A Time to Build (Love's Time Book 2)

by Dora Hiers

  What just happened? He tracked the spot to where she’d lost her voice.

  There. Tucked near the door. A book bag. Bulging with all his stuff. Pathetic that everything he owned could be stuffed in a single bag.

  He swung back around to face her. Saw it all.

  The moisture shimmering from her eyes. The shock. The disappointment. The anger.

  He saw it all. And hated himself for it.

  ****

  “You’re leaving?” Her voice came out small, tiny, but she had no control over it. Would her legs hold her up or send her sprawling to the wood floor? She pressed a palm against the cool counter to steady herself.

  “I can’t stay with the honeymooners.”

  “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” Would they? She knew Remi wouldn’t mind, but what about Mason?

  He shook his head, the firm set to his jaw brooking no argument. “I’m not asking them, Jillian.”

  “Where will you go?” Her lips quivered. The salad she’d scarfed down a few minutes ago grinded and churned in her belly. She hugged her waist, hoping to calm the panic bubbling up.

  He was leaving. Again. Why hadn’t she prepared herself better for this possibility?

  “My brother’s. For now.”

  “Oh.” She blinked, stiffening her shoulders and taking a deep breath. In. Out. Repeat.

  That wasn’t so bad. Camdon lived in a condo in town. A thirty-minute drive on narrow two-lane country roads, but that was infinitely better than some unknown location halfway across the world.

  “But I can’t couch surf at his place forever.”

  No. She could understand that.

  “I need a job, Jillian.” The nutmeg specks glinting from his eyes and the crinkles that fanned out from the edges pleaded with her to understand.

  She did, really.

  He was a man. A man’s self-image was tied up in his job, in his ability to make a living for his family.

  She broke the mental connection, the fragile cord that always stretched tenuously between them, to stare at the floor. She nudged the wood surface with the tip of her sneaker. Could she help it that she wanted him to stick around Harrison?

  He reached out and snagged her forearms, his touch gentle and soft as he tugged her closer. “Jillian…”

  She glanced back up. That was a mistake.

  His face was so close. Sweet tea flavored breaths puffed against her cheeks as he cupped her cheeks. His thumbs, roughened from hard work, caressed her skin while his gaze traveled from the top of her hair to her lips, the short trip agonizingly slow.

  This might be the last time he’d ever hold her.

  A bittersweet sigh rippled through her chest. She lifted her face and wound her arms around his neck, twirling the short ends of his hair in her fingers.

  His head dipped to within a fraction of a centimeter, his wisps of breath teasing her.

  She licked her lips, anticipating, waiting…

  It didn’t take long. Yet it felt like a lifetime.

  His lips grazed hers with just a hint of a kiss. He pulled back, and then with an anguished moan, his hands curled around her waist to bring her tight against his chest. All she could breathe was summer and outdoors, hard work and leather, horses and hay. All things she loved.

  Just like the man.

  Heaven had come to earth.

  Intoxicatingly sweet but laced with a powerful sensation, a connecting, not just of the heart, but also of minds and spirits, swirling together to form a tight bond, filled with a promise of love.

  But look where his last kiss had left her.

  Alone.

  Was she putting more into his kiss than he was willing or able to give?

  She pulled back, just enough that his whiskers tickled her cheek, her lashes still shuttered, her heart pounding out of her chest. She was foolish for letting him kiss her, for rousing dormant feelings best left buried.

  But the pads of his thumbs were doing crazy things to her pulse, weakening her legs until she thought she might collapse on the floor.

  “Jillian, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

  I don’t mean to hurt you? As in…present tense.

  Her eyelids fluttered open.

  What? Did that mean…what did that mean exactly? That he planned to leave again?

  His eyes held pain, remorse, and something she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

  She dropped her hands to her sides, rubbed her moist palms against her jeans, willed her heart rate back to a normal rhythm. Not easy when his hands still cupped her cheeks.

  She took a step back. Just enough for his arms to drop away. To lose the emotional connection. For her cheeks to stop tingling from his touch.

  “Wh..what do you mean?”

  He scrubbed fingers across his whiskers, the scraping sound the only noise in the room. That, and her heavy breathing.

  Her gaze skidded to the bag near the door. Was there something he wasn’t telling her?

  His thumb nudged her chin back around to focus on him. Back to those nutmeg specks glimmering from those irises, like kindling sparking and crackling a fire to life. Just her luck he’d ignited the cold ashes left in her heart.

  “I’m trying to be a better man, to leave the old one behind. To be a man you might consider—”

  A door slammed, then another. The honeymooners were home.

  He shook his head, angling it toward the front window, as if he couldn’t believe his rotten timing.

  She had trouble with it, too. Why had she allowed him to get so close? To let him kiss her?

  His lips thinned, and a sigh rumbled from his chest as he turned his attention back to her. His voice came out soft, unsure. “Can we continue this later?”

  She gulped, not sure if she had enough willpower to ward off any more of his kisses. But maybe it wasn’t so much about the kiss as what he’d almost said. She nodded.

  He flicked his head once in acknowledgement, his chest rising and falling as his arm dropped away from her face and swept through the air, gesturing for her to lead the way to the door.

