sauce, I grab the zester and the lemon. I’ve never zested a lemon, so I’m not really sure how much is enough. For a few seconds I scrub until the white starts to show, but looking in the bubbling pot, it doesn’t seem like nearly enough. I scrub it more, until I’m almost to the inside and stir it in good. That should be good and zesty.

My heart is beating so fast as my eyes fly to the clock and back to the baking dish. I’m running out of time as I dip the eggplant medallions in egg whites and roll them in the breadcrumbs, parmesan, and panko mixture. It’s Ma’s trick for keeping them crisp and not soggy—that part I remember. Frying makes the medallions soggy.

A quick mist of olive oil, then I pour the special family marinara sauce over everything. Finally, it’s all covered with shredded Mozerella, grated parmesan, and fresh basil. Presto! Into the oven for… thirty-five minutes. Shit. He’ll be here in five.

“That’s okay… the house will smell like good Italian food.” I’m talking to myself again. I’m officially crazy.

Rushing to the sink, I give the pots a quick scrub, letting the big one soak. I grab all the prep materials in my arms and quickly put them in the fridge. I throw the scraps and paper in the trash. Kitchen clean, I’m just corking the wine when I hear a tapping on the door.

“Shit.” I manage to get the cork out and put the bottle on the table.

Stopping at the mirror behind the ficus, I straighten my denim skirt and smooth my hair back. I don’t look like I’ve been running for an hour. Cool, sophisticated, sexy…

Then I see him, and all my cool flies out the window.

Sawyer LaGrange is standing on my front porch in all his dark-haired, hazel-eyed, square-jawed, bulging-bicep sexiness.

Opening the door, I’m glad I’ve got something to hold onto. “Hey.” I hear the wobble in my voice.

We’ve never done this before.

Ever.

It’s officially our first date.

“Hey, baby girl.” I love the way he says that, all deep and rumbly as he steps into the house. “Smells delicious in here.”

“I baked.”

He doesn’t get the reference, and I laugh nervously. We go in for a hug at the same time and almost bash our noses together.

“Oh…” I step back quickly. “Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“Here… Stay there.” He holds out a hand, and I swear to God, I don’t know how he’s so in control all the time. I’m acting like he’s never been to my house before.

“I won’t move.” My bottom lip goes between my teeth, and he steps forward to hug me.

He smells so good. He’s deep woods and fresh linen and soap. I want his soap. Leaning back he looks down at my cheek.

“You look really pretty tonight.”

“Thanks.” It’s a soft whisper.

“Can I kiss you?” He touches my chin with his thumb and forefinger, and my stomach flips.

“Yes.”

He leans down and places his lips against mine, warm and full. A little nudge, and they part. His tongue touches mine so, so softly my whole body catches fire.

We’ve had sex. He’s licked my clit until I had to suffocate myself with a pillow to keep from screaming his name, and I swear, this kiss is the hottest thing he’s done yet. I want to jump his bones right here and now…

His head lifts, and our eyes meet, warm hazel burning straight to my core. He grins, and that dimple pierces his cheek. “What’s for dinner?”

“Oh…” I exhale a laugh, blinking the haze from my eyes. “You’re going to love it.”

Stepping back, I catch his hand and lead him to the kitchen, thinking of Deacon’s words… The kickass Mindy, who goes after what she wants. Right. Until this man walks in the room.

It’s sort of like catching a butterfly. You’re so confident when you set out to grab it. Then when it’s right there, you’re scared to touch it.

At least I am… I don’t want to break it.

Stopping in front of the oven, I clasp my hands at my chest. “It’s Ma’s handwritten recipe. Eggplant parmesan.”

His eyebrows rise. “Smells really good. I’m surprised I’ve never had it.”

“I know, right?” I turn to the oven to check the timer. “Just about fifteen more minutes. What should we do?”

“It’s a really pretty night. We could go—”

“Want to see what’s on Netflix?” We are not leaving the house. My plan is codename Netflix and Chill.

Also known as having sex.

“Okay.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I can’t remember the last time I watched a movie.”

My nose wrinkles. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Well… No.” He runs a strong hand over his scruffy chin. “We get up so early, and I work pretty much all day. Dove makes me watch Angelina Ballerina sometimes, but I crash halfway through it.”

I’m so in love with this man. I try to imagine him with his little blue-eyed, blonde-haired niece on his lap doing his best to watch one of her cartoon movies after working his ass off all day in the orchard.

He’ll be such a good daddy.

“That’s okay.” My voice is softer, less teasing. “Is there anything you missed? Something you heard about?”

He looks around the room, thinking. “What was that movie Noel couldn’t stop talking about? La La Land?”

“You want to watch La La Land?” I can’t even hide the surprise in my voice.

“Does it suck?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it.” He chuckles, and that settles it. “I’ll cue it up.”

We get through the opening to where Emma Stone is making fun of Ryan Gosling’s 1980s cover band at a party when the oven timer goes off.

Jumping up, I hit pause and look back at him. “What’s the verdict?”

He shrugs. “It’s a lot of singing… But you like it. We can keep going.”

“Let’s fix plates.”

We’re in the kitchen, just the two of us, which is really different from every other time he’s had dinner here. Usually the entire family is crowded around.

Grabbing an oven mit, I open the door and pull out the bubbling glass dish, putting it on the stovetop. “It looks right…”

“You sound like you were worried it wouldn’t.” I glance over my shoulder at him, and he laughs. “I can’t wait to taste it.”

Chewing my lip, I cut into it, dishing out square pieces onto his plate and onto mine. He starts for the living room, but I stop him fast.

“Wait… I set the table. Here.” I nod toward the family room where I have one corner all prepared with candles and crystal goblets and the red wine I opened.

“This looks really nice.” He walks over, sitting at the head of the table and looking up at me. “I’m not sure I’m dressed for all this elegance.”

He’s in dark jeans and a blue tee that hugs every muscle in his chest and arms. He looks scrumptious. “You’re perfect.”

Our eyes meet, and I realize what I said.

Clearing my throat, I reach for the wine. “Let’s have a drink.”

We both sit. The candles are lit and glowing with a golden light. I lit them earlier, so they’re kind of drippy, but still romantic.

“Hang on.” Sawyer’s large hand covers mine in a gentle clasp. He takes the bottle and pours us each a glass. When we’re ready, he holds his out to me. “Cheers.”

“What are we toasting?”

“This delicious meal you cooked for me?”

“The first of many?”

He nods, and we clink glasses, taking a sip. It’s really good Pinot Noir, so I take a longer gulp as he cuts into his eggplant serving.

“If this smells as good as it tastes…” He blows on the bite a few seconds before popping it into his mouth.

I put my goblet down and cut a piece, blowing on it a few seconds. I only notice his frozen posture after I put the entire piece in my mouth. It takes a second, a blink or two, before my brain catches up with my taste buds and I realize…

“Oh, shit!” My mouth opens, and I’m about to spit it out when I realize I’m trying to be sophisticated and sexy… I close my mouth again and cough.

Sawyer chews slowly, his eyes a bit wider.

I can’t take it. I cough again through my attempts to swallow the bitter as fuck concoction. “Spit it out! It tastes like vomit.”

He closes his eyes and swallows, grabbing the wine and taking a long drink. I do the same, and when we come up for air.

“Is it supposed to have that… taste?”

“It’s bitter as fuck!” I look at the beautiful casserole. “And I worked so hard…”

Sawyer’s elbow is on the table, and he rubs his fingers over his eyes before cutting another bite and putting it in his mouth. “It’s probably an acquired taste…”

My face is scrunched, and I can’t believe he ate another bite. “What are you doing?”

He drinks more wine and eats more. “I think it’s growing on me.”

“It’s not!”

His dark brow furrows, and I watch as he forces a swallow.

“Stop eating it!” I reach out and grab his wrist as he tries to cut another piece.

“But you baked.”

My eyes warm with tears, and I can’t decide if I want to laugh or cry. What I do want to do is show some love that he’s not teasing me for being the worst cook on the planet, which clearly I am.

“Give me this.” I snatch the plate from in front of him. “I don’t know what happened. I followed the recipe exactly!”

We both stand, and he follows me to the kitchen, carrying our wine glasses. I pull out Ma’s hand-written recipe, and we scan it quickly looking for any sign of a culprit.

“I’d be lying if I acted like I knew anything about this stuff…” His voice trails off, and my hands fly to my lips.

Laughter bubbles in my stomach, making my voice almost a shriek. “That was so awful!”

Tears are in my eyes, and Sawyer struggles not to laugh. It only makes the dimple in his cheek more noticeable. Diving forward, I hug my arms around his neck. His arms are around my waist, and I feel him starting to laugh.

He takes a deep breath and puts both hands on my waist, moving me back. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll make grilled cheese, and if you want we can finish the movie?”

“Let’s do it.”

I go to the pantry and take out the bread. He grabs the sliced cheese and a stick of butter from the fridge. Ten minutes later, we’re on the couch again, wine on the end tables, plates of grilled cheese in hand, lights low.

I snuggle into his side, taking a bite of warm and melty grilled cheese. It’s zesty and buttery. “This is really delicious.” I take another bite.

“It’s the only thing I know how to make.” The muscle in his jaw moves attractively as he chews.

I watch him a minute, my insides humming with delight. “It’s a good thing.”

The movie continues as we finish our dinner. I snuggle closer, sliding a hand around his waist. Lots of singing and dancing later, we finish the wine. The movie goes to silhouette… They’re in Paris… And as it concludes, I sit up straight.

“That’s it?” The credits roll, and I blink at the screen.

Sawyer sits forward, exhaling. “It was pretty good.”

My jaw drops, and I look at him.

“What?” He looks from me to the screen. “It was a lot of singing and dancing, but I get it. He was a musician. But he got his club—”

“You liked it?” My eyebrows rise.

He looks around like he’s trying to find the right answer. “I liked the opening part. With the people on the cars. That seemed fun.”

“But the ending.”

“It seemed realistic to me—” He nods like it’s all very logical.

“Who gives a shit about realistic? That is not how it was supposed to end!”

“Supposed to end…”

“I think that was the worst ending of a movie I’ve ever seen in my life! I wish I’d never even started it. I can’t believe I spent two hours, and they did that!”

I’m shouting, and the corner of Sawyer’s mouth twitches. I can see in his eyes he’s trying not to laugh. “I think you’re taking it way too seriously. It’s just a movie—”

“Just a movie I expected to End. Right!”

He covers my arm with his hand, standing and gently lifting me to my feet. “I think you had an extra glass of wine. Let’s walk it off.”

“I am not tipsy. That ending sucked.”

I allow him to lead me out of the living room, but I’m ticked as hell.

“Come on Siskel… Or is it Ebert?”

“I wish those guys were still around. They would agree with me.”

We go out the front door into the warm, humid night, and Sawyer stops, pulling my back against his chest and wrapping me in his arms. “Look at that moon.”

His lips are at my temple, and my breath catches as I gaze up at the giant orange ball in the sky. “It’s a harvest moon.”

“Let’s go for a ride. I’ve got something to show you.”

“Okay.” I slip my hand in his, and he pulls me to his side as we walk to the waiting Chevy.

I love being close to his side, his heat and scent flooding my senses. I want to thread my fingers in his soft hair and kiss his strong jaw. I’m ready to go anywhere with him, even dancing into the Milky Way like they did in La La Land…

Just not to that ending.

12

Sawyer

Mindy’s snuggled against my side, and the serious talk I’d considered feels like bad timing. It’s our first date. She cooked me a terrible dinner then got ticked off about how the movie we watched ended…

These are the memories I want to keep.

I don’t want to dredge through the past tonight.

She’s quiet and I think she dozes as I drive us out to Darby Lake, an enormous reservoir about ten miles north of town where people like to camp and boat. I park in a secluded spot on a hill with a clear view of the night sky. Trees are all around us, and I give her a little nudge before helping her out of the cab.

Summer nights are never quiet in the country. Animals are either mating or hunting or both. Frogs make long, croaking calls and cicadas add a screeching wall of sound. Occasionally, a dog barks or a coyote howls.

It’s warm and the air is heavy with moisture. It smells like pine trees and the lake, damp wood with an undertone of fish. It’s so familiar, where we grew up, all we know.

“I brought a blanket.” I lean over, spreading it in a layer on the bed of my truck.

She climbs inside and sits, and I drop beside her with my back to the cab. The moon is higher, and it’s surrounded by an impossible number of stars.

“I fell asleep on you.” Mindy faces me with her legs crossed.

Her hair is over her shoulder, and it’s more like it used to be when she was young, wild and messy.

“That’s okay.” I slide a piece off her cheek. “I’ve missed your curls.”

“I haven’t.” Her nose wrinkles and she shifts around, putting her back against the cab and lifting her chin. “I used to wish I was the moon.”

I put my arm around her, letting the heat of her body radiate into mine. “I used to want to be an owl.”

“What?” Her face bobs around to meet mine, smiling. “How old were you?”

“Shew…” I try to think. “Ten? Maybe younger. I thought it was cool how they could turn their heads all the way around.”

“I can’t believe I never knew that.” She traces a finger down my neck. “If I were the moon, I’d draw you out of your nest.”

“You would.” I catch her finger and kiss it. She slides her palm along mine and threads our fingers together. She’s been doing this a lot lately. I like it. I study her slim hand in mine. “Owls are bad luck, aren’t they?”

“Hmm… I don’t know.” She looks up at the sky again. “I think they’re neat… Oh, look!” She points overhead. “A shooting star. I wish all the bad luck to go away.” Closing her eyes, she puts her head on my shoulder and presses her face against my neck. “Only good luck for us.”

“Your nose is cold.”

She smiles against my skin. “My dad used to say ‘cold nose, warm heart.’”

“I thought it was cold hands.”

“Cold something.”

We’re quiet, listening to the sounds of the night. “You never talk much about your dad.” She lifts her head. “Do you miss him?”

I consider this. I want to say always…

“When I was young, he’d take me fishing. He’d tell me his thoughts on things… I thought this feels right. I guess I identified with him the most.”

“When you were young… You don’t anymore?”

My stomach turns. I typically avoid this memory lane. “I’ll never understand what he did. How he could leave us when we needed him the most.”

The cicadas scree louder, and she moves my hand to her lap. “Maybe what you thought you identified with was really your mom. The way she looked after you, made sure you were always safe and fed.”

My mom is a gentle memory that tugs at my heart. What happened to her seems so unfair. I think about Noel and how she’s so impulsive, how quickly she acts on her emotions, like my dad apparently did.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I can’t even imagine… You were forced to grow up overnight.” She blinks up, big green eyes, cute little nose. “I don’t even remember you as a kid.”

“I remember you as a kid.”

Her lips press together, and she sits higher, putting our faces on the same level. “I’m not a kid now.”

“It’s true. You’re not.”

Her eyes go to my lips, and I’m ready to kiss her. I’m ready to do a lot more with her. Reaching out, I slide my palm along her cheek. She tilts her head to the side and closes her eyes. Something’s on my mind, though.

“Look at me.” My thumb tugs at her full lip. “What’s the deal with Deacon? Is he in love with you?”

Her brows scrunch together, and her head pulls back. “He’s helping me with my business plan.”

I keep hearing this about him. “What’s your business plan?”

She clears her throat, taking my hand in hers and lowering it to her lap. “I want to own my own design firm. But I don’t know if that’s possible here, if the town’s too small.”

“So… He’s changing the size of the town?”

Her eyes meet mine, but she doesn’t answer me, so I ask her. “Last Christmas you said you were going to Dallas. Is that still something you want to do?”

“Is that something you want me to do?”

No.

“I want you to do what makes you happy. Don’t live your life trapped here… for whatever reason.” My chest is tight, and I’m angry, which isn’t fair to her.

“I can’t tell if you’re talking to me or you.” Her voice is defiant, and I don’t like her calling me out.

“I’m talking to you. I don’t like flaky women. Make up your mind and go for it.”

“I’ve never been flaky in my life.” She sits back, giving my arm a shove. “I don’t like bossy farmers who can’t talk about their feelings.”

“I’m not a farmer.”

“You need to decide what you want and go for it.”

“I’m pretty sure I have decided.”

“Then maybe you should share that information with me.”

Her sudden feistiness melts my irritation. I don’t know how we went from being so close to bickering, but I’m ready to get us back on track.

“Come here.” She doesn’t move, so I lean forward and catch her by the waist, pulling her onto my lap in a straddle. “I said come here.”

“I’m mad at you.”

“No, you’re not.” My hands slide up her thighs, under that skirt to her soft ass. She exhales a little noise, and I kiss the side of her jaw, inhaling her scent of flowers and spice.

The heat between us is rising fast, and I look around. Lights are below us near the lake. I can’t take the chance of somebody walking up on us out here.

Moving my hands to her back, I clear my throat, refocusing my thoughts. “Leon’s been a bigger help than I expected.”

“So.” Her voice is pouty, and I kiss the side of her neck.

“So something’s happening tomorrow that hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“What?” She sits back to meet my eyes.

“We have the day off.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “In the middle of harvest?”

“I know. I couldn’t believe it either. We busted our asses all week, we’re ahead of schedule. So I gave everybody the day off.”

“You can come to the nursing home tomorrow and help me!”

“That wasn’t what I was planning—”

“Please? I need you.” Her head tilts to the side. “Mr. Grady wants to do a pageant, and I’m trying to make it happen without costing any money. I need help digging boxes out of storage. We can spend the day together. It’ll be fun.”

“It doesn’t sound like fun.”

“Please, Sawyer.” She bats her eyes, and I lean my head against the cab.

“I spent the last six days hauling fifty-pound crates of peaches—”

“And you look so good doing it.” She leans forward, running her cold nose against my neck. “Maybe if I give you a nice back rub…”

I’m very aware of her hands on my waist, moving under my shirt, across my stomach, lower… “That’s not my back.”

“It’s not?” She leans up so our lips brush. “Maybe I can rub something else… Make another wish.”

Heat floods my pelvis, and I scoop her up to her feet, hopping over the side of the truck. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”

“What’s wrong with here?”

“Too many people around.”

Her hands are on my shoulders as I lower her to her feet, between me and the driver’s door. “But you’re staying with me tonight?”

Reaching up, I catch her cheeks in my hands and kiss her, pushing her full lips apart and sweeping my tongue inside to find hers. She exhales a little noise that registers straight below my belt. Why the fuck did I drive us so far?

She’s on her toes, holding us close. “You’re sleeping at my place.”

I give her another quick kiss before shoving her in the cab. “I don’t plan on sleeping.”

13

Mindy

Sawyer’s focus is on the road as we race back from the lake to my house. I’m sitting in the middle of the bench seat with my head on his shoulder. My hand is in his lap, and I look down, tracing my fingers along his muscular thigh.

“It takes so long to drive home from the lake. We should just pull over.”

“Somebody might stop to check on us.” His arm goes around my shoulders. “We’re almost there.”

I don’t know how he’s so controlled. I feel like I’m burning up. My hand moves higher, and I can’t help a grin. He’s sporting some major wood in those jeans. It makes me excited and horny, and a little naughty.

“It feels so far.” I trace my fingers along his hardness, blinking up to see his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow.

“Don’t make me wreck.”

“Just focus on the road.” Leaning down, I lower the zipper on his jeans, spreading the fly apart so I can get better access to his dick. “You didn’t wear underwear.”

“I showered before I came over.”

I’m not sure what that has to do with it, but it makes my job easier. Leaning down, I slide my tongue along the mushroom tip of his cock. He exhales a noise, shifting higher in his seat.

“Mindy…” I love the way he groans my name, his voice all strained like that. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Just the tip?” I pull it between my lips, giving him a firm suck.

“Fuck…” His hand grips the back of my hair, and I do it again, coming off to flicker my tongue around the edge.

Going down, I can’t get my mouth around him properly between the seat and his jeans, but based on the sounds he’s making, the rocking of his hips, and his hand fisting the back of my hair, what I’m doing is working.

He’s hard and straining, and I’m trying to get my fingers between him and the denim. “Shit, we’re almost there.”

I come off him with a pop, leaning up to look around my neighborhood. My lips are hot and throbbing, and my hand is on his wet cock, sliding up and down, keeping him on edge. “Park in the driveway so I can finish.”

“We can’t do this in my truck in front of your house.”

“Prude.”

“I have a reputation in town.” He slams the shift into park and rips the keys out of the ignition. “Get in the house and get naked.”

“So bossy.” I slide out on the passenger’s side, grinning as I run up the steps. “I’m going to finish what I started.”

We’re barely through the door when he has me pinned against the wall in a kiss. His hand is between my legs, ripping my denim skirt higher and finding my drenched panties.

“Jesus, you feel so good.” His fingers trace their way inside me, and I moan.

“You feel so good.” I pull his lips with mine, riding his fingers as he pinches my clit.

His mouth is at my neck, biting the skin gently, sending sparks of pleasure through my body. With a quick kiss, I drop to my knees again and pull at his waist.

“Mindy,” he groans, bracing one arm against the wall and looking down as I free his enormous cock.

“That’s better.” I have it in my fist, pumping it as I look up at him. “Where were we?”

Leaning forward, I pull him into my mouth, this time taking him all the way. He hisses and groans again, and his hand holds the back of my head.

“Mindy… I can’t…”

Satisfaction unfurls in my stomach. His hips rock, and his dick hits the back of my throat. Lifting my chin, I look up to see his brow clutched hard, his eyes squeezed shut. I rake my nails up his thighs, and his jaw tightens with another low groan.

Leaning back, I fist his cock, pumping fast, keeping the momentum going as I catch my breath. “You like it?”

His hazel eyes sparkle with lust, and his voice is ragged. “I can’t come down your throat…”

“You can.” I lean forward, taking him all the way again, holding his ass with my palms. I love the tightness of him, the strain.

Blinking up, our eyes meet, and he touches the side of my cheek with his thumb just before his eyes squeeze shut. I feel the orgasm ripple through his muscles. He groans, thrusting forward, as his cock pulses, spilling down my throat. He stills, bracing through the remnants of orgasm, and I slide my hands along his thighs, rising higher to kiss his flat stomach.

“Come here.” He lifts me off my knees to his waist.

I wrap my body around him with his palms flat against my ass. We hug each other for several long moments, my back against the wall, his weight pressing against me. Our hearts beat in time as I melt into him, ready to give him everything.

I’m pretty sure I’ve decided… I want to know his decision.

Pushing off the wall, he carries me like I weigh nothing toward the stairs. “You want anything?”

“You…” I speak in his ear and kiss his temple. “And some water.”

With a chuckle, he lets me down. “Meet you upstairs.”

“I’ll bring you some too.”

The kitchen still smells like delicious marinara sauce, and I frown at the plastic container of leftovers now cool on the counter.

“Secret family recipe, my ass.” I slap the lid on it and shove it in the fridge before grabbing two bottles of water and heading upstairs.

Sawyer’s sitting up in bed with his shirt off. His back is against the headboard and his eyes are closed. The moonlight streams across the room, deepening the lines in his torso.

“One orgasm and I lost him.” I mutter to myself, taking a long drink of water and shimmying out of my denim skirt.

I suppose it’s not fair to give him a hard time. Like he said, he’s been hauling fifty-pound crates of peaches all day in the hot sun. It makes his body look amazing, but what good does it do me when I’m up late and horny?

Crawling across the bed, I lean forward to kiss his cheek. “You are not an owl.”

His eyes blink open. “Hey.” He slides his palms up my thighs, awakening all my senses.

“You talk a big game, old man, and you’re already asleep.” Leaning forward, I kiss the side of his mouth, tracing my lips along his cheek.

“Just resting my eyes.” His hands move higher, lifting my sweater over my head. “What took you so long?”

“I was right behind you.”

“You were not. I changed clothes, got in bed, waited—”

“I put away that award-winning dinner I made for you.” Leaning forward, I kiss my way to his lips, which curl into a smile.

“Mm… dinner.”

Stopping my progress, I look in his eyes. It only takes a second before we both bust out laughing.

“It was awful!” I’m laughing so hard tears are in my eyes.

“It was not awful.” He unfastens my bra, and my nipples tighten as the lace falls across them.

“I’m never cooking for you again.”

He rolls me onto my back, cupping my breasts and kissing the tops of them. “It had an unexpected flavor.”

“Unexpectedly horrific.”

His mouth moves lower, raising chills in my skin with every touch. My eyes roll shut, and my back rises as he pulls a tight nipple between his lips, heating the space between my thighs.

His torso is between my legs, and he’s propped on his elbows directly over my breasts. “You have perfect breasts.”

I thread my fingers in his hair. “I hope I made it up to you.”

“We’re lucky we made it home.”

“You’re such a prude. We could’ve stayed at the lake.”

“Those old guys don’t allow much coloring outside the lines.” His eyes flicker up to mine, dark and sexy. “You’re very loud when you come.”

“Screw those old guys.”

He’s moving lower, kissing my stomach. “I haven’t been able to say that in a long time. Too many people counting on me.”

“Sawyer…” My breath catches as his beard scuffs the skin below my navel. “Tell me what you decided.”

He rises up on his knees and quickly removes my thong. “What I’ve decided?”

“You said you’d made a decision. What is it?”

He hesitates a moment, running his eyes over my naked body. It’s electric. My breath stills. Waiting…

“I want you to go to the Peach Ball with me this year.”

My stomach jumps, and I rise up on my elbows. For a second, I don’t know what to say. “Everybody will know we’re together.”

He nods. “It’s about time.”

Joy bubbles up in my chest. I try to get up, but he lowers his torso onto mine, pinning me down. “Where are you going?”

“I want to hug you and kiss you…” I’m trying to wiggle free, but he holds me tighter.

“Later. First I want to hear that sound you make when you come on my face.”

“Oh my God…” I fall back on the bed, putting my hands on my forehead. “Sawyer…”

He kisses his way down my stomach, wrapping his arms around my thighs and spreading them apart. My eyes close and my back arches with the first pass of his tongue over my clit.

“Sawyer…” My fingers are in his hair, pulling as his mouth moves faster. My knees rise. Sparks of pleasure tingle up my inner thighs with the scuff of his beard.

I surrender to his kisses, to the warmth of his mouth covering me, the slide of his hands over my stomach, and the velvet of his tongue stroking me again and again, driving me closer and closer to orgasm. He sucks and pulls, focusing on the spot that makes me blind with pleasure.

“Yes…” I’m starting to shake, the orgasm is racing to my core, arching my feet. “Oh, God yes…”

My toes point, and he rises quickly, seating himself between my thighs and thrusting deep, stretching me, filling me as pleasure spasms through my body. I moan loudly, and he covers my mouth with his, sweeping his tongue to mine as we move in time, waves on the ocean.

We shoot through the stars. I am the moon. I’m better than the moon. I’m the sun, crackling with heat and blazing fire as he rocks with me, thrusting faster, massaging me deeper, harder, faster, until he’s groaning in my ear.

He breaks, and my arms are around him, feeling his body move, feeling his orgasm. I hold him, our bodies flush. Stretching higher, I kiss the side of his face. A bead of sweat rolls down his cheek, and salt is on my tongue. I kiss him again, lips parting, tongues caressing.

These feelings are overwhelming. We’re breathing hard. His arms are strong around me, and I nestle my head against his chest. His heart beats hard, thudding against my cheek. It’s so good. It’s everything I want. This man is my home.

“SOMEBODY’S HAPPY TODAY!” Mrs. Irene grins, facing the sunlight as I enter her room.

“You can’t even see me.” I go to where she’s sitting in a chair by the window.

“I heard your voice in the hall. Even a blind lady can recognize that tone. You were with a man last night.” Her bright eyes sparkle, and I’m glad she can’t see me blushing.

“I’m excited about our plans for today, and it’s Saturday…”

“And you had a date last night with the man you love.”

“Here. Be careful.” I help her to the wheelchair so I can roll her to the activity center. “Keep your voice down because he’s here today.”

“I thought you said Deacon was going to Dallas this weekend.” Miss Jessica joins us in the hall. “He changed his mind?”

“I don’t think so.” I’m confused for a second, but my insides warm when I look up to see Sawyer waiting at the reception desk with one hand in his pocket.

He left me early this morning with a kiss and a cuddle to be at his place when everyone woke up. Now he’s here in a dark tee with those jeans that hug his ass.

“Is that Sawyer LaGrange?” Miss Jessica frowns.

“Sawyer LaGrange?” Mrs. Irene turns her head in my direction. “Well, I’ll be dogged.”

Leaning down, I speak in her ear. “Wait here a second.”

“Why is he here?” Miss Jessica seems worried, and I assume she’s thinking of Noel.

I smile and hold up my hands. “He’s helping me get some boxes out of storage.”

“Among other things.” Mrs. Irene’s voice has a lilt I choose to ignore.

“What other things?” Miss Jessica looks around. “What did I miss?”

“Apparently a lot. We all did…”

They’re still speculating as I catch Sawyer’s arm and pull him into the sitting room. “Hey, you made it.”

I give him a quick hug, and he kisses the side of my cheek. “I said I was coming.”

He grins, and that dimple appears. I’m pretty sure I’m floating on air right now.

“Let me get the ladies set up in the activity room, and I’ll show you where everything is.”

“Want me to come with you?”

I look to where Mrs. Irene and Miss Jessica are watching us with a mixture of curiosity and glee.

“I don’t know. Some of these old ladies can be a bit eccentric.”

“I can handle old ladies.” He puts his hand on my lower back, and my stomach tightens. “I’m coming with you.”

14

Sawyer

“Sawyer LaGrange!” Miss Jessica steps forward and catches my hand. “I haven’t seen you since April.”

I lean down to kiss her cheek. “You haven’t been to the house in a while.”

Noel and Miss Jessica formed a friendship when our great-aunt was still alive and living in this nursing home. Miss Jessica would use Noel’s cosmetics, then she gave my sister her old feed shed to turn into a store.

“Are you just as handsome as ever?” Mrs. Irene turns her head in our direction.

I step over to clasp the hand of our old first-grade teacher. “When’s the last time you saw me?”

She pulls me closer, and I give her a hug. Her vacant eyes dance. “You still sound like you used to.”

“How’s that?”

“Confident, mature. You were always old for your age.”

Her words make me think of my dad, and a twist of sadness grips my stomach. It’s the second time in two days I’ve been reminded of him.

“He’s handsomer.” Miss Jessica chimes in. “He looks like a Marine now.”

“Oh, I love that. What’s your opinion on older women?”

I glance at Mindy, and she’s smiling, shaking her head. “Okay, you two cougars.” She goes behind Mrs. Irene’s wheelchair. “Don’t scare off the help.”

I scoot in beside her, taking the handles of the chair. “Let me do this.”

Mindy catches Miss Jessica’s arm, and I follow them, pushing Mrs. Irene to the big, open activity room where a small group of old men and women are sitting together, talking animatedly.

Two ladies are sitting on opposite sides of the room glaring at each other, and Miss Jessica leans into my side.

“Jimmy Hebert dipped his pecker in a few too many ink wells, if you know what I mean. Got busted.” She nods, giving me a knowing wink, and my eyebrows shoot up. “If you ask me, they need to monitor his access to the Viagra.”

Again, I look to Mindy, but she just waves, going to where Ramona Brown stands in the center of the room. I remember her as the nurse who accompanies Miss Jessica to our house sometimes.

“Good morning, everyone,” Mindy starts, and they all quiet down. “Mr. Grady is coming by to discuss the pageant. We still need to decide on the categories we want to include. Options are talent, interview, swimsuit, and evening gown. We can leave off the swimsuit—”

“Boo!” Mr. Hebert jumps up beside me, waving his hand. “We want a swimsuit competition.”

Murmurs break out across the group, mixed with soft laughter and a few grumbles.

Mindy quickly continues. “That’s why we’re here now—to have a secret ballot vote. Ramona’s going to help me.” Ramona quickly moves through the group, passing out slips of paper. “Write your choices. We’ll count them up and decide.”

“Sawyer LaGrange?” Mr. Hebert turns to me. “Good to see you, son. Thank you for your service.”

“Thank you for yours, sir.” I shake his hand, and he holds mine tight.

“That was a long time ago.” He looks towards the front again. “I’m sure you agree with me. If we’re going to have a pageant, we should do it right. Swimsuits!”

“Sawyer, my goodness.” Ms. Debbie Turner wobbles up to give me a hug. “I haven’t seen you since you were a teenager.”

Another old lady slowly approaches, and a line starts to form. It’s sweet, if a little awkward. All the ladies are frail as tissue paper, and I try to hug them without squeezing them too hard. I’m on the verge of being mobbed when Mindy appears and pulls my arm.

“Sawyer’s helping me with the items in storage. Y’all go vote.”

Ramona hands them sheets of paper, and we slip away from the slow-moving crowd.

“You need to get out more,” Mindy teases.

“I didn’t know some of those people were still alive.” Glancing back, I wave to the ones watching us go. “Swimsuit competition?”

“I can’t even imagine.” Mindy stops in front of a metal door and fiddles with her keys. “The families would have a fit.”

She finally gets the door open, and we step into a dim, dusty storage closet. It’s dark and smells faintly of mildew. Mindy pulls the string for a bare lightbulb, and my stomach feels uneasy. I try to dismiss it. It’s only a storage room with boxes stacked to the ceiling.

“The ones marked luau are the ones we’re after.” She goes down a corridor, and my temples start to throb. “If you’ll just carry them to the activity room, we can start sorting through them. I’d better head back and check on Ramona.”

She stops in front of me and pulls my arm. I know she’s expecting a kiss, but I’m having a hard time clearing my head. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” I nod, not entirely sure.

“Just bring everything you find to the activity room. I’ll come back and help in a minute.”

She leaves, and the door closes with a slam. The old room is narrow and dark, and all shapes and sizes of boxes are stacked in asymmetrical patterns. Some cover the windows, causing the sunlight to stream in strange columns of dust.

I walk slowly through the cramped area trying to focus on my task. I’m finding boxes marked luau…

But something’s wrong.

My heart beats too fast. I’m having trouble catching my breath, and flashes of memory streak across my brain. I’m caught in a narrow hut, and we’re not alone. The smells—dampness, mildew, danger.

Someone’s in here with us.

Reaching out to grab a metal shelf, my hands are shaking. Roaring is in my ears, and I can’t seem to make it stop. I can’t stop this feeling I’m in danger.

Where is Taron? I’m supposed to be covering him… We didn’t inspect the perimeter. We walked into an unknown space—a critical error.

She’s here. A dark figure rising from the back corner with a huge knife in her hand. She raises it over her head, ready to slash…

“NO!” I spin around, grabbing the shadowy body in the narrow corridor behind me.

