Interrupted, Lizzie returned her attention to Elliot. “What do you want to know?”
“He was your mom’s father, so did your mother grow up on the farm?”
Without realizing it a dark expression clouded her face.
Elliot unlaced his fingers from behind his head and leaned up to support himself on one elbow, like Lizzie, their eyes level. “What, she didn’t like the farm, I take it?”
Lizzie snorted. “To say the least…” Her mother had abhorred the farm, couldn’t wait to get away from it. Never wanted to return to it. “She wouldn’t even take me to visit my grandfather, just stuck me on a plane and waved goodbye.”
Reaching between them, Elliot touched Lizzie’s clenched fingers. “But you loved being there with your grandpa.”
A lump formed in Lizzie’s throat, catching her off guard. Each trip, the old man had been waiting for her at the airport, wearing his characteristic green overalls, with his misshapen cowboy hat gripped in his gnarled hands.
She nodded, tears springing into her eyes. Sometimes, she wondered if she’d ever recover from his loss. He’d been the one person who’d loved her without reservation, and she missed him horribly. She missed the attention, love, and security she’d felt when she was with him.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Elliot apologized, opening her hand and lifting her fingers to his lips for a kiss. “I just want to understand why you were so much happier on the farm, away from your parents and your home.”
Nearly undone by his kindness, Lizzie was torn between watching him kiss each finger and tearing her hand away to reestablish her equilibrium. Through the years she’d almost become used to the ache in her heart, and Elliot filling any part of that void felt strange and wrong.
Her hesitation, however, encouraged Elliot to continue, and she watched in fascination as he turned her hand over to kiss her palm, then her wrist. His gaze rose from her hand to meet her eye and she swallowed hard, forgetting all about being upset. His eyes sparkled with playfulness and compassion, and his touch was warm and penetrating, thawing her to the core.
Neither spoke for a long moment. The only sounds were of the river rushing past and the breeze in the trees around them.
“I –I was accepted and loved there,” she whispered, a hitch in her voice. “By him.” Her fingers trembled.
Caught with his thoughts wandering toward desire rather than the conversation at hand, Elliot tilted his head to one side. “On the farm? You were accepted on the farm?”
Carefully extracting her fingers from his, Lizzie reached up to play with a button on his shirt.
His eyes followed her fingers on his chest, hoping they would trail up to the opening at the neck of his shirt, waiting expectantly for her skin to graze his.
“My grandpa didn’t care if I was too skinny, or awkward, or—gawky,” Lizzie explained as she traced Elliot’s jaw with her fingertips. On some level she was trying to compare how she felt with this man in this moment to how she felt as a child on the farm. Did this picnic with Elliot feel good because of the wine and the sexual tension, or was she just needy? Maybe she had daddy issues and wanted to feel loved. If that were the case, she should wrap this up and head for cover.
Elliot placed his palm over hers. “Gawky? Don’t all women think they were awkward as girls?”
Smiling sadly, Lizzie nodded. “Yes, but you don’t understand. I really wasn’t accepted at home.” Not even a little bit, she added to herself. She’d never been recognized by society, or anyone, for that matter, away from the farm.
He scowled, tugging her hand off his jaw, keeping it in his warm palm. “I’m sure you were adorable, with teeth that were a little too big and legs a bit too long. Like a spirited colt. Who made you feel so unloved?”
Lizzie didn’t answer and her gaze dropped to their hands. How had she gotten into this conversation? And what was she doing here with Elliot? Why was she opening up to him like this? Was it his compassion? His wish to understand her? His desire for her physically? His acceptance of her lifestyle and choices? Or maybe it was a complete lack of discipline on her part?
“It was your mother, wasn’t it?” he answered for her.
Embarrassed that her own mother hadn’t seen fit to love her, Lizzie frowned, struggling to find a reply. “I’m sure she loved me in her own way—”
“I’m sure she did,” he interrupted. “Because you are as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside.”
Lizzie’s eyes leapt up meet his and she blushed. “I’m sure she just wanted the best for me.” The statement was meant to assure herself as much as Elliot. After all, she’d spent a lifetime telling herself that her mother must love her to spend so much time pushing and planning for her.
“Well, whatever she was thinking back then, I agree with your grandpa,” Elliot said as he placed her hand back on the quilt so he could stroke his fingers up her arm.