  Whatever it was, it would have to wait.

  ****

  His timing stunk!

  He certainly hadn’t meant for that kiss to happen. Or that conversation.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but he could have picked a better time. Not the exact moment when Remi and Mason were due back.

  What had he been thinking?

  He gulped down a huge lump of regret and forced his legs to move toward the door. Away from Jillian, away from the subtle blend of violet and musk. He opened the door and gestured for Jillian to go first, anxiety churning in his gut. Not just from leaving things like that with her. But over Remi and Mason’s reaction to the remodel job. Would they love it? Hate it?

  He followed Jillian outside onto the porch. When she hitched a boot against the lower rung, Carson joined her, propping his elbows on the wood rail, and waited for the newlyweds to emerge from the truck.

  His sister hopped down first and faced the barn. Probably checking to make sure the llamas looked fed and healthy.

  “Welcome home,” he hollered.

  “Thanks!” Remi pivoted and beamed a happy smile in their direction. “It’s great to be home.”

  Carson sucked in a breath at the monumental transformation in his sister. From painfully shy to positively glowing now, so vastly different from his memories. Her smile hadn’t shown up much after their father’s suicide.

  He made a mental note to thank Mason later. And God.

  Remi opened the half-sized cab door. A Golden Retriever leapt from the truck and raced across the yard, occasionally stopping to sniff the grass.

  “That’s Goliath.” Jillian informed him with a quick smile over her shoulder. Then, she practically flew down the steps and wrapped his sister in a tight embrace, tears of happiness flowing without abandon down both their faces. It was obvious their friendship had withstood the test of time.

  Unlike his an
d Jillian’s.

  Could he rebuild it? Revive and repair their friendship into something better than it was before?

  Only with God’s help. And His blessing.

  Was that what he wanted, though? Could he be content to stay in one place? In the tiny city of Harrison, North Carolina? Nowhereville?

  Carson took the steps off the porch. His gaze settled on the cluster of llamas huddled together in the pasture, their necks craning toward the humans, their ears standing at attention. Such curious creatures.

  Over the last couple of weeks, he had discovered that he no longer needed noise and commotion to drown out his inner mocker. That he was content with the soft sounds of the ranch. The awakening of a new day. Evening’s hush as it settled in. The occasional hums and hisses of the llamas. A woodpecker as it bored into a tree. The rustling of leaves from a gentle breeze.

  Nature had worked its magic. Soothed this weary traveler’s soul. But would that wear off? Would the inner mocker rear its ugly head again?

  If it did, he could always visit Remi and Mason and pull out the power tools. There was plenty to do here at the sanctuary to keep his mind busy.

  “Welcome home. I hope you like it.” Carson shook his new brother-in-law’s hand.

  “Like what?” Remi’s dark eyebrows hiked high on her forehead.

  “Our surprise.” Mason smiled at Carson, then tugged Remi under his arm, total adoration on his face.

  “A surprise? Really?” With her palm splayed against her husband’s chest, she smiled up at him before twisting around his shoulder to study the llama enclosure. “If you had some more llamas delivered—”

  Mason laughed. “Not yet. I was hoping to work on multiplying our family here first.” His free hand reached out to pat her tiny belly.

  A blush crept up his sister’s neck and covered her cheeks.

  “Okay, you two. You’re back now. Honeymoon’s over.” Jillian rolled her eyes.

  “The honeymoon’s never over.” Mason flashed his bride a flirty look.

  “Come on in. Check it out.” Carson stuffed the speck of envy that sprouted in his gut. What his sister and Mason shared…something he might never experience.

  A powerful love that could withstand the tough times as they built a family, a lifetime together.

  “You’re going to love it!” Jillian grabbed Remi’s hand. Excitement shimmered from her eyes and shook her voice. She hurried up the steps, tugging Remi behind her.

  Remi angled over a shoulder, blindly allowing her bestie to lead her into the house, the smile still gracing her lips. “What did you do?”

  Carson didn’t say anything, just smiled back. He turned to Mason. “Thanks for taking such good care of my sister.”

  A delighted squeal sounded from inside the house.

  “Sounds like she likes it.” Mason smiled, his slow drawl a direct contradiction to the racecar driver’s need for speed on the track. “Thanks for making her homecoming a happy one.”

  “She’d have been happy regardless.” Carson had to hand it to the guy. His new brother-in-law wasn’t selfish about taking the credit. “Besides, you had everything ready to go. I just put it together.” He put a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Let’s go check it out. It’s important that you like it, too.”

  “Yes….Carson…hand-crafted. Isn’t it stunning?” Bits and pieces of Jillian’s sweet voice carried to him as they walked into the house. “He really knows how to bring beauty out of the ashes.”

  Her slender fingers grazed the shelf again.

  Ashes? It was just a piece of raw wood.

  Little things seemed to make her happy. Now, he was glad that he’d taken the extra time to add that shelf.

  “Wow! I should have known Carson would be so talented. He always loved working with his hands. Woodworking. Construction. Design. It’s all so stunning, and all the components blend so well together.” Remi admired the shelf and then moved on, opening and closing the cabinetry.