“Help!” It’s a feeble cry.

In one fluid, well-trained move, I’m behind the intruder, my forearm is around his neck, and I take him down to the ground.

“Drop your weapon!” My voice is ragged, wild.

“I’m unarmed!” The body goes limp, grasping at me, losing strength. I’m still having trouble focusing when I hear him.

His voice breaks through my panic.

“Mindy thought you needed help. She sent me to help you.” The words are muffled, and the fog begins to clear.

The light filters back into my vision, and I see I’ve got Mr. Hebert in a choke hold on the linoleum.

“Oh, shit.” I release him at once, dropping back onto my feet. “I’m sorry…”

The old man rolls to the side, his face reddish-purple, and starts coughing loudly. Jesus, I could’ve killed him.

“Sir… Mr. Hebert…” I move forward to my knees, placing a hand on his thin shoulder.

“Oh, lord, what happened?” Ramona is with us, rushing to kneel beside him. “Did he fall? Mr. Hebert? Can you speak? Is he having a stroke?”

He’s still coughing, and shame floods my chest. “He startled me… I didn’t hear him come in.”

Ramona looks at me with horror. “You did this?”

“I’m sorry.” I lean back. “I’ll pay for whatever damage…”

The old man holds out a hand, and Ramona helps him take a knee. I grasp his other arm, rising slowly as we help him to his feet.

He pats my chest roughly with his hand, nodding and still holding his throat. “Room…” He manages to croak, and Ramona takes him under the arm.

“I’ll take you to your room.” She glares at me, and my stomach knots.

My insides are churning. I follow them into the hall, but I need to get out of here. “I’ve got to go. Tell Mindy… Tell her I had to leave.”

I’m not even sure if Ramona hears me. I see the exit sign to my immediate left, and I push through the crash door, stumbling out into the hot, humid, fresh air.

15

Mindy

Sawyer isn’t answering my calls. I’ve called or texted him every few hours since he disappeared this morning. He didn’t tell me goodbye. He didn’t say anything. He just left.

Ramona said he had a run-in with Mr. Hebert, which is bizarre and confusing. Mr. Hebert says it’s okay, everything’s okay. He won’t tell us any more, but he has a nasty purple mark at the base of his neck, above his collar bone. The doctor checked him out and said he’s okay, just some bruising to his windpipe, but Beth is going to have a fit when she sees him.

Once I’m sure he’s okay and everyone’s settled, I take off for the day, determined to find Sawyer and get to the bottom of what happened. It doesn’t make any sense. I can only imagine the old man must’ve run into something in the dark. That storage room is a mess, and many of the boxes are chest high.

I go to my house first. Ma is still out of town, and I drop off the ballots and quickly change out of my pants, cardigan sweater-set, and flats into a light cotton sundress and canvas tennis shoes. I drive to the farmhouse, but Sawyer’s truck isn’t there. I drive past the distribution center, the civic center, even Denny’s. Everything is quiet and pretty much deserted. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and I expect most everybody is inside in the air-conditioning.

Frustrated, I drive back to the farm house. I can hang out with Noel and wait for him to show up at least. Parking behind the shed, I take a chance and walk across the back of the fields toward the Hayes fishing pond. I’m halfway there when I spot his blue Chevy.

Breaking into a jog, I cross the distance, my shoes make a thumping noise on the wooden pier. “Sawyer?” I call, shading my eyes with my hand.

I look all around, but I don’t see him until my eyes land on him sitting on the bank.

I go to where he is, dropping to my knees. “What are you doing out here? I’ve been trying to call you.”

His chin drops, and the muscle in his jaw moves. “I don’t have my phone.”

His knees are bent, and his arms are propped on them. A stalk of grass is between his fingers, and he’s not looking at me. Everything about him is closed, guarded, and I fight the frustration pushing against my chest. We’re back to this after everything? After last night?

“You could’ve told me you were leaving.” Somehow my tone manages to remain neutral. “Ramona and I had to get Mr. Doucet to help us with those boxes, and he’s slow as molasses in January.”

“I’m sorry. I was feeling… vertigo or something.”

“Is that what happened with Mr. Hebert?”

Concerned hazel eyes flash to mine. “How is he?”

Shifting to my butt, I shrug. “He says he’s fine. I’m not sure how Beth and her parents are going to feel, but the doctor says he’s okay.”

Dropping his head, he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m glad he wasn’t hurt.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’m not really sure.” Lifting his head, his eyes go to the lake again.

Exhaling deeply, I try to release my frustration. It’s not like I haven’t known this guy my whole life. He’s a master of smashing all his feelings into a tight little ball and shoving them way down…

“I know two old ladies who are pretty happy Jimmy got it in the neck. Or one of them, at least.” I’m only partly teasing, hoping to lighten his dark mood.

He looks at me confused.

I lean closer. “Mr. Hebert has been playing the field. Two timing Ms. Wilson and Ms. Turner, and trust me, it is causing major problems.”

“Oh,” he nods, seeming to relax a fraction. “The Viagra comment.”

“Miss Jessica.” I shake my head. “She seems so sweet and innocent, but she’s a pot stirrer.”

He finally lowers his knees, resting his hands in his lap. “I didn’t know old people were so active.”

“I wish I didn’t.” Scooting closer, I put my cheek on his shoulder. I want him to put his arm around me, but he just looks out at the water.

“I guess it’s not over til it’s over.”

“For them, it should be over.” I slide my hand across his lap into his hand.

At least I can hold his hand, threading his fingers with mine. The fountain sprays in the air, and the water falls in a soothing trickle. It’s hot and still out here, and sweat rolls down my back under my sundress.

He finally puts his arm around me. “I’m sorry I left you like that.” I feel his lips press against the top of my head, and I close my eyes. Relief tingles under my skin in spite of it all.

“Just tell me next time, okay?” My voice is soft, and my hold on his hand tightens. “I was worried about you.”

He looks down at me, and his face relaxes into a smile. “You’re pretty cute, you know that?”

He tugs one of the tendrils that’s slipped out of my hair, which I hastily piled on top of my head in a messy bun.

I pull my hand out of his and push on my knees to stand. “Puppies are cute.”

He rises beside me and catches me around the waist. “What’s wrong with puppies?”

“Nothing, I just don’t want to be one.” My palms rest against his chest, and I lean up to kiss the side of his neck. “You’re sweaty. Want to go for a swim?”

“Raincheck. I need to get back to the house. See you later tonight?”

I’m a little disappointed. I’d love nothing more than to be in that pond with him, rubbing my naked, wet body against his. Maybe I could get him to crack the door to that dungeon in his heart a little wider.

But I can work with later. “I’ll leave my window unlocked.”

He leans down and gives me a kiss, firm and possessive. His arms tighten, pulling me closer against him. It’s almost painful as his lips push mine apart. His tongue finds mine, curling together, and my panties ignite. My hands slide up to his neck, into his soft hair. I rise onto my toes, and I want to climb him like a tree.

We break apart, and his eyes are dark again, stormy. He’s not smiling, and the relief I felt a moment ago evaporates. “Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course.” My voice is soft, and I hold his neck. “Had to make sure my best guy was okay.”

He flinches, and I feel like I said the wrong thing. Turning away, he leads me back across the field to his waiting truck and drives us back to the house.

“I’VE BEEN on YouTube all day watching videos.” Ma’s been talking nonstop about bees since she got home. “Tomorrow you can help me install the new package.”

I’ve got to hand it to Deacon. I’m not sure my ma even knew what YouTube was a month ago. “Not a chance. Those little guys don’t like me.”

She stops in the middle of the kitchen, her face suddenly serious. “Bees do not have emotions. I told you it was the perfume you were wearing. Which by the way, is very sensual. Are you sexually active, Melinda Claire?”

“Good lord, Ma!” I’m not sure whether to laugh or hide.

“I only want to be sure you’re practicing safe sex. Deacon is a nice boy, but I’m not sure he’s planning to live in Harristown.”

Oh my God, can I say this out loud? “I’m not sleeping with Deacon, and anyway, I’m twenty-six. You’re a little late for the sex talk.”

She straightens, waving away my embarrassment. “You’re a grown woman, Melinda Claire. We should be able to have these conversations if we need to.”

Sweet baby Jesus, please don’t let this be a sign of things to come. “So how was your trip?”

She’s digging in the refrigerator. “I got hung up in Ferriday, and there’s a speed trap in Vidalia. Still, I got there in about four hours.”

“You should’ve gone through Jackson to I-55.”

“I don’t like driving on the Interstate.” She puts the plastic container of my disastrous eggplant casserole on the counter. “What’s this?”

“A nightmare.” I put my hands on my hips. “I followed your recipe for eggplant parm, and it tastes like vomit.”

She frowns at me. “You didn’t follow my recipe.”

“I followed it to the letter.” I step forward, tapping her book as she gives it a sniff.

“It smells good.”

“The smell is a dirty lie. It’s awful.” I watch her cut it with a spatula. “On the other hand, I didn’t know you put lemon zest in it.”

“Gives it a zesty, floral tang.”

“Well, this does not have a floral tang. It tastes like floral poop.” I would say shit, but I’m not sure my sudden adult status covers swearing.

She scoops out the piece onto her plate then sticks it in the microwave for thirty seconds. “Did you fry the eggplant?”

“Nope.”

“Good.” She waits for the microwave to finish. “Makes it soggy.”

The buzzer goes off, and she takes the plate out, setting the paper towel to the side and looking at it judgmentally. “That is a very good recipe, an old recipe.”

“Well, it didn’t work.”

She cuts a bite-sized portion of vegetables and cheese, lifts it in the air, holds it a second, blows on it, then sticks it in her mouth and chews with a quizzical expression.

I bite my lip as I watch her. I have always been a shitty cook. It’s the joke of my mom and my two sisters, and it’s really unfair because I try really hard.

With a frown, she stops chewing and places her hand on her chest dramatically. Her eyes close, and she shakes her head. Crossing the room, she sweeps napkin over her mouth and spits the offensive bite into the trash.

“You over-zested your lemon.”

“Over-zested?” I blink rapidly. “I don’t even know what that means. How do I over-zest a lemon?”

“You zested past the color on the skin. If you get into the white part, that’s the pulp. The pulp has that bitter flavor.” She holds up her hand and shakes her head. “There’s no way to save this.”

With that, she takes the entire plastic container and dumps it in the garbage.

Crossing my arms, my lips part as I lean back against the sink. “How the hell was I supposed to know that?”

“Language, please.”

As I expected—I’m only an adult when it’s convenient for her. “Sorry. How the heck was I supposed to know that?”

She pulls out the decanter of red wine and two glasses. “Drink some wine. I’ll show you how to zest a lemon.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” I take the glass and sip long and slow.

She goes back to inspecting the leftovers in the fridge.

“Ma?”

A container of penne with mushrooms and olive oil satisfies her. “You want some of this?”

“Sure.” I take another long drink of wine. “Ma?”

She finishes spooning out two servings, putting one in the oven before acknowledging me. “What? Say what you want to say, and stop carrying on like a child.”

My stomach is in knots. It has been ever since this morning when I realized Sawyer had left the nursing home without telling me. It got a little better when he softened for five minutes at the pond, but the way he kissed me has me all in knots again.

Something’s wrong, and I’ve never been able to force Sawyer to talk to me about his feelings. But what am I supposed to do with that? Is this any way to build a relationship?

Ma cuts me a look. “Spit it out, Melinda.”

I scrub the tips of my fingers against my forehead. “How did you know Pop was the right guy? Did you just always know or did he say something in particular… or… ”

Rolling her eyes, she shakes her dark head. “Your generation. You make everything so difficult with all your thinking and analyzing… your online personality tests and advice columns.”

A fist is in my chest, and I feel like I’m going to scream. I’m not sure how much more of this pressure I can take. “Yes, yes, okay. That’s why I’m asking you. How did you know?”

The microwave buzzes, and she takes out one plate, putting another in and hitting the button. I wait as she grabs a block of parmesan and grates it over the penne then she hands it to me.

“Sit at the table. I’ll be right there.”

It’s useless to argue. I take the plate and walk to the dining room, sitting and drinking more wine. I need to slow down, or I’ll be passed out before Sawyer even shows up at my window tonight.

She finally joins me, putting her plate on the table and sitting across from me. We say a brief prayer, and she puts her napkin in her lap. For a few minutes we eat the creamy penne with smoky mushrooms and rich cheese.

Finally, she’s ready to answer me. “I knew your father was the one because he told me he was.”

My brow furrows, and I don’t like the sound of that. “That’s not very PC.”

“I don’t know about PC.” She holds up a hand. “I liked your father. He was very handsome. I wanted to have his children. He agreed, and we got married.”

“That’s it?” I put my fork down, leaning back in my seat. “You didn’t get to know each other or date or find out each other’s likes and dislikes? What if he’d been a serial killer?”

“Our families knew each other.” She shrugs. “It was a small community. Then we moved here, and it was a little more difficult. But I always loved your father.”

My head tilts to the side, and I think about this. Sawyer’s from our small town. Our families know each other. How do I know I’m not self-sabotaging this out of my own feelings of insecurity and never feeling like I quite belong?

“Look at me, Melinda.” I do as she says, and I can’t imagine her being insecure a day in her life. “Deacon is not from here. He’s from Dallas. But he’s a good man. He believes in helping women, which speaks very highly of his mind and his heart. Stop second-guessing yourself.”

Deacon.

A pit is in my stomach. She thinks I’m talking about Deacon.

“Right…”

I guess we could all start by being a little more honest with each other, and I thought Sawyer and I were ready to come out and be official. I’m way less certain now.

The problem with everyone knowing the truth is dealing with everyone’s opinions, and while I’m confident in my ability to stand up for myself, it would help if I didn’t feel so damn unsure of him.

I take another drink of wine trying to ease this pain in my chest. What will it take for him to finally trust me? What if he never does? Can I live with that?

16

Sawyer

Mindy’s cheek is against my chest, and her breath gently swirls in and out. She holds me like the little anchor she’s always been, and warmth settles my stomach.

I almost didn’t come here tonight.

Everything in me wanted to stay in my bedroom and keep myself on lockdown until I figure this shit out. Sitting in the darkness, looking at my window, I knew I couldn’t leave her hanging again. Not after last night. When I got here, I could taste the wine on her lips. Still, her kisses, her little moans, sliding my hands along her breasts, sinking deep between her thighs… She calms the storm in my mind. She soothes the beast raging in my chest.

I sat by that pond all afternoon trying to regain my equilibrium. What happened? Can I control it? Why now? I’ve finally decided to put the past behind me, take a chance, move forward with my life… And it all comes crashing down. After so many years.

Mindy makes a soft noise and dips her chin, her soft cheek sliding against my skin. My arms tighten around her, and I’m not sleeping tonight. I can’t move forward with her without answers to these questions.

I think about timing, and I want to believe part of the problem is taking a day off and not focusing on work. Exercise, manual labor, these things keep my mind here in the present. I don’t have time for brooding when I’m concentrating on this year’s harvest or next year’s crop.

Tomorrow will be different. I’ll get back in the saddle, work hard our last week in the fields, and this blip on the radar will be forgotten.

“YOU’D THINK as hard as we work, lifting a six-year-old all day would be easy.” Taron’s leaning against the old red Chevy attaching a canvas bag to the end of a twister-picker.

“Dove will give you a workout.” The sun is low and golden in the sky, and I drop baskets in the bed of my truck. “I thought she’d given up Angelina Ballerina.”

“She has.” He leans to the side, stretching his back. “We rented a cabin out on Darby Lake Friday. I spent all day yesterday tossing her in the water.”

My jaw tightens, but I don’t mention Mindy and I were out in the same spot Friday night.

“What did you do Friday night?” He picks up another picker to repeat the process.

“I was around.”

“I didn’t see you here.” Leon walks up, dropping a load of crates against the wall. “You must’ve gotten in late.”

“Late?” Taron’s brows rise and he grins at me. “Sawyer was out late on a Friday night? After getting up at the ass crack of dawn?”

They’re both looking at me, waiting, and I shrug. “Just driving.”

I push the memory of Mindy’s head in my lap out of my mind in case they see it in my eyes.

Crossing his arms, Taron lifts his chin. “Where were you yesterday?”

“You are not my CO.” I take the crates Leon dropped and move them beside the sorting tables.

“I don’t have to be your commanding officer to know you’re up to something.”

“I saw him.” Leon returns with another load of crates, and my stomach tenses. “Out at the pond.”

“The pond? I didn’t see any fish.” Taron carries the assembled pickers and leans them against the truck. “Not like you to go fishing and not catch anything.”

“You don’t have anything better to do than worry how I spend my time?”

He props an arm on the side of the truck bed. “Why’re you getting so riled up?”

“I don’t feel like playing twenty questions.” Dropping the last of the crates, I leave them to finish preparing for work tomorrow.

This morning when I left Mindy in bed, she was curled up as always at my side. Her hand was in mine, and for a minute, I dreamed of a life with her. When I got back to the house, my sister was in the kitchen making breakfast. She didn’t even notice or didn’t comment when I came in the back door. She probably thought I’d been up since sunrise like always.

Dove danced around in her Sunday dress, waiting to go to church to sing with her little children’s choir. I opted out of services this morning, not really wanting to see Mindy or her mother or the people I’ve known all my life.

These people depend on me. Hell, the whole fucking town depends on me, and what happened yesterday nags at my insides. If I’m coming apart, it’s not a broken leg we can wait six weeks to knit. It’s scary, and in view of our family’s history, it could jeopardize everything.

I don’t need people watching me like a time-bomb about to go off—or worse.

Noel’s inside making supper, and I walk the length of our wrap-around porch. When I reach the corner that faces the hill, I stop. It’s a beautiful view, trees stretching up in perfect rows to a pink and blue sunset. I grew up watching that sun go down, listening to my daddy tell me about the crops or the seasons or whether he expected an early frost.

Tracing the perimeter is a narrow dirt road.

It’s the road that leads over the hill where we lost our mamma.

It’s the road our daddy stood on when he took his life.

My stomach clenches, and I rub a hand over my eyes exhaling deeply. I’m not like him. I can’t even understand doing something like that. One bad day isn’t enough to pass judgment. I have to wait.

I just can’t risk hurting anyone.

OUR WEEK MARCHES by with the driving force of deadlines, workers on a schedule, and the looming Peach Festival. We’re up before dawn, leading the crews down the rows. Climbing ladders and moving fast, cleaning every limb we can reach.

Cleaning peach trees is backbreaking work. We fill the baskets I loaded in the trucks, then I drive them to the shed for sorting. It’s our last week, and we don’t stop for anything.

At night, I’m so tired, I don’t have time for much past dinner. I’ve texted Mindy a few times checking in, but everybody in Harristown knows how harvest is—grueling.

Noel supervises the teens during the day, and in the evening, she works on her all-natural, peach-themed cosmetics line. I’ve already eaten crow about that one. I honestly didn’t think it would be as successful as it is, but she’s making enough money she doesn’t have to stay here.

“What’s this?” I stop by the table where she’s filling small, round pots with what looks like pale peach goo.

“Sugar peach lip scrub.”

“Sugar peach?” I hold up one of the small pots, and she takes it right back out of my hand.

“Don’t mess with my inventory. I need to make at least two hundred of these.”

“Two hundred, shit.”

She put Dove to bed an hour ago.

“It’s one of my hot items. That and the coconut peach lip mask.” She’s holding a large sheet of stickers, carefully peeling them off and applying them to the jars.

“Need some help?”

She squints a light brown eye up at me. “How steady are your hands?”

“Pretty steady.” I pick up a small jar and a sheet of labels.

“Hang on.” She jumps to her feet, which only puts her head at my shoulder. Her dark hair is all on top of her head the way girls wear it now. “I’m going to watch you do one. If you screw it up, you’re fired.”

“Damn, you’re a tough boss.”

“I don’t have time to redo them.”

Taking my time, I peel the white label with a line drawing of the sun coming over a tree from the sheet and hold it over the small pot. “Just like this?”

“Like this.” She holds up a finished one, and I nod. I’m on the right track.

“You’re making me nervous.”

She chuffs a laugh. “You’ve never been nervous a day in your life. Quit stalling and let me see if you can do it.”

Resting my finger against the glass, I apply the label perfectly around the tiny jar. “Boom.”

“Okay, you can help me.” She drops back into her chair and resumes filling the waiting pots. “What’s got you so interested in helping me?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk.”

Round eyes flicker to mine, worried. “What’s wrong?” She lowers her hands, and I shake my head, placing a hand on her smooth knee.

“Nothing’s wrong. Jesus, can’t I talk to you?”

“You never do.”

“That’s not true.”

Her chin drops, and she gives me a look from under her lowered brow. “You barely talk to anybody.”

“I talk to you about things.”

“You didn’t even talk to me about Taron.”

Shifting in my seat, I pick up a small glass jar and the sheet of labels. “I didn’t know what to tell you about that. What happened to us was hard to explain.”

“Taron was able to explain it.” She goes back to her work. “So what’s on your mind?”

“If I needed to be gone for a little while—” Again, her hands drop, her eyes going wide. “Settle down. If I needed to take a trip, for instance, do you feel like you could keep the place going?”

She sniffs and pokes out her lips. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” Because I’m not convinced I need to go anywhere—for all I know, I had a bad day. “I’m thinking theoretically. You and Mrs. Jenny and everybody have made plans. It got me thinking, maybe we should—”

“First…” She holds up an index finger. “You’re not going anywhere, and we don’t need to plan for that because you’re going to be here.”

A smile curls my lips, and I’m reminded why I’ve never worried about my little sister’s ability to take care of herself. Noel’s a pistol.

“Second,” she continues, holding up another finger, “You left me in charge once before, and the place didn’t fall apart. Of course, I can keep things going.”

“Alright. I didn’t know if having Dove or running your business might have changed things for you.”

“They have not.” Her eyes flash a moment, then she returns to her work, tapping the small pot of lip mask or lip scrub on the table and muttering to herself. “I don’t even know why you’d suggest such a thing. Like you’d ever leave your family…”

“Hey,” I stand, touching her bent knee. “I love you, sis.”

“Love you.” She catches my wrist as I’m going. “Hey, do me a favor and open the store for me.”

“What?” I pause, looking down at her. “Is your arm broke?”

“It’s been closed since last fall. I don’t want to see any mice or rats or… critters.” She does a shiver, and I shake my head.

“We sealed it up tight when we finished it. You don’t keep anything there. It’s fine.”

She looks up at me with those puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“What’s wrong with Taron?”

“Oh, he’s working with Dove on all her pageant stuff.” She drops her chin. “I feel silly.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Sawyer.” She cuts those eyes up at me. “Just help me out, okay?”

Taron appears around the corner, grinning. “Tell me when you’re going, and I’ll be your backup.” He slaps me on the shoulder before heading to the sink. “We’ve faced rats before, right?”

I look back at my sister. “When do you need me to do it?”

“Just before the weekend. I don’t expect anybody before the festival starts.”

“I’ll let you know when I go.”

17

Mindy

The most I get from Sawyer is a text this week telling me harvest is kicking his ass, and he looks forward to seeing me soon.

“I’m at my house,” I sing-song to my phone. “You can always come over like you’ve been doing the last few days.”

He doesn’t, and my pride won’t let me go to him.

So I proudly sleep alone every night in my bed with my window unlocked and a lead weight in my stomach.

On Tuesday night I cried.

I’ve seriously got to stop.

Deacon is texting, asking if I’m ready to follow-up on my Dallas plan. I can’t tell him I want to put it on hold again after his pep talk. But if I start planning for Dallas in this frame of mind, I’ll leave Harristown for good. Of course, five seconds later I take it all back thinking of all the reasons to stay.

I have to stay and see this through. Sawyer and I have come so far, we’re so close, I can’t move to Dallas, even temporarily, when I feel like every moment matters.

The festival kicks off Thursday. The Peach Ball is coming, and I’m his date. As far as I know that hasn’t changed. In the meantime, I’ve got to finish the poster. Andre texts me every day asking for it, but I ditched all my starter ideas.

When I look at the photo I took of Sawyer in the orchard, I want to cry. He’s so beautiful, and I can still feel his arms around me. I can still hear his deep voice telling me I’m beautiful or he wants to kiss me.

Ugh, I want to throw it all out and do another still life, Vase with Peaches. Andre would kill me. Based on my preliminary ideas, he has planned the entire festival around a “Falling in love in the orchard” theme. He keeps asking why we didn’t think of this sooner…

Possibly because it’s the first year I’ve had a real chance at owning my love? It’s the first year we got so close to coming out and sharing it with everyone?

The senior beauty pageant is in full planning mode, swimsuit competition included. I have no idea how this is going to play out or what the families are going to say. The elderly residents say they don’t care—they’re tired of being treated like children who have no free will, and these old ladies will walk out in their swimsuits if they choose.

Clearly a geriatric revolution is brewing, and I can only presume it’s fueled by Viagra and lube. I don’t know why they think I object. I think it’s a fun idea, and it’s bound to sell tickets.

So far, it’s shaping up to be the craziest harvest on record.

“I’d give anything to see Debbie Turner in a swimsuit at her age.” Mrs. Irene laughs as I help her get ready for bed.

All around her room are pictures of her family and paintings of flowers and angels. She wants it this way, even if she can’t see them.

“Everyone’s saying it’s a contest between Ms. Wilson and Ms. Turner.” I hold her hand as she climbs into her adjustable twin bed. “Mr. Hebert isn’t even a judge.”

She leans her head toward me, narrowing her eyes. “It’s like he had this scenario in mind the whole time.”

“So he can say he’s banging Ms. Silver Peach!” I start to giggle as much at the name as the conspiracy.

Mrs. Irene puts her hand over her laugh, shaking her head. “Just because we’re old doesn’t mean we can’t manipulate the system.”

“If only we could leak the story to the public. We might sell more tickets.”

Mr. Grady agreed to give the nursing home seventy percent of the profits, since he’s slapping Grady’s Used Cars on everything for free.

Mrs. Irene holds her clasped hands in front of her nose as she laughs. “It’s like The Silver and the Restless!”

“Days of our Silver Lives?”

“The Bold and the Silver!”

“Yes!” I cry, and she closes her eyes as we both laugh.

It feels good to laugh away the heaviness in my chest. A few tears are in my eyes, but they’re good tears. They’re not worrying about Sawyer nonstop tears.

“Come and hold my hands.” Mrs. Irene holds hers out, palms up.

I climb onto the side of her bed and place both my palms on top of hers. “It’s been a few days since we’ve had any time alone.”

“I’ve been dying to ask about Sawyer LaGrange. Why did you keep it a secret? He’s a wonderful man.”

“He is…” My throat tightens, but I swallow my sadness. “He’s really, really wonderful. He’s also guarded and closed and a complete loner. He ghosts me for days, and then he’ll show up like nothing happened.”

Her slim brows furrow. “What’s this about ghosts?”

I shake my head, squeezing her hands. “It’s an expression. Basically it means he’ll disappear for days with no word. Like a ghost.”

She tilts her head to the side, thinking. “That’s very clever. Did you make that up?”

“It’s been around a while.”

“Your generation is so creative with language. Ghosting.” Her expression turns serious just as fast. “What does he do while he’s ghosting?”

I shrug, even though she can’t see. “He just… goes inward. He doesn’t call or text or anything. He’s just silent.”

“So you kept this relationship a secret because you’re not happy?”

“Actually, being with him is the happiest I’ve ever been.” Again, my silly eyes heat, and I struggle to keep the wobble out of my voice. “I kept it a secret because I don’t need everyone’s opinions on what I should or shouldn’t do…”

“And?”

My stomach squirms. This is the part I hate. “I’m not sure he wants people to know about us.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and her eyes blink down. It’s impossible for Mrs. Irene to keep her feelings from appearing on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I’m violating my first excuse, but I want her opinion.

“I’ve known Sawyer LaGrange since he was a little boy. He has a lot of very good qualities. Good character.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I feel a big but coming.”

She inhales slowly. “If he’s ashamed of being with you, he’s not the fellow I thought he was.”

“I don’t think he’s ashamed. He asked me to the Peach Ball…”

“Oh!” Her expression brightens. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“But something happened…” My hand instinctively rubs the pain in my chest. “He won’t talk to me about it. I’ve barely heard from him all week.”

“Well, it is harvest time.”

“I know! And you’re right. He’s so busy, and I’m being pathetic and clingy.”

“Melinda Claire Ray. I have known you your entire life. You are a smart, intelligent young woman. You are neither pathetic nor clingy.” Her expression is so firm, I actually feel better about myself. “But something is making you worry. What is it?”

This is why I love Mrs. Irene. She just gets me, even if she is sixty years older than I am.

“He’s struggling with something. I can see it in his eyes, but he won’t talk to me about it.” Our hands are still clasped, and I study her slim ones. “I feel so shut out when he does that.”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“No.”

“Then this one’s on you, my love. That boy was given a life no person should ever have to live, but he did. I imagine it created some not so healthy habits.” She grins, cupping my cheek in her cool palm. “The angels know what they’re doing. You’re the perfect person to help him open up.”

“I hope so.” I love him so much.

“Give me a hug.”

I scoot forward, happy to comply with her request. Her warm embrace makes me feel so accepted.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Now you need to get going! Andre Caron is waiting for that watercolor.”

“How did you know that?” I slide off the bed laughing.

“I’m not deaf.” She winks. “I heard you talking to yourself.”

“I’m officially crazy.” Stepping forward, I kiss her cheek. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

IN MY BEDROOM after dinner is put away and Ma has gone to bed, I put the tip of the paintbrush against the thick paper. I’ve sketched out an image of a girl with flowing curls sitting in the lap of a boy with strong arms, a square jaw, and dark hair, messy over his forehead.

Another day without a text or a call, but Mrs. Irene’s words give me hope. I sent him a brief text before I sat down to paint. I hope you’re having a good week. Miss you.

It’s what I hope for him, how I feel. Perhaps not every single thing I’m feeling, but we’ll get there. For now I have to get here. I have to finish this painting, and I’ll be up all night doing it.

My phone buzzes, and my heart jumps. I put the thick pad down and rush to my nightstand, scooping it up to see…

My shoulders drop.

A text from Deacon. No more stalling. Lunch tomorrow. Your plan is being made.

Deacon is an arrogant, rich, bossy man.

He’s also right.

It helps I no longer think I’m ready to throw in the towel and start a new life in the big city.

I quickly tap back. When and where?

Gray dots precede his reply. Burgers n Suds, noon thirty.

Done.

A deep inhale, and I’m back to my art. Having a plan is a good thing. Oprah says you get in life what you have the courage to ask for. Know your value.

Holding my brush above the paper, I know the most important thing is keeping my commitments, which means tonight I’ve got to finish this painting.

“IF YOU FOLLOW THIS, Dallas is optional.” Deacon hands me the stack of papers, and my stomach squirms when I see Melinda Ray Five-Year Plan across the top. “Actually, everything in here is optional. It’s just a plan.”

“Jeez, it looks so official.” I hold the document, not opening it. “It makes me nervous.”

Today he’s in a short-sleeved button-down shirt with navy slacks. He’s so casual. We’re sitting at the Burgers n Suds over hamburgers and French fries, holding my future in our hands.

“What are you nervous about?” He takes a sip of his drink and watches me.

“I guess…” I lower the sheets the table. “It’s like, if I don’t do this, I’ll be a massive failure, and it’ll be right here in writing for anyone to see.”

He pops a fry in his mouth. “It’s what you said you want to do. It’s not a government document. You won’t be a failure if you change your mind.”

“What if we pretend like this never happened?” I pick up a fry and bite off the end.

“You’ve been telling me you want to do this for years. Haven’t you?”

I stir the fry in my ketchup, nodding.

“Then whether it’s written down or not, if you don’t do it, you’ll be a failure.”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

He breaks into a laugh. “I’m just messing with you. But studies show if you write down your goals, you’re a hundred times more likely to accomplish them.”

“A hundred times?” I arch an eyebrow, and he grins.

“You’re way more likely to follow a written plan.”

Inhaling deeply, I turn the front page. “So written as opposed to typed up on a computer?”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking a bite of burger. “It’s weird. Something about the physical act of writing.”

“But I didn’t write it. You did.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He exhales a groan, shaking his head. “Still the best burger in town.”

I’m not feeling so hungry anymore. “You should write a plan for them.”

“I wish.” He swipes a napkin across his mouth. “Can you imagine if they franchised this place? It would blow away the competition.”

I hold my drink, sipping as I read what he’s written for me. “I’d only go to Dallas to meet clients?”

He nods, finishing his burger. “You’d make an appointment with a business there, put a responsible-looking face with the name…”

“Responsible looking,” I laugh under my breath.

“Everyone’s used to remote contractors now. As long as they know you’re real, you’ll be fine.”

“What do I do now?”

“Follow the plan. Take the first step.” He pops a fry in his mouth. “Instagram is a natural fit for you, since your work is so visual.”

He finishes his lunch while I read over the basics. It’s not as daunting once I start going through the list. Building an online store was my final project in my college design class. I just have to set it to live. I have photographs of my work from school, and Andre sends me digital images of all the posters he’s used.

“I can do this.” I nod, setting down my cup.

“Of course, you can.” He grins. “Now you just have to tell people about it.”

I know what he’s talking about. I pick up another fry, lifting my chin. “I told Sawyer about my plans, about Dallas.”

“What did he say?”

The fry is in my mouth, and I press my lips into a frown, remembering. “He almost sounded like he wanted me to go. He said he didn’t want me to feel trapped here.”

“He loves you.”

“He’s never said it before.”

“That guy?” Deacon laughs as he gathers his trash. “You’re expecting him to tell you his feelings?”

“Yes.” An edge is in my voice, and Deacon gives me a nod.

“Good for you.” He tosses his stuff into the metal barrel and walks back. “Show some backbone; get what you want.”

I push a fry around my tray. It’s embarrassing, but still… “What if I said in five years, I want to be married to Sawyer?”

I glance up at him, and to his credit, he’s thinking about my question. “I’d say you are the only thing you can control. I want you to be financially secure.”

“That’s not very romantic.”

“Neither is starving.”

I laugh, tossing the fry on my plate and gathering my trash. “Ma would never let me starve.”

“And you’re very lucky to have her.”

“I’m lucky to have you. Thanks for this.”

I gather my own trash, slipping my plan and the still-wrapped and uneaten hamburger in my bag. “I really just want him to talk to me.”

Deacon puts his arm around my shoulders as we walk slowly to where our cars are parked. “Tell him that, too.”

