“But only if you don’t mind,” says Mark smoothly. “You certainly don’t need to.”
“We told her she shouldn’t pester you,” says Reno with a grin. “But she loved your books and she’s dying to ask you about them.”
Well I sure didn’t expect this. “I’m thrilled you enjoyed them,” I say to Elizabeth.
“I did,” says Elizabeth. “I don’t get to read for pleasure very often but once I started one of your books, I couldn’t put them down.”
She gets her copies of my books and I sign them at the table while the men continue to tease her about being a fangirl. I had brought a dessert and everyone says many complimentary things about the pecan pie as Elizabeth quizzes me about my books, my writing process, and my characters. The time flies and before I know it, its time for us to go.
There’s a few minutes where Elizabeth and I are alone in the hall while Jackson is saying goodbye to his father and brothers. She gets a serious look on her face and I steel myself for whatever she has to dish out. This is it. All the niceness before was a front and here, now she’s going to tell me to stay away from her son, that I’m not good enough for him.
But no.
“I’m so glad Jackson brought you to meet us,” she says. “He never brings anyone home.”
“Thank you for making me feel so welcome,” I say, touched.
“He’s been through a lot and he’s come far,” says Elizabeth. “We’re so very proud of him, the man he’s become. The son that he is to us. The big brother that he is to the others.” And then so softly I almost think I imagine it, she adds, “And the husband that he will be one day.” She surprises me with a hug. “I hope you come again to visit us Scarlet.”
As we drive out from the Emory Ranch, Jackson asks, “Do you mind if we take a detour first before we head back to the airport?”
“Sure.” I am happy. Buzzing about how successful the meeting with his family had been. “I really liked that. You have a great family Jackson.”
He smiles, with his eyes still on the road. We have turned off the main road and now are climbing on a winding side road. “You sure? We can be a little crazy sometimes. And Elizabeth is the firecracker that we revolve our crazy around. She can be overwhelming for some people. I hope you were okay?”
“Of course. I like her. She’s funny. And she loves her sons very much.”
“You should see us when all the boys are home,” says Jackson. “Then it really gets rowdy. We used to fight all the time when we were kids. When we each first came to the family. Mark used to call us a pack of wolves, scrapping over every insult, imagined or otherwise. We’re grown now so we’re civilized somewhat.”
“It’s beautiful to see your parents together,” I continue. Wistful as I think about my own parents. “They love each other so openly. It’s great.”
“I don’t know. They could use some Samoan reservedness when it comes to all the smooching, I reckon,” he jokes. “Nobody likes to see their parents getting so touchy-feely with each other in the kitchen.”
The truck comes to a halt. “We’re here,” says Jackson. He gets out and comes round to open my door.
I look around with interest. We are at the top of a ridge, a hill. Down below is a long valley. The sun is setting and the sky is alight with fire and pink ruffles. There’s a lone tree here at the top of the hill, a massive oak. Underneath it’s shade, is a solitary wrought iron bench set in a stone block. Jackson reaches out his hand. “Come sit with me a while?”
We sit side by side and look out over the valley. There’s a soft breeze and the call of distant birds far overhead. “All that is Emory Ranch,” explains Jackson. “My grandfather – Mark’s father – started it from next to nothing and slowly built it up over the years, before handing it over to his son. I never met him. He died before Mark and Elizabeth adopted me. He planted this tree though. According to Emory family lore, he proposed to his wife here, and planted the oak tree when she said yes. When Mark asked Elizabeth to marry him, he brought her here to this spot. That’s why he had this bench put in. See?” Jackson stands so he can point out the names inscribed on the stone beneath our feet.
Lincoln and Deborah
Mark and Elizabeth
Beside each pair of names is a date.
This is a beautiful story and a beautiful spot. But I’m confused. Why did Jackson bring me here? Why is he telling me all this? There’s a buzzing of warning inside my head.
Something’s happening. Something’s coming.