“W—why, how?” she stuttered, overcome once again by an onslaught of goosebumps.
As his fingertips reached Lizzie’s shoulders, then neck, Elliot paused, waiting for her to meet his eye. Once her gaze was fixed on his, his palm cupped her cheek, his fingertips gently pulling her near. When he could feel her breath warm on his lips, smelling of sweet wine, he stopped. His eyes gazed deeply into hers. “Your grandpa and I, we both think you’re amazing and beautiful, exactly as you are.” He kissed her then, soft at first, then with growing enthusiasm.
Lizzie held her ground, reveling in the tenderness, the romance, the sweetness of the kiss but still hesitant and unsure. Then, with her heartbeat pounding in her ears and a warm liquid tremor vibrating deep in her stomach, she leaned toward him, her eyes falling closed and her hand moving onto his stomach. Passion raced through her veins and her head spun, but even as she fell headlong into Elliot’s kisses, she knew that he had just uttered the words she most longed to hear.
Unsure whether her response to the man was from her need for affection and acceptance or just because he was so darn sexy, she consciously decided that it didn’t matter why she wanted him so much. She honestly didn’t give a damn at the moment.
Chapter Thirteen
Lizzie’s eyes popped open. Faint sunlight hinted behind her bedroom curtains, and immediately. she knew. Clamping her eyes shut tight, she held her breath, silently willing herself to be calm. It couldn’t be healthy to wake up in a panic like this. She’d been so cautious the last two years, so determined. Until last night, anyway. She’d tossed all intelligent thoughts to the wind and acted completely out of character. What had she been thinking?
A warm masculine hand slid up her back to tickle the loose curls at the nape of her neck, and her breath caught. The hand smoothed slowly down her back and slid around to the front, gently scooting her across the bed until her back was, from top to bottom, in contact with the full length of warm sleepy man.
Yes.
That was what she’d been thinking, simply “yes.” And now, even through harsh self-recrimination, she felt it again. The need. The passion. The laughter and playfulness. The longing to be held and indulged and told she was perfect. The escape from time and space. The giving and taking, pleasing and being pleasured. The man.
That was normal, right? To want those things? She’d been celibate for well over a year. She was only human, after all.
His hand caressed her arm, sliding to her wrist; then those long fingers entwined with hers. Warm breath on the back of her neck whispered good morning, and her heart skipped a beat. Elliot was simply far too sexy and sweet to resist.
* * *
An hour later breakfast was on the stove, birds were singing outside the window, and Lizzie’s skin was still sensitive from an excess of masculine attention. Pushing scrambled eggs from one side of the frying pan to the other as they cooked, she contemplated the past twenty-four hours. The picnic had been a country dream, mellow sunshine, good friends, laughter, sweet wine, and Elliot…
The coffee pot bubbled on the burne
r, its aroma filling the air with sultry warmth. Lizzie sighed, unable to sort the night with Elliot into containable pieces. He was funny, sensitive, insanely sexy, and— all wrong. He had to be wrong. Being with him meant the downfall of all her plans.
She could still feel the weight of him on her as she lay in her dark room looking up into his face, moonbeams shining through the curtains, the smell of his cologne. With wonder in his eyes, he’d twisted one of her curls around his finger, then smiled, a crinkly-eyed smile that had melted her heart. The memory shifted, and his breath was hot on her neck, his voice low, murmuring endearments as she’d surrendered her soul, her body, herself, to the man.
Banishing the thought, she lifted the lid of the percolator to check on the coffee. How could Elliot be so wrong and feel so right? How could she have worked so hard for so long, only to have her dreams dashed and fulfilled at the same time? How many lonely nights had she longed for the companionship, acceptance, and understanding he offered? She’d been sure only a cowboy could offer those things. It was true she’d never dated one, but country boys were more accepting of women in old houses with animals to tend. Weren’t they?
She plopped the lid back on the percolator. Any future with Elliot would have to be in the city; therefore, there was no future. Only one thing was certain and that was her life in Smithville.
Maybe, she could just have a moment, she reasoned, or a few days, to enjoy Elliot, then get on with her future. If she could break away from a lifetime in Boston and her mother, surely she would recover from a brief affair with Elliot. She squared her shoulders and turned off the burners. That was it then. She’d spend another day or two with Elliot, then wave goodbye and get on with her life.