I give him a brief hug, and he steps to his car. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Need anything… I need a notebook and a pen for starters. I need to deliver this watercolor, and then I need to have some facetime with a certain stubborn man.

18

Sawyer

“Three more days.” I’m in the kitchen, bone tired, and Noel is sautéing thick steaks in a cast iron skillet before putting them in the oven.

“Do you wonder how we do it every year?” She glances up at me.

“Ask me again in ten years.”

I wonder a lot how the older guys must feel approaching a new harvest season. It’s the hardest thing I’ve done. Harder than Marine boot camp, harder than leaving service and coming back here…

Patton, Marley, and Taron would tease me that I never seemed to mind basic training, getting up early, busting my tail. Only Taron came to the orchard with me to find out why. Patton and Marley went back to Nashville.

“Oh, sure, Min!” Noel shouts at the window, startling me. “Don’t come in the house and speak. I’m just your best friend.”

“What the heck?” I lean closer, looking through the glass.

Noel mutters something about some friend and returns to cooking. “Mindy just took the three-wheeler and didn’t even bother to come inside.”

Tension moves through my chest. I can guess why she wouldn’t come inside, and it has nothing to do with my sister. “Maybe I should check on her.” I clear my throat. “Make sure everything’s okay.”

“Be sure and tell her I saw that.” Noel opens the oven and bends down, using both hands to load the massive skillet.

“Can I go, too?” Dove looks up at me, her blue eyes wide.

She’s standing in a chair at the table folding our napkins into swans, something she started after her art teacher taught them simple origami.

Akela perks up from where she’s lying under the table. Her ears move forward and she studies me with those mis-matched eyes.

“Ahh…” I look around, trying to think of an excuse.

It’s hard to tell her no, but my sister saves my ass.

“Dove, I need you to help me make the mousse. Uncle Sawyer needs to hurry so he can be back for supper.”

“Okay!” She hops off the chair. “I’ve never made a moose before!”

“It’s actually a dessert, and you have to be very careful…”

I leave them talking about egg whites as I charge into the yard, not even looking back. It’s been a long-assed week, and the glimpse I caught of Mindy reminded me how great last weekend was. Missing her is like not realizing you’re hungry until you catch the scent of food. Suddenly, I’m ravenous.

The three-wheeler is parked in the brush beside the pond, as I hustle up to the pier, I see her dress, cowboy boots, and bag of art supplies in a neat pile in the corner. Dashing to the end, I stop to watch her, mesmerized.

The noise of the fountain eclipses the sound of her swimming, but her tan skin cuts through the water. Her hair is piled on her head in a messy bun, and I think this must be how the sailors felt when they spotted a Mermaid swimming in the ocean… Weary fishermen, who’d been out to sea too long, horny as fuck, seeing a beautiful woman in the water, clearly loving it.

“Hey,” I call out, and she turns slowly to face me.

“Hey, yourself.”

I exhale a laugh at her usual greeting. “What’s going on?”

She shrugs. “It’s hot. Thought I’d take a swim.”

Putting my hands on my hips, I watch a few minutes as she turns onto her stomach again, spreading her arms in front of her in sweeping motions as she crosses the pond. The water glazes over her body, and I can see she’s wearing dark underwear.

She circles around, looking up at me. “You coming in?”

“You want me to?”

Another shrug, and she arches back, letting the water slide down her body. “I want you to do what makes you happy.”

Words I said to her not so long ago. I get it. She’s ticked, still I toe off my boots and shove my jeans down, whip off my tee and do a shallow dive into the pool in my boxer briefs. It’s cooler than the air surrounding us but warm from the sun beating down all day.

Like a magnet to steel, I’m drawn to her. I slice through the water like a knife, coming up for air at her side. Water swirls around us, and it feels good. I wonder why we don’t do this more often at the end of the day.

“Nice to see you’re still alive.”

I swear. This girl. She looks at me like I did exactly what she expected, spotted her through the kitchen window and came running like a dog after a bone.

Reaching out, I slide my hands around her waist, pulling her to me. “I’m alive.”

She exhales a little noise, putting her hands on my shoulders. Her breasts are soft against my chest, and my dick stands at attention.

“I hope you don’t mind…” I lean closer, kissing the side of her jaw, right at the base of her ear. The scent of lilac is faint on her skin.

“I don’t mind a kiss.” Her fingers tighten on me.

She’s in my arms as I swim us to the shelter of the pier. I want to slide her panties to the side and sink into her depths. “Just a kiss?”

“Just a kiss.” She reaches overhead for the pier, turning and pulling her whole body out of the water.

I move back, out of her wake, sweeping my arms beneath the surface. I won’t lie and say I’m not disappointed.

“My bad.” Lifting my chin, I look up to where she’s sitting on the pier. “So you’re just here for a friendly swim?”

Her cute little nose lifts as she looks toward the fountain. “And I was curious.”

“About what?”

“I haven’t heard from you since Saturday.”

I’m treading water, wondering what she’s up to. “I sent you a text.”

“And I sent you one.”

Diving forward, I catch the end of the pier and pull myself up to sit beside her. Water splashes around us, running down my arms. Our thighs touch, and I really want to kiss her again. “How can I satisfy your curiosity?”

“You already have.”

I place my palms on the pier behind me, leaning back. “You came to see if I was alive?”

“I also wanted to see if you were still interested.”

Cocking my head to the side, I grin. “I’m interested.”

“Good.” She reaches for her dress, dropping it over her black lace bra and panties.

I reach out before it falls, sliding my palm across her bare stomach. “Why don’t you tell me what all of this is about?”

“I had lunch with Deacon today.”

My jaw tightens, and I sit back. “Is that why you’re out here? Fishing?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. The fountain creates a backdrop of noise, and she looks down at our toes tracing lines in the surface. “Yes.”

“Why did having lunch with Deacon make you want to find me?”

“Something happened last weekend when you left the nursing home. We were moving forward, but I felt you pull back again… Will you tell me why?”

“No.”

“You won’t?”

My chest is tight, and I want to dive into the pond again. I want to swim away, across to the other side. “It’s not something I want to talk about.”

Her lips press together briefly. “What do you see me as? How do you feel about us?” Clear green eyes pierce mine, and I want to stand. I’m not trying to hurt her.

The sun is still hot even though it’s after six, and it dries our bodies quickly. Clearing my throat, I go to where I left my pants, scooping them up and shoving my feet in them one at a time.

“You ask hard questions.”

Her chin drops, and she studies her hands in her lap. “I don’t think they’re hard.”

I finish dressing and storm back to where she sits. Taking a beat, I do my best to calm the frustration in my chest. “I want to be with you.”

She tilts her head and looks up at me. “For a few days? For longer?”

Yes… I think so?

“Do we have to decide that right now? Right here?”

Her eyes return to her lap, and she shakes her dark head. “I want to be more than a booty call.” Her voice is soft, like a heartbreak, and anger flares in my chest, giving my tone a bit of an edge.

“I’ve never thought of you that way.”

She stands quickly, gathering up her bag and slipping her feet into her boots. “I have to get home now.”

I’m on my feet as well, wishing I could fix this. Wishing I didn’t have secrets that could hurt her. I just want to hold her. “Will you give me a lift back to the house?”

“I guess.”

We walk to the waiting ATV in silence, and she tosses her bag into the rack on the front.

I search for something safe to say. “Did you finish the poster?”

“Yes. I came here right after I gave it to Andre.” She pushes down on the starter.

“Was it the one you showed me?”

“No.” She pushes on the starter again, and the engine roars to life. “It was something new.”

I’m not sure how to take that answer. I sit on the back of the three-wheeler, holding her body against my chest as she drives us across the bumpy fields to the house. She feels so good in my arms. I want to hold her this way forever. I want to change the way I am, but I don’t know how.

We park behind the shed, and she grabs her bag, ready to take off without another word. I catch her around the waist and pull her to me before she can escape.

“Hey.” My voice is rough.

She studies the front of my shirt, not meeting my gaze. “What?”

Her nose is pink, and it twists my stomach. I don’t want to make her cry. “You’re still going to the peach ball with me?”

Her lips press together, and I give her a little shake. “You still my date? You said you would.”

“I do my best to keep my word.” Her voice is low, and I lean forward to kiss her neck again, right at the base of her jaw.

“I’ll pick you up at your place, seven o’clock.”

WE BUST our asses the last day of harvest, working solid from before sunrise until that hot orange ball is dipping below the horizon. One thing is on our minds—making this the last day we’re out here.

Leon’s birthday is tomorrow. Tonight is the first day of the festival, and I’ve got to check Noel’s store, a.k.a., the old feed shed, for rats.

As soon as the last batch of peaches is sorted, I haul the fifty-pound crate to the waiting truck and slap the side signaling we’re done. The teens all cheer, and they’re headed to the donut shop for a celebration.

I notice my brother looking after them with his hands in his pockets, and I walk over to where he’s standing.

“You did good.” Holding out my hand, he gives it a shake. “I think it’s time we talked about adding you to the management team.”

His eyes light. “Is there a team?”

“No.” I chuckle, and his brow falls. “It’s just Noel and me, and I guess Taron and now you.”

“I’ve got some ideas for rotating the trees to spread out the planting.” He’s talking fast, and I can feel he’s only twenty-one. “I took a few classes on organic farming. We could section off a part of the field and cater strictly to that market…”

“Tell you what.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get the festival done, give it a week or two, then we can all sit down and talk about it.”

He catches his breath and grins. “Thanks, bro.”

“Now I’ve got to go check on Noel’s store. If Taron asks, tell him he’s welcome to step in any time.”

I take off on foot up the hill. The small structure originally was just off the road directly in the sun, and with the festival happening in the middle of the Louisiana summer, Noel worried about all her products (and customers) melting. So we planted banana trees and other fast-growing, tropical plants to create shade and break the heat, and installed window units last year.

As I climb the hill, I’m seeing it for the first time since spring. The vegetation has grown up around it, and it looks like something out of a tropical forest. It’s off the road, and several ferns have sprouted along the front of the small porch. The ground is dark, shadowy, and I feel a panic in my stomach. It would be a perfect place to plant a trip-wire.

“Why would anyone do that?” I dismiss the ridiculous thought.

Still, my insides are tight. My entire body is on guard. The clumps of banana trees we planted have grown tall as the roof, and their wide, glossy-green leaves stretch down, casting unusual shadows over the tin roof.

It’s dark and quiet. The windows are black holes, and anything could be hiding inside. We cut the electricity over the winter and locked the doors, but anyone could easily break in. We wouldn’t know, which is why my sister asked me to do this.

Actually, Noel is worried about mice. “I’ll lose my shit if I see a mouse,” she said.

I laughed and said I’d check it out for her.

Now, the closer I get, the tighter my stomach twists. “We’re used to chasing rats,” Taron said.

Only, I’m not prepared. I didn’t bring my gun. I didn’t bring anything. I’m approaching a building unarmed, alone, and anything could be inside waiting to attack me.

A breeze kicks up, and shadows move over the face of the sun. Long tendrils of ivy sweep over the exterior of the shack, and it reminds me too much of that place, that hovel deep in the jungle where it all went down.

My heart thuds in my chest, and I slow my pace.

My vision tunnels. Where is Taron? I look all around quickly, dropping back into the trees. He’s supposed to be with me.

Wait, I remember… He went ahead to test the door. He’s entering first, and I’m covering him from the rear… We’ve practiced this so many times. Patton is in my ear: Just follow the routine; do what we’ve practiced.

We follow protocol, but we’re not prepared for the ambush. “He’s here!” Taron calls, and I race forward to help him.

Nausea roils through my stomach, and I don’t make it far. I’m on one knee in the trees, holding on with all my strength. Roaring is in my ears, and all I can think is Taron… I have to get to Taron. He’s in there alone, and she’s there.

He can’t get Marley out by himself.

I’m letting everyone down…

“Here you are.” Strong arms grip my shoulders, but I’m too disoriented to make out his face.

Summoning all my strength, I lunge into his torso, taking him down with a grunt.

“What the hell?” He’s temporarily stunned, but he’s as strong as I am.

We’re locked in a wrestling match, turning on the ground, battling for dominance. I can’t let him win. I can’t let him kill us all. I have to take him out first.

I’m on top now, and I have him in a headlock. “Stop struggling.”

“Let me go.” The man orders, but my grip only tightens.

“How many are you?”

A scraping rasp comes from his throat, and he grips my arm, jerking down with force. He’s strong; he’s breaking my hold.

Closing my eyes, I have to hold on. I have to protect our team.

“Sawyer…” He growls through gritted teeth. “Let go, it’s me.”

My brow furrows, and I don’t understand. Adrenaline races through my bloodstream. Metallic taste is on my tongue.

“Sawyer…” Her jerks his elbow back, jamming it in my torso. “It’s Taron. Stop.”

The blow knocks the wind out of me. My grip slips, and the guy spins out of my grasp. He has me now, his arm across my shoulders. He’s on my back, and he takes me to the ground.

“Where are you?” He’s breathing hard, and his voice is right in my ear.

I’m on my stomach breathing hard, and my vision starts to clear.

“Talk to me. Where are you?”

Fuck. Shame and fear are an electric blend in my stomach. “I’m home.” Gasping for air, I hold his arm. “Let me go, Taron, I’m at the shed. I’m at Noel’s store.”

He releases me at once, dropping onto his ass and leaning back against the tree. “Shit.”

I roll onto my back, doing my best to calm my breathing. My hands are on my chest, and I look up at the deep green leaves overhead. Above them, gray clouds are rolling across the sun. It’s going to rain today.

My insides ache, and I roll to my side, getting on my hands and knees so I can rise to my feet. It takes a minute for me to calm the tremors. Remnants of adrenaline are still in my blood, and I feel like I’ve run a marathon.

I look over at my friend, whose knees are bent. He’s resting his elbow on one knee, scrubbing his eyes with his hand.

“Are you okay?” I stagger to my feet and walk over, putting a hand on the tree trunk above his head.

I reach down, and he grabs my arm, allowing me to haul him to his feet. When I try to pull away, his grip on my arm tightens.

“How often is it happening?” Taron’s wolf eyes slice into mine.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to pull my arm back, but he holds me stronger.

“Cut the bullshit. You nearly took my head off.”

“You startled me.” It’s the same excuse I used in the nursing home. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“It was more than that.” His jaw is clenched. “You were back there.”

“Let go of my arm.” My brow lowers, and we both know I’m stronger than he is since the injury. Hell, I probably always was, thanks to fifty-pound bushels of peaches.

His grip on me relaxes, and I jerk my arm away, stalking to the peach shed. My boots thud on the wooden porch, and I jam the key in the doorknob, unlocking it. The electricity still isn’t on, but I have a small flashlight in my back pocket. I pull it out and shine it along the baseboards.

No signs of animal droppings or other critter activity. Taron’s boots thud on the floor behind me, shuffling to a stop inside the door.

“Place looks clean to me.” I turn off the flashlight, ready to go. “I’ll flip the main breaker and switch on the window unit. Tell Noel she can start stocking tonight.”

“What happens when it’s Noel?” His voice is flat. “What happens when it’s Dove?”

My head snaps around to face him. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Do you still keep a pistol in your bedroom?”

“I said, that’s not going to happen.” My jaw is clenched, and I step forward.

He doesn’t back down. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. Marley told me that just before we found him in his apartment.”

“I’m not Marley.” It’s not the same at all.

He was kidnapped, beaten, tortured… I don’t take drugs. I never have.

I’ve just started having these moments.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He follows me out onto the porch, around back to the breaker box. “How often is it happening?”

“Why do you care so much?” I stop at the metal box and flip the door open.

A large lever is inside, and I push it up. A whirring noise lets us know the electricity is on to the small store. Turning, I return to the porch, headed to the door with Taron on my heels.

“I’m trained to defend myself against a physical attack. Other people we both know and love are not.” I open the door, and he catches it, stopping me. His voice is lower, gentler now. “It’s my duty, to be sure you’re not a threat to yourself or to them.”

I look him square in the eyes. “I’m not a threat to anybody.”

His expression crumbles. “You don’t know what you might do.”

“You’re wrong.” I flip on the window unit and head for the door. “I would never hurt Dove. Or Noel. Or anyone.”

I’m out the door headed to the house with my stomach churning. This has only happened twice, and both times it was in a dark place and a man sneaked up behind me. Two common variables, both of which can be controlled.

Taron is wrong. I’m not weak.

I will figure this out, and I will control it.

It’s going to be okay.

19

Mindy

“And a-one and a-two and a-one, two, three, four…” Bouncy piano music blasts through the civic center speakers, and Madelyn Gamble stands in front of a group of twelve female octogenarians, clapping her hands and leading them through the opening dance.

“How’s it looking?” Mrs. Irene is at my side, holding my arm.

“Tense.” I watch as Ms. Turner and Ms. Wilson break the line doing their best to stay on opposite sides of the stage from each other, even though they’re the freedom and the reign parts of the production.

“Ms. Debbie, you need to pass across the center of the stage. You’re the light of freedom.” Maddie waves her arms and infuses her voice with optimism.

“I’m not standing by her.” Ms. Turner casts a withering glare at Ms. Wilson.

Ms. Wilson holds an oversized American flag on a pole. “As if I want to stand by a hussy like you, Debbie Turner!”

“Oh, this is good.” Mrs. Irene puts her hand over her mouth to hide her chuckling. “Maddie Gamble should get a medal of freedom if she manages to pull this off.”

“I’m just glad it’s not me.” I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. “She only has two more days.”

The inaugural Ms. Silver Peach pageant will be the closing event of this year’s festival on Sunday afternoon.

“And to think they used to be best friends.”

That pulls me up short. “You’re kidding!”

“Well, not so much best friends as best rivals. If Olivia dated the captain of the basketball team, Debbie had to date the quarterback of the football team.” She leans closer. “You’ve heard the expression ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’?”

“Is that friendship?”

“Not any I’d like to have. Not like you and Noel.”

The mention of my bestie makes me jump. “Oh, I’ve got to run. I promised Noel I’d pick up her stock for Ma’s table this afternoon.”

“You’re a true friend.” We walk arm in arm toward the back of the room. “Did you talk to Sawyer?”

“I did.” My chest has been heavy ever since our afternoon at the pond.

“How did it go?”

“We’re still going to the Peach Ball together.”

“That’s good.” Her eyebrows rise with her smile. “Did he tell you what’s been troubling him?”

“No, and he said he wouldn’t.”

Her lips tighten, and her blue eyes cast down. She basically says with her expression everything I’m feeling. It sucks, and it’s no basis for a relationship. Still, I was strong. I said what I needed to say, but I also reminded him what he had last weekend. I used my sexuality as a weapon, and I don’t care. He’s got a much stronger advantage, if you ask me.

We take a few more steps, and her hand tightens in the crook of my arm. “The Peach Ball is a magical time. Who knows what might happen when you’re there together, dancing in each other’s arms. Your aura is bright red, which means your attraction is strong. Use it.”

I pull her close and kiss the top of her head. “I love you. You’re catching a ride with Ramona and Miss Jessica?”

She nods. “I’ll see you tonight at bedtime.”

With that, I leave my old friend at the civic center. It’s a short drive to Noel’s shop. She’s inside moving fast with her little mini-me Dove marching around and carrying boxes of face cream, soap, body lotion, lip gloss, wherever her mother tells her to go.

“Oh, thank God you’re here. I thought you’d forgotten.” Noel meets me with a hug at the door. “I’ve got everything for your mom’s table in the box behind the register.”

“Why all the panic stations?” I look around the bright peach room with the white wainscoting.

“Sawyer didn’t get out here to check the place until last night.” She’s placing bottles of lotion on a shelf and turning them so they all face front. “Then he was weird and didn’t even tell me he’d done it. Taron told me this morning.”

“What was he checking it for?”

“Oh, you know… I couldn’t take a chance there’d be rats.” She does a full body shiver.

Dove watches her with wide eyes then blinks to me. “Mamma doesn’t want to meet Angelina Ballerina in person.”

“Nobody does.” I step forward, taking two handfuls of all-natural peach-infused soap out of the box in Dove’s arms. “I can help. Where do these go?”

“Anywhere there’s an open shelf!” Noel’s moving fast, unloading and arranging stock on shelves. “Don’t you have to be at the senior center?”

“Maddie Gamble volunteered to direct the pageant. When I left she was doing just fine.” I carry the soaps to an empty shelf. “I have a few minutes. Do you have an arrangement in mind?”

“Just loading the empty shelves. I’ll add the signs tomorrow.” She grabs a box of white tubes. “Maddie’s such a sweet girl. I remember when Dove was in her mini ballerina class.”

“She’s got the patience of a saint.” I grab a box of lip scrub and arrange the small pots in a pyramid formation with a glass bud vase beside them. “I can’t even imagine trying to wrangle a room full of four-year olds.”

“Whatever, Mindy Ray, you’ll be a wonderful mother. Just wait.” Noel turns her back, climbing on the step ladder. “These foot creams never sell well. I’ll put them up here.”

“Maybe that’s why they don’t sell? Because they’re hidden way up there?” I squint up at her.

“No, I’ve tried everywhere. It’s better to have them out of the way and let the people who know ask.”

She continues around the room, and I want to ask more about her brother, but I’m not sure she’s had time to notice. Sawyer being unusually quiet isn’t exactly a new thing.

I wonder if he ever tells her his feelings. I know the two of them have a special relationship. I also know she has no idea about our relationship—and Sawyer wants it that way… which kind of hurts. We’re way past the days when our age difference were a potential problem. Now I can’t help feeling if he were proud of me, he’d want to tell everyone.

Mrs. Irene’s right. A month ago, I was able to live this hidden existence. Now, after everything that’s happened in the last month, I can’t be Sawyer’s little secret anymore. If he even thinks of me that way. Hell, I could be romanticizing the whole thing.

“What’s wrong?” Noel is right in front of me, and I step back.

“Sorry… Did I say something?” Lord Jesus, tell me I wasn’t thinking out loud just now.

“You have a look like something’s bothering you.” Her eyes narrow. “What is it?”

Blinking fast, I consider the disadvantage of having a lifelong friend—it’s practically impossible to keep secrets from her. She knows me too well. “Ahh… I was looking at these little bud vases and thinking about time… Want me to bring you some flowers for them?”

“You would be a life saver!” She grabs more stock out of the box in front of me and crosses the room. “I’ll be your best buddy.”

“You already are,” I laugh softly, feeling mildly relieved. “You know, Ms. Turner and Ms. Wilson are at each other’s throats at the civic center. Mrs. Irene said they used to be best friends. Can you imagine?”

“I can’t imagine eighty-year-old women parading around in bathing suits.”

“It’s definitely going to draw a crowd.”

I carry the lip scrubs to the counter by the register. “I think you should keep these close in case people try to steal them.”

She pauses on the ladder. “I hate thinking people would steal from me. They wouldn’t do that, would they?”

“Oh, yes they would. Dove, you make sure nobody slips one of these little guys in their pockets without paying for it.”

Her blue eyes go wide, and she nods seriously. “Pastor Sinclair said stealing is a sin.”

“Don’t tell her that.” Noel walks over and gives me an elbow to the ribs. “Don’t you do anything, Dove. If you see that happen, you come tell me or your daddy or Leon.”

I lean down to her ear. “Or me.” I give her a wink, and she smiles, doing two little fingers from her eyes to mine.

I can only imagine who taught her that.

“I have to hand it to Tom Grady.” Noel returns to the ladder. “Debbie Turner and Olivia Wilson battling for Ms. Silver Peach is the talk of the festival.”

“It gives them something to fight over that’s not Jimmy Hebert.”

Like he deserves it. Although, ever since the incident in the storage closet, Mr. Hebert has stuck pretty close to his own room. Ramona said she heard him one night in bed yell, “I’ll stay away from your grandma!” We both got a big laugh out of that. I’m sure that means I’m going to hell.

“Who had him first?” Noel digs peach and sage candles out of her box and arranges them on a shelf.

“Good question… let me think.” I grab the peach and coconut scented candles and carry them to the opposite corner. “I’m pretty sure Ms. Turner had him first. She was with him last Valentine’s day at the banquet. It was the first night his doctor approved his Viagra prescription.”

“I can’t believe they give those old men Viagra. Doesn’t it increase their risk of heart attack?”

“I don’t think so. And the way Jimmy Hebert acts, he’d probably choose boinking over a heart attack anyway.”

“What’s boinking?” Dove frowns up at me, and Noel cuts me a look.

“Oh, shoot, I’d better get going.” I scoop up my keys and the box for my mother. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” I kiss the top of her little head and blow kisses in the direction of my bestie. “Love you. See you at the ball.”

“You’re going to the ball?” Shit… I freeze in the doorway, biting my bottom lip. “Is William coming for a visit? I haven’t seen him since Christmas.”

“No… He’s still in Dallas.”

“So who are you going to the ball with? Deacon?” She waits expectantly from where she’s kneeling by a box of bath salts.

Dammit, Sawyer! I guess I can’t entirely blame him. I did sort of put my foot in it. “It’s a surprise!” I exhale, not doing a very convincing job of acting excited.

“A surprise?” Noel frowns. “Since when do you do surprise dates?”

“Since right now. And I’ve got to get this box to Ma because I’ve got an appointment for a mani-pedi.”

It’s a total lie, but I figure I should get my hands and feet done if I’m going to the ball with Sawyer. Just because we’ve known each other all our lives doesn’t mean I won’t dress up for our official coming-out dance. He is the man of my dreams, after all.

I bought a dress last week after work. I drove to Belk all by myself and spent an hour finding just the right knee-length, light green chiffon strapless. I almost got peach, but I know Sawyer’s kind of peached out.

So I’m going all out, and my stomach is tied up in knots and flying away with butterflies. He might be wrestling with something he refuses to share with me, but we both agreed tomorrow is special.

I’ve got the perfect dress, I’m having my hair freshly blown out, and now I’m getting a mani-pedi… Just as soon as I drop Noel’s stock with my ma.

SATURDAY KICKS off with a 5K and fun run followed by a day-long farmer’s market. I agreed to take a shift at Ma’s Honey Farms table during the lunch hours.

“Where have you been?” Ma gathers her shawl and the money bag, stuffing both into her oversized knapsack.

“I got caught up in the parade.” I drop my purse on the chair.

“A Peach in Time,” she mutters. “That’s the silliest theme for a parade I’ve ever heard. What does it even mean?”

“Be nice. It’s part of Andre’s ‘Love in the Groves’ theme.” I’m a bit protective, considering he based the whole thing on a watercolor I almost didn’t finish in time.

Maybe I’m the peach in time?

“I have to call Noel. I’m completely out of her lip scrub and mask, and I’m almost out of the hand lotion. I like your hair.”

“Thanks.” I slide a large wave off my cheek behind my ear.

Hallie blows it out then styles it with a curling iron so it hangs in large, silky waves—perfectly glamorous for the ball. I just have to do my makeup.

“I’ll be back after lunch.” She gives me a rough hug then holds my shoulder, pointing to her table of inventory. “I’m doing a special on the candles. Buy two, get a cinnamon honey stick for free.”

“I want a cinnamon honey stick.” I pull one of the dark brown straws from the glass jar.

“Those are not for you.” She snatches it out of my hand and puts it right back in place. “You can have whatever’s leftover tomorrow. Love you.”

She says it more like an order, but I know my ma loves me. Standing around with my arms crossed, I see Noel’s dwindling stock. I pick up one of Ma’s handwritten cards to read what she’s charging for everything.

Raw honey for fourteen dollars, fresh spun honey for ten. Royal honey soap for five dollars, beeswax candles for five, and… propolis?

“Interesting…” I mutter, tilting the small bottle to the side. “Anti-inflammatory, anti-infection, immune boosting, anti-cancer?” Sounds like voodoo to me.

“None of that has been proven by the FDA.” Deacon is on the other side of the table.

I point at him. “This is all on you, you know.”

“We just wrote it—”

“I know, you just wrote it down.” Turning the small bottle over, I read the ingredient label, which is very short. “I’m pretty sure this stuff is bee barf.”

“Can I get the special?” A small lady in a straw hat scoots up beside Deacon and holds out a ten.

“Of course!” I quickly grab tissue paper and one of the brown bags with a white Honey Farms sticker on the front.

I put two of the small votives and a stick of cinnamon honey in the bag and her ten in the metal money box.

“That’s good stuff.” I point to the stick. “You know you can get the economy size for seven dollars if you want it.”

The old lady’s face scrunches up as she thinks about my suggestion. “How much?”

“Seven dollars.”

“I’ll take it.” She passes me a ten, and I give her back three.

Once she’s gone, I wave the ten at Deacon and do a little jig. “I made my first sale!”

“You’re a natural.” Deacon digs in his pocket. “I want to try that cinnamon honey. It sounds good.”

“You should get the bundle for fourteen.” I hold up the two-pack, and he cocks a brow at me then hands me a twenty. “Woo hoo! I’m a natural born saleslady.”

“I’d give your mom credit for coming up with the idea. Sweet heat,” he reads from the label. “Interesting.”

“I’m sure her wealth advisor made it possible by writing it down on paper. Not typing on a computer screen.”

He shakes his head. “I’m heading to Dallas tomorrow. Anything you need me to tell William or take to him… for your business?”

“Not yet.” I reach below the table and pull out a few handfuls of the candles along with more honey sticks. When I look up, I see Deacon inspecting me. “What?”

“We wrote it down, but you still have to take the first step.”

“I know!” I give him a wave. “I’ll start stepping. I’ve just got more important fish to fry right now.”

“A fish called Sawyer?”

“And the pageant tomorrow… I’m a busy lady.”

“Speaking of, I have something for you.” He hands over the small bag he’s holding. “Thought you should celebrate the creation of your plan.”

“For me?” I bat my eyes and move the tissue aside, pulling out a clear glass bottle of… “Teremana tequila, holy shit! How did you get this?”

“Wealth management has its perks.”

My eyes go round. “You met Dwayne Johnson?”

He laughs. “No, but I have a friend who works with Ken Austin, and he gave me a couple of promo packs.”

I turn the bottle in my hands. “It’s too nice to open.”

“Open it, and celebrate responsibly.” He takes the bag of honey and continues down the row. “See you tonight.”

I’m gazing at the bottle of Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson tequila, and when I look up, Deacon’s gone. Who the heck is he taking to the ball tonight?

I scan the area trying to find him when my eyes land on Sawyer on the other side of the tent. My chest clenches, and I have to catch my breath. He’s walking with Dutch Hayes and Ed Daniels along the perimeter of the market.

His hands are in his back pockets, and his expression is so serious. Square jaw set, dark hair swept to the side, silent and serious. He’s so handsome.

The two older men are chatting, but Sawyer is a step behind them. His eyes roam from table to table, and I wonder if he’s looking for me. I haven’t heard his voice since Thursday at the pond—two whole days ago—and when I did, he kept kissing me.

Longing tingles in my skin at the memory. His hazel eyes heated, wanting me, and as much as I try to shake it away, I can’t.

“Ugh,” I sigh. He keeps me so tied up…

“Do you have pure beeswax?” A man in overalls and a Stetson breaks me out of my frustration.

“Pure beeswax… Yes… I think we do. Hang on.” Looking around the table, I pass over stacks of bee pollen, ear candles, honeycomb, royal jelly, until I find the golden blocks of wax.

“How much do you need?” My eyes drift as if drawn by a magnet to where Sawyer is standing on the other side of the tent.

Our eyes connect, and electricity flashes from my chest through my body. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze is so focused, my pulse races faster.

“Miss? Did you hear me?” The man is scowling, and I blink back to him.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t. How much?”

“A half-pound.” He repeats, and I take the small cleaver Ma keeps by the super soft wax and cut off a block, weighing it for him before I wrap it in paper and drop it in a brown bag.

“Eight dollars.” He passes me the money, and I give him change.

When I look around again, Sawyer’s gone. I step out from around the table looking right and left, but I can’t find him. A band warms up at the other end of the tent, and a guy with an accordion kicks them off singing “Don’t Mess with My Toot Toot.” People start to dance, and as the crowd forms, I know I won’t find him.

My chest sinks, and I don’t know what to think.

Hours later I’m sitting alone in the living room at Ma’s house, waiting for my date to appear.

My hair is down in rippling waves over my shoulders. I did a dramatic cat eye with my makeup and nude lips. My green dress is spread around me… I feel like a princess, and when I look up at the clock, it’s seven-thirty.

He said he’d be here at seven.

Ma is at the ball helping with concessions. She doesn’t even know I have a date. Last I told her, I was planning to curl up on the couch in my PJs and watch a movie. I didn’t want her asking a million questions, or worse, having to explain why some fictitious date never arrived.

“Don’t do this to me, Sawyer.” Pulling out my phone, I study the face.

No text, no missed calls. I could call him, but dammit. How many times can I go after that man? I’m not doing it. If he doesn’t show up, that’s it. It’s over…

And I hiccup a breath at the thought.

My heart is breaking in my chest, and I can’t cry. If I cry, I’ll ruin my perfect cat-eye.

Standing, I walk slowly around the living room, tracing my fingers in the floaty chiffon of my skirt. I bought silver strappy heels, because I wanted to feel like a princess. Instead I feel like a loser.

The bottle of Teremana is sitting on the edge of the bookshelf where I left it when I got home this afternoon. Strolling over, I trace my fingers along the wood studying the clear bottle, the white label with gray lettering. I read what it says. Teremana is richly flavored, gluten free, small-batch, hand crafted.

“Groovy.” Tracing my gelled nail over the paper seal, I break it.

Lifting the heavy bottle, I twist the corked cap out of the top and sniff. My eyes squeeze shut at the strong odor of alcohol.

“Here’s mud in your eye,” I whisper, lifting it to no one and taking a sip. “Oh!”

It burns like fire going down, but once that passes, I wait… until I get the smokey oak flavor on my tongue.

“Not bad,” I whisper, tilting the bottle and taking another sip.

I’m not shooting it. I’m only tasting. Dwayne Johnson says on the other side of the pain, there’s something better. I can drink to that. Holding up the bottle, I take another sip to something better. Whatever that means.

20

Sawyer

Lockdown.

Ever since the incident outside Noel’s store, I’ve been making up excuses for why I need to be alone, why I need to sit with my thoughts.

I’ve passed two restless nights since Taron found me in the brush, long nights in my room, searching the internet for clues, reading anything I can find to give me insight, a way to control it. The trigger seems to be small, dark spaces.

Noel complained I never told her I’d checked her shop. Why didn’t Taron tell her? I apologized and left early to help prepare for the Peach Festival like I do every year. Tourists come from all over the country and even Canada and Mexico for the three-day event, and as the owner of the largest peach orchard in Taylor Parish, I have to be there. It’s a tradition.