“Growing up on the ranch as a teenager, I always said I would propose to my future wife here as well. Inscribe our names right here alongside those of my parents and grandparents. Sure all us boys are adopted, but Mark and Elizabeth always treated us like we were their own, they made sure we knew that this legacy and heritage belonged to all of us.” Jackson takes a deep breath and kneels down in front of me. Slips a velvet box from his pocket. “Scarlet, you know pretty much everything about me. Where I’ve been and what I’ve done. Things I’m not proud of, and things that got me holding my head up high. I know I don’t have the ancestry and heritage that you do, I don’t bring the strength of a vast vibrant family tree to the table, I’m not Samoan. But I love you and I offer all that I am and all that I have, with the added promise of all that we can be, together. Will you marry me?”
He opens the box and offers me a ring of diamond fire . Kneeling before me under the Texas sky, he is steadfast, sure and true.
I can’t breathe. Shock chokes me. Fear cripples me. Sadness pierces me, a knife of piercing guilt. The moment of truth has arrived and I’m not ready. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”
He’s confused. “What do you mean? Why not?”
“I can’t have children,” I blurt out, then turn away quickly so I won’t see his reaction. “You know what happened to me when I was a child. I got pregnant when I was fourteen. Mother didn’t want anyone to find out, especially not Father. Abortion is illegal in Samoa so she took me to someone who could take care of it secretly.”
“What happened?” prompts Jackson.
“There was an infection. I got sick. Real bad. My mother panicked, tried to put off taking me to the hospital for as long as possible. I ended up in critical condition, it was touch and go for awhile. They had to remove my uterus, all my baby-growing and storage facility,” I explain with a touch of lightness but he doesn’t smile. There’s a darkness in his eyes that I can’t read.
“I’m sorry Scarlet,” he says, reaching out to hold my hand. “No child should have to go through that.”
“I should have told you a long time ago. Full disclosure and all that. But I was scared. So yeah, you should know I’m damaged goods. Faulty merchandise.” I wince at my own miserable attempt at humor.
“Anything else you want to tell me?” asks Jackson. “Any more secrets you want to share?”
I shake my head.
A ghost of a grin as he stands, tugging me up to stand with him. Close enough so he can reach out and lightly slip his hand behind my neck, gently bracing me as he bends to place a single kiss on my forehead. “I love you,” he says. “So I’m asking again, now that you’ve told me your final secret, will you marry me?”
There are treacherous tears betraying me now. A half sob as I say, “I love you too Jackson. So much that it hurts to ever think of losing you. But you have such a great family, you’ve got it all together. And I’m a mess. I’ve dealt with a lot of my baggage and I’m proud of where I’m at. But it’s still me.”
He cradles my face in his big, warm hands and bends to delicately kiss the tear stains on my cheek. “Scarlet, I was a crack baby. In and out of the system from the age of five, never sure when my mother would show up or when she would disappear. On the streets by the time I was twelve, stealing, vandalism, on a one way road to nowhere when Mark and Elizabeth found me and took me in. You know all these things and yet you still accept me. We’re all damaged, faulty in some way. It’s how we fill in the cr
acks. What we do with the broken pieces. My past made me who I am today. Just as yours has refined you into all that you are now. All that I love.”
“But what about children?” I demand.
“What about them?” he replies. “A woman isn’t a baby-making machine and I don’t love you for your eggs and future children. Or your lack of them.”
“But you’re a man and you’ll want…offspring…sons…an heir…someone to carry on your name, your family line,” I splutter.
The arched eyebrow conveys his disbelief. “We’re not in medieval England or some ridiculous bloodline movie. I’m one of five sons adopted by my parents. I carry their name with pride. When they retired, they handed the company over to me. Not because I was the oldest, but because I’m the only one who was interested in the engineering and construction field. You don’t need a bloodline to carry on one’s family name or business or ensure the future. I don’t want offspring – I want you. I want to wake up with you every morning, and watch sunsets like this with you. Have adventures with you, and then stay in bed for two days straight with you, savouring chocolate pie together in the best way possible…”
“So you don’t want kids?”