  Carson stuffed hands in his pockets and cleared his throat, so they wouldn’t think he was spying on them.

  Jillian startled. Her cheeks turned a bright pink, her gaze darting toward him then to study the floor. “We were just admiring your talent.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I’m impressed.” Mason gave a slow whistle. “It looks a whole lot better than if I’d installed it.”

  Something, or rather, someone, slammed into his chest.

  Remi. He knew without looking down. His sister was taller than Jillian. Remi’s straight hair didn’t tickle his chin like Jillian’s wavy locks, and Remi smelled of cloves and cinnamon. Which didn’t do anything for him. Unlike Jillian’s scent, which always managed to kick his heart rate up a notch.

  “Whoa!” He struggled to keep his balance, tried to dislodge his hands from his pockets, but her arms locked around his waist.

  “Thank you, Carson!” Remi’s voice sounded so small, so tiny, muffled against his cotton shirt. “I love it. It’s perfect. Just like you.”

  Him? Perfect? That was a first.

  12

  “Are you sure? Because our couch is just as comfy as Camdon’s,” Remi offered. For at least the tenth time. With his arm around his bride, Mason confirmed the invitation with a nod.

  “I am not barging in on you newlyweds. Thanks, though.”

  Finally, the couple waved and disappeared inside their house, closing the door with a soft click behind them.

  Leaving him alone with Jillian.

  A llama hummed, then a hiss, but they were too far away for Carson to worry. He glanced their way, caught the curious spectators ambling toward the fence.

  Well, they weren’t quite by themselves. But close enough.

  Carson dropped his bag on the ground and propped a hip against the door of her truck, hoping she’d choose to extend their time together. Since he wouldn’t be living right next door to her, coming up with an excuse to see her would be tough.

  He’d have to get more creative. Because he intended to see her.

  She plunked a slim hip next to him, their shoulders bumping as she leaned back against the truck and cast a shy look his way. She cleared her throat. “Remi loves her new kitchen.”

  “I’m glad. I was hoping she would.” He folded his arms, enjoying a minute alone with her, away from his sister’s watchful eyes.

  He glanced at the house. Narrowed his eyebrows when he caught a glimpse of fabric being pulled back discreetly from the front window.

  Maybe not.

  “You’re so talented. Not just at carving that magnificent shelf, but the way you pulled everything together. I would never have thought to combine those colors or…” Her voice trailed off at his heavy sigh. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you want what they have?” He tried hard to keep his voice from sounding anguished, he really did. But failed. Miserably.

  Her startled gaze landed on him. After regarding him for what seemed like minutes, she answered with a slight lift of one shoulder. “Every day.”

  He scrubbed a hand across his face, the weariness from wandering settling clear down to his bones. He studied the bag at his feet. Another packed bag. Another different spot to lay his head tonight. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get there.”

  “Love?”

  He flicked his head. “Love. Marriage. Commitment. Not just to a person, but to a place.”

  She swallowed, and in the dim glow cast by the porch light, he watched the lump crawl all the way down her creamy throat.

  “I mean, how can I commit to love, how can I support a family, if I can’t stay in one place? Or commit to a job for longer than a few months. I can’t drag my family around the world.”

  The angel next to him smiled, but it was on the weak side, more from sadness. What did he ever do to deserve her friendship?

  The anguish poured from his heart, the constant stress from a life always on the cusp of unraveling, welling up in him. “Jillian, what if I’m no different from my father? What if I can
’t handle the daily stress of a job and family? What if—”

  ****

  His torment broke her heart, tore down all the resistance she’d put in place since he’d come back. “Oh, Carson. Is that what’s kept you running all these years?”

  His jaw was set, rigid. Unmoving except for the muscle pulsing in his cheek.

  Her fingers grazed his forearm. “Everyone deals with stress differently. But, Carson, you are not your father.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed along his throat, the only acknowledgement to her statement. But it was enough for her to see that he was truly worried about this.

  “Carson, you’re nothing like him.” She made sure her voice came out firm, leaving no doubt as to how she felt. “Have you ever taken steroids or battled alcohol addiction?”

  He shook his head.

  “What about craved attention like your father?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  She knew that but his confirmation stressed her point. “You’re thirty-one years old, Carson. You eat healthy. You cook healthy. You obviously take care of yourself.” Her gaze lingered on the bulges in his upper arms, and she battled the temptation to run her fingertips up to see if the muscles were as unyielding as they looked under the short sleeve of his shirt.

  Sighing, she dropped her hand and averted her head, the longing almost too great to bear. “You might have been gone for a long time, Carson, but I know you care about your family, about what happens to them—”

  His hands circled her waist and tugged her close to his chest, his back against the truck, then moved to frame her cheeks. Nutmeg flecks shimmered from his eyes. “Jillian, if I could settle down in one place, it would be here. If I could commit to one person, it would be with you.” His voice was husky.

  She gasped. What was he saying?

  His head dipped, and heavy lashes shuttered the emotion in his eyes.

  Their lips connected, and she dived into something sweet and powerful. Something that transcended beyond this moment, dipped into the past, but charged into the future.