It’s also a minefield of dark rooms and storage closets.

“We’ve got more high-top tables in the back room.” Digger Hayes is at the front of the civic center ballroom setting up lattice and fake pillars for the Peach Ball.

I roll the flat top of a table out to its waiting base in the center of the room. I’ve assembled nine so far. We arrange the framework and set out the tables and chairs, and the ladies auxiliary comes after us with decorations. They’ll hang drapes, foliage, and twinkle lights everywhere to make the space look less utilitarian and more romantic.

My insides are tense, and I’m on guard for any bit of stress that might set me off. Knowing I promised to take Mindy to the ball weighs heavy on my mind. The last thing I feel like doing is partying.

“Would you mind checking for me?” Digger stops where I’m tightening screws under the table.

“What’s that?” I pause.

“The storage room. More high tops.”

I swallow the knot in my throat and shake my head. “Sorry, Digger, I’ve got to take off once I finish this. If you still need me, I’ll help as soon as I get back.”

I’ll make a point of staying away until I’m sure he won’t need me. I’m doing everything I can to help them, but I can’t risk it. I’ve got to get out of here. I need to breathe fresh air, see the sun. Pushing through the crash door, I’m caught by Ed Daniels.

“Sawyer, would you help me do a perimeter check?” Ed is this year’s festival chairman.

“Sure.” I shake his hand, and he returns to his conversation with Dutch Hayes, Digger’s dad.

They’re having some issue with parking and buses being able to get in and out. I was chairman last year, so I know the logistical nightmares. Following them into the tent, I scan every inch of the farmer’s market.

A perimeter check is basically walking the perimeter of the grounds, making sure all the electrical wiring is properly taped, making sure people are using safety precautions, making sure no one is obviously drunk or disorderly.

My mouth goes dry when I spot Mindy across the room at her mother’s table. She’s leaning to the side, holding a jar of honey. My eyes take in her appearance, and hunger is in my stomach. She’s wearing a light blue dress with skinny straps. Her hair is smooth and wavy and swept over one shoulder. She’s so beautiful. She looks like a supermodel or a Bond girl. She looks like she’s looking for someone.

Our eyes catch, and I’m momentarily frozen. I need to talk to her, but if I do, I’ll make some excuse for why I can’t go tonight. Mindy doesn’t deserve that. She especially doesn’t deserve a broken man, too weak to take care of her… if that’s what’s happening. Fuck, I’ve got to figure out my shit.

A man distracts her, and she turns away to help him.

“We’ve got a situation out by the railroad tent.” Ed catches my arm. “Would you head over and see what’s happening?”

“Sure.” I look once more to where Mindy’s still helping the old man.

I’ll call her when I get a break and talk to her about tonight.

The situation is at the Cobbler Gobbler competition. An enormous man has passed out from what they think is heat, but it could also be he gobbled too much peach cobbler.

Personally, I avoid competitive eating contests. They make me nauseated. Still, these guys are supposed to be professionals. We call EMS, and hours later, I never called Mindy.

By the time I’m back at the house, Noel is waiting in the kitchen with Leon’s birthday cake.

“I told you I’m too old for a party.” Leon is in a tux, tugging on the collar. “I’m late to pick up Rachelle.”

“You’re never too old to celebrate your birthday.” My sister is fussing, lighting candles. “Why didn’t you bring Rachelle with you?”

Noel is dressed in a floor-length blue silk gown, and her dark hair is styled up on one side and down on the other. I don’t remember when the peach ball became such a formal event. Not too long ago, it was just jeans, blazers, and cocktail dresses.

“Sawyer, thank God you made it! I thought we were going to have to cut the cake without you.” I’m a dirty mess, and when I check the clock, it’s ten til seven. Shit. I’m supposed to be at Mindy’s at seven.

“Why can’t I go to the ball? I can dance like Angelina Ballerina.” Taron enters the room wearing a tux and carrying Dove on his hip.

She’s in a pink nightgown, and I can tell by her eyes she’s tired.

“It’s a dance for grownups, baby.” She drops her head on his shoulder, and he smooths his hand down her little back. “Suzanna’s going to watch movies with you and eat popcorn and look, we have birthday cake.”

Dove makes a little whine, and Suzanna, her thirteen-year-old babysitter watches from the doorway separating the kitchen from the living room.

“Stop right there!” Noel grabs my arm before I’m able to make a quick exit to the shower. “Now all of you get around here. It’s time to sing.”

The candles are all lit, and Leon drops his head back as we start singing. Dove punctuates every verse with cha-cha-cha. I have no idea how that started, but she’s been doing it since preschool.

“And many more!” Noel sings, dancing over to kiss our little brother’s cheek and give him a hug.

We all take a few bites of cake, and Leon slips out the back door. I’m about to go when Noel stops me again. “You coming tonight?”

“I always do.” In the past, I’ve just gone to be a presence. She has no idea I invited a date this year.

Another worried glance at the clock, and I’m not sure I’ll have one if I’m too much longer.

Twenty minutes later, I’m climbing into my truck in a tuxedo. I’ve had it since Noel decided it made better financial sense for Leon and I to own tuxes instead of renting them for all the school functions and the annual ball.

It’s the first year I’ve used it. When I go as a member of the Grower’s Association, I hang around the back in a suit and slip out before it gets too late. Pulling up in front of Ms. Ray’s dark house, it looks like I’m not going anywhere.

I jog up to the door and knock loudly, peering through the glass. A lamp is on in the living room, but the place seems deserted.

“Mindy?” I shout.

I know Ms. Jenny’s at the ball helping with the concessions. Knocking again, I call her name once more, but it’s silent. Stepping back, I look up to her bedroom window. The light is off, and I can’t climb a tree in my tuxedo.

Pulling out my phone, I don’t see any missed texts or calls. I should’ve done this earlier, but I shoot her a quick text. Sorry I’m late. Are you at home?

The little notice under my text says delivered. Then it says read.

Then it goes silent.

I wait a few seconds, and Fuck.

She’s not answering me.

Going around to the back of the house, I jimmy the lock and slip in through the kitchen. It’s way too easy to break into this house. I need to come over next weekend and install a dead bolt and make them use it.

“Mindy? Sorry I’m late.” I dash from the kitchen into the sitting room. “Mindy?”

A clear bottle of what looks like some kind of liquor is on the coffee table. I pick it up, and see it’s tequila. I jog up to her bedroom, but the light’s off. The bed is empty.

Frowning, I head downstairs again. Where is she?

I’m back in my truck, heading to the civic center when my phone goes off. Waiting until I’m parked outside the building, I pick it up and read her reply. Don’t bother. Nobody’s home.

No shit. My jaw clenches, and I hop out, going around to the back entrance to avoid the line. Inside, the lights are low, and a band plays loud at one end of the room.

“Sawyer? Is that you? In a tuxedo? My goodness, you look handsome.” I’m not interested in talking to Liz McMillan.

I’m interested in the girl across the room in the green dress holding Deacon Dring’s arm. What the fuck?

“Hey, Liz.” I don’t even look at her. “Tell Pat I said hi.”

I’m crossing the room, my entire focus on Mindy. Her dark hair hangs in large waves down her back, and her dress is strapless, exposing her smooth shoulders. It’s short, so her legs are on full display, long and shapely and ending in silver heels.

She’s fucking gorgeous, and possessive anger blazes in my chest. I cut across the dance floor, going straight to where she stands. “What are you doing here?”

Mindy turns and wobbles a little. Her brow lowers, and anger is all over her expression. “I’m sorry. Are you speaking to me?”

She’s still holding onto Deacon, and it’s pissing me off. Reaching out, I catch her forearm and pull her to my side. “I went to your house to pick you up. Why weren’t you there?”

She snatches her arm out of my grasp. Her full lips purse, and she’s so feisty, I want to throw her over my shoulder. “I waited for you, and you never showed up. You never called or texted—”

“So you came here with him?”

Deacon turns, and when our eyes meet, it’s like steel clashing. “Excuse me?”

He’s not smiling, and I’m not either. “You’re excused. Mindy has a date.”

“Actually, Mindy arrived by herself. It seems you were MIA.”

“Make a note. She’s with me.” Grasping her hand, I turn and lead her across the civic center. She tries to pull her hand away, but I don’t stop or let her go until we’re in a sheltered spot behind a vine-covered lattice.

I stop, and we face each other. “You said nothing was going on with him.”

“I hope you’re joking right now.” Her green eyes flash. “Deacon is here with Mrs. Irene—as if you have a right to ask.”

She wobbles again, and I remember the tequila bottle. “Are you drunk?”

“Don’t change the subject.” She points a finger in my face. “You stood me up.”

I catch that finger in my fist. “I was late.”

“I’m tired of waiting.” She tries to go, but I’m not letting her.

I pull her against my chest. We’re both breathing hard. She’s in my arms, soft, tanned skin, glowing eyes, hair. “Noel got a cake for Leon’s birthday.”

“And you couldn’t call me?” Her voice cracks. “I’m not doing this anymore, Sawyer.”

The glow in her eyes looks like tears, and my stomach drops. She tries to pull away, but I slide my hand along her back, pulling her closer, speaking right in her ear.

“I should’ve called you.”

“Yes, you should’ve.”

I dip my chin to kiss the side of her temple. “I’m sorry. Will you dance with me?”

“I don’t feel like dancing.”

“Come on.”

The band is playing “The Heart That You Own” by Dwight Yoakam, and I lead her to the floor. It’s dark and crowded, but I hear a few murmurs as we pass. We sway for a few bars in silence, listening to the words. She feels so good in my arms.

Looking around, I notice a banner hanging behind the stage with this year’s poster on it. It’s a man and a woman sitting together in an orchard. She’s on his lap, and his arm is around her waist. They both have dark hair, and they both look familiar.

“I really like this year’s poster. It’s not what you showed me. It’s better.”

“I almost didn’t finish it.” Her face is turned away. “I lost my inspiration.”

I remember her saying I was her inspiration, and my eyes close. Have I lost her? Still, I’ve got her in my arms. We sway side to side as the song continues. The scent of lilac floats around me.

“You’re very beautiful tonight.”

“It was supposed to be a special night.”

“It’s not over.”

“We didn’t come together. Nothing’s going to change.”

Reaching up, I slide her hair off her cheek. “We didn’t arrive together, but we could leave together. If you want.”

She finally looks at me, her green eyes intent. “What do you want, Sawyer?”

Our gaze holds, and I want so many things. Things complicated by something I can’t control. “I want you to have everything you want. I want you to be happy.”

Her eyes close, and she drops her chin, her voice quiet. “I want you to let me in. I want you to want me. That would make me happy.”

My arms tighten around her. She has no idea how much I want her. Everything in me wants her in a way I’ve never experienced. She’s my anchor, holding my hand and keeping me grounded. I want to take care of her, protect her, treat her the way she deserves.

The song ends, and the band strikes up the Acadiana two-step. Couples move in fast around us, and I lead her off the floor.

“You’re in a tux? You’re dancing? What is happening right now?” Noel grins, hugging me, but Taron hangs back giving me a concerned look I don’t like. “Did you convince him to do this?”

My sister turns to Mindy, who shrugs. “I’ve never been able to convince Sawyer to do anything he didn’t want to do.”

It’s a two-way dig. “Figured it was time to dust off this monkey suit you bought me.”

“You are very handsome.” Noel slides her hands on my lapels. “I want to find Leon and get a picture of all of us together. All the kids, Mindy, you, Leon, and me.”

“I thought you were going to show me how to two-step.” Taron puts his hands on my sister’s waist, and she laughs.

“Okay, but don’t run off, big brother. I want a dance with you, too.”

They go to the floor, and Mindy’s expression is resigned. “I have a really good bottle of tequila at my house.” She crosses her arms, watching the couples dancing. “We could get it and drive out to the lake.”

My eyes run down her body, down her legs to those silver shoes. As pretty as she looks in her party dress and heels, tequila at the lake sounds even better.

“Lead the way.”

21

Mindy

“Brown sugar!” I’m not the greatest singer, but I close my eyes and belt it out along with Mick on Spotify.

The air smells like pine and damp leaves and summer. My shoes are off, and I flip the ends of my chiffon dress with my fingers. I’m full of tequila and swinging my hair, doing my best Lana del Rey as I dance in the glow of the high beams of Sawyer’s truck parked in front of Darby Lake.

He’s leaning back against the hood watching me. His jacket, tie, and cummerbund are gone, and his white shirt is unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up. The lines of his stomach deepen with his laugh, and I can just make out the sprinkle of dark hair across his chest.

He’s pure sex, and I want to wrap my legs around him.

When I was waiting for him earlier, I sipped just enough Dwayne Johnson tequila to piss me off, and I decided I wasn’t sitting home alone with my hair freshly done in my new dress and shoes, with my mani-pedi. I called an Uber and got a ride to the ball.

Deacon and Mrs. Irene spotted me when I walked through the door, and even though he’s a cocky, arrogant rich boy, Deacon has a soft heart. He took Mrs. Irene as his date and treated her like a queen, and when he saw me wobbling through that door buzzing and pissed, he pulled me to his side and took care of me.

I love him for it, but he’s not my Sawyer. Nobody’s my dark, broody stubborn as a mule man who is so fucking hot.

“You taste so good, baby girl.”

Have I mentioned how much I love that he calls me that? It’s kind of dirty, and Sawyer’s only five years older than I am. Still, I love it.

“I want to spend the night here, under the stars.” I lift my arms over my head, swaying my hips.

My movements cause my strapless dress to slide lower on my breasts, and I open my eyes slightly to see Sawyer’s hooded gaze on them. Lowering my arms, I walk slowly forward, to where he’s standing.

“You like what you see?” Placing my hands on either side of him, I lean in for a kiss.

“Abso-fuckin-lutely.” He captures my lips in his and consumes me.

Rough hands unzip my dress, and it falls to the ground. He cups my breasts, pinching my nipples with his fingers. It’s so hot, I hold his neck, wrapping my legs around his waist as he lifts me by the ass, turning me so I’m on the hood of his truck.

“I want you inside me.” I purr, pulling his bottom lip with my teeth.

“Is that so?” His fingers graze the skin of my thighs, raising goose bumps as they trace higher to my thong. A swift rip, and it’s gone.

“I want you all over my face.” He growls at my ear, and it’s a bolt of electricity through my core. “I want to hear you screaming my name.”

My knees rise, and I pull him by the shirt closer. “Like I always do?”

My mouth is open when it meets his, welcoming and warm. His tongue licks the corner of mine on its way inside to curl with my tongue. We’re sloppy, and I laugh. He scoops both hands into the sides of my hair, and I love how he grips me, holding my face with so much possession as he kisses me.

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” I’ve seen Sawyer so many ways, but never like this. Tonight his eyes make my stomach flip.

He looks at me like he’s the desert, and I’m the first drops of rain.

He looks at me like he loves me.

“Lie back.” His voice cracks, and my insides flood.

I lie back already halfway to the moon, and with the first brush of his beard against my sensitive skin, I gasp. His fingers cut into my ass, and he’s on me.

Rum makes you a villain, whiskey cheers you up, but tequila makes you crazy. It was only a week ago this man was racing us home from the lake, worried someone might see us out here fucking. Now he’s all over my pussy like it’s a drug.

I let him take me, hands spanning my ass, fingers caressing, penetrating my most private parts. It doesn’t take long for my thighs to shake, for the fireworks to shoot through me with fiery-hot sparks of light.

He fucks me hard and fast on the hood of his truck. I come with my eyes closed and my back arched, moaning loud. His groans join mine in the night, and it’s so fucking hot. I feel him hot and slippery inside me.

We’re breathing fast as I sit up to wrap my arms around him. My breasts are pink from his whiskers, and his come is on my thighs. The air is thick with moisture and heavy with sex.

“Can we swim?” I want his body next to mine.

“Might as well.” He scoops me under the ass and carries me to the water.

My arms are around his neck, and. I trace my tongue along his skin, mixing his salt with the tequila on my tongue. We’re lazy and relaxed in the water, sliding our bodies together as we kiss and cool down.

“We’ll have to leave a review for Mr. The Rock’s tequila. It’s good shit.”

His buzzy words make me grin. My eyes are closed, and I lean my head on his shoulder. “It’s a perfect night.”

“Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s stretch out under the stars.”

I hum a consent as he carries me in his arms back to the truck. He spreads a blanket over the bed and deposits me on it before climbing over the side. My insides are electric as we slip beneath the layers.

His naked body is behind me, and we spoon ourselves to sleep. I’m too high to worry if he’ll run away again. I only know the man I’ve loved all my life just fucked me senseless, and I’m curled up in his arms, my soft pressed against his firm. His taste is on my tongue, and I’m happier than I’ve been in a while.

Deep in my heart, I know, no matter what, this night will change everything.

THE SKY IS GLOWING gray when I’m awakened by a strange noise.

Sawyer’s no longer at my back, and I sit up rubbing my eyes, looking for him. “What’s going on?”

The blanket falls from my shoulders, exposing my breasts. The moon shines down on us, but Sawyer is shadowy, on his feet, squatting with his back against the cab.

“It’s not safe.” His voice is low, tense, and terror grips my stomach. “We didn’t sweep the area.”

“Did you hear something?” My voice is barely a whisper.

I clutch the blanket over my nakedness, wanting to jump into the cab and lock the door, but too afraid to move.

“Get down.” It’s a hoarse bark, and I do as he says, scooting lower in the bed.

I have no idea what’s happening. Is it hunters? Teens playing a prank? We’re in freakin Harristown. Nothing bad happens here, but all the scary movies I’ve ever seen bubble up in my mind. I’m relieved I’m here with a former Marine. Sawyer can kick everybody’s ass.

His eyes are low, and he almost looks like he’s sleeping. Or he’s listening.

“Sawyer?” I whisper. “What is it?”

“Shh!” He holds out a hand to me. “It’s too late.”

I don’t know what that means. All I know is I want to be closer to him, so I rise to my feet and creep to where he’s crouched with the blanket over my shoulders.

He looks up, and his eyes widen when he sees me. “No!” He jumps forward, grabbing me around the torso. “Drop it!”

“What?” I’m confused, and he’s got my wrist in a hold that feels like it’s breaking. “You’re hurting me!”

“Drop the knife.” His grip tightens around my arm, and I’m sure he’s going to snap it like a twig.

Only then it hits me he might be having a nightmare. “Sawyer, it’s me, Mindy! Wake up! You’re in Harristown… You’re safe!”

My heart thuds in my chest, and his grip tightens. Pain radiates through my forearm, and I’m getting light-headed.

“Please, Sawyer.” My voice breaks with tears. “Please wake up now… It’s Mindy!”

His grip relaxes, but he still has me around the chest, holding me fast against his body. He’s breathing hard, ragged, and I kick against the blankets, trying to get him to release me.

“Sawyer…” It’s more of a grunt as I pull my arm against his grip. “Let me go, Sawyer, it’s me…”

Finally, his grip relaxes. He lets me go and falls back, shaking his head and scrubbing his face. “What happened?”

I fall to my knees, holding my wrist and trying not to cry. My heart is beating so hard, but I’m trying to stay calm. If it was a dream, he couldn’t help it.

“Where are we?” He looks around, genuinely seeming lost.

“We’re at Darby Lake. You thought someone was attacking us.” Holding the blanket over my body, I reach for him. “Are you okay?”

My fingers brush his warm skin, and his expression changes first to horror then to dread. He jumps out of the truck and pulls on his pants. His white undershirt is over his head, and he returns to where I’m watching him from the bed of the truck.

Digging in his pocket, he pulls out the keys. “Can you drive yourself home?” He drops them on the blanket in front of me and backs away.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

It’s too late. He turns and runs, disappearing into the night, leaving me naked, alone, and completely in the dark.

THE MS. SILVER Peach pageant kicks off at one, and I’m exhausted and anxious as I help the contestants prepare for the show. In the early morning dusk, I gathered the remnants of Sawyer’s formalwear and drove his truck to my house in my green chiffon dress.

My intention was to change clothes and search for him. Instead, I fell asleep on my bed until noon, which I can only assume was the result of the tequila and the wrestling match-nightmare.

I wrapped my wrist in an ACE bandage, and I’ve been texting and calling him since I woke up. My texts go unanswered and my calls go to voicemail. I’ve got to get out of here and find him, find out what happened, make sure he’s okay.

“Light of Freedom!” Maddie hisses as the chords for “My Country Tis of Thee” ring out over the speakers.

Ms. Turner walks up in her red sequined gown holding a glowing white torch. Across the stage in the wings I see Ms. Wilson in a dark blue sequined gown holding an American flag. The remaining eight ladies are in alternating red, white, and blue gowns, and they hold sparklers as they march out onto the stage beneath the “Grady’s Used Cars” banner. I kind of wish it was a banner for new cars, but that might make it even worse.

Chewing my lip, I peer out at the record-setting pageant crowd of more than one hundred guests, but I don’t see Noel or Taron or Sawyer anywhere. I’m so worried, I can barely breathe.

“How’s it looking?” Mrs. Irene is beside me in a blush pink beaded gown, holding my arm.

“Maddie is a miracle worker. They’re hitting their marks, and Ms. Olivia and Ms. Debbie are standing next to each other on the stage.”

Mrs. Irene shakes her head, but she rubs my back. “Your voice sounds strange. Are you okay?”

“I think I was talking too much last night at the dance.” The truth is my throat hurts from screaming, and I’m completely thrown off from Sawyer’s manhandling me.

“And now for the five finalists. Can I get the card, please?” Mr. Newman is the go-to pageant MC for this area.

“You ready?” I whisper, and Mrs. Irene nods.

She’s on my arm, and I lead her across the stage to hand the card to him. I’m wearing black slacks and a black sweater so the focus is all on her.

“Lovely, just lovely.” Newman says. “You’re not competing this year, Mrs. Irene?”

“Benny Newman, you were always a flirt.” She titters, and the crowd laughs in unison.

He takes the card and opens it slowly, reading the names as I lead Mrs. Irene to the opposite wing. As we expected both of Jimmy Hebert’s conquests made it to the final round. Up next is the swimsuit competition, and I have no idea what to expect. Nobody does. Maddie has kept it all under wraps.

The music swells, and last year’s Princess Peach takes the stage to sing “You Are My Sunshine” while the contestants change into their swimsuits. I’m completely on edge, not wanting to be here. Every number, every break seems to last an eternity.

The little girl finishes her song, and the band changes their tune to the Beach Boys’ song, “The Little Old Lady from Pasadena.”

“I guess that’s okay?” I mutter, but Mrs. Irene’s grip tightens on my arm.

The curtains swish around us, and Ms. Debbie joins us in a navy sequined bikini that’s actually very modest. The bottoms are high-waisted, and the top covers more than most bras you’d see at the department store.

Still, it’s more crinkly old-lady skin than I’ve ever seen in my life.

“I wish I could see this.” Mrs. Irene whispers, and I’m about to tell her I wish I couldn’t when loud voices from deeper in the backstage area attract my attention.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I put Mrs. Irene’s hand on Ramona’s arm and hurry to where Beth Hebert is pacing in a circle.

“It’s not your concern, Bethany.” Mr. Hebert is holding up his hands. “You’re making me miss my ladies in swimsuits!”

“Your neck is black and blue!” Beth waves her arms, and when her eyes land on me she strides forward. “Melinda Ray, what happened to my grandad?”

My eyes widen, and I see the fading bruise on his neck. Clenching my teeth, I’m pretty sure I know now what happened, but at the time… “It wasn’t exactly clear—”

“I told her,” Mr. Hebert jumps in, “I was helping Sawyer carry boxes from the storage closet for the pageant, and—”

“Mindy Ray! This obscene display has got to stop!” Heels click sharply on the linoleum tiles, and Liz McMillan storms up to join us. “You’ve turned my great-aunt into a circus freak, and I want it to stop, I want an apology—”

“Just because we’re old doesn’t mean we’re freaks!” The wrinkles in Mr. Hebert’s face multiply as he glares at her.

Liz ignores him, going straight to me. “Did you okay my aunt Olivia parading around in a bikini?”

“Ms. Olivia’s in a bikini, too?” I turn, but Beth cuts in between us.

“You left the peach ball last night with Sawyer LaGrange.” Her eyes flash. “You’re protecting him, and I won’t stand for it.”

They all press closer, and I can’t take it anymore. I’m exhausted and anxious and I throw up my hands. “Beth, your grandad’s neck was injured almost two weeks ago, and you just noticed today? Maybe if you visited once in a while—”

“You are not turning this around on me. I’m calling my lawyer!” She starts for the back door, Mr. Hebert right with her.

“I’m not pressing charges, Bethany. A lot of men never come all the way back from combat. It doesn’t make them criminals. Just calm down.”

“I’m not calming down when someone in the community attacks my grandfather. I’m calling Sheriff Gautreaux.”

They disappear down the hall, and nausea roils in my stomach. Spinning on my heel, I crash through the metal doors out into the blazing hot sun. Running to my car, I’ve got to find Sawyer. The puzzle pieces aren’t exactly falling into place, but I’m starting to see the pattern I’ve missed all along.

22

Sawyer

I can’t control it.

I don’t know what happened out there. The triggers weren’t there. I was in the arms of the woman I loved. We were happy, drinking tequila, sleeping…

Then I woke up, and it was all Mexico.

I was back in that hut, and the girl with the machete was over me. I lost it, and I don’t know if I hurt Mindy… I don’t think I hurt her. She said she was okay. My head is foggy, and my pulse is racing. I feel like shit.

When I left her, I walked all the way home. It’s a ten-mile walk, so I didn’t get back until well after sunrise. It’s Sunday, but during the festival, everyone sleeps late. It’s our day of rest after two weeks of busting our asses on harvest, working harder than we do all year.

I’m out in the shed, trying to understand what happens next. What do I do with this demon I can’t control, and how do I keep it from hurting the people I love…

“Saw you with Mindy last night.” Taron comes to where I’m sitting on the dirty concrete behind the flatbed.

I’m still in my tuxedo slacks and white undershirt, with my knees bent. I left everything else behind. He hands me a mug of coffee.

“Thanks.” Taking a sip, I let the tingles of caffeine clear the fog in my mind. “She was supposed to be my date.”

“Supposed to be?”

Scrubbing my fingers over my eyes, I think about everything, all of it, and how it’s going to impact us all. “I didn’t think it was a good idea. I guess I was having second thoughts.”

He nods. “So was she or wasn’t she? Because it looked like she was.”

“She was.” I take another sip of coffee. “It was a mistake.”

He crosses his arms, walking over to the side of the shed and looking out across the fields. “A mistake because you don’t have feelings for her?”

I can’t answer that. Instead, I push off the floor and dust the dirt off my ass. “A while back you asked me if I’d done what they said when we were discharged. If I’d done the therapy.”

“You said you didn’t.” He leans against a post, studying me.

I’m at the point where I have to decide. If I’m going to trust anybody, if anybody’s going to understand, it has to be Taron.

“They told me things… the reasons I was sent home… I didn’t want to believe them.”

He squints at me. “So you didn’t go to therapy?”

“If what they said was true, I figured what’s the point?” I look down at my hands—these hands that could have hurt her. My stomach twists. I would never let that happen.

“You didn’t even try.” It’s not a question.

I turn my back. “It’s a life sentence. I’ll never get better.”

Sadness, anger, depression—all three are knotted in my stomach. Taron is quiet, and when I look up, I see by his expression he’s choosing his words.

“When they sent us home, they gave me a diagnosis.” He walks slowly closer. “A life sentence—debilitating back pain for the rest of my life.” He holds out his arms. “Look at me. Do I look debilitated?”

“How are you feeling now?” For someone with his injury, I’m always amazed he never complains.

“No pain.” He leans side to side. “Acupuncture works.”

I nod, truly happy for him. Still, I don’t think needles will fix what’s broken in me. It’s not the same. The body can heal…

“Did they tell you anything else? Anything mental?” I want to know if they told us all the same thing—PTSD, depression, suicidal ideation… Maybe it’s something they say to everyone after being in high-stress situations.

“They said I’d have dreams. I’d see her face.” His voice turns thoughtful. “I did, but I found a cure.”

Tension pulls my stomach tight. “How?”

“Therapy.” As if he can hear my inward groan, he clasps my shoulder. “You don’t have to take what they told you as gospel. New treatments are coming out all the time. You can beat it if you’re willing to try.”

“I’m trying.” The painful truth, what I don’t want to admit, is this problem is stronger than me, and I don’t believe I can be saved.

“You still got the card I gave you?”

“The doctor?”

“She helped me when I thought I’d never get clean. I’d swear by her if you’re brave enough to own your demons and do the work.”

Shame… It’s been holding me back for years.

“I can’t be this way.” It’s not the same as owning it. As we slowly approach the house, Akela trots up, and I pet her gray head. “They need me. Noel, Leon…”

“You don’t think I felt that way?” Taron stops on the porch. “Harvest is behind us. Leon is doing great. Noel is covered. It’s time you own this and do what you need to do.”

“Go to Nashville.” My tone is resigned, and I think about what that means.

“You’ve got friends there.” We’re at the house, and he holds the door for me. “Will you discuss this with Mindy?”

I think about Mindy, and guilt, dread… “No.”

“Because you’re in love with her?” He gives me that Taron look, like he’s so damn smart.

“Because I’m not cruel. I won’t let her hang her future on me. I might not come back from this.”

And I’ve seen how destructive love can be. I saw it in my parents. I saw it in my sister. I would never put Mindy through a lifetime of my brokenness.

“I wouldn’t bet against you.” He follows me into the house. “I’ve seen you with her, and I know you. Mindy is your reason to fight.”

HOURS LATER, I’m in my room packing shirts in a suitcase. I’ve called Patton, and he’s set me up in a penthouse in one of his high-rise apartments in Nashville.

His dad finally gave him control of their family business, a local real estate company Patton turned into the Airbnb of the commercial real estate market. Now he’s richer than anybody I know. He has clients all over the world who come to him for short-term office rentals in the United States. Taron explained it to me, and it sounds pretty genius.

I like Patton, but we’ve always been two alphas in the same pack. In the past it was better if we kept things long-distance so we didn’t bump heads… Now I need help.

My confidence is shot, and I’m going to Tennessee hoping to beat the odds.

“That’s a big suitcase.” Mindy’s voice interrupts my reverie.

I turn, and the sight of her rips through my heart. She’s so beautiful… and I know what I have to do. I have to let her go. I can’t chain her to me when I’m broken.

“Where you headed?”

“Nashville. I’ve got friends there. Taron has this…” My voice trails off before I can say the word therapist.

“Were you even going to tell me?” She’s dressed in all black like she’s in mourning, and I want to pull her in my arms and hold her, tell her I know I’m going to beat this, tell her I’ll be back soon and to wait for me.

But I don’t know if any of that is true.

I only know I have to end it.

“I was going to tell you.”

A sad smile crosses her face. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“I haven’t handled things very well.” Shutting everyone out was all I knew to do. Going to Patton, asking for help—these things are against my nature. “Are you… okay?”

“No.” Her voice is quiet.

Shame tightens my brow when I remember last night. “You’re not?”

“The man I love is in trouble, but he won’t let me help him. He’s struggling, but he won’t tell me why. Now I find him packing to leave, and I don’t think he was going to say goodbye.”

I turn toward the dresser, bracing my hands on the sides of the smooth wood. “Don’t say that.”

“What? The truth?”

“I hurt you, Mindy. I could do it again.”

“If you’re in trouble I want to help you.” The anguish in her voice lashes my bleeding chest.

“You can’t help me.” My hands tighten on the sides of the dresser, and I shove it against the wall. It hits with a loud crash, sending everything on top falling. “This isn’t like coming home without an arm or a leg. I can’t control this. I don’t even know why it happens.”

Every word feels like cutting out pieces of my heart.

Silence fills the room—the deafening kind that follows an outburst of rage. It pushes against the insides of my ears. It’s punctuated by the ticking of the clock, the sound of water running downstairs.

Everywhere else in the world, it’s just another Sunday afternoon. Here, in this quiet room, my world is falling apart.

“I love you.”

“Don’t.” I won’t let her say it.

She inhales a shaky breath, and a crystal tear falls when she blinks. “I know you feel like the entire world is on your shoulders. I know you think you have to be strong, to protect us. But please, Sawyer, don’t shut me out again.”

The break in her voice is more than I can bear, but I have to do the selfless thing. I have to set her free.

“I’m not shutting you out.” Turning to face her, I level my eyes, removing all emotion from my face, from my words. “I’m telling you it’s over. Go to Dallas and follow your dreams. We’re through.”

23

Mindy

He’s gone.

For two days, I’ve cried. The pain is so intense, sometimes I can’t breathe.

I’ll never recover.

I don’t want to recover.

Losing Sawyer is more than a breakup. It’s losing my life—years of holding his hand, turning to him when I’m lost or alone. It’s abandonment.

I told everyone I had a stomach bug and stayed in bed until Wednesday. Ma took my temperature and said she couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t have a fever.

Still, she let me be. The festival is so much work, everyone’s pretty exhausted once it’s over.

I messaged Ramona to make sure Beth Hebert wasn’t causing trouble. My favorite nurse said so far, nothing had happened.

I messaged my bestie, to be sure… and Noel confirmed her brother left town. So sudden, and so unlike him. He never does anything spontaneous, and he hates big cities… She didn’t put us together after our dance at the festival. Like I told him, we didn’t arrive together. Everyone assumed we were just old friends dancing.

Everyone but the very few who knew the truth.

Today is Wednesday, and I’ve got to get back to work.

“Rosemary Leblanc is Ms. Silver Peach.” I turn the Xeroxed newsletter in my hands. “She didn’t even wear a bikini.”

“She gave a really good interview.” Mrs. Irene stands in front of the window, pressing her fingertips in the soil of her plants. “They asked her what made her different from the other contestants.”

“What in the world did she say?”

“She’s never slept with Jimmy Hebert.”

I cut my eyes at her. “You’re joking.”

“I am.” Her eyes dance, and she covers her smile with her fingers. “She said something about world peace and feeding the children…”

She’s in a happy mood, and I try to smile, not wanting to bring her down. She knows me too well. “I expected a bigger laugh out of that one. What’s wrong?”

Clearing my throat, I do my best to swallow the pain in my chest. “Sawyer’s gone.”

It’s the most I can get out without breaking down.

Her smile fades, and she puts an arm around me. “Gone?”

“He packed a big suitcase and went to Nashville. He said he has friends there.”

She appears confused. “Is he coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

Her lips press into a frown, and she leads me to sit on the edge of her bed. “This isn’t the first time he’s shut you out.”