A shrug. “I want you. If we decide one day that we want a baby then we’ll get one. Two, three, four – however many you want. There’s surrogacy, adoption and foster children. You forget, I’m very rich Scarlet. I can give you almost anything, or at least spend an insane amount to try. There’s amazing advances in science happening every day, womb transplants, whatever. If that’s what you want, then we’ll research it. I would get any and all of those options for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But right here, right now? I’m not interested in the possibility of our imaginary children. I’d rather not have any here right now. Because then I couldn’t do this…” And then he’s kissing me. Fierce and hungry, he tastes like the ocean. Wild, windswept and with a bite of salt, my tears.
“There’s one more thing I have to say.” I take a deep breath. “We’re not in a romance novel Jackson.”
He grins, gives me the eyebrow raise. “Umm I think I know that.”
“I’m not the star of a plus-sized novel who meets a sexilicious man that can see the true beauty of her skinny inner self and adores her through the blubber, and then she magically loses weight because she’s finally found love and he ‘completes’ her. There isn’t a skinny Scarlet waiting to bust out. I’m not going to stop eating because we’re married, I’m not going to take up running, or kayaking or suddenly train for an Ironman and become a toned version of myself with rippling muscles and more abs than you. This is me. All of this.” I slap at my thighs and then grab handfuls of my love handles. “I’m not gonna change. It’s taken me a long time to love myself, exactly as I am. And I can’t be with you if there’s a chance that you’re waiting, hoping for me to stop stuffing my face with dessert, so that I’ll emerge from my chrysalis looking like a brown Barbie butterfly.”
A long pause.
“Are you done?” he asks. “I’ve listened to you and now, it’s your turn to listen to me. Can you do that?”
I nod.
His voice is strong, sure and deep. “I mean it Scarlet.” He takes my hand in his. “Listen to me, I’m going to be brutally honest with you.”
Oh hell. I don’t want to hear this. You idiot Scar, honesty is overrated!
“You’re right, this isn’t a romance novel or a Disney fairy-tale. When I first met you on that plane ride from turbulence hell I didn’t fall instantly in love with you. No, there was nothing romantic about how I felt sitting next to you for six hours. That plane ride was torture for me too. But not for the same reasons as you. I wasn’t falling in love with you and I certainly didn’t know anything about your inner beauty.” He takes a deep breath. “I was rock hard and crazy lusting for you.”
Shock drives away tears as I stare up at him open-mouthed. WTF?!
“Excuse me?” my voice is trembling and I can’t breathe properly. “What did you say?”
“It’s crude I know but we’re being honest with each other. No secrets. No lies.” A wry grin. “That day on the plane – I wanted you. More than I’ve ever wanted any woman before. You were a hot mess with that red flower – a hibiscus I think? – in your hair, a tangled jungle about your face. You fell into my lap and then looked up at me with those dark liquid eyes a man could drown in. And that mouth…” He brings a hand up to caress the curve of my cheek and rubs the pad of his thumb against my bottom lip. There’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he mutters throatily, so low I almost don’t catch the words, “I looked down at you kneeling between my legs and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from these lips, this mouth and all its promise. Instant rush of blood to places I’d rather not have it rush to. Not when I’m confined in close quarters on plane, with no way to alleviate the pressure.”
“You were out of breath like you’d been running and sweat had your top clinging to your perfect lushness, and I wanted to touch you. Like this.” His hands, deft and knowing, move to cup and caress through the fabric of my shirt, and the rush of pleasure is like the sweet shock of a first bite into a chocolate mint ice cream cake. Oww, cold mint shot to the brain…more please.
He continues. “The way you ate those savouries like they were manna from heaven. You had your eyes closed, one finger in your mouth as you sucked a stray lick of sauce. That little moan of contentment, it was like watching a foodgasm. Thinking about it now is driving me nuts.” His voice catches at the memory and with a muttered oath, he pulls me to him, grinding into me so every turgid part of me is in full frontal contact with every thrilling part of him.