“It’s the last time.” I inhale a shaky breath. “He said it’s over.”

Mrs. Irene puts her arms around me. “You’re going to survive this.”

I don’t even try to stop my tears. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

Holding me, she rocks side to side. I hold her arm and listen to the sound of her humming. It’s a song I don’t know, soft and sad.

After a few minutes, I have to get up and find a box of tissues. “My face is a mess.”

She studies me, waiting as I blow my nose. “I’ve never asked you this, and I want you to think about it before you answer.”

Cleaning my eyes, I nod. “Okay.”

“You’ve known Sawyer a long time, since you were a little girl.” She waits, and I nod. Then I realize she can’t see me nodding. “That’s right.”

“Are you sure you’re in love with the man he is now, or are you in love with what you want him to be?”

It’s not a question I was expecting, and my obliterated heart flares with defensiveness. “I’m in love with Sawyer always. I’ve known him my whole life, and every year my love has grown stronger.”

She closes her eyes and lifts her chin as if she’s hearing voices from beyond. “Your aura is so blue today.” Her eyes flutter open to the ceiling, and concern lines her face. “You’re a wonderful friend, a passionate lover, but you need to take care of yourself. Come to me.”

She holds out a hand, and I go to where she’s sitting.

“You’re a jewel, Melinda Claire. Why do you feel you don’t deserve to be treated as one?”

“I do…” My voice is small, sad. “Sawyer can treat me that way.”

“But he doesn’t.” Her warm smile is not making me feel better.

“He does. He’s always been quiet.”

Releasing my hands, she lowers her gaze back to somewhere in my vicinity. “I want you to listen to me.” She looks at me like the school teacher she used to be. “Sawyer LaGrange is a man just like any other man. He’ll rise to whatever level you expect from him. You’re beautiful and strong, but you’ve given him all the power. I want you to go out there and find out who you are without him in your life. The day you put your head on your pillow knowing you don’t need him is the day he’ll come back to you.”

I don’t have an answer for this. It actually sounds like something Oprah would say. “I’m just so tired, Mrs. Irene. I don’t think I can do it.”

“You can and you will.” She’s so certain.

I wish I felt as certain as she does. “Deacon says I should go to Dallas and start my design business.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“It wouldn’t be permanent. I’d stay with William until I had a good enough client base to bring home.” Exhaling a sad little laugh, I shake my head. “I never thought I’d want to live here. Now, with you and my family, my friends… I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

Even if Sawyer doesn’t want me, it’s my home.

“This is a good course of action. It’s exactly what you need to do.” Her chin lifts and her blue eyes glow. “Get away for a while, and when I see you again, you’ll be better.”

I STAND at my window looking out at the night sky. I’m so tired. I’m sad and depressed and not sure I have what it takes to make this move.

Sawyer wanted to be an owl. I wanted to be the moon. Tonight a full moon is out, and I imagine the owls coming from their nests. Wishes don’t always come true, it seems.

Before I left the nursing home, I gave them my notice. When I got home, I talked Ma and told her my plan. She was resistant at first, but when I said Deacon had helped me make it, she eased up a bit. She liked that it was only temporary—at least that’s what I’m saying. Who knows what the future might bring?

Walking from my window, I sit at my small desk. In the drawer is an old notebook, and I manage to find a ball point pen that writes. Deacon said to write things down. Sliding my hand across the blank page, I think about what I want to say.

Dear Sawyer,

Do you remember our first time? I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I’d loved you for years, but you said I was too young. Even back then, you told me to find someone else.

I tried. Honestly, I did.

When you came back, I gave you the space you needed. I thought it was because you wanted to be sure. I made so many excuses for you.

Now you’re gone, and I feel like my life is over. I don’t even want to go on. It’s unhealthy and wrong, but it’s true.

Mrs. Irene says I have to find out who I am without you. I think she means it’s time to grow up. So maybe my life has ended… the baby girl part.

You went away to find yourself. Now I’m doing the same. Maybe we’ll find a way back to each other. Maybe we won’t.

Either way, I’ll never forget who I was with you. I was the moon, and you were my owl. I was the anchor, and you were my ship. I’d like to think I kept you safe, but maybe I held you down or kept you from flying away.

No matter what, I love you. I still dream of a life with you. It’s a life where if I’m your anchor, it’s because you want to stay near me.

You always held my hand, since that day in the field. Now it’s time I held my own hand.

I don’t expect to get over you. No one could talk me out of loving you—not even you. So while this is goodbye, I’ll always love you, Sawyer LaGrange.

Forever,

Melinda

Drops of water hit the page, bubbling in spots of ink. My tears won’t stop. Going to my bed, I lie on my side, holding my knees to my chest. I cry for myself, but I also cry for him. I know him, but I don’t understand why he won’t let us help him.

Closing my eyes, the tears wash down my cheeks, and I pray for him. I pray he’ll find the healing he needs. I pray I’ll find the strength I need. In two weeks, I’m packing my bags and going to Dallas. I’m going to dry my eyes and follow my plan. I’ll stand on my own feet, holding my own hand, and I’ll learn to live without him.

24

Sawyer

“Step one is admitting you have the feelings, opening the door.” Dr. Charlotte Curtis has a straight, dark-brown bob laced with gray around her part. “Step two is deciding how we’re going to address it.”

She doesn’t smile, which I like. She wears very small, round glasses over her dark eyes, and she studies me with pursed lips like I’m a bug under a microscope. To be honest, I find it much preferable to the therapist I was assigned when we first returned—a perky blonde bubbling with optimism.

I don’t feel optimistic.

A fountain sits on a credenza behind her desk, and it makes a rippling noise. I let the calming sound fill the silence as I think about her statements.

“I don’t want the meds.” I’ve read about the drugs commonly prescribed for PTSD, and I don’t like the side effects.

She nods, making a note on a yellow legal pad on her desk. “There’s some very strong research supporting meditation as an alternative to psychotropic drugs for PTSD.”

“Meditation… that’s just thinking.” I nod, liking this idea. “I do that a lot already.”

“Actually, meditation is not thinking. It’s the opposite.” She meets my gaze. “Meditation is clearing your mind so you achieve an emotionally calm state. Thoughts might come, but you create distance from them, like watching clouds go by.”

I sit back in my chair thinking about this. “A calm state.”

Her smile is reassuring. “It’s not as easy as it sounds, but I have several programs I can recommend for you to try…”

This is good.

“Do you have any questions for me? Anything you want to know?”

“Yes.”

Her brow furrows, and she leans forward expectantly.

I ask the question perplexing me most. “Why now?”

“You mean why is this condition manifesting now?”

“Exactly. Why not sooner? Why not right when I got home?”

“Any number of reasons.” She shrugs, lifting her heavy black pen and turning it in her fingers. “Perhaps an event triggered it, a dramatic change in your life, a new baby—”

“It didn’t happen when Dove was born.” My brain kicks into gear, cycling through everything she’s saying and trying to find a match.

“Dove is your daughter?”

“My niece. My sister’s daughter…” I don’t want to go into all of Noel’s personal business, so I keep it brief. “Basically, I helped raise her as a baby.”

“Good to know.” She nods, making a note on her pad. “Or it could be a new relationship triggered it…”

Anger rises in my chest. “So you’re saying good things, happy events led to this? To me being a threat to my family?”

“Of course.” Dr. Curtis is undeterred by my tone. “If you think about it, when something happy occurs, you relax internally, the tight control you’ve held over your emotions is disabled. You can’t select which emotions will slip through. They all come to the surface when you cease to suppress them.”

My jaw tightens as I think about this. It makes sense, but I don’t like it. “How long?”

“How long… will it last?” I nod, and she exhales.

Her resigned expression is not encouraging.

I meet her eyes, ready for my sentence. “Forever?”

“Not necessarily.” She rises, walking to the wall of windows behind her. “You don’t want medication, which is fine. How soon can you start the meditation practice?”

“I’ll start today.”

She turns and picks up the slip of paper. “It won’t be as easy as you think.”

“You have no idea how hard I work.”

“This isn’t just work. This is the fight of your life.”

“I’m ready.” If it means I have a chance at a normal life, a chance at being the man Mindy deserves, it’s worth it.

I might not have said it, but Taron was right. Mindy is my reason to fight.

“WHAT DID YOU THINK OF HER?” Patton is across a small table from me in a rooftop bar. I think the name of this place is AJ’s.

He’s wearing a charcoal suit—probably Armani, and his dark hair is longer than when we were in the service, still neat, but falling over his forehead. His presence is commanding, which is why they always made him the leader of our band of Marines. We’re pretty equally matched, but Patton has those dark eyes that nail you in place.

“Dr. Curtis?” I tilt my tumbler of whiskey side to side, thinking of my afternoon session. “She’s a ball buster.”

He leans back and laughs. “I love that old broad.”

“She didn’t look that old to me.” I lift the glass taking a sip.

“She’s probably sixty.” He’s drinking vodka, and I cut my eyes at him. “Did you see her?”

“Of course.” He leans back. “It was a condition of our release. We all suffered trauma.”

“Did they tell you anything specific?” If only one of us was told the same thing as I was, I could believe I’m not alone.

Something like, if Patton can beat this, so can I, which I know is childish, but I need that sliver of hope.

“Not really. Psychological trauma takes different forms, depending on your background.” He lifts the tumbler and takes a sip, watching me over the rim. “What did they tell you?”

My grip tightens on the crystal, and I think about how much information I want to share. As always, not much. “The usual PTSD shit.”

“It must be pretty bad to haul your ass to the city.”

“The usual PTSD shit can be pretty damn disruptive.” Looking into my glass, I almost ordered tequila… until I remembered her. “It ruined everything.”

He’s quiet a minute, studying me. When I glance up, I see he’s grinning. “What’s her name?” I’m irritated he read me like a book, but he smooths my ruffled feathers. “Go on and confess. We’ve all found the one by now. Who’s your reason to fight?”

“Melinda… Mindy.” Pain blooms in my chest just saying her name, remembering her beautiful green eyes full of tears.

“Do you love her?”

I hesitate. I couldn’t say it to her before I left. Now she’s a million miles away. “Yes.”

“Then you’d better man up. You’ll lose her if you don’t get your shit together.”

“I probably already have.” Breathing through the pain, I take another drink. “That’s why I’m here, to see if I can beat this.”

“Of course, you can. You’re strong, and I’m right here with you. Like always.”

Our eyes meet, and as much as we might butt heads, I’ve always appreciated him having my back.

“Now that we’re on the same page…” He nods, and tilts his glass side to side. “Are you looking for work while you’re in town? Or are you just doing therapy?”

My brow furrows, and I think about this. “It’s possible I could be here a while. What did you have in mind?”

“Actually… I need someone right now. It’s perfect for contract work if you’re interested. The pay’s good.”

“You’ve already put me up in a penthouse.” The apartment’s so damn nice, I’m a little afraid to touch anything. “I’ll work for rent.”

“I’m paying you. I need the tax write off.” He stands, fishing in his pocket and tosses several bills on the table.

Shaking my head, I decide I’m not in the mood to fight. “What’s the work?”

“Inspecting rental properties before and after the lessees take possession. Make sure everything’s clean, nothing’s damaged or left behind, check for safety issues… Sound okay?”

It actually sounds kind of perfect. “When do I start?”

“Come to the office tomorrow and we’ll get you set up.”

He clasps my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, brother.”

Patton’s friendship is a constant, and it helps me feel a little less like I’m pushing a bolder up a hill.

TIME PASSES SLOWLY. Every week, I meet with Dr. Curtis to talk, which is hard for me, but she gets it. She doesn’t push, but I push. Mindy is my motivation. When I force myself to be different, to tell this doctor my feelings and answer every question she asks, it’s Mindy’s face I see. I see her crystal tears, and they ache in my chest.

I’m doing this for her.

Days I’m not meeting with the doc, I inspect Patton’s properties. It’s pretty mundane work, going to empty buildings, walking around, taking pictures. He and I meet up as much as we can, but Patton has his own family now. I’m alone most evenings.

I check in with Noel, I watch the fishing channel, and I think of Mindy.

Mindy…

I never said much, but just being with her made me happy. She’d put her hand in mine and tell me about her day. She’d laugh and push her pretty hair behind her ear, and I’d listen to the sound of her voice, the highs and the lows, the music of her soothed me.

Now it’s silence.

“TELL me the first thoughts that come to your mind.” Dr. Curtis is in a chair, and I’m sitting on the couch.

We’re experimenting with a treatment called brainspotting. In our first session, she held a pointer in different locations in the air. I followed it with my eyes and told her the place where I felt the most anxiety.

Now I’m focused on the pointer in that spot, and I’m supposed to say whatever comes into my mind. She says it promotes deep healing in the brain. I’m skeptical, but like always, I’ll try anything if it helps me get home.

I’m wearing headphones playing instrumental music over the sounds of the sea, waves crashing. The music reminds me of the parts in movies where the hero comes home from battle and the sunrise is golden and everyone is smiling.

I stare at the pointer in the air and start to speak. “I didn’t come home a hero. We were sent home after everything went wrong.”

She doesn’t answer, and I keep going.

“I didn’t do anything I expected I would. I went to serve and protect. I went to travel and see other countries. We never made it out of Mexico, and when we got back, we left a dead girl behind.”

Shame and guilt bubble up in my chest. I don’t want to go back to this place, and I glance at Dr. Curtis’s face. She gives me a calm smile, and I take a deep breath, returning my gaze to the tip of the pointer.

The music plays and minutes pass. I listen, trying to relax my mind, trying to go back there, to the place we need to explore. Dr. Curtis says if I can do this, face these memories, it can be a powerful healing tool.

I can do this.

I follow the violins rising and falling over the call of seagulls. I listen to the waves… They remind me of being lost at sea. I think of holding Mindy’s hand. Mindy’s hand in mine, palm against palm…

“I should’ve stayed home that morning. If I hadn’t gone fishing, I would’ve been there to stop him. I could’ve kept him from going up that hill. I could’ve kept everything from falling apart…” Crushing pain fills my lungs. It’s difficult to breathe. “I failed both times. I wasn’t there when they needed me and someone died…”

I can’t go farther.

The music ends.

“You did good.” Dr. Curtis lowers the pointer. “Go home and rest. We’ll start there tomorrow.”

Heaviness follows me home. After my prescribed, nightly meditation, I go to bed with memories thick in my mind. My longing for Mindy is constant, but tonight is different. Tonight, I’m digging deep into my past, unearthing experiences I’ve always controlled, wounds I always suppressed.

I’m exhausted like it’s the middle of harvest, but I’m changing. Like shoots pushing through tightly packed soil, I feel something rising, something new. I didn’t believe it was possible. I gave up before I even came here.

Now a tiny spark of hope rises in the darkness.

25

Mindy

“Home is the hunter!” William throws out his arms as soon as I walk through the door.

William’s apartment is located in the downtown arts district, which is tricky for parking but perfect for his career in theater and interior design.

“Dallas isn’t my home, William.” I step into his hug, and he gives me a long squeeze, engulfing me in his soft body.

“Hush, child. You’re ruining our beautiful reunion scene.”

“I don’t get the reference.” He releases me, and I follow him to the guest room, rolling my suitcase behind me.

“What your generation doesn’t know about film. It’s from The Promise, circa 1979.” He swipes one side of his chiffon cardigan over his shoulder. “Starring Academy Award winner Beatrice Straight.”

“Beatrice Straight…” I think a long minute. “Isn’t that the red-headed lady from Poltergeist?”

“There is hope for you after all!” He lifts my suitcase onto the twin bed, which is covered in a mint green and pink floral shabby-chic spread. “She played Dr. Lesh, the terrified paranormal detective shaking her coffee cup.”

“Are you doing a performance of it?”

“What? Poltergeist?”

“The Promise.”

“Oh, Lord no, that soapy thing?” He sashays around the room, turning on the lamp and opening the closet. “It just came to mind when I saw you on the doorstep looking like you’d lost your identity.”

Nice. William has always had the knack for hitting the nail on the head.

“Well… I don’t consider Dallas my home, but I love visiting you.” I look around the modestly sized bedroom. It’s all coordinated to match the bedspread, and it looks straight out of a Target ad. “I think this room is nicer than my own back home.”

“Your room back home hasn’t changed since you were in elementary school.”

“I figured I’d have my own place by now, so why bother.” Going to the bed, I unzip my suitcase and start taking out my clothes. “And you know very well interior design is not my strong suit.”

“Trust me, I know. I decorated all your dorm rooms.”

I manage to smile. “Thanks for putting me up.”

“Girl! I don’t mind at all. How long are you in town?”

“As long as it takes, I guess. Deacon helped me get appointments with two of his friends, Richland Wells and Lincoln Beale…”

“Um-hm, they are both fabulous. Rich works at One Dallas West, the tallest office building in the downtown area. Total asshole. Totally delish. Link is out near Fort Worth. Cowboys and horses and shit. He is also very hot.”

I’ve known William so long, I don’t even bother saying I couldn’t be less interested in how attractive they are. He’s going to give me his opinion regardless.

“Well, I’m meeting Rich tomorrow and Link the next day. Hopefully from there I’ll meet more upscale clients.”

Lifting my green knit wrap dress, I give it a shake before hanging it in the closet. “I probably should’ve left these hanging.”

“I have an iron. And there’s a dry cleaner on the corner.”

“If you’ll give me five minutes, I’ll just shower, and we can chat.”

“Take your time. I’ve got a rosé in the fridge.”

A little more than five minutes later, I’m walking out in my bright red pajama pants and sleep tee with my hair piled on my head in a bun ready to flop on the couch, drink wine, and gossip.

William takes one look at me and immediately starts fussing. “Nope, nope nope. Get out of those pajamas and into something cute. It’s your first night in town, and I’m showing you the neighborhood.”

“Oh, William, no,” I start to whine.

It’s been two weeks since Sawyer left me, and I still prefer curling up on the couch to being around happy people.

“Don’t Oh, William me.”

“But I thought we were going to drink rosé.”

“Not tonight. You’ve been through a breakup, and I can tell by that face, all you’ve done is mope. We’re going out.”

Another ten minutes, and we’re walking up Ross Avenue toward the Flora Street Pub, a trendy Mexican-style bistro operated by some Dallas celebrity chef whose name I didn’t recognize.

I’m wearing skinny jeans and a swishy maroon tank, and William ditched the striped and floral-printed chiffon cardigan and is now dressed in all black with a scarlet velvet smoking jacket on top. He’s very Tituss Burgess elegance.

We enter the pub and the hostess leads us to a red vinyl booth. I hold his arm as we cross dark wood floors and slip in beside each other. A waitress waits while he orders a bottle of Chardonnay, and once she’s gone, he turns to me with a swoosh.

“Deacon said you’re not to leave Dallas until you’re back to your old Sasha-fierce self again. Tell me what happened, so I know what I’m working with.”

“Deacon…” I roll my eyes, taking a sip of the dry, oaky Chardonnay. “He’s turning into the hero of Harristown.”

“It’s funny to imagine him falling so in love with that little hamlet in the middle of nowhere Louisiana. I would have pegged him a bonafide Dallas boy, through and through.”

William and I became friends through our art classes at Harris Tech. He and Deacon connected because they’re both from around Dallas, which means William would bum rides home whenever he could.

“He likes the small-town vibe.” Swirling my glass, I trace my fingers along the base remembering a time when that vibe drove me nuts. Now, I kind of miss it. “And all the old ladies love him there.”

“It’s Psychology 101.” William takes a sip of his wine. “He’s trying to find his mother, because Lord knows Winnie’s no saint. But enough about Deacon. Tell me what happened with you and that luscious piece of man meat.”

I exhale a wobbly breath. I’d prefer to armchair-psychoanalyze Deacon if we could skip over my tragic love story, but William would never let me get away with that.

“Sawyer said it’s over.” My throat tightens, but I swallow the tears. “Then he moved to Nashville.”

“That man moved to Nashville? What is happening to everyone all of a sudden? Deacon’s going small town, Sawyer’s going big city… It’s all wrong!”

A sad smile curls my lips. “I agree.”

I want to engage in his banter, but instead I take a longer sip of wine. He presses his lips together and reaches across the table to hold my hand. “You still love him?”

I nod, sniffing. “I always will.”

His hand tightens on mine. “We’re going to get you through this, my friend. You’re smart, beautiful, and Dallas is at your feet.”

I wrinkle my nose, doing my best not to cry. “Not yet.”

“Just give us time.” He smiles warmly. “You’ve got two secret weapons… Deacon and me, and starting tomorrow, you’re meeting with one of the top guys in oil and gas and livestock. I think Link is single… Maybe we can make a little love connection there.”

“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “I am not interested.”

“Girl…” He tilts his head. “You know what they say, the best way to get over an old man is to get under a new one.”

“No, thank you. No.” The thought of being with anyone but Sawyer turns me cold. “This is my time. I’m all about me right now.”

“Okay.” He makes a face. “Well, all the single ladies. Put your hands up.”

I raise my hands. “That’s me.”

Mrs. Irene’s words are in my mind. The day I can lay my head on my pillow not worried about whether he’s coming back is the day he’ll reappear.

I’m waiting for that day.

“WHEN PEOPLE SEARCH LANDMAN, I want to be at the top of the list of results.” Rich Wells sits behind a dark mahogany desk in a black leather chair, one leg crossed over the other. “Can you do that for me?”

He’s wearing an expensive gray suit, and his light brown hair is a little long and shaggy. With his blue eyes and easy smile, I imagine he can transition from the boardroom to the oil field and appear to belong in both places pretty easily.

He’s cocky as shit, but he seems nice enough. Deacon sent me to meet him, so he must be okay. I’m making mental notes, getting a good idea for the concept I’ll design for him.

“SEO isn’t my area of expertise, but I can find someone for you.” I’m wearing my dark green wrap dress, and my hair is in a low ponytail over one shoulder. I’m in black pumps, and my goal is to exude brand-building professionalism. “My job is to design your logo, website, and create a look around it all so once customers do arrive at that top hit, they’ll will feel they have to work with you or they’re missing out. FOMO is a huge motivator.”

“FOMO?”

“Fear of missing out.”

His eyebrows rise, and he nods. “Oil men are pretty arrogant from the get go. But you sound confident.”

“I’ve helped launch two independent brands from Harristown, Louisiana, that are now making six-figure profits per year.”

“What field?”

“Produce and cosmetics.” I tap on the screen of my iPad pro and pull up Noel’s website for Autumn’s Bounty. “I did everything for her that I’ll do for you.”

Passing the device to him, I wait as he swipes through all the pages. “This is good. I don’t know much about cosmetics, but I like the way this looks. I like this here.”

He turns it to the About Us tab, where I have a photo of Noel smiling and holding a peach while Dove puts lip balm on her mother’s lips.

“Yes, the personal touch is very important to today’s consumers.”

“Hell, I’m going to place an order right now. My ex would love this stuff.”

His friendly nature helps me relax. I smile and start to feel like maybe Deacon and William are right. Maybe I can take Dallas by storm.

He hands the iPad back to me, and I glance at the screen. “You buy cosmetics for your ex?”

“It’s complicated.” He laughs, pointing at me across the desk. “You’re hired, by the way. Everyone thinks landmen are sneaky assholes. You’ll make me look nice—that’s exactly what I need.”

“I’ll do my research and come up with a concept that makes you a sterling beacon of honesty and friendship.”

“Friendship might be taking it too far.”

“Okay… We’ll stop at honesty and make it more accessibility.”

“But not too accessible.”

“Not too accessible.” I smile feeling eager to get started and… happy. How is that possible?

“Perfect.” He stands, holding out his hand. “Whatever you need, just let me know. Deacon speaks very highly of you. I look forward to seeing your work.”

“I’ll have a concept to you by the end of the week.”

One Texas landman down. That just leaves a horse trader in Fort Worth. I feel like I should start a television show. How to shake off the pain of a broken heart by kickstarting your career.

William is doing everything his power not to say I told you so. “Rich is a total flirt.” Today, he’s in a dark brown undershirt with a bright blue satin kimono on top. Love Island is on pause on the oversized flat screen television in the living room. “But he’s hopelessly stuck on his ex-wife, from what I understand.”

“Oh my gosh!” I hop over the back of the couch and land on my feet in front of him. Tonight I’m back in my red PJ pants and my favorite sleep tee that says I only sleep with the best.

“Easy, girl! My fuzzy navel!” William places the bright yellow drink carefully on the end table.

“I showed him the websites I’ve created, and he ordered some of Noel’s lip mask for his ex.” I sit back making big eyes and smiling like I solved an Agatha Christie mystery.

William rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “What to do with that boy. Although, she is gorgeous. Former Dallas Cowboy cheerleader turned journalist. She’s beauty and brains. You two should be besties.”

Shifting in my seat, I look up at the television, thinking. I haven’t cried once today—a first in two weeks. “I’m feeling really good.”

“You should feel good, Little Italy! You’re taking Big D by storm—just like I predicted.” He takes a sip and nods toward me. “What would Mamma J say?”

Ma… It doesn’t take a second for me to answer. “She’d say when are you coming home.”

We laugh, and I rest my cheek on bent knees. I’ll be home soon, but first I have to do what Mrs. Irene says. It’s time to take care of me, stand on my own feet, and figure out who I am without him. It’s time to grow up.

Curling under the warm quilt, I stare at the ceiling, thinking how far away from home I am. I’m sharing an apartment with my friend, and I’m learning to be myself as an adult apart from my mother, apart from him.

Closing my eyes, I swallow the ache in my throat, the never-ending longing in my heart.

Being independent is a good thing.

Still, when sleep finally washes over me, my dreams go where they always do, into the arms of a strong, silent Marine who told me to hold his hand and never let go.

LINCOLN BEALE IS NOT AT ALL what I expect as the head of marketing for Superior Show Horses. For starters, he’s not wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and an oversized belt buckle. He actually looks like he stepped out of the pages of Esquire.

“Miss Ray?” He’s quiet, more polished than Rich. Tall with dark hair and blue eyes, a nice square jaw and dressed in a buttoned-down oxford and tweed blazer with jeans. “Thanks for meeting me at the stables. We had an incident this afternoon that changed my plans.”

So formal.

I’m in dark jeans, a red blouse, and knee-high riding boots. Today, my hair is loose down my back, but I still project a very professional image. “It’s actually better this way. Seeing you in your element helps me visualize a concept.”

“A concept.” He slides a hand through his thick hair. “I would think a name like Superior Show Horses tells you all you need to know.”

He’s being genuinely nice, so I answer honestly. “What type of horses? Thoroughbred or stock? Racing, jumping, or rodeo? A picture says a thousand words.”

“I see your point.” Stopping, he faces me, and when he smiles, he has white teeth and an attractive dimple in his cheek. “Our logo needs updating, and we’d like to have a better website altogether. Deb, the owner wants to do a print campaign in the trade magazines, and I’m wondering if you’re free on Friday night for dinner.”

I’m making mental notes as he runs through the list, then everything screeches to a halt. “I’m sorry? Did you just ask me out?”

He leans forward, arching a dark brow. “Too soon?”

My lips part, and I swear I forget my words. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Because we’re working together? You’re right.” He holds the door for me, chuckling as I pass. “Still… Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“I’m very flattered.” I pivot inside the office, doing my best to be very clear. “But I’ve just come out of a long relationship, and it’s never a good idea to mix business and personal.”

He holds up both hands. “Pretend it never happened.”

We spend the next several minutes going over the breeds of horses they handle and their upcoming events.

“I’ll have a concept to you by the end of the week.” This time when I hand over my card, I remember to say what I didn’t say to Rich. “If you know anybody who could use my services, I really depend on referrals.”

He studies it a second. “My sister is launching a new professional cheer program outside of Plano. She could probably use your help. I’ll give her your number.”

My brow relaxes, and again, I’m flooded with hope. “Thank you.” It’s more of a gush than I intend. “I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to work with me.”

He looks confused. “Why wouldn’t I? Deacon says you’re the best, and you clearly know what you’re doing.”

“I just… I don’t know.” I slip my purse on my shoulder not wanting to go back down an uncomfortable road.

“Because I asked you out?” He looks offended. “I’d never let something like that jeopardize a good business deal. And who knows, I might grow on you.”

He gives me a wink, but I just shake my head. “Strictly business, Mr. Beale.”

By the time I get back to William’s I’ve got a message on my phone from Charlotte “Charlie” Beale about meeting with her to develop a look for Cheer Texas. This time as we watch Love Island, we’re clinking glasses of champagne.

Oprah says what God intended for you goes far beyond anything you could imagine. I hope she’s right, because I can imagine a lot, and I’m ready to make it happen. Mrs. Irene’s words have become my mantra, and my focus is on success.

26

Sawyer

Six Months Later

Visualize a blue sky, open air. Safety. Let your thoughts drift by like white, fluffy clouds. Say the words in your mind when you feel your focus slipping. Breathe.

Headphones are in my ears, and I’m listening to a new meditation from Dr. Curtis.

She says I’m ready to go home, and she wants to write a thesis on all we’ve done since I came here—the brainspotting, the meditation, the talk therapy. She says it’s vital to the military’s ongoing efforts to treat service men and keep them active.

No objections here. I haven’t had an episode in weeks, the iron fist of pain in my chest has released, but more than that, I don’t get that itchy feeling all over my body when I’m asked about my feelings.

I still don’t care for the question, and I don’t like people who talk too much. But now I understand the value of getting shit out of my head. Now I can say what’s on my mind.

Pulling into the parking space, I switch off the app with Mindy heavy on my mind—a shit ton of emotions are in my chest when it comes to her.

Will she see me again?

Six months is a long time, and I haven’t tried to contact her. When I left, I told her it was over. I felt like it would be unfair to maintain contact not knowing if I’d ever reach this point.

Remembering the way I left her rips me up inside. I was so overwhelmed by my demons, I couldn’t even say I loved her when she told me she loved me with tears in her eyes. She wanted to help me, and I was a piece of shit.

Resting my elbow on the steering wheel, I rub my hands down my face. Now that I’m stronger, I can see how vital she is to my existence. I’m healthy enough to say out loud how much I love her.

Will she be willing to hear it?

I won’t blame her if she tells me to go to hell.

Still, I’ve got to try. I’ve got to fight for her. I’ve got to show her I’ve changed, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to fix our past, to get my little anchor back. I want to feel her hand holding mine so deep in my soul…

Will she forgive me?

I’ve been damn lucky so far on this journey. Is it possible to believe I could be that lucky again? Only one way to find out, and I’ve already packed my bags.

This is my last job for Patton, checking the Office Revolution property located just outside of Nashville. His tenants from Madagascar just cleared out, and our job is to assess how soon we can get this place back on the market.

I shove the keys in my pocket and head for the front door, reviewing his text. The usual drill. Check for damages, make sure nothing was left behind. Check the storage spaces for leftover boxes. If we need to bring in a cleaning service, we can.

I’m distracted by thoughts of seeing Mindy again as I flip the light switches back and forth. Nothing happens. The power must have been switched off after the tenants left. No worries. I have a flashlight in my pocket, and it’s daylight outside.

Twisting the wand on the blinds, I allow the sun to stream through the open floor plan. I take a few photos of spots on the carpet that might require professional cleaners. Otherwise, I don’t see anything notable.

I’m about to head out and send the photos to Patton when I remember to check for boxes left behind in storage. Jogging to the back of the room, I head down a narrow hallway to a door beside a beige filing cabinet.

The light from the windows doesn’t reach this far into the building, and I left my flashlight on the front desk with the keys. Hesitating, I look around. Enough light filters from the front to let me see if anything is here.

I take another step closer to the narrow door, and my heart beats faster. My chest tightens, and the familiar nausea is in my stomach. No. I grind my jaw refusing to let this happen. I’ve worked so hard, dammit.

Closing my eyes, I inhale slowly, focusing on the words. I think about the meditation I listened to on the drive over… Safety.

Opening my eyes again, I see the door, and I’m slammed with a fresh jolt of adrenaline. I’m not alone… They’re in there, behind the door. She’s in there. Danger.

I take another step, and the muscles in my abdomen pull together so hard, I have to take a knee.

“No.” I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting. “Jesus…”

It’s the opposite of what Dr. Curtis would say. I’m supposed to be calm, not fighting. Clutching my forehead, I force myself to stand. Through a gasping breath, I force my feet to move forward.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the door, turning the handle, and letting it fall open. Anxiety like a freight train slams into my brain. Fog blinds my eyes, and I’m in that jungle again, looking through those doors.

Only I’m not there. I’m here, in Nashville. Safety.

Sweeping my eyes around the room, I see nothing but an empty space. A sound behind me sends me flying around with a shout, swinging my fist without even looking.

Blank space. I’m alone. It’s all in my mind.

With a cringe, I’m thankful I didn’t just punch an innocent person’s lights out.

Again, using all my willpower, I force my feet to move. I force my body to walk out the door, down the steps, to my truck. I’m shaken and covered in sweat. Shame, defeat, despair sweep through me. I don’t text Patton. I go straight to Dr. Curtis’s office.

“It was a setback, yes, but let’s reframe it.” Dr. Curtis sits across from me, her elbows on the desk and her fingers steepled. “You got yourself out of that storage closet on your own. You brought your mind back to the present. That’s huge, Sawyer.”

The fountain trickles behind her, and the discouragement I feel eases a fraction. “I don’t know if I’d say huge.” My voice is still flat. I’m not ready to concede just yet.

Still, I think to the previous times, at the nursing home, outside Noel’s store, at the lake…

“You’re ready.” She takes out her pen and writes on a pad. “We’ll check in via Skype once a month, but I see no reason for you to stay in Nashville any longer. Look at me Mr. LaGrange.”

Our eyes meet, and hers burn with conviction. “You saved yourself today. Own that victory and keep building. You’ve got this.”

“UNCLE SAWYER’S HOME!” Dove is at the back door bouncing on her toes and squealing at the top of her lungs. “Uncle Sawyer’s home!”

A smile splits my cheeks, and I slam the door of the truck, grabbing my canvas deployment bag out of the bed. “I’m home, baby girl!”

She bursts out of the screen door, letting it slam behind her, and running as hard as she can straight to my arms.

“I think you outran Akela!” I laugh, swinging her up and hugging her tightly.

Her little arms are so tight around my neck, and when she whispers I missed you, I swear, I get a little choked up. Funny kid.

“You missed a lot of second grade.” She sits back on my arm. I let her slide down to her feet, and she pulls me by my hand to the house. “But that’s okay because I can tell you everything. My teacher is Miss Toranado, which I think sounds like tornado. But Mamma says I can’t say that because it’s disrespectful.”

“Sawyer?” Noel appears at the door and immediately starts to cry. “Oh, my goodness! You’re home. We’ve missed you so much.”

“I called you every week.” I step into the kitchen and give her a big hug. “Nashville’s not that far to drive.”

“Are you kidding? Right after you left we had to start the pruning, then Leon and Taron were setting out the new trees, Mindy left for Dallas and Dove started second grade…”

She continues talking, but a lead weight drops through my stomach.

Mindy left for Dallas. She did what I told her to do.

She’s gone.

Dove dances around the kitchen, and Noel opens the stove to pull out a tin of peach muffins, but I’m lost in a cloud of regret… and wondering if my sister would be offended if I drove to Dallas tonight.

“You look so good.” She walks back to where I’m standing by the bar. “I mean it. You’re different. It’s something about your eyes. A calm…”

“What’s this about Mindy and Dallas?”

“She left right after you, and I tell you, I’ve been absolutely lost! No best friend, no big brother… Not anymore.” She grins and kisses my cheek. “Now you’re both back.”

Now I’m confused, and a little encouraged. “Wait… Mindy’s not in Dallas?”

Noel waves her hand, turning on the coffee pot. “Deacon thought she should go to Dallas to meet clients and get her design business off the ground, which she apparently did in spades. But you know Mindy, she couldn’t leave her mom. She got her own apartment near the school and Jeff Priddy—you remember, Miss Jessica’s nephew?”

“Of course.” I know everybody she knows.

“Well, he got her an office space where that old Mexican cantina used to be. Remember that?”

My sister’s talking so fast, I can tell she’s excited and happy. I’m impressed. An apartment and an office? “Sounds like she’s doing really well.”

“She’s kicking butt from what I hear.” Noel hands me a cup of coffee. “She’s been gradually moving back over the last month. I think she’ll be officially relocated this weekend.”

“Hey, bro!” Leon stomps into the kitchen and holds out his hand for a shake. I catch it and pull him in for a firm hug.

“Hey, man.” I let him go, scrubbing his shaggy dark head.

He smacks my hand away. “Way to come back after all the hard work’s done.”

“I was here for harvest.”

“You weren’t here for pruning and planting.”

“I have been, though. All by myself, too.” I give his shoulder a squeeze, and he shakes his head.

“I’m just messing.”

Looking around the kitchen, I lift my chin. “Where’s Taron?”

“You didn’t see him in the shed?” Leon grabs a muffin and takes a bite. “He’s probably checking the new trees. We weren’t sure when you’d be getting in.”

Nodding, I start for the door. “I’ll find him. It’s been a while since I’ve walked the rows.”

Heading out the door, I charge up the hill away from the house, through the now-bare peach trees. In the winter, the bare branches fan out from the trunks like craggily fingers, hands spread palms up to the sky.

When I was a boy, my daddy would walk with me through these trees and tell me this was our land. He’d squeeze my shoulder and say one day it would all be mine.

I looked up to him so much when I was a boy.

Dr. Curtis helped me talk through the anger and guilt I felt over his death. She helped me accept I couldn’t have stopped him, but here on this hill, in the spot where everything changed, I can’t help remembering those feelings.

Closing my eyes, I remember the morning a small hand slipped into mine and never let go.

“I thought we got rid of you.” Taron’s friendly voice breaks the spell, and he pulls me in for a bro-hug.

“You can’t keep me out of this place.” Looking southeast, I see the small trees all in a line. “Leon said you two planted the last forty.”

“Your little brother’s got some good ideas. He’s done a good job while you were gone.” He holds my hand in a shake, squinting one eye. “How are you feeling?”

“Good…. No, make that better.”

His eyebrows rise. “Better as in cured or better as in than when you left?”

“Yes.” I chuckle, nodding. “Dr. Curtis thinks I can control my symptoms. I’m cautiously optimistic.”

“At least your sense of humor’s back.”

We slowly walk down the hill. Our hands are in our pockets against the chill in the air.

“You could’ve waited for me back at the house.” Taron glances at me. “Is something on your mind?”

Looking down, I press my lips into a grin. “You know me too well.”

“What can I say?” He nudges my arm. “Spill it.”

“When you came back, after all that had happened, did you have a plan?”

“A plan?” For a moment, he seems confused. “You’re thinking of Mindy?”

“Noel said she went to Dallas.”

“She’s moving back, though.”

Crossing my arms, I wish I’d worn a jacket. “I’m wondering if she’ll give me another chance. I didn’t know if you might have any advice.”

“You really are different.” He grins, and I shrug.

“Can’t keep that shit bottled up.”

We pause halfway to the house, and he thinks a minute before answering. “I wish I had some great insight to give you. All I can say is do the work and give it time.”

Time and hard work. The two constants in my life.

“Thanks, man.” I brace his shoulder. “I’ll meet you back at the house.”

The sun is closer to the horizon, and I know Noel is starting dinner. It’s comforting being home, knowing what to expect. When I get to the thicket, I follow a worn path in the grass to a small space under the trees where one fall, years ago, I installed a concrete bench.

Directly across from it are two headstones. The biggest says Penelope Jean Harris LaGrange. The slightly smaller one is my daddy’s.

Standing here now, I think of all the things I said in Dr. Curtis’s office. I think of her telling me I was doing good, the healing I was able to find. Still, looking at dates on his headstone, I feel like a lot still needs to be said.

“I trusted you.” My voice is low. The trees take away any echo, as if they’re holding the words in their branches. “I thought you’d always be there for us. I’ll never understand why you did this. The older I get, I understand it even less. I looked up to you. Didn’t you know I needed you? I still need you. We all do.”

A cold wind pushes through the pines, and I close my eyes, lifting my face to the sky. For so long I carried that burden, thinking I could have stopped him. It weighed on me so heavily, I wouldn’t even come here to this grave. Now that I’ve said the words aloud, I feel like I’ve closed a book.

Maybe he heard me, but more importantly, I heard myself. It’s the start of a new chapter in my life. This weekend, I’ll say some more words out loud to someone who deserves to hear them. Time and hope are all I’ve got, but I hope in time she’ll forgive me.

27

Mindy

“I can’t believe it’s my last night in town.” Sitting with my knee up at the kitchen table, I apply the last coat of polish to William’s right pinkie nail.

“You’re tired of the London fashion scene. All those hats.” He waves his right hand in the air while placing his left hand in front of me.

I shake the bottle of nail polish. I’ve got this movie reference. “Parker Posey, Party Girl…”

He closes his eyes. “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

He’s still quoting the movie, but I’m ready. “It’s bullshit. There’s no way a guy named Syphilis is happy.”

“I think I’m an existentialist…”

“You’re a drama queen.”

We both snort a laugh, and I apply the final coat of hot pink glitter to his last nail.

“Now I have to get ready to meet Link.”

Hopping up, I dash to my bedroom to pull on my red flowered dress. All my feelings of abandonment are gone, replaced by an inner strength I didn’t even know I possessed. I feel confident and more optimistic than I have since I graduated college.

“Your last night, and you finally agreed to have dinner with that man. You are evil, Little Italy. I can tell Deacon our bird has spread her wings.”

“You are so freakin dramatic.” I run a brush through my hair as I reenter the room. “It’s only dinner, and it’s only to say thank you for all the referrals he’s given me.”

“He’s only given you all those referrals to wear you down.”

“He gave me referrals because I asked him to.” Stopping at the table I hug my bestie’s shoulder. “Besides, fierce single ladies cannot be worn down.”

Slipping into my shoes, I think it doesn’t help that Sawyer apparently took my heart with him when he went to Nashville.

I’ve exercised, taken yoga classes, made new friends, gone out with William… Most importantly, I’m heading back to Harristown as the proud owner of Mermaid Design Concepts, a full-fledged marketing firm with a healthy book of business and referrals coming in all the time.

Still… at night, when I close my eyes, it’s Sawyer who invades my dreams. I feel his rough touch against my skin, the weight of his body pressing me down… His possessive kiss.

As much as I hate to say it, sometimes I even have tears in my eyes when I open them.

I think of the letter I wrote in the back of a notebook stuffed in a drawer in my childhood desk. I’ll always love you, Sawyer LaGrange… I think of the song we danced to at the ball… The Heart That You Own.

He still owns my heart, but I’m making my way. I signed a lease on a one-bedroom apartment just off campus. It’s in a gorgeous old building with interior brick walls and warm wood floors. It’s near the farmer’s market and the nursery and just around the corner from the new live theater company some enterprising college students decided to open.

“You have to come stay with me and do a show as an alumnus.” I tap the Lyft app on my phone to order my ride. “They have casting posters all over town for The Little Mermaid.”

“Don’t tell me. Sebastian.” William rolls his eyes.

“You’d be great!”

“Girl, please.”

“And I could really use your help with the interior design for my new office.”

Miss Jessica’s nephew Jeff Priddy helped me find a small space in one of the older buildings across town. It used to be a bar, and the city council was going to tear it down, but Ma talked to Jeff, and it’s been converted to an office complex. I think she was afraid I’d stay in Dallas.

For the last two weeks, I’ve been going home to clean it out and paint, buy a desk and a chair, a printer and a desktop computer. With the money I’ve made from Rich’s campaign (and Link’s and Charlie’s), I’ve got a healthy nest egg for hanging out my shingle.

“I will come back to be sure your office is a fierce as you are, but I will not sing ‘Under the Sea.’”

“It’s a deal.” I laugh and kiss his cheek before heading down to my waiting car.

Lincoln and I are meeting for dinner at The Mansion on Turtle Creek. It’s a gorgeous place with carved wood paneling and stone fireplaces. Tables are arranged to be cozy and romantic in many of the oversized dining rooms.

He greets me at the door, and he really is too handsome to be stuck on me. “You look amazing.” He gives me a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“This old thing?” I tease, taking his arm and following the host to a small table for two near an enormous fireplace.

The man holds our chairs as we sit and presents us with large menus. “I think I could fit in that thing,” I whisper, pointing towards the hearth.

Lincoln smiles warmly. “No Hansel and Gretel tonight, thank you.”

He orders us each vodka martinis, and we peruse the “New American” cuisine, which includes everything from black truffle and mushroom risotto to lobster to smoked pork chop. A candle in the center of the table casts a golden light over both of us.

“I can’t wait to try this Grand Marnier sorbet.” My eyes are wide with excitement. “It all looks so good…”

Ultimately, we decide on the risotto for me and the juniper rubbed venison loin for him. We share a bottle of Pinot Noir with dinner, and I think it’s probably the nicest meal I’ve ever had.

Leaning back with my glass of wine, I feel warm and satisfied. I feel like I’ve done what I set out to do six months ago when I left home with a broken heart.

“What are you thinking about right now?” I glance up to see Link’s blue eyes studying me intently.

“I came to Dallas with my tail between my legs. I’m going home a success.”

“Why was your tail between your legs?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the white tablecloth.

“Just… you know. I was in a rut. I had my degree, but I wasn’t using it.” I’m not planning to get into my personal life with him.

“You made your friend’s website and your own… and your mom’s.”

“Does that really count?” I squint an eye at him, smiling.

He grins and looks down. “They worked for me.”

“You’ve been very generous helping me get started. I want you to know how much I appreciate the referrals.”

“I was glad to do it.” He swirls the wine in his glass. “Are you returning to Harristown for good?”

Tilting my head to the side, I consider this. “I think so.”

“Why?”

That makes me laugh. “It’s my home, and I miss my mom, my family, friends…”

“Someone in particular?”

Blinking up, our eyes meet again. “I don’t think so. Not anymore at least.”

“He’s a fool.” It’s a bit of a growl as he sits back.

“He is not.” I’m defensive at first. Then I make myself stop. “But he is stubborn as a mule.”

My Grand Marnier sorbet comes out, and I widen my eyes. “Want a taste?” Dipping a spoon in the velvety dessert, I groan as I eat it.

Amusement relaxes his features. “I can’t imagine any man not treating you like a queen.”

His words make my stomach feel squirmy. “He treated me the way I let him treat me.”

It’s what Mrs. Irene told me, Men will rise to whatever level you demand. I’m beginning to think she’s right.

“If he doesn’t work out, you know where to find me.”

The waiter brings us our check and I do my best to split it. Lincoln acts like I’ve sprouted an additional head. When it’s all settled, he escorts me out to my waiting Lyft.

Stopping before I enter, I step forward into his hug and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Link.”

“For dinner? You’re very welcome.”

“For showing me what I’m worth.”

His warm arm clasps my elbow. “I’ll be here.”

WILLIAM IS pouty Saturday afternoon as I load my suitcase into my waiting Prius. “Is six months long enough? Are you sure you’re not rushing back too soon?”

“I don’t know.” I hug him again. “I’m going back to my own place, my own office… I’m different now… And I miss my family.”

He cups my cheeks. “I’m so proud of you. You came here and worked your ass off. You really made a name for yourself.”

My eyes heat, and I hug him one last time. “I’m going to miss you so much.” Stepping back, I get into my waiting car. “But you said you’re coming to visit me soon. Right? To help with my interiors?”

He waves, nodding. “Tell me when that Little Mermaid show is over. I’ll come after that.”

“You’ll come for Christmas.”

His lips purse, and I turn my car toward the Interstate for the two hour drive back to Harristown. It’s really a pretty easy drive due east, and Ma’s waiting for me when I pull up in front of my new apartment. She’s been meeting me every time I come into town to paint, decorate, clean.

I hop out smiling. I love having my own place so much. “Hey again!” I give her a long hug. “Ahh… I’m so glad to be here for good.”

Unlocking the door, we enter arm in arm.

“I don’t know why you can’t live at home. You’re not married.” She stops in the middle of my living room holding a potted plant.

“Ma! We’ve talked about this.” I’m unpacking my suitcase. “I’m not a child anymore. I need my own space.”

“You have your own space at the house. Now I’m all alone. What if I have a heart attack and die, and no one knows and the neighbor’s dog eats me?”

“Jesus!”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Melinda.” Her tone is weepy.

“Then stop being so freakin morbid.” I cross living room to kiss her cheek, give her a hug. “I’ll be over all the time. I’ll have dinner… and did you notice this place has no washer or dryer? I’ll do laundry…”

A tap on the door draws our attention. The front door slowly opens.

“Who’s there?” Ma goes to investigate and breaks into happy cries. “Sawyer! I didn’t know you were back in town. It’s so good to see you. You look so good!”

My heart stops in my chest. It legit stops. My knees tremble, and I’m having difficulty calming my breath.

Sawyer stands in the entrance of my new apartment in dark jeans and a black shirt with a Sherpa-lined denim jacket on top. He looks fresh off the farm gorgeous. His hazel-green eyes focus on mine, and the muscle in his square jaw moves. His hair is perfect.

“Don’t you agree Mindy doesn’t need this place?” Ma huffs across the room to where I’m trying to get my heart started again.

“Hey, Mindy.” His voice is different. I’ve heard it so many times. I’ve heard it in my dreams, but never this way, confident and possessive. It’s fucking sexy as hell, and I feel the little hairs rise on my arms.

“Hi, Sawyer.” My voice is quiet, and the way he looks at me lights up my entire body.

“Noel said you went to Dallas.”

“She did.” Ma stalks to a box in the kitchen and takes out plastic serving utensils. “I thought I’d have to bribe her to come home. Talk to her, Sawyer. She always listens to you. Tell her she needs to move home.”

His gaze doesn’t waver, and I have to blink away. I go to a box sitting on my coffee table and take out some books I’ve never read, stacking them on the empty shelves.

“I think it’s time for her to decide what she wants.” He turns to my mom. “Mindy’s a grown woman now.”

Emotion flashes from my stomach to my cheeks. I didn’t expect to feel this way hearing him say those words. It’s like things between us have moved to a different level. Blinking fast, I do my best to summon the strong independence, the fierceness I cultivated the last six months. I am a grown woman now. And he’s a grown man.

“Thank you.” Clearing my throat, I manage to sound less like a flustered girl. “I like having my own place.”

Ma returns to the living room, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve got to get home and start dinner. I’m making enough for both of us.” She points at me. Her expression melts into an adoring smile when she turns to my guest. ”You come and have dinner with us one night, okay?”

He leans down and gives my mom a warm hug. “I’ll be there any time you’ll have me.”

“Such a good boy.” She grins and pats his cheek gently. “We can do it next week.”

She gives me a pointed look before she heads out the door. I close it behind her, letting out a frustrated noise. “That woman, I swear.”

Now I’m standing with my back to the door, and Sawyer is in the middle of my living room looking like the best thing I’ve seen in half a year. It’s late, and the string lights I put over the curtains create a magical effect… I could step forward, reach out my hand, and…

Stop.

I’m not going there.

“So you’re back from Nashville?” I turn and go to the kitchen. I can’t decide if I should start a pot of coffee or just open a bottle of wine.

“Yeah, what a coincidence. I got in this morning, and Noel said you were moving back this weekend.”

“Funny. Are you… okay?”

His expression relaxes, and he actually smiles. “I am. I’ve spent the last six months in pretty intense therapy, a lot of shit I didn’t even know existed. I’ve started meditating. It’s weird. I used to hate getting up at six a.m. I mean hate.” He emphasizes the word. “Now I don’t mind it so much.”

Hesitating in the kitchen I’m struck first by how many words he just said about nothing in particular. “That’s… wow.”

This man I love, this man I’ve known all my life, is standing in my living room telling me how he feels. I’m like Charlie winning one of Willie Wonka’s golden tickets. I’m inside the chocolate factory, and he’s telling me how everything works.

Then he smiles. “You’re so different now. You’re as beautiful as ever, but I can tell. You’re more confident.”

Energy filters through my body with every heartbeat, but I hone in on his statement. “Yes, I am.”

Mrs. Irene said the day you put your head on the pillow knowing you don’t need him… I’m not his baby girl anymore, but I’m not sure I don’t need him. It’s a different need now.

It’s a choice.

Turning to another box, I open the lid and pull out a painting. My breath catches at the sight, and I want to shove the canvass back inside. It’s too late. He sees it.

“What’s that?” Closing the space between us, he turns it over so he can see the painting.

Nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d paint, and one night when I was angry with him, I started this portrait of a square-jawed Superman. Only, instead of the blue and red Superman outfit, this guy is in a clown costume. His features are so clearly Sawyer’s, I feel my shoulders rise.

“It’s nothing. Art therapy.” I push the canvas back in the box. “Working out my aggressions.”

“I’d like to take you out, Mindy.” His voice is warm, and his hand covers my wrist. “I’d like us to try again. For real.”

“No.”

The word pops out of my mouth so fast, I didn’t even have a chance to think about it.

His smile fades a bit. “No?”

“It’s not a good time for me.” I take a deep breath doing my best to catch up with my brain. “I mean, I think I need to get on my feet here first.”

I hate saying these words. My heart longs for him. It reaches for him like an invisible cord stretching through my aching chest, pulling my lungs along with it.

But my brain says no.

A really fast no, in fact.

“Whatever you need.” He exhales slowly, and I see how much he’s changed.

Lifting my chin, I meet his eyes. His face is so relaxed, his expression so calm. I want to know what has happened to him.

“I don’t have all the answers, Min, but I know this is not how our story ends.” With a squeeze to my wrist, he goes to the door and leaves.

I collapse onto the couch with my face in my hands. I need to see Mrs. Irene.

28

Sawyer

Seeing Mindy again is like standing on the top of a mountain and looking out over the ocean. My chest fills with emotions, desire, longing. My eyes drink her in, long dark hair, cute curves in sweats and a long-sleeved gray tee. I want to run my fingers through her hair. I want to lift her off her feet and cover her lips with mine. I want to sit with her and hear everything that has happened to her while we’ve been apart. I want to hear what she’s done, how she’s gotten her business as successful as she has.

I want to show her how much I’ve changed.

When Noel said she’d texted that she was at her apartment, I dropped everything to go and find her. I wanted to tell her I’m not stuck in my own head anymore. I’m better now, a better man.

I guess it didn’t occur to me she’d say no.

I’m such a fool. Of course she said no. The last time we were together, she told me she loved me. I told her I didn’t want to hear it. Hell, I told her to go to Dallas.

Now, my mind is at work, figuring out how I can fix this. She’s so valuable to me. She always has been, and doing the work to get well has helped me understand. She gives me peace. My life doesn’t make sense without her in it. She keeps me focused. Taron says she was my reason to fight, and now that I’ve won the fight, I want to share my life with her.

I’ve got to figure out how to win her back.

Time and work.

And I’d throw in hope.

Hope is at the forefront of my mind today, stopping at the Burgers-n-Suds for lunch before heading to Mindy’s new office. I’m sure she’s hungry, and I know she’s still unpacking. Noel told me she was planning to drive over and help her this evening.

Her office is in a strip mall on the service road next to the Interstate, which I don’t particularly like. Harristown isn’t a dangerous place, but any kind of riff-raff can cruise in off the Interstate—and cruise right out again.

My protective instinct surges to life, but it has to take a back seat. Mindy’s excited about this, and I need to be encouraging.

Music greets me as I step through the door. It’s a song I recognize about strong women or something. Single ladies. Stepping around the corner, I freeze in my tracks.

Mindy’s adorable in a red plaid shirt tied at her waist, and light jeans that stop in the middle of her calves. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and she’s holding a book in each hand over her head, shaking her ass as she sings along.

“Put your hands up!” She spins around and opens her eyes then screams and throws one of the books at me.

“Hey!” I jump out of the way just in time. “I come in peace!”

“Sawyer!” Her empty hand goes to her chest, and she’s breathing fast. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.” I can’t stop a laugh. She’s so damn cute. “I was enjoying the show.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I brought lunch.” I drop the bag of burgers and fries on the desk. “Noel said you were still unpacking, so I figured I’d help out.”

Her green eyes go from the bag to me, and she puts the book she’s still holding on her desk. “That’s really thoughtful. Thank you.”

“You should probably lock the door if you’re not expecting anyone.”

“Don’t want to scare away the customers.”

I glance towards the parking lot. “Is this a walk-in type of place?”

“Are you my dad?” Her voice is sassy, and I hold up a hand.

“Forget I said anything.”

Reaching in the bag, she pulls out the food and spreads it on the counter top. She pops a fry in her mouth and leans on her elbows. “Want to see the place?”

I grab a fry and nod. “Sure. Give me the grand tour.”

“Here it is.” She steps back spreading out her hands then takes another fry. “Waiting area there, although you’re right. It’s not like a salon or a doctor’s office. I don’t really get walk-in business.”

“It’s very professional.”

It’s a four-hundred-square-foot space with a desk in the back. A large Apple computer sits on top, and the walls are covered in her Peach Festival posters and a picture of Noel with Dove in the peach orchard.

“That’s cute.”

“It’s from her website. A few of the guys in Dallas liked the personal touch, so I figured it made a good centerpiece.” She starts toward the back of the room, and I hesitate, not sure if I should follow. “Back here is the storage closet.”

I can’t see past her down the narrow hallway, but I hear the clink of her pulling the light on. “I put all my old boxes back here until I can break them down…”

Roaring is in my ears, and I can’t follow her. My stomach churns, and I brace my palm against the wall, doing my best to calm my breathing. Mindy is far away, inside the dusty room I can’t approach.

You can control this. I hear Dr. Curtis in my mind.

Closing my eyes, I remember all the work we did, the progress we made. Anger tries to surge in my chest. I hate that I still feel this weak and powerless, but I don’t let the anger win. I think about Mindy.

Safety.

Calm.

“It’s just some old shelves and the previous tenant left a bunch of painting supplies.” She jerks the light off and closes the door, giving it a hard yank. “The door sticks.”

She rejoins me in the office, and I focus on her words. “Old paint supplies? Anything you can use?”

“No, it’s just some old rags and brush cleaner, that type if thing. I need to get rid of it.”

“I’ll help you.” It’s the best I can offer. I need fresh air and light, so I go to the glass doors, glancing at the empty parking lot. “Any neighbors?”

“Not yet. Jeff said they were talking to a packaging company about moving in at the end of the month, so maybe a UPS store?”

My head starts to clear as I study her surroundings, and I don’t care for her working in this remote location all alone. “Do you keep late hours?”

“Not really. I do most of my brainstorming at home.”

When I turn back, I see she’s picking up the book she threw at me. It has the title Branding Basics, and I get an idea.

“You know, I was thinking… We should probably do something like that for the orchard.”

Her brow furrows, and she slides the book into a stack on the shelf behind her desk. “Something like what?”

“A logo… a website.” I point to the posters on her walls. “All the things you do here. You can do them for us.”

“But why?” She looks at me confused, and I chuckle.

“Is this how you attract new business?”

“I’m sorry.” She rubs her fingers across her forehead. “I just… LaGrange Orchard has been around for decades. Everybody knows who you are.”

“Not everybody. We’re always competing with new growers, and there’s Georgia…”

Going to her desk, she picks up a pen. “I’m sure I can come up with something. I know you as well as anyone.”

“Better.” Our eyes meet, and she blinks away fast.

Her cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink, and I’m encouraged I can still throw her off balance. I take it as a positive sign.

She moves her mouse back and forth quickly, waking her computer. “I’ll put you on my calendar and get a concept to you by the end of the week. Do you have an idea of what you want?”

Considering I just thought of it five minutes ago? “Not really… Maybe we could work on it together.”

Scooting back in her chair, she shakes her head quickly. “I meet with clients during the day. Then I work on concepts at night.”

Stepping back, I put my hand on the door. “I don’t mind working nights.”

“I work alone.” Her voice is firm, and she seems a bit flustered again.

It’s kind of a backfire, but at least I’ll see her more. “I’ll check in with you then.”

She looks around the room. “I’m not sure this is a good idea…”

“Sure it is. I’m your first hometown client.” My hand is on the door, and I push through it, not giving her a chance to back out on me. “I’ll let you know if I think of an idea.”

I wave through the glass, thinking how pretty she is owning her dream.

“I TALKED to Mindy about creating a logo and some branding for the orchard.” I’m in the kitchen with Noel after dinner, gazing out the window at our family’s estate.

“Sounds like a great idea.” Noel is at the table reading an article on her laptop. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know.” I sit across from her. “What do you think?”

Noel leans back and blinks around. “It would need to be something that speaks to who we are…”

“The biggest orchard in north Louisiana?”

“Yeah, but something more personal.” She stands and walks to the sink, looking out the window. “Something about family… or tradition… or perseverance…”

“An anchor.” I can’t believe I didn’t think of it this afternoon.

Noel crosses her arms and tilts her head to the side. “That doesn’t really say peaches to me.”

“But it’s personal. We’re an anchor in the community. We provide security—”

“Hang on.” Noel returns to her laptop and types quickly, then she reads. “The anchor symbolizes security, stability, and being grounded. It’s a symbol of hope.” Her eyes light as she looks up at me. “It’s perfect.”

Taking out my phone, I send a text to Mindy. How about an anchor for our logo?

The text sits on the screen a few minutes with delivered beneath it, and I look out the window again. It’s late, and the sky is a deep shade of purple. I can’t help the tightness I feel in my stomach. Is this a bigger backfire than I thought? Have I got her working late in that sketchy location all alone?

I’m on my feet before I even finish the thought. “I’ll be right back.”

Dashing out to my truck, I take it a little faster than usual as I drive up the dirt road in the direction of town. I’m halfway down the Interstate, headed to Mindy’s office when my phone buzzes. Ignoring it, I drive a little faster down the service road in the dark. A tinge of relief hits me when I see the empty parking lot. The tall poles shine white light on the vacant spaces. She’s not here.

Turning the wheel, I take it back towards downtown. About ten-minutes later, I’m passing the long block of shops, restaurants, and finally apartments. My gut completely unclenches when I see her gold Prius parallel parked outside her building. Only one thing would make me happier—going to her door and pulling her into my arms, holding her and telling her I love her.

I’ll have to wait for that outcome, and I have only myself to blame

At the four-way stop, I pick up my phone and read the text. It’s from Mindy. Sorry—just got home. I like it. I’ll start some sketches tonight.

I quickly text back. Can’t wait to see what you do.

She’s home. She’s safe, and I probably overreacted.

Still, I’d do it again.

29

Mindy

“I can hear it in your voice—you’re stronger now.” Mrs. Irene cups my face with her hands, lifting her chin.

I place my hands on top of hers. “I hope one day I’m just like you.”

She chuckles. “I hope you’re even better. Now tell me what happened.”

“Where do I begin?” I’ve visited her every time I came home over the last six months, but so many times, I was stuck in my own head, feeling like I’d never get over Sawyer, feeling like I’d never get my design business profitable.

Then everything happened so fast.

“Start with the part where Sawyer got home.” Her voice is knowing, and I grin.

“You knew about that?”

“Ramona tells me everything.”

“Uhh…” I sigh, feeling that familiar clench in my chest when I think of his gorgeous face. “He’s changed a lot. He actually told me how he was feeling… He’s different.”

“So are you.” She smiles. “Now tell me the good part. Did he ask you out?”

“He did. He said he wants us to try again for real.”

“I knew it!” She cries, like she made a goal in soccer. “What did you say?”

“I said no.”

The room falls silent. The sound of Bing Crosby singing Christmas carols drifts to us from somewhere down the hall.

Mrs. Irene presses her lips together and nods slowly. “Good. You are strong, and you are valuable. Don’t let him just waltz right in and snap his fingers. Make him earn it.”

Dropping into the chair beside her bed, I put my face in my hands whining. “But I don’t want to say no… at least my heart doesn’t. I want to be with him.”

Her fingers are in my hair, threading it away from my face. “I know, honey.” She chuckles. “If you didn’t love him so much, he wouldn’t drive you crazy.”

Sitting up slowly, I know she can’t see me, but I gaze into her eyes pleading. “Tell me what to do. How do I stop feeling this way?”

A smile softens her features, and she pats my shoulder. “You have to figure it out for yourself.”

“But what if I make the wrong decision?”

Leaning forward, she nods her head. “Trust yourself. You won’t.”

ALL NIGHT I sit up in bed with my iPad pro and stylus, sketching out variations of an anchor garlanded with peaches, sketching out images of hands holding, hearts entwining.

Sawyer’s suggestion touched something deep inside of me. It opened the doors I’ve been holding shut on all of our most sacred memories. He wants me to incorporate our story into the symbol of his business he’ll present to the world. Only it’s not just his business, it’s his family’s land, his heritage, his livelihood.

It’s like saying to the world I’m a part of this. It’s coming full-circle… Except no one will know the significance but us.

My heart seems to open as I move the stylus over the screen. As I draw, I see everything we’ve been through since the day his father died. Currents of emotion flood my veins, lifting me up and taking me down. I see us as teenagers, me so awkward, frizzy hair, him always calm and mature, perfectly gorgeous and perfectly controlled. I remember sneaking into his bedroom window those nights in May, and him wrapping his arms around me.

Closing my eyes, I remember the flood of comfort he’d give me. I also remember coming alive with desire.

I remember being so in love with him it ached in my bones. I remember longing for him with my first mature feelings of love, wanting to give him everything, wanting him to be the one to hold my hand through those experiences, show me the way.

My soul remembers the first time we made love. Ghost memories of my skin awakening, blooming like a rose when he touched me for the first time. I remember the zip of electricity in my most private parts when his body approached mine… I feel the toe-curling rush of pleasure when his mouth covered me, his tongue caressing me, the scruff of his beard against my skin when he tasted me. I hear his groans when he filled me, thrusting so deep, so big it seemed impossible.

Tears fill my eyes when I recall the hard parts—the separation of him being deployed, lying in my bed at night, dreaming of him coming home and taking me in his arms, loving me and announcing to the world I’m his.

I remember the most recent parts, covering him in mud with the three-wheeler, swimming in the lake, taking pictures in the orchard, drinking tequila by the lake and dancing in the moonlight. Making love and sleeping in the bed of his truck.

And of course, the dark part, when he was so broken, when he wouldn’t let me help him. When he sent me away…

Creating this campaign feels like attempting to illustrate the blossoming and maturing of a great love that unfolded with the passage of life. It was so private. It was sacred, our secret. Now he wants to make my dreams come true by sharing it with the world, and I’m the one hesitating… wondering if this is the right time, if this is a good idea. If I’m strong enough to let him in again.

My alarm wakes me up in the middle of my bed, with my iPad on my face. I drag my ass to the shower and get cleaned up, get dressed, and head to work. The key Jeff gave me sticks in the lock, and I have to wiggle it to get the door open. Mental note: Call Jeff about getting a locksmith out here to fix this thing.

I finished unpacking the morning Sawyer showed up to help me. All that’s left is hanging the final posters and breaking down the boxes. Otherwise, I’m ready to get to work.

My phone vibrates with a text from Deacon. Sending you a referral. New fitness club in Plano. A forwarded contact appears on the screen.

I reply quickly. You’re the best, you know that?

Just sending names. You barely need me.

I needed the kick in the pants you gave me last summer.

Have you gotten everything on your list?

I know he’s referencing Sawyer. Not ready to go there.

What’s it going to take?

Not sure yet.

My heart is ready, but I don’t know what it’s going to take for my intellect to let go of the past.

What I have learned in six months is I’ve got time. I know who I am now. I’m confident I can take care of myself, and I’ll know when I’m ready.

30

Sawyer

Jimmy Hebert is a small man with bright blue eyes and no hair.

Black and white photographs of him playing football in high school are arranged in frames on the furniture in his room, and a larger portrait of him in his army uniform is on the wall.

He’s sitting in a leather recliner beside the window when I arrive, and I wait as he presses a button that causes the chair to slowly move forward and deposit him to standing in front of me.

“Nice to see you again, Sawyer.” He extends a hand, smiling up at me. “It’s been a while.”

Apprehension is heavy in my stomach, but I reach out to accept his greeting. “Yes, sir. I was in Nashville about six months.”

“That so?” He walks over to the mini fridge in his room. “What were you doing there? Want a coke?”

“No thanks. I, ah… I was doing some work.” On myself. This shouldn’t be so hard to say. “I was doing therapy.”

He nods, his expression turning serious. “That’s good. Back in my day, there was a real stigma about things like that. It could have helped a lot of guys.”

We’re quiet again, and I look up at the small tree on a shelf. It has tiny presents and lights that twinkle. Ancient Christmas music floats through the air, and I start to feel awkward.

He cracks open a Coke Zero and takes a long sip followed by a loud exhale. “So what can I do for you?”

“Well, sir, I wanted to come by and offer my apologies about what happened.” The back of my neck feels hot, and I rub my hand across it. “You know, in June. If there’s anything I can do or if you’re having any residual problems—”

He holds up both hands, frowning at me. “No apology necessary. It was an accident. I know that, and I’m fine.” Lowering his hands, he chuckles and gives me a wink. “I’m a lot tougher than I look, I’ll tell ya.”