Just like that, this romantic nature proposal scene changes into the lusty thrill of a moment straight out of an erotic novel. He’s breathing hard as he kisses the line of my neck, a nip and bite of sweet pain that has me gasping in the evening air. There’s a primal serrated edge to him, the flame burn of chilli chocolate… fighting not to bite too much because you know you’ll burn your mouth, but wanting so bad to unleash your control anyway.
He’s on edge. And knowing that, seeing that – it’s a heady sensation of power and passion. Hot daaayum. I got this man on a sex cliff-edge. Me. Fatgirl me!
“When you ate those pastries, there were tiny flecks of sauce on your mouth – and I wanted to lick them away, like this.” He bends to lave his tongue along my bottom lip and then suckle before dipping into my mouth, tasting, caressing, searching, playing in a kiss that leaves me scorching with need. I moan a little in disappointment when he pulls away.
“You did?” I whisper huskily. “You wanted to kiss me on the plane? Really?”
His eyes are dark and uncompromising. “You’re not listening to me Scarlet.”
“I’m not?” He’s not touching me anymore and I want him to. So bad. So bad I could burst with wanting.
Like Ovocné Knedlíky. Czech dumplings bursting ripe with plum and peach jam. Made of potato and curd that cooks up doughy and soft, served warm and jam-stuffed with deliciousness.
He shakes his head and there’s a rough severity in his tone. “No, you’re not listening. I didn’t want to kiss you on that flight to Hawaii. I wanted to fuck you.”
His unexpected roughness, has me breathless. Who knew the F-word could feel so good?
“I wanted to make hot, sweet love to you,” he says. “Over. And. Over. Again. Why do you think I took my jacket off and put it in my lap?”
“Ummm, I don’t know. Because you were hot and you needed air?” The words sound pitiful even to me.
His eyes, they reprimand me as he takes my hand and guides it to the hard throbbing length of him. “No, because I needed to hide how much I wanted you. That’s how hard I was, that’s how bad I wanted you then, and how I want you now.”
“Oh.” Oh indeed. Excitement has me fumbling at the fastening of his jeans but he laughs – deep and rumbling – and pulls away, takes my hands and pins them lightly behind
me.
“Then, when I saw you at that birthday party, so beautiful in that green dress, the arc of your hip, the curve of this …” He holds my hands with one of his so he can run the other down the side of my body, down, down. “Hmmm,” he breathes against my hair, “such a beautiful ass.”
My knees turn to custard and go limp as I breathe a little whimpering sigh. He doesn’t let me fall though. He presses against me and I cling to his sure earthbound strength. “When you danced with me, when I put my hands on your waist, your skin burned me through the fabric of your dress but I wanted more. I wanted to do this…” He takes firm hold of my shirt and with one abrupt motion, he rips the fabric in two. A jagged tearing sound almost as loud as my surprised exclamation.
“Oh!” OhmyfreakinHeck…
I’m bared to the evening air, to the fire of his gaze. Thank heaven I wore the black lace bra.
I squirm, trying to cover up again but he growls at me, a low throaty “No” and so I freeze, poised in mortification. He bends to rain kisses on me, setting delicious fire to my hips, the rounded curve of my belly. I melt some more. Especially when he murmurs against my hot skin, “I love your softness. Can’t get enough of you.” I run my fingers through his hair as he kisses a trail upwards.
He’s still talking. Still razing my every particle with his words of worshipful awe. “Going to the beach with you was the hardest though. When that wave knocked you over and I pulled you out of the surf, laughing that magnificent laugh of yours? Remember that?”
He has me sitting on the bench now, so he can sink to his knees, between my parted legs, and he’s holding me captive in his gaze, willing me to listen, while his hands are at work – compelling me to believe. I moisten my lips and nod. Yes I remember that day. Then he slowly peels down the lace cups of my brasserie and he’s doing things with his hands that send feather dustings of feeling all over me, confectioner’s sugar, sweet and tempting.
Scarlet Redemption Page 18