“Anyway, I feel better saying it. I truly am sorry.”

“In that case, apology accepted.” Stepping forward he pats my shoulder. “You’re a good man, Sawyer, you always have been.”

“I appreciate that.” My chest is still heavy. “It doesn’t always feel like it.”

“You know, my daddy had a saying back when he was alive.” The old man furrows his brow. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

Exhaling a laugh, the smallest trickle of relief starts in my heart. “My daddy used to say the same thing.”

“See there?” He pats me roughly. “Apply that same wisdom to yourself. Give yourself a second chance.”

“Thank you, sir.”

We stand facing each other a little longer. Mr. Hebert takes another sip of his coke, and the slow ancient Christmas song has turned into a fast ancient Christmas song.

“You know, my mamma had another saying.” He pokes me in the side. “It ain’t over til it’s over. I’ve got a dinner date with Rosemary Leblanc, so if we’re all done here…”

“Oh, wow, yes…” Glancing at the clock, I see it’s four-thirty. I’m not sure whether to laugh or apologize. “Sorry, I’ll take off now. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, son.” He calls after me, and when we reach the hall he scuttles in the direction of the cafeteria, while I make my way to the exit.

I’m feeling lighter than when I arrived, and I’m halfway out the door when I spot Mindy in the parking lot getting into her car.

“Hey, Mindy!” I call, jogging to where she stops.

She’s so pretty in dark jeans and a cream, fuzzy sweater. Her hair is in a low ponytail over one shoulder, and she seems startled. “Sawyer? What are you doing here?”

Stopping at her door, we’re both breathing a little fast. “Just finishing up some business. What are you doing?”

She glances at the building, confused. “I still visit pretty regularly. I brought Mrs. Irene a music box and Miss Jessica likes ornaments—”

“Have dinner with me.”

Her head pulls back, and I brace for another immediate no. Instead, she laughs. “It’s not even five o’clock yet!”

Looking around, I realize I’m not even hungry. I just want to be near her, follow Mr. Hebert’s advice.

“I guess you’re right.” Optimism won’t let me go, and I search for an alternative. “Want to go for a walk?”

Her answer is hesitant, but encouraging. “They opened this new coffee shop right down from my apartment.”

“I heard about that. Dewey Sanders opened it. He hired a bunch of high schoolers to run the place.”

She laughs. “So the service will probably suck, but it’s worth a try?”

“I’ll follow you.”

We park in front of her apartment downtown, and I wait as she leaves things at her place. The sun shines in a clear blue sky, making a chilly day warm. We’re walking side by side, and I want to take her hand. I want to pull her close and slide her hair off her cheek. I want to kiss her. She’s letting me in, but I’m not going to rush it.

The coffee place is decked out for the holidays, playing much more recent Christmas music. The kids behind the counter all wear antler headbands and blinking red noses, and the service actually is pretty good.

We’re out on the street sipping hot beverages and looking in the windows of the tiny downtown department stores. Everything is fake snow and Santa Claus, elves, sleds and reindeer.

“Mm…” Mindy sips her cinnamon cookie latte. “I think I’ve found my new addiction.”

“Good?” I just ordered a plain coffee. I’m not into the fancy stuff.

“It’s delicious.” She takes another sip and makes a noise that has me missing her sexy body.

Reluctantly, I pull the reins on those thoughts. I have to take it slow. We stroll a little farther up the street, stopping in front of a window decorated with couples holding hands, ice skating on lakes.

“I thought of you every day I was in Nashville.” My chest aches as I remember lying in my bed at night, thinking of her, hearing Taron’s words, She’s your reason to fight. My longing for her then was as intense as it is now. “We never talked about what happened.”

“We never talked about anything you did.” I see her reflection in the glass, honest but open.

I hesitate a moment, then I just say it. “I want to.”

Turning, she looks up at me, her pretty green eyes glistening and warm. “Me too.”

Quickly tossing my coffee in the trash, I take her hand in mine, threading our fingers. Then I stop, worried. “Is this okay?”

She looks down at her hand in mine, palm against palm, a sensation I’ve missed so much. “Yes.”

The one word I’ve been waiting to hear. My shoulders relax and we start to walk again.

“We made this pact when we were kids that we’d always have each other.”

“It’s true.”

“I haven’t always lived up to it.” Looking down, I tighten my fingers around hers. “I’m sorry.”

She only nods, so I continue.

“When they sent me home, they said I’d always have PTSD, panic attacks… They said one day it would culminate in suicidal ideation.” The pain of that diagnosis still aches in my chest. “After what happened with my dad, I guess I believed them.”

We continue walking, her heels click on the pavement, but she doesn’t say anything. I feel the warmth radiating from her skin, but she’s letting me speak.

“The time I spent in Nashville was intense.” Filtering through the six months, I remember how hard I worked. “Dr. Curtis is the therapist who worked with Taron. She takes a very aggressive approach. She’s not afraid to try new techniques—brainspotting, TM, talk therapy. She knew what I wanted, and she was determined to help me.”

“I like her already.” Mindy looks up at me, and her smile is one I know so well. It’s the smile she would give me when we were younger, and the one she’d make when I kissed her gently.

She’s coming back to me.

“I’m not like I used to be. Dr. Curtis taught me to be more open with how I feel.”

“I can tell.”

We’re back at the cars, and I don’t want to let her go. I don’t want to wait any longer, but I know this is right. She hasn’t told me how she feels, and if I move too fast, I’ll lose her—possibly for good. That’s a chance I’ll never take.

“You were my reason to fight, Mindy. If it weren’t for you, I’m not sure I’d be here.”

She blinks quickly, turning her face to the side. “You’re stronger than you think.”

I’m not sure I agree. If I stay here much longer, I don’t know what will happen.

“I wanted you to know that. I wanted to say thank you.” Taking a chance, I step forward and kiss the top of her head, closing my eyes and inhaling lilacs, saying three words in my heart.

31

Mindy

Ma lifts the lid off her Creuset pot, stirring the red sauce a wooden spoon. “Now, Melinda Claire. Give me the zest.”

I hold the small bowl containing the zest I made for her to inspect. “I stopped before I got to the white.”

“Perfect.” She rakes the tiny bit of zest into the large pot of marinara.

I stand beside her puzzled. “Will we even taste that? It doesn’t seem like enough.”

“It’s enough.” She holds up her palm. “Sometimes less is more.”

The doorbell rings and my heart jumps. Ma invited Noel and the whole gang over for dinner tonight, and as I approach the door, my nerves kick in.

Seeing him yesterday, the things he said to me knocked the lid off my tight box of control. Now, just knowing I’m going to see him again, my heart starts leaping in my chest and making me feel a little sick.

“Just like old times!” Noel leans forward to kiss my cheek.

In her hands is a glass dish of the tiramisu she made that one time. “It’s become my signature dessert,” she explains. “Your Ma approved it!”

Taron is behind her with Dove on one hip and a bottle of red wine in his hand. “Hey, girl.” I give him an awkward shoulder hug and kiss Dove’s cheek.

“Hey, princess, how’s second grade?”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Ms. Tornado says our class is impossible.”

“What?” I start laughing.

“The boys hate the girls, so me and Boo had to use Eddie to hand out the Christmas candy…”

I give Noel a confused look, and she shakes her head. “It’s Miss Toronado’s first year teaching. She’s letting the seven-year olds run the show. You should have seen their party today.”

Leon steps in behind her. “Enjoy it while you can, Baby Genius. Those boys will wise up quick.”

“I’m not a baby!” She pushes his kiss away, leaning her head on her daddy’s shoulder.

“She’s been a little grump all day.” Leon leans in to give me a hug then passes me, headed in the direction of the food.

“She’s not feeling good.” Sawyer steps through the door, taking his niece from her daddy, and sending surges of bubbling electricity through my veins.

Dove wraps her little arms around his neck and leans her head on his shoulder.

Noel returns from the kitchen, concern lining her face. “She was fine at the party this afternoon.”

I reach up to touch her forehead. “I don’t think she has a fever.”

“She’s probably just tired.” Sawyer gives me a warm smile I feel in my lady bits. “How’s it going?”

A knot is in my throat, and I don’t hug him… because I want to kiss him. Hell, watching him cuddle and soothe his little niece makes my ovaries ache for his babies.

“You’re always so good with her.” I put my hand on her back and rub.

Ma appears beside me at the door. “Does she need to lie down? Mindy, take her to your room.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way…”

Sawyer follows me up the stairs, carrying Dove. The lamp is lit on my bedside table, and he tucks her into my small bed. My insides are racing thinking of the times he crept through my window… the times I crept through his. All the times we made love.

Turning away, I fight to regain control. Am I ready for this? Have I decided?

A box I need to take to my apartment is on my desk. It doesn’t have a lid, and a framed photograph of Noel and me in eighth grade with Sawyer and Leon standing beside us is on top.

Naturally, it catches Sawyer’s eye. “What’s this?”

“Old school photo.” I reach forward and carefully take it from his hand.

It’s a cute picture of my bestie and me, but the reason I framed it and kept it on my dresser for so long was because he was in it, looking so gorgeous in profile. Square jaw, broad shoulders, dark hair, brooding expression…

“I remember these.” He picks up the pictures I printed last summer—the selfie he took of us sitting on the pier together, the picture I took of him in the groves with the golden sunlight making him look like a god.

Both were the basis for the festival poster. Both conjure visions of the life I want to have, a life in a grove with him as my home, holding me. The anchor surrounded by the garland.

“They’re my favorite photographs,” I confess.

“This is the poster.” He looks at me with satisfaction in his hazel eyes.

He’s so open now. I think I’m ready to dive into his arms… I think I’m ready to sever the invisible rope holding me back. “You’re right.”

His brow furrows, and he reaches into the box again. “Dear Sawyer?”

My heart stops when I see the spiral-bound notebook missing the back cover. The curved lines of my handwriting are clear to read.

“You wrote this to me?” His eyes move down the page quickly. “Why didn’t you send it?”

I lunge forward, but it’s too late. He’s reading my letter.

“Sawyer… don’t…” My heart thunders in my ears. My chest squeezes, and I want to die.

Without a word, he lowers the notebook into the box. He goes to the bed and pats Dove’s back then leaves the room.

Confusion twists in my stomach as I listen to the thump of his boots receding down the stairs. Snatching up the notebook, I sit on the side of my bed beside Dove, who is now little-girl snoring.

NO ONE COULD TALK me out of loving you. Not even you.

I love you, Sawyer LaGrange.

Forever…

“MELINDA CLAIRE!” Ma calls up the stairs. “We’re waiting on you!”

There’s no way I’m going down for dinner. I can’t possibly sit across from him knowing he read this. Silly Deacon and writing things down. I want to strangle him.

Ma calls again, and I stand slowly, going to the door, descending the stairs like a prisoner being called out for sentencing.

Everyone’s at the table. Noel, Taron, and Leon are laughing and talking, silver clanks against plates, and the room smells like zesty red sauce and buttery bread. Sawyer sits across from me, and my insides flash when our eyes meet.

“Melinda helped me make the sauce this time.” Ma passes the bowl of marinara. “She zested the lemon.”

“Is that so?” Sawyer’s deep voice heats my stomach, and I reach for my glass of wine.

“It’s delicious!” Noel cries. “You have to give me this recipe.”

“We worked on her technique.” Ma gives me a wink, and I focus on the space in front of me.

Plates are empty, wine passed around. They go on talking about school parties and Christmas and Noel’s birthday coming up. We’re a week away from the holiday, and Noel brings the tiramisu from the kitchen. I stand and start collecting the dishes, and Sawyer does the same.

“You don’t have to,” I quietly plead.

“I want to,” he gently argues.

We’re alone in the kitchen, and I stand back as he scrapes the plates he’s holding and loads them in the dishwasher. I put the ones I’m holding on the counter while I wait, dying inside because he still so quiet.

I finally can’t take it anymore. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

He puts the last dish in the machine then closes the door and turns to face me. His eyes level on mine, hot and hungry. Heat flashes to my core. I don’t have time to think before his arm goes around my waist and he pulls me to him, cupping my face with his hand and covering my mouth with his.

My lips are shoved apart, and his tongue curls against mine. I exhale a soft moan as my panties burst into flames, gripping his shoulders, wanting to pull him closer. I want to tell him yes, I’m ready, take me… But he releases me.

He holds my face in his hand, his thumb under my chin, looking deep into my eyes. We’re both breathing fast. “I’ll always love you, too.”

With that, he releases me, leaving me to collapse against the cabinet.

STANDING IN MY OFFICE, I try to practice deep breathing as I prepare for my meeting with him. It’s Friday, and we’re scheduled to talk at one, to review my designs and slogans for his campaign, to do our business.

Business.

Sliding my eyes over my desk, I imagine him lifting me onto the surface, lying back as he takes me…

Stop.

I move around, straightening things, killing time for another twenty minutes as I wait.

In my fluster, I forgot my iPad at my apartment, but with the help of the G-drive, I’ve pulled up the two sketches on my desktop. My favorite is an anchor with a garland of peaches draped down the neck, but for flexibility I’ve also got a sketch of an anchor sprouting into a peach tree. As for slogans, I’ve written Stability for peace of mind and Grounded in purity, stability, and vitality. I kind of don’t like either one, so I tossed in, Stability and purity since 1968.

It’s all very professional. Exactly what I would show any client… And my body is hot and vibrating at the thought of seeing him again. I can’t stop reliving his kiss last night, hot lips bruising mine, his possessive grasp around my waist, his hand on my cheek, his thumb bracing my chin.

I tossed and turned in my bed in my apartment for an hour last night wondering how desperate it would be if I sneaked through his window once more… just for old time’s sake.

Instead I rubbed one out and forced myself to stay put.

Now I’m standing here, waiting, and I have no idea what I’m going to do when our eyes meet. I think it would be appropriate for me to tell him I’d like to see him again once we’ve concluded our meeting. It’s not mixing business with pleasure if I ask him on a date this evening… then I can jump his bones when he picks me up at my apartment!

The thought makes me grin, and I rub my hands up and down my crossed arms.

It was chilly when I arrived, so I cranked up the heater for the first time since I moved in. My key got stuck in the door, and this time I couldn’t get it out. Whispering a swear, I shot a text to Jeff asking him to send a locksmith today.

Every door in this place sticks, and I’ve got to be able to use my front entrance.

Needless to say, I don’t feel very professional as I wait, crappy doors, smelly furnace, and horny as hell. I pace, looking through the Pantone color book. I sit in the waiting area and look toward my office space, thinking like a client and trying to decide if I should rearrange the furniture again.

My stomach is in knots, and I haven’t eaten since dinner last night—which turned out really well, by the way. This girl can cook! With a little help from her mother.

I’m in the chair shifting positions for the fifth time when I realize that smell is getting stronger. My brow furrows, and I sniff again, longer. It’s not just a dusty old furnace smell, it’s more like a chemical… but not like pot or cigarette smoke…

Turning in my seat, I look out to the parking lot. Empty. Turning back, I realize the scent is coming from inside my office. I stand and walk around the perimeter sniffing, but I can’t figure out… Until I reach the short hall leading to the tiny storage room.

I dash down it, bursting through the door without thinking, when I’m hit in the face by intense heat and an overwhelming stench of chemicals. I don’t have time to turn on the light. Flames shoot up from the back cabinets.

“No!” I scream, searching everywhere for the fire extinguisher. God, do I even have one?

My foot kicks the door shut, and I’m in the dark except for the orange light of the flames. The smoke chokes me, and the chemicals in the air burn my eyes. They burn my lungs. I’ve got to get out of here, but the door won’t budge. Twisting the knob, I choke out a scream for help, pounding on it with my palm.

I’ve never seen fire move so fast. It’s so hot, and I’m trying not to faint. Pounding noises come from the other side of the door, but they’re so far away… Oh, God, the key is stuck in the front door!

My brain barely has time to register Sawyer…

“Help me!” I try to scream, but way back here, behind two closed doors, I know it’s not loud enough.

I can’t breathe. Dropping to my knees, I realize the air is clearer on the floor, and I lie on my stomach facing the crack under the door. Consciousness slips away, and the last thing I remember is Sawyer’s possessive hold on me…

32

Sawyer

I’ve kept the same routine every night this week. We finish dinner, I get in my truck and drive past Mindy’s office to be sure she’s gone then past her apartment to be sure her car’s parked there. Then I come back and go to bed.

Part of it was just wanting to know she made it home safely and not wanting to crowd her with a bunch of texts. The other part was I didn’t want her at that office alone after dark.

I’m actually relieved it’s Friday, and I’m headed to our meeting to review her design concept. At least now she won’t have a reason to work late… Until her next job, I suppose.

With a chuckle, I realize until she says we can be together again, I’ll probably be making this drive every night after dinner. With all that’s happened in the last few days, I’m cautiously hopeful it won’t be too much longer.

Our coffee date was good, but I’ve been feeling strong since last night, since I read the letter she wrote to me. I wanted to take it, keep it, and re-read it like a mantra. Perhaps it was a bit hasty to kiss her, but I couldn’t hold back any longer. After seeing the truth of her heart, I needed to show her I felt the same.

It was difficult not to do more—like take her hand and pull her into the dining room and tell the family everything then take her home and spend the night loving her. The startled look on her face, even with her cheeks flushed and her lips parted, reminded me she said no.

She’s not ready.

But hell, I’m just waiting for her to say the word. I miss her pretty eyes, her silky hair, the feel of her fingertips sliding along my jaw. I want to kiss her again. I want to hear her laugh.

I want her to hold my hand like she used to, fingers entwined, palm against palm. I want her to look at me the way she once did, with so much trust. I’m finally back to the place where I can take care of her, where I can deserve that trust.

Maybe today…

The excitement of these hopes is dampened when I turn into the parking lot. I don’t know why, but I sense something’s wrong.

Mindy’s car is in the lot, but the glass doors of her office are dark. Not dark like the lights are off… It takes a beat for me to realize they’re being obscured by ugly gray smoke. Looking up I see tiny traces of smoke rising from the back of the building. Jumping out of my truck, I’m hit with the smell of fire and chemicals.

“NO!” I run to the front doors, grabbing the handle and pulling, but it won’t budge. “What the fuck?”

Beating on the glass, I cup my hands around my face and peer into the space. My stomach drops. I can’t see a thing.

“Mindy!” I shout at the top of my lungs. Pressing my ear to the glass, I don’t hear her.

Fumbling for my phone I almost drop it as I quickly dial 911. The operator comes on with the usual questions, but I cut straight to the chase.

“This is Sawyer LaGrange. I’m calling to report a fire in progress at the old Mexican cantina. Someone’s trapped inside. I need help NOW!”

Dropping my phone, I pull back and hit the glass doors with my shoulder as hard as I can. Pain shoots to my elbow, and the fucking doors don’t budge. Standing back, I lift my leg and kick it as hard as I can, but the glass is shatterproof. It bursts into an array of tiny squares held together with thick plastic.

“No!” I scream again. “Mindy!”

Dashing to my truck, I hit the ground, crawling under the bed to where the spare tire is located. Feeling around, I find the crowbar and rip it out of the holder before scooting out again and running to the door.

I close my eyes to avoid the shards and bash the doors over and over until they finally give way, and I’m able to push my way inside. From a distance, I hear the noise of sirens. Without hesitating, I race into the office, but I don’t see Mindy.

“Mindy?” I shout through the black.

Her purse is on the desk. Her car is out front, but I don’t see her keys anywhere. Then I realize the source of the smoke… I remember the first day I was here, when I had my near-panic attack. I was too foggy to remember what she said… paint supplies, old rags. Fuck!

I look down the narrow hall to where the small door is closed, and my heartrate spikes. Nausea twists my stomach, and my breath quickens. In this very moment I push back against the trauma trying to hammer me. My girl is in danger, and I’m not stopping.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, I move faster until I’m in front of the wooden barrier. Again, I turn the knob, and it won’t budge. What the fuck with the doors in this place? I take a step back and slam my shoulder against it. It shudders and groans, and I do it again and again until finally, it flies open.

Heat slams me in the face like opening the door of an oven. Squinting my eyes, I bend down, searching everywhere until I see her. Mindy is lying on the floor in a heap with her face turned to me. My chest seizes, and I rush forward, dropping to my knees and gently scooping her into my arms. Coughing, I rise to my feet again, the chemicals burning my eyes. I’m already having a hard time breathing, and I don’t know how long she’s been in here.

Sirens flash blinding red-and-blue lights as I stagger into the main room toward the entrance. Firefighters surge past me as I step through the shattered glass doors.

A man catches me by the arm. “Sawyer, it’s me, Eric.” I’m light-headed, but I recognize him as an EMS worker I’ve met before. “Can you carry her over here?”

I can do anything for her.

Still, as I get closer to the truck, my head gets light. “Something’s wrong.” I start to say, and I’m surrounded by another, beefier EMS worker.

He catches me under the other arm and helps me sit on the bumper of their truck. Eric takes Mindy into the back, and the new guy straps an oxygen mask onto my face.

“Inhale deep. Chemical fires are more dangerous than regular smoke. They can bind to your lungs and cause them to swell and block oxygen.”

He’s describing death by smoke inhalation to me, and I power through my own symptoms. I’m on my feet, but he stands just as fast.

“Hold on, soldier.” I don’t even bother correcting him.

Ripping off the mask, I explain, “I’ve got to get in there. I need to be beside her.”

My balance is screwed, and I fall back against the door of the truck. The guy holds my arm, studying my face.

Panic filters through my chest, and I try to lift my leg to climb inside. “I have to be near her.”

Finally, he moves. He helps me to where Mindy is lying on her back on a gurney with an oxygen mask over her beautiful face. Her eyes are closed, and Eric is strapping monitors to her.

“How long was she inside?” He’s clearly worried, and I feel panic gripping my insides.

“I don’t know. We had a meeting scheduled for one.”

“Her heartrate is good. We’ll have to see if she responds to stimuli.”

The big guy hands me a bottle of water. “You need to drink.”

“Thanks.” I take the bottle, thinking.

I was only in there for five minutes, tops. She was in there at least five minutes longer… probably more. Falling to my knees, I rub my palm across my eyes.

“Mindy?” My voice is hoarse, but I try to speak soothing words. “Wake up, baby. It’s me, Sawyer.”

Reaching down, I slide my hand into her limp one. I put my palm against hers and lift it to my lips. “It’s me… I’m holding your hand like I said I would.”

Eric puts his hand on my shoulder. “We’re going to take her to the hospital.”

“I’m riding with her.”

He nods, going to the back and shutting the doors. I hold Mindy’s hand the whole way, talking to her and stroking the hair off her forehead. My stomach is so tight, it’s hard to breathe normally. The guys in the van keep trying to put an oxygen mask on me, but I want to talk to her.

“I love you,” I whisper in her ear, lightly touching my lips to her cheek.

Guilt tears me apart inside. I should have taken care of her better. Dropping my forehead to the side of her bed, I pray. Don’t let me lose her now.

Last night I was sure we were on the road back to each other. I can’t lose her, not like this.

My eyes are hot. Her small hand is still firmly in my grasp. We’re twenty minutes into our high-speed race to the hospital when her fingers move in mine. My head shoots up, and I see her eyelids squeeze.

She starts to cough, and Eric removes her oxygen mask, helping her roll to her side facing me. She coughs more, and he rubs her back. I look up at him worried.

“Controlled coughing is actually a good way to clear the lungs.”

My hand is on her shoulder, and I brace her as she struggles. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here.”

Her coughing subsides, and she’s still for a moment. Then she blinks several times. Her brow furrows, and she seems to be trying to focus.

“Mindy?” My heart is beating so hard. “Can you say something, baby?”

She closes her eyes once more then opens them, slowly moving her gaze to mine. Our eyes meet, and my breath stills. My stomach clenches, waiting…

“I’m not a baby.” She’s hoarse, and we’re all quiet at first.

Then she smiles weakly, and I start to laugh. “You’re right. You’re not.”

Rising onto my knees, I pull her to me, hugging her. Her arms are around my waist, and I close my eyes. “I’ve got you, beautiful. Just rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

33

Mindy

“This is my favorite of the two.” I’m sitting in a hospital bed with my iPad pro on my lap and the stylus in my hand. My lungs are still weak, but they’re stronger than they were two days ago.

The doctors make me do breathing treatments a few times each day, but they’re letting me go home this afternoon.

While I wait to be discharged, Sawyer and I have the meeting we were supposed to have when my brand-new old office burned to the ground, destroying everything inside. I was pretty devastated, until I remembered I’d left my iPad pro in my apartment.

That mistake was the one thing that saved my fledgling enterprise. It has all my contacts and concepts saved on it, and Sawyer bought me a new laptop the next day to use as backup.

Him sitting beside me sends all kinds of tingling warmth through my body. His presence makes me want to get better faster.

He raced into a burning building, down a narrow hall into a dark back room, defying sanity and his PTSD to save my life. Not only that, through the fog of what happened, I remember his words so clearly. I’m holding your hand… I love you…

All of it has banished my hesitation. I only want to be with him, in his arms.

“I agree with you. I like the anchor with the garland.” He traces his finger along the screen. “But can I be honest?”

My eyebrows rise, and I nod. “Please.”

“I don’t like any of these slogans.”

Dropping my head back, I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t either! We can work out something new together.”

As soon as I say the words, I realize how much I like them—literally and figuratively.

The door opens, and a nurse quietly enters pushing a wheelchair. “I’ve got your paperwork. You’re all set to go.”

Sawyer holds my hand, helping me off the bed. I’m wearing jeans and a long-sleeved sweater Noel brought me to wear home. She and Ma have been in and out the whole time I’ve been here, but Sawyer has never left my side.

If they weren’t aware of something between us before, I’m pretty sure everyone’s onto us now. He pushes me slowly down the hall, decorated in Christmas trees and tinsel garlands.

“It feels silly to be the one in the wheelchair,” I mutter.

“You just take it easy. Your lungs are still healing.”

To be honest, I do feel like I’m just getting over a really bad case of pneumonia. I get weak really easily, and if I start coughing, it sounds like I’ve been smoking two packs a day for twenty years. The doctor says I need to drink lots of water and take steamy showers and all kinds of lung-cleansing rituals.

We’re finally outside the hospital, and Sawyer takes my hand again, helping me out of the chair. He holds my hand all the way to his waiting truck in the circle drive, but before he opens my door, he turns my back to the cab, leaning closer. I love the feel of his body pressing against mine.

“I’m taking you home, but I’m not leaving until you’re one hundred percent, okay?”

Smiling up at him, I tilt my head to the side. “What if I want you to stay longer?”

“I’m sure we can work something out.” Dipping his chin, he kisses me briefly, but I slide my hands higher to his neck, bringing him closer for a longer kiss.

I want him to know I’ve changed. I want this now as much as he does.

We hold hands the short drive to my apartment, and he grabs my small bag out of the bed of the truck before helping me down and leading me to my door. He knocks on the door then gives me a funny look.

“What are you doing?” I shake my head putting my key in the lock.

The door opens before I have a chance to turn it, and my heart almost stops when everyone yells Surprise! Inside, my apartment is decorated with balloons and streamers. A big banner says Welcome Home, and I almost start to cry when I see on my desk a brand-new Apple computer and a small stack of office supplies.

Noel races forward to hug me. “Jeff said the insurance check is on the way, but this should get you started.”

Looking over her shoulder, Ma is right behind her waiting for a hug. Taron is by my bookshelf holding Dove. William is in the kitchen waving, and Deacon is beside him with his hands in his pockets. My sister Tamara is here with her little daughter Boo, and even Mrs. Irene is in a wheelchair with Ramona and Miss Jessica standing beside her.

“You all!” Tears are in my eyes as Ma hugs me hard.

“I’m so glad you’re back on your feet.” She straightens, and I see she’s been crying. “To think I could have lost you. And my hero!”

She steps to the side, pulling Sawyer into a tight squeeze. “You saved my baby.”

“I’m just glad we had that meeting scheduled.”

Deacon hands me a card signed by the Dallas crew. I hug him and William.

“Don’t worry, darling, I booked an Airbnb a few blocks away.” He nods toward Sawyer. “I expect you to be spending all your time with the hero.”

I smile, feeling my heart expanding with joy. “You didn’t even give me a chance to worry about what I lost.” I slowly make my way around the group, hugging everybody. “Y’all are the best friends.”

We hang out a few hours until I start to get tired. Mrs. Irene jokes I’m turning into one of them.

“Only temporarily!” I cry, hugging her as Ramona wheels her to the car.

She leans closer and whispers loudly, “Your aura is glowing purple. It’s time.”

I feel my cheeks turning pink, and I give her another hug before straightening.

Deacon shakes Sawyer’s hand. “Take care of my best client.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got her.” I’m glad to see the two of them acting a bit friendlier.

Ma gives me the tenth hug of the evening. Then does the same to Sawyer. “I feel better knowing you’re here.”

I’m not sure she’d say that if she knew all the naughty things I hope he’s planning to do with me tonight.

Noel pinches my arm, and I squeal. “Ow! Way to treat the injured.”

“You’re going to tell me everything about this, and I mean everything.” She nods toward her brother. “When, where, how long… Why I didn’t know.”

I give her a hug and pull her hair. “I’m not telling you everything.”

“Break it up. Glad you’re okay, Min.” Taron leans down to kiss my cheek then slaps Sawyer on the back. “I knew you had it in you.”

The final greetings are done, they’re all gone, and it’s just the two of us in my room full of party decorations and presents.

I thread my finger in a cord of string lights. “Did you organize this?”

He looks at me, and my heart swoons. It’s the first time I can say publicly this man is mine. He’s standing there in dark jeans that hug his tight ass, in a black shirt that stretches nicely across his broad chest, and he’s looking at me with so much love.

“Actually, it was Noel, but I helped.” He grins, and that dimple pierces his cheek.

We meet halfway, and I’m in his arms. Satisfaction floods my chest. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be, with my hero. The man I’d trust with my life.

Reaching up, I trace my fingers along the line of his jaw. “You raced into a burning building to save me.”

“I always will.” He catches my hand and kisses my palm, and so much warmth floods my stomach.

I smile, threading my fingers in his hair, and his expression grows serious.

“After Dad…” His voice tightens, and my eyes heat. “I couldn’t say I needed help. It wasn’t what leaders did. Not what heroes do.”

I place my hand gently on his cheek, meeting his eyes with all the love I feel in my heart. “Sawyer, you love us, you’re devoted to us. You can’t have all this light inside you and darkness too.” Looking down, I do something I’ve done since we were children. I thread our fingers, pressing my palm against his and holding tight. “Light chases the darkness away. If it comes back, I’ll hold your hand and lead you to the light again. Better yet, I’ll hold you in the light. I’ll never let you walk alone.”

Placing his thumb under my chin, he lifts my face. “This is how our story ends. You’re staying here with me, because I love you. You’re connected to me, and I’m never letting you go.”

My lips curl into a smile, my voice sultry. “Are you always such a cave man?”

“I thought I was your hero.” His grin is cocky-sexy. I could drown in the heat of his gaze. Leaning closer, he traces his lips along the line of jaw, whispering. “This is what happens when I let you come first.”

“You always let me come first.” My voice is thick, heated by the path of his fingers rising lightly under my shirt, higher to cup my breasts over my bra.

“Are you ready to come now?”

My nipples harden, and I rise to my toes, nibbling at his lips, desperate for his kiss. “Yes, please.”

“Sure you don’t need to rest?”

“I’ve never had so much energy.”

Rough hands pull my sweater over my head. My bra is gone equally fast, and he lifts me under the ass, carrying me to the bed. Covering his lips with mine, my fingers fly down the buttons of his shirt, finally ripping it over his shoulders and sending the remaining ones flying.

A low rumble rises from his chest, and he drops me back, gazing at me with heated eyes. It’s been so long it’s like a torch against my skin. I squirm in the bed using my toes to kick off my shoes, unbuttoning my jeans as he watches, a smirk of approval on his lips.

I love the way he looks at me. I want to make him desperate for me the way I am for him. Lifting my hips, I slide my jeans down, showing I have nothing on underneath. My legs cross, and I’m so wet as I watch him unfasten his belt, dropping to his knees.

“Come here.” It’s somewhere between an order and a growl, and he catches my ankles, pulling me to his mouth.

Holding my legs apart, he rises higher to kiss my stomach. I whimper and arch my back, meeting his lips, so desperate for him, so hot. His hands trace along my thighs, and two fingers pierce me, sliding inside and curling, finding the spot that makes my eyes roll back, blinding me with sensation.

“Sawyer!” I cry out, as loud as I want.

His mouth covers my pussy, and he pulls, licking and sucking my clit as currents snake up my thighs. I can’t take it. It’s been too long. He knows my body so well, he plays me like an instrument, every touch skilled, every stroke timed for ultimate pleasure.

“Oh, God!” I gasp as the orgasm shakes my body. I try not to squeeze my thighs against his head. I pull on his hair, barely able to stand it. “Please, Sawyer…”

He rises quickly, shoving his jeans aside. Rough kisses against my stomach, rough sucks on my nipples. I’m on fire, twisting in the sheets until he pins me, thrusting his cock deep in my clenching core. He works me hard and fast, holding me down, covering my mouth with his.

Lifting my head, I chase his lips, doing my best to keep up, longing for every bit of him. Our bodies move in time. Our sounds are animal—groans and whimpers, moans and sighs. Our hands and arms are everywhere, pulling pushing, gripping and embracing.

The closer he gets, the faster he moves, drawing me right along with him until we combust. My arms tighten around his shoulders. His body stills with a hard thrust, pulsing and pushing me higher in the bed.

We hold each other as we shoot through the stars, riding out the electric waves of bliss, shooting through eternity together, until we come down, breathless and spent, looking at each other like we’ve reconnected pieces of ourselves wrongly separated.

Turning our bodies in the bed, he pulls me to his chest like always, spooning me against him, kissing the back of my neck.

“I love you, Melinda Claire.” The sound of his voice thrills me to my curled toes. “You’re never leaving me again.”

Laughing, I lift his hand to my lips for a kiss. “I love you Sawyer Louis. You’re never leaving me again.”

“You’re right.” His strong arms are around me, and it’s the greatest feeling on the planet.

We fell in love as children, holding each other through our darkest times. Now we’re here, adults who’ve been damaged and who’ve changed. We’ve found out who we were, and now we’re together knowing without a doubt, this is the life we want.

Whatever storms come our way, he’s my anchor, and I am his. We’re in the light now, and it’s where I’ll stay forever.

EPILOGUE

Sawyer

“The chance of a hard freeze is a hundred percent.” Ed Daniels sits in the Denny’s sipping weak coffee and looking grim. “It could do some serious damage.”

An April freeze is the worst thing that can happen in this area. The young fruit is so delicate, we could lose our entire harvest, which not only kills our bottom line, it kills the festival. And the festival, as I’ve previously noted, draws vendors and tourists from all over the world. It’s a huge loss for the entire community.

“Time to test out the heating system.” I stand, adjusting the cap on my head.

Twelve years ago, I prepared for this. I watched a program where farmers installed small heaters throughout the rows to filter heat along the ground, and giant wind turbines were used to pull it up surrounding the immature fruit. We don’t have a ton of them, but we have enough to save our crop—as long as nothing goes wrong.

“I’m willing to sleep in the rows tonight, but I’m going to need help to monitor the entire crop. To make sure the heaters don’t go out or the windmills stop turning.”

It’s a serious matter, but it can also be kind of fun. And I’ve got something I’ve been wanting to do since Christmas. Sleeping under the stars in the middle of a potential frost oddly seems like the perfect setting for it.

“I’ll send my boys over.” Wayne Doucet stands, holding up a finger. “I know Ed will send over his kids.”

“That’s great. Thanks, guys. I’ll get Noel and Taron and Leon in on this.” I stand, ready to head to Lewis’s to pick up the item I ordered the day after Mindy was discharged from the hospital.

“DON’T SAY it like it’s some kind of treat.” Noel is indignant, marching through the house. “It’s cold, the ground is hard, and it’s freakin miserable. You should say give up a night’s sleep in the rows.”

“I want to sleep with the trees, Mamma!” Dove bounces on her toes beside me. “Miss Tamara says Boo could come over, too!”

My sister narrows her eyes at me, and I lean forward, whispering in her ear. “I’ve got something special planned for Mindy… It’d be cool if you considered helping out… in case I’m occupied.”

Light hits her eyes, and she claps her hands, bouncing on her toes. “You’re going to propose in the orchard? Oh, it’s going to be so romantic!”

Stepping forward, I hold my hand lightly over her lips. “Little pictures.”

The rest of the day is spent testing the heaters and arranging sleeping bags and cots throughout the hills.

“We can take shifts sleeping, especially as the night wears on.” I’m walking with Leon, who stops every few paces to look back at the last station.

“Think this is close enough?”

We’re trying to make sure the guards are spaced evenly to hear if anything goes wrong while still covering the orchard.

“It has to be.”

By ten o’clock, the temperature is already dangerously cold. We waited as long as we could to start up everything not wanting to run out of fuel for the night and the morning. Luckily, it’s a fast-moving front, and it’s supposed to warm up again by tomorrow evening. We’ll still use the turbines to be safe.

“I don’t see why I need to sleep out here in the trees.” Mindy holds my waist, and she’s as whiny as my sister.

Still, she kisses the side of my neck, and I’m ready to wrap up the business part of this event and get to the good part.

“I set up a tent for us, and we even have a double air mattress.” Her cute little nose wrinkles, and I kiss the tip. “It’ll be like camping.”

“What if you camp out here, and I sleep in the house with Noel and Dove?”

“Dove and Boo set up a princess camp with pink air mattresses and purple sleeping bags over by Taron and Noel.”

“Kids have no nerve endings.”

I chuckle tugging her along with me.

We have a brief meeting with the volunteer helpers. Everyone is equipped with their phones and a two-way radio for backup. We’re all assigned to our stations, and following a quick thanks, we walk slowly to our places.

My sister almost spoils my surprise when she sidles up to me. “I’ve got you covered, boss. Make me proud.”

Mindy’s brow arches. “What was that all about?”

“You know Noel.” I exhale, trying to think of how to end that and coming up blank.

Mindy lets it pass, which is odd. She’s like a bird dog when it comes to secrets these days. Come to think of it, she’s been pretty quiet all day herself.

“You okay?” I lean my head back to inspect her pretty face.

“Of course! Why would you say that?” She blinks fast as if I’ve caught her hand in the cookie jar.

Now I’m really suspicious, but we’re at the tent. Inside, I’ve got the place prepared for my big moment, so I choose to let it go for now.

“You know, it’s not as cold as I expected with those heaters going.”

“Hang on, before you go inside.” I turn her to face me, looking down on her pretty face so full of love. I don’t know if it’s the yellow light of the heaters, but she seems to glow. Taking both her hands in mine, I smile. “I want you to close your eyes.”

Her nose scrunches, but she does as I ask. I guide her carefully through the doors of the tent to where I’ve arranged a small table with LED tea lights and a bucket of champagne. A bouquet of red roses is at her place, and I lead her to sit on the large pillow on the ground.

Digging in my pocket, I take out the black velvet box and take a knee in front of her. “Now open your eyes.”

She ducks her head just before doing what I say, which makes me love her a little more. When her eyes open, they go wide, and her hands cover her mouth.

“Sawyer!” She gasps. “It’s so beautiful! Did you do all this?”

Shrugging, I confess. “Noel helped me.”

Her wide eyes return to mine, and tears glisten in them. She’s too smart for me, so I step up the pace.

“Melinda Claire, I’ve known you all your life, but it wasn’t until just recently I discovered you are my life.” A crystal tear hits her cheek, and I slide it away with my thumb. “I put you through a lot, but you never wavered. You’ve always been my constant.”

She smiles, putting her hands over mine.

“For a long time, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to say these words to you. I thought I was too damaged, and I decided I’d rather lose you than chain you to a man who would only break your heart.” Dropping my chin, I laugh bitterly. “I nearly broke both of us with that stupid decision.”

“No.” She whispers, kissing my cheek. “Don’t say bad things about the man I love.”

Our eyes meet, and it’s a flash of love so true, I cut the stalling. “I’m better now. I waited to be sure, and after the fire I knew.” Taking out the black box, I open it. “Will you be my wife? Will you stay here with me?”

She’s nodding before I even finish the question. “I will.”

It’s strong and firm, and I pull her to my chest, covering her lips with mine and kissing her soft and true. Lifting my chin, our cheeks are pressed together, and I listen to her breath, the sound of her heartbeat. My wife.

I’m thinking how perfect that sounds when she starts to wiggle. Relaxing my hold, I lean back, looking down at her amused. “What?”

“Can I see my ring now?”

“Shit.” I start to laugh, taking out the box again and opening it. I remove the shiny platinum band with a large, square diamond right in the center and slip it on the third finger of her left hand.

“Oh, Sawyer!” She holds it up, turning it side to side. “How did you do this? It’s perfect!”

The band is decorated with a tiny platinum anchor. The rope swirls around the diamond and runs down the other side. It’s the logo for the farm, but it’s also the symbol of us—hope, salvation, security, steadfastness…

“Let’s celebrate.” I lift the bottle of champagne and pour us each a glass. “Then I want to test out that air mattress. Maybe with you on top, riding me.”

I look back, and her face is beaming. She holds up a hand and tilts her head to the side. “None for me, thanks.”

“What?” I frown, looking at the bottle. “This is expensive shit…”

“I have a little surprise for you, too.” She stands, taking my hand and putting my glass and the bottle on the block of wood we’re using for a table. “Come with me.”

We walk to the air mattress, and I sit down. She climbs onto my lap in a straddle and puts both her hands on my shoulders. “I’m glad you decided you want to marry me, because earlier today I got some news I hope will make you happy.”

My brow furrows, and she leans forward, tracing her lips along mine softly. It sends heat racing below my waist. “You’d better tell me fast, because I’m ready to fuck my future wife.”

“Better work on your patience.” Her eyes are glowing, sultry, and she leans down to whisper in my ear. “You’re going to be a daddy.”

It takes a second for that news to register, and as soon as it does, I’m hit with an avalanche of emotions, gratitude, joy, excitement, disbelief.

Turning her quickly, I lay her back on the mattress, pulling up the sweater she’s wearing and unbuttoning her jeans. When her stomach is exposed, I slide my palm over her smooth skin, kissing her right below her navel.

Her fingers thread in my hair, and when I look up, she’s gazing down at me with love in her eyes. “You’ve got my baby in here?”

She laughs quietly, nodding. “Dr. says I’m about nine weeks along.”

I turn my head to rest my cheek against her skin. “Nine weeks, that’s pretty far.”

“I looked at the calendar, and it seems like Valentine’s day was a lucky day for us.”

“Every day’s a lucky day for us.” I whisper the words, pressing my lips against her skin.

“I hope I’m about to get lucky now.”

I’m still thinking about her incredible news when I realize what she said. She props up on her elbows, smiling down at me with a heat I know well. Rising up, I whip my jacket off followed quickly by my sweater, then I dive into her arms.

She shrieks a laugh, wrapping her arms around my bare shoulders and meeting my kisses with her smiling own.

“Keep it down, the kids will hear.”

“I’m not very good at that.” She kisses my neck, and I can’t argue.

We chase each other’s mouths, landing kisses as we discard clothing, underwear. I kiss her belly, spending time a little farther south until my beautiful future bride is moaning and rocking her hips. Like old times, my hand is over her mouth as I plunge deep into her core. She meets my thrusts with her own until we’re flying on waves of ecstasy, soaring through the heavens into a future I can’t wait to begin.

Holding her in my arms as she sleeps, I don’t remember a time when I felt so whole and satisfied. I do recall the day I found a small girl in a field who’d end up changing my life.

It was on the second worst day of my life. A day so cold, I thought my heart had frozen.

They say you can’t fall in love as a kid, not real love, but I’ve loved her all my life. It took almost losing her for me to know it was a loss I’d never survive.

She keeps me in my place. She holds me steady. She’s my anchor, but she’s more than that. She’s my morning star, guiding me through the darkest night and leading me home.

We’re starting a new tradition on this hill. One of laughter and sunrise, of shoots of new growth under a sky full of stars. A place where love will surround us, and she will stand by my side always, here with me.

Thank you for reading HERE WITH ME!

I hope you loved Sawyer and Mindy and all the gang as much as I did!

Deacon’s book is coming Aug. 17, 2020!

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In the meantime…

Read Taron + Noel’s emotional, sexy, second-chance romance WAIT FOR ME (link) FREE in Kindle Unlimited now!

Keep clicking for a short sneak peek… Also available on audiobook (link).

OR…

Want MORE from this band of military brothers?

Patton’s story is a sexy, enemies-to-lovers office romance you are going to LOVE.

Read BOSS OF ME (link) free in Kindle Unlimited Today!

Keep clicking for a short sneak peek… Also available on audiobook (link).

WAIT FOR ME

BY TIA LOUISE

Dear Taron,

I should have told you this a long time ago…

Dear Taron,

Is there a time-limit on forgiveness?

If there is, I haven’t reached it…

Dear Taron,

I still love you…

A letter never sent.

Heck, I never even finished it.

Taron Rhodes was my brother’s best friend.

He was sexy as sin.

But he was more than that…

He was ponytail-pulling, ice down your shirt teasing, throw you in the lake screaming…

Strong, tanned arms and bright green eyes over a heart-stopping, naughty grin…

Did I mention his tight end?

I gave him my first real kiss, my heart, my everything.

I said I’d wait for him…

I’m still waiting, because Taron Rhodes is still the man of my dreams,

And I have a secret that has his bright green eyes.

Noel LaGrange stole my heart when she was only eighteen—pushing me off a flatbed and calling me a city slicker.

Her brother Sawyer would kick my ass if he knew how many times we made out that summer, how close we got.

Everything changed when Sawyer and I joined the military.

We were honorably discharged, but I didn’t go to her.

Instead, I went back to the city… where no amount of money, no amount of pills can heal this wound.

Only her whiskey eyes and dark hair, her slim arms and her sweet scent, give me hope.

I broke her heart just as surely as I broke mine, but I’m going back to make it right.

If she’s still waiting…

(WAIT FOR ME is a STAND-ALONE small-town, second-chance romance. No cheating. No cliffhangers.)

PROLOGUE

Noel

My momma was too beautiful to die.

At least, that’s what everybody said.

Penelope Jean Harris was the scion of our town’s founder and prettiest girl in three parishes. She was head majorette in high school and homecoming queen and prom queen and every other queen. She was Peach Princess, Teen Dixie Peach, and Miss Dixie Gem. She would’ve gone on to be Miss Louisiana if my daddy hadn’t made her a Mrs.

I was eleven—that strange age between too big to play in the creek in only my panties and too little to sleep without the closet light on. I loved Dolly Parton and butterflies and picking peaches straight off my daddy’s trees and eating them, jumping in the lake and running after jackrabbits with my little brother Leon.

In the summer the trees were rich green, and the sweet scent of peach juice filled the air. In the winter they were sparse, bony hands, reaching palms up to heaven. Branches like fingers spread, grasping for hope.

Momma’s hazel eyes crinkled at the corners whenever she looked at me or my brothers or my daddy. Her sweet smile was warm sunshine when I got cold.

She would wrap me in her arms and sing an old sad song when I was sleepy or cranky or “out of sorts,” which is how she’d put it. I pictured “sorts” as ivory dominoes I could line up and knock down or slap off the table, across the room. I’d pull her silky brown hair around me like a cape and close my eyes and breathe…

Then she was gone.

She went for a walk one crisp winter evening along the narrow, dirt road that runs past our orchard out to the old house on the hill. Frost was in the air; bonfires were burning. The man driving the truck said she came out of nowhere.

He never saw her.

She never saw him.

Six weeks later, in that same orchard with peach blossoms on the trees and dew tipping the grass, on the very spot she died, my daddy took his life with his own gun.

I guess sometimes love makes you forget things can get better.

I guess he didn’t see a bend in the road up ahead.

I guess he only saw a straight line leading deeper and deeper into black.

My daddy was the star of his high school football team… but Life threw him a pass he couldn’t catch with Momma’s death.

Our world changed forever that winter.

Dolly says love is like a butterfly, soft and gentle as a sigh, but from what I’ve seen of love, I think it’s more like a tornado, shocking and violent and so powerful it can rip your soul out of your mouth…

It’s faster than you can run, and it blows one house away while leaving the next one peacefully standing.

I didn’t know which way love would take me, quietly or with the roar of a freight train. I should’ve known. I should’ve realized the moment I saw him.

It was both. It was quiet as the brush of peach fuzz, but it left my insides in splinters. It twisted my lungs and lifted me up so high only to throw me down with a force that rang my ears and flooded my eyes.

It all started the summer before they left, a month before my brother was sent to fight in a war everybody said was over.

It all started in the kitchen of my momma’s house…

Get WAIT FOR ME (link) and fall in love with this brother’s best friend, military romance today—free in Kindle Unlimited!

Also available on audiobook (link).

BOSS OF ME

Patton Fletcher is

✔Demanding,

✔Driven,

✔Sexy AF, and

✔My New Boss.

My sister says don’t fall for him. I say don’t worry

I’m not about to let some arrogant, young CEO derail my dreams.

Or insult my wardrobe.

I don’t care about his deep brown eyes or the way the muscle moves in his square jaw when he’s pissed.

I won’t fall for his power or how sexy he fills out that suit.

I said I could resist him.

I was wrong…

Raquel Morgan is Trouble.

She’s stubborn, independent, and a fighter.

She has long, dark hair, crystal blue eyes, and freckles…

Freckles.

And long, sexy legs.

And a smart mouth.

I’ve spent seven years building one of the top companies in Nashville, and I’m not about to let some ambitious, cardigan-wearing new kid distract me from my goals.

Raquel Morgan won’t tempt me.

I’m The Boss, and I never lose control…

(BOSS OF ME is an enemies-to-lovers, military romance with a badass alpha boss and the feisty woman who steals his heart. No cheating. No cliffhangers.)

PROLOGUE

Patton

Seven years ago in a jungle south of the border…

The clock is ticking.

We have to move fast or this will go terribly wrong.

Sweat rolls down my sides, and I exhale slowly, calming my pulse.

The air is heavy and close, so thick it’s almost visible and so hot it’s almost impossible to breathe.

Tropical plants form a dense barrier of wide, shiny leaves, and we’re hidden in the brush around a small, cinder-block hut.

Our target is a green dot on my screen blinking right in front of us.

He’s here.

“Moving in, eleven o’clock.” Taron’s voice is low in my ear.

“Coming up from the southeast.” Sawyer’s distinct southern drawl is a quick response.

“No noise. No prisoners.” I give the order, firm and clear.

I’m the leader of this three-man rescue mission, and we won’t fail.

We surround the unpainted hovel. It’s quiet in the shadows. The windows are black holes with no glass, empty squares that could be hiding anything—watchers with guns, lining us up in the crosshairs.

Or he could be alone.

No, it would never be that easy.

He could be dead.

My jaw tightens and I push back on the thought. What good would he be to them dead?

Taking a knee, I slowly lift my gun to my eye, setting my sites on the front door. We’ve been tracking radio signals, emails and IP addresses, until we isolated them here.

Two weeks have passed since Martin was jumped on a routine fuel run. From what we’ve been able to piece together, they took him down with PAVA spray, a paralyzing nerve gas. Then the videos started.

Two weeks of grainy images of our friend and fellow Marine tied to a chair with a bag over his head. They’d rip it off to reveal black eyes and bloodstained skin. Then the threats started—guns and money. It’s what they all want. Until now, the moment of truth in the heart of a South American jungle.

We’re tired, thirsty, and focused on retrieving our friend, kidnapped off-duty in a routine stop on our way to a peace-keeping mission in Caracas.

Sawyer checks in from his point, and we watch as Taron creeps across the face of the structure, approaching the weathered wooden door. His gun is at his chest as he carefully reaches out and knocks.

Three sharp raps, and we wait.

Nobody breathes.

No response.

He looks to me, and I give a nod. I’m front and center, ready to cover him.

Nobody gets past me.

Nobody takes my men.

We’re brothers—no one forgotten, no one left behind.

My heart beats like a mallet against my ribs. As much as we’ve trained, this scene is entirely unpredictable. We hope to have the element of surprise. We hope his kidnappers believe we’re still in Los Cabos, but they could be smarter than we give them credit for. With low growl, I shake my head. Not likely.

These drugged-up gangsters dared to kidnap a Marine. The only thing stopping us from torching this whole place is my belief we can extract him without causing unnecessary casualties.

Taron’s jaw is set, the sleeves of his tan shirt showing from beneath the black Kevlar vest are stained with sweat, and his light-brown hair is wet. All our faces are scrubbed with camouflage, making the whites of our eyes seem to glow.

My breath stills. My cheek is pressed to my gun barrel, and the noise of cicadas rises like a chorus around us. It grows louder, a warning.

I shake off the thought. Taron is my focus.

The shadow of Sawyer emerges from the brush at the opposite end of the house. They’re acting on my orders, but we’re brothers. We’ve had each other’s backs since Day One. This is more than a rescue. Martin is family.

Taron moves away from the concrete wall, and my finger is ready on the trigger. The only thing standing between us and what’s about to happen is a wooden door…

He lifts his leg and gives the door a sharp kick, sending it flying against the wall with a blast that rattles the quiet jungle. His back is against the wall again, and he holds, waiting for a barrage of bullets.

None come.

Three heartbeats, three silent breaths—I give him a nod. He turns quickly, gun at eye level and steps through the space, swinging his weapon side to side. Sawyer is at his side, and I’m out of position moving forward to cover them.

“Marley!” Taron’s gun lowers, and he rushes forward. I’m at the door to see him whip the bag off our friend’s face, and it hits me like a sucker punch.

His head drops forward, bobbing like a top. I don’t understand his mumbles. A thick stream of bloody spit drips from his swollen lips.

Rage mixes with adrenaline. He’s been beaten almost to death, and cords of rope cut into his skin. Taron’s quickly slicing his restraints as Sawyer and I case the hut. It appears deserted, which puts me on guard for IEDs. The unfurnished room has no interior light, casting long shadows in the corners. With a muted thud, Marley’s knees hit the floor.

Taron bends to help lift him, and that’s when I see her. Green eyes shining like cat in the darkness.

“No!” I shout as she rushes forward, screaming, just in time for Taron to whip around and see the raised machete in her hand.

Light flashes off the silver blade, the blast of Taron’s pistol deafens us in the small space, and she drops like a stone, a bloody splatter like a megaphone fanning out on the floor behind her small body. Long, caramel hair fans around her head, and she looks seventeen.

“God, no.” He lets out a pained groan as the small gun falls to the floor.

For a moment, we’re unable to move, unable to look away from the girl lying dead at our feet. My eyes heat, but I squeeze them shut briefly, clenching my teeth against the emotion. Marley mumbles incoherent words. He’s barely conscious, beaten almost beyond recognition. I can’t even tell if he recognizes us. The machete is at his feet, beside the dead girl.

She would have slashed them both if Taron hadn’t done what he did.

Combat leaves no room for second-guessing. Hesitation is how you end up dead, cut in half by a teenager you’d otherwise overlook. A girl who never should have been here. Bastards using children to fight their battles.

“Get him out of here.” My voice is a gruff order. When Taron doesn’t move, I raise the volume. “I said GO!”

He struggles to lift Marley over his shoulder, and Sawyer steps forward to help him. I’m the last one to leave the hut, giving it a final sweep before I turn, in time to see Taron hit the ground and then cry out in pain.

“Mother—” He rolls to his side, blood soaking his lower back from where he landed on a broken sapling.

“Patton, stop!” Sawyer yells, and I see the trip wire.

How we missed it coming in is anybody’s guess. Sawyer hoists Marley onto his shoulders. He’s strong as an ox from working on his family’s peach farm back home. I throw my rifle over my shoulder and lean down, grabbing Taron’s arm.

“Can you walk?”

His face is scrunched in agony, but he manages to nod. “Get us out of here.”

My jaw is tight, my brow set, and I force the determination we need to finish this rescue mission. Our ATV is down the hill, hidden in the brush, and we follow Sawyer, Taron leaning heavily on me.

His blood soaks through his clothes onto mine, dripping down to his pants. This injury might send him home, and Marley’s worse. We’re all worse on the inside. We saved our man, but we’re all scarred by what we left behind.

It’s too late to change it. We’ll deal with the scars later.

When the fighting stops.

1

Raquel

Present Day

A hot breeze whips through the streets of downtown Nashville, sweeping my light brown hair off my shoulders and throwing my black blazer open. I catch it, holding my bag and clutching my phone to my ear, hanging on my sister Renée’s words like the voice of God.

“Make friends with Sandra. She’s a good ally.” Renée is encouraging, but my stomach is in knots. “Don’t ask too many questions. If something doesn’t make sense, wait and ask her later.”

“I can’t ask questions on my first day?” The orange hand appears at the crosswalk, and I take the opportunity to straighten my blouse. “What kind of mind reader do they think I am?”

“Trust me, Patton Fletcher doesn’t have time to teach you how to do your job.” She sounds like she might be quoting him.

“I’ve never even met Patton Fletcher.”

“Who hired you? Taron? He’s the only one who could get away with something like that.”

“Ah, yeah.” The walk sign appears, and I hustle across the four-lane street. “I interviewed with Taron Rhodes and Jerry Buckingham.”

“Hmm…” Her skepticism fans my nerves.

“What?”

“You’ll really have to be on your toes, then. If he didn’t pick you, he’ll be looking to get rid of you.”

“Why?” Panic spreads into my chest.

“It’s just how he is. He likes to be in control.”

“So what do I do? You worked here.” I push through the glass doors of Fletcher International, Inc., fresh out of Vanderbilt’s Owen Grad School with a shiny new MBA.

Just like my sister, I graduated in the Top Ten in my class, and as such, I landed interviews with the top firms in the city. I wanted to go to Chicago or Dallas, but my advisor said Fletcher was a great starting point, a real feather in my cap if I could get a good recommendation. I assume this Patton Fletcher knows every CEO in the country… or his dad did.

When I searched Fletcher International, I found pages of articles on George Fletcher, not so much on his son.

“Don’t let him push you around.” Her voice turns thoughtful. “I couldn’t tell if he did it on purpose or if it’s just his personality…”

“How do I do that? He’s the boss.”

I wonder if she might tell me what happened to her here. My thoughts flicker back to when Renée started as an accounting intern at FII. She seemed to be doing great, one of Nashville Magazine’s “Thirty under Thirty” rising stars in local business.

She passed the CPA exam on her first try… Then a year later, she dropped off the grid.

She stopped answering her phone, and when I called the office, a woman said she didn’t work here anymore. I had to leave campus in the middle of exams, catch a city bus across town to her low-rent apartment in East Nashville, where it looked like she hadn’t left her bed for days.

She wouldn’t tell me what happened—she only said she wasn’t doing it anymore. “It” meant anything having to do with her accounting degree.

That spring break, I ditched my plans to spend the week in South Walton to help her move back to Savannah, to our parents’ tiny home near the watchful eye of Ms. Hazel Wakefield, their old neighbor.

Now she helps run Ms. Hazel’s gift shop on Tybee Island and pays for rent by cleaning the old woman’s house, running her errands, and cooking their meals. She doesn’t have much choice since she walked away from her career with nothing but a crushing load of student loan debt.

“You want my advice on Patton Fletcher?” She huffs a laugh like it will take all day. “Don’t mention his dad. It pisses him off.”

My brow furrows. “Got it. Anything else?” I’m on the elevator rising too fast. Or she’s talking too slowly.

“Never wear all black. He hates that.”

“Shit.” I glance down at my black slacks and matching black blazer. “I’ll have to buy a scarf at lunch.”

“Nope, he hates scarves even more.”

“What’s his problem?” My lips tighten, and my urge to fight starts to rise.

It’s how I got my nickname, Rocky. My dad started it because even as a little girl, I never backed down from a bully.

“Remember when we were kids, and you liked to say ‘You’re not the boss of me’?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever say that to Patton Fletcher.” I’m about to speak, when she adds conspiratorially. “But never stop saying it in your head. I think he secretly likes it.”

“He sounds evil.”

“Well…” Her voice goes higher. “Patton Fletcher is a devil. He’s not the devil, but he’s definitely one of them.”

“I’m not afraid of the devil.” I have no intention of letting some arrogant young CEO scare me away from my dreams—if that’s what he did to Renée.

The elevator stops with a ding, and I wonder if that’s the reason I said yes to this particular job offer, to prove the Morgan girls have grit, to prove we’re tougher than we look.

“Whatever you do, don’t fall for him.” Her tone turns serious, and it almost makes me laugh.

“I have no intention of falling for him.”

“I checked your star sign this morning. It’s a good day for you to start something new.”

I’m in the door, and not a moment too soon. When she starts on the holistic remedies and astral predictions, I’m done. “Thanks, sis. Gotta run. Love you!”

“Love you, too. Protect your chin.”

“I will.” It’s our usual sign-off, a boxing reference.

I end the call as a slim young man in a pale blue, button-down and salmon-pink dockers behind the reception desk lowers his phone and gives me a bright smile.

“Welcome to Fletcher International, can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Rock—ah, Raquel Morgan. I’m supposed to check in with Sandra—”

“Oh! You’re the new hire. One moment, please.” I wait while he punches a few buttons and speaks quickly into the receiver.

I only have a moment to glance around the immaculate, dark-wood, leather, and glass waiting area before he hops out of his chair, extending an arm toward the door leading to the back offices. “Right this way. Sandra’s waiting for you.”

“Thank you…”

“Dean.” He smiles, turning back to answer the buzzing phone as Sandra appears in the hall.

I can’t help noticing her lavender silk blouse and beige pencil skirt. I feel like the grim reaper compared to the two of them…

Which is ridiculous! I look very professional in my suit, and I’m wearing a cream silk blouse… I’ll ditch my jacket once I’m in my office. Problem solved.

“Welcome aboard! It’s so nice to have another girl at this sausage fest.” Her hazel eyes shine behind heavy, tortoise-shell framed glasses, and I like her at once.

“Yeah.” I glance down with an embarrassed grin. “I feel overdressed.”

“They say you can never be overdressed, right?”

“I guess…” I’m not sure what to say. I stand out like a sore thumb, and I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or not.

Sandra leads me down a corridor with offices facing downtown on one side and cubicles in front of computers on the other. “This is your office in the middle.”

Does that make me the monkey? I step into a good-sized room with a large window overlooking the river. A dark wood desk holds a newish-looking laptop with a sheet of paper beside it. A banker’s box full of files is on the other side and another is on the floor.

I drop my bag in the maroon leather office chair. “This is great.”

“Taron is in the corner office to your right.” She points across her chest. “And Jerry is just on the other side. I think you met them both already?”

“Yes!” I smile. “They interviewed me.”

She gives me a wink. “I think they were both concerned about who would occupy this space. Nobody wants a bad neighbor.”

Everything about Sandra puts me at ease and makes me wonder why I was so nervous. I plan to text Renée the second she leaves and thank her for the heads-up when a dark figure glides in behind her.

“Sandra, I need you to open a file on the Madagascar account.” A deep, rich voice joins us, and Sandra does a little jump and turns. Dark eyes under a lowered brow land on me.

“Patton Fletcher, meet our new hire, Raquel Morgan. She’s taking over the international accounts for Taron.”

My heart stutters in my chest, and all I can think is Wow.

“For Taron?” The muscle in his square jaw moves, and he looks to the right, toward Taron’s office, as if he can see through the wall. For a moment, I wonder if he can… being the devil and all.

“So yes, Raquel Morgan…” Sandra repeats herself, leaving the introduction open as she gestures toward me. “Patton Fletcher.”

“Right. Welcome.” He seems angry.

I can’t seem to find my voice. I’ve never been in the presence of someone so young yet so formidable in my life.

His dark hair is swept back from his face in glossy waves that just touch the back of his collar, and his shoulders are broad. His biceps strain against the sleeves of the blue blazer he’s wearing, and when he extends a perfectly elegant hand to shake mine—long fingers, neat nails—the black tips of a tattoo peek out from beneath his white cuff. Jesus, take the wheel.

Our fingers touch, and heat floods my veins. “Thank you.” My voice is practiced calm, but I feel weak. Why didn’t anyone tell me how insanely hot this devil is?

“Then the Madagascar file will go to her.” He holds a manila envelope toward Sandra, which she passes to me.

“She’s your girl.” His eyes narrow, but Sandra continues. “Raquel speaks five languages—”

“Reads,” I quickly interrupt. “Sorry… I’m only a fluent speaker in one. Besides English, of course, but I can read the others fluently. For some reason, reading is easier than speaking.”

Am I rambling?

Stop speaking, Rocky.

“I hope it’s whatever they speak in Madagascar.” Patton’s tone is dismissive, and he pivots as if to go.

“French.” My voice is a bit louder. “They speak French in Madagascar, and you’re in luck.”

He turns back, and I smile, doing my best to redeem my wobbly first impression. I’m a professional woman, not some swooning school girl.

His dark gaze sweeps up and down my body quickly, and my knees tingle. “Are you going to a funeral?”

The sarcasm in his tone irritates me. I hold my smile steady, and I remember what Renée told me, my mantra. “I’m working at one of the top firms in Nashville. From what I hear, it’s a very professional place.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and I’m not sure if he’s going to smile or frown. I’m briefly distracted by the fullness of his lips, but I kick that thought out of my brain. Patton Fletcher is testing me, just like my sister said he would. It’s a fight or flight situation, and I’m not about to run.

“Try some color next time. We want our clients to feel positive about working with us, not depressed.”

Rude! He starts to go, but I can’t resist. “I think choosing my wardrobe is a job I can handle.” I’m teasing, but only a little bit.

“I guess we’ll find out.” He glances over his shoulder, and I’m not sure—is he teasing, too?

“I have been dressing myself for a long time.” My tone is thoughtful.

I could say as a self-respecting devil, he should be the one wearing all black…

But I don’t.

“Have you been doing this job longer than me?”

I don’t want to answer that.

“Right.” He turns to Sandra. “Tell Taron to come to my office as soon as he arrives. We have a video conference with Hastings and Key at ten.” I think that’s it, and I realize I’m holding my breath. It catches again when he points at me. “Skype meeting with Madagascar tomorrow. Sandra will put everything you need on the G-drive. I expect you to be ready.”

“I will be.”

He’s gone, and I glance at the thin envelope in my hands. Shit. What do I need to know by tomorrow?

When I look up again, Sandra is grinning, one eyebrow arched. “Sounds like you’d better get busy. Your passwords and everything you need are on the sheet by your computer. If you need anything else, let me know.” She pushes off and leaves me alone in my office, but I hear her last words as she walks away. “This is going to be fun.”

Get BOSS OF ME (link) FREE in Kindle Unlimited Now!

Also available on audiobook (link).

BOOKS BY TIA LOUISE

BOOKS IN KINDLE UNLIMITED

STAND-ALONE ROMANCES

Wait for Me, 2019

Boss of Me, 2019

Stay, 2019

Make Me Yours, 2019

Make You Mine, 2018

When We Kiss, 2018

Save Me, 2018

The Right Stud, 2018*

When We Touch, 2017

The Last Guy, 2017*

(*co-written with Ilsa Madden-Mills)

THE BRIGHT LIGHTS SERIES

Under the Lights (#1), 2018

Under the Stars (#2), 2018

Hit Girl (#3), 2018

PARANORMAL ROMANCES

One Immortal (Derek & Melissa, vampires)

One Insatiable (Stitch & Mercy, shifters)

eBOOKS ON ALL RETAILERS

THE DIRTY PLAYERS SERIES

The Prince & The Player (#1), 2016

A Player for a Princess (#2), 2016

Dirty Dealers (#3), 2017

Dirty Thief (#4), 2017

THE ONE TO HOLD SERIES

One to Hold (#1 - Derek & Melissa)

One to Keep (#2 - Patrick & Elaine)

One to Protect (#3 - Derek & Melissa)

One to Love (#4 - Kenny & Slayde)

One to Leave (#5 - Stuart & Mariska)

One to Save (#6 - Derek & Melissa)

One to Chase (#7 - Marcus & Amy)

One to Take (#8 - Stuart & Mariska)

Descriptions, teasers, excerpts and more are on my website (link)!

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tia Louise is the USA TODAY bestselling, award-winning author of super hot and sexy romance.

Whether billionaires, Marines, fighters, cowboys, single dads, or CEOs, all her heroes are alphas with hearts of gold, and all her heroines are strong, sassy ladies who love them.

A former teacher, journalist, and book editor, Louise lives in the Midwest USA with her trophy husband and two teenage geniuses.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Contents

Copyright

Here With Me

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

Wait for Me

Prologue

Boss of Me

Prologue

Chapter 1

Books by Tia Louise

About the Author