Determinedly, she outlined the day in her mind. As soon as Elliot finished showering, they’d eat and feed the animals. After getting up late, she’d have to hurry to get to the spa on time. It was worth every minute though, she supposed. Who knew when, or if, she’d ever allow herself to be so open with a man again?
He did have a way of touching her… and his laugh… He was definitely a master at hitting all the right notes with her. Was it because he somehow knew what she needed to hear? Or was she the one hearing what she longed to hear? But wasn’t that what a relationship was all about? Finding someone who liked your quirks, felt your pain, and fit like a glove?
She frowned. He fit like a damned ski boot, no flexibility for her to move along with her own life. Being with him would seal her existence into the vacuum her mother demanded.
Collecting her wits about her, she dished eggs onto the plates. Carefully, she picked up the plates and walked to the table to place them next to a covered dish heaped with thick slices of crisp bacon.
She stepped back, her eyes darting across the breakfast table. With a satisfied nod she turned to fetch the coffee pot with a thick potholder and placed it on an ancient trivet next to a vase of late-blooming wild flowers she’d brought home from the picnic. The blooms brought back memories of kissing Elliot under the endless blue sky and autumn leaves. She frowned, conflict raging through her mind.
He was sweet and funny, but he wasn’t a quiet, lanky cowboy born to live off the land.
He was thoughtful and a good listener though, and he was damn handsome.
He was from Washington…
But they’d have at least one or two more nights to enjoy before he went back. A tingle ran down her spine.
With thoughts of the evening to come, she turned and placed the frying pan in the sink. Through the window she noticed a billow of dust rising over the crest of the hill. “Who’d be coming out here this time of the morning?” she muttered, scraping remnants of egg from the pan and setting it to soak.
She wiped her hands and tossed the dishtowel onto the counter by the sink. Hurrying to the mudroom, she fished her cell phone from her purse, realizing that she’d tossed her purse onto the hook the night before and not given it another thought. She could hear the shower and Elliot singing off key. She giggled, then turned her attention to her phone. Had she forgotten a morning meeting? Was the vet coming to visit? Had something happened?
The phone was nearly dead but showed seven missed calls from her mother.
“Well, I’m glad I left it in my purse…” She chuckled to herself as she turned back toward the kitchen. The shower turned off in the bathroom, and Lizzie hurried to plug in her phone on the counter and pour coffee into the mugs placed by each plate.
Car doors slammed in front of the house. Knowing that her friends or neighbors would come around back, Lizzie bit her bottom lip in concern. She grabbed the dishtowel and headed for the front door, wiping her hands as she walked. With one last glance over her shoulder toward the kitchen, she tugged twice on the front door handle, reminding herself that she still needed to work on the sticking doors in the house. Her gaze swept through the rusty, patched screen and across the yard. When she spotted the long dark car, her blood ran cold.
The dishtowel fell to the floor. “No, it can’t be!” She panicked then, turning to run back to the kitchen. Snatching her cell phone up from the counter, she tapped frantically at the screen, checking for messages. Fumbling in her haste and dread, she slashed her finger across the screen. The first message from her mother began to play as a solid knock rang through the front room.
“Elizabeth, this is your mother,” the message began. “Your father and I have decided to come see this place of yours—”
The phone dropped onto the counter, forgotten, as Lizzie stood with her head in her hands, her eyes clamped closed. “This is not happening….”
The knocking came again, louder this time.
“Elizabeth, are you in there?” a woman’s nasal voice called through the screen. The voice faded as the speaker turned away. “Surely this isn’t her house, our daughter would not live in this decrepit hole.”
With leaden feet Lizzie stumbled like a man on death row across the kitchen. She paused at the door to the living room, her hand on the doorjamb for support. Sure enough, on the other side of the old screen door was her mother. The woman stood stiffly, wearing a matching turquoise pants suit, not a hair out of place, with her handbag clutched in her manicured fingers. Behind her mother stood Lizzie’s stoic father, ever present, ever silent, with the top of his bald head gleaming in the morning sun and his walrus mustache twitching from side to side.
The living room had never felt so vast as Lizzie trudged in slow motion toward the door. How could her mother be standing on the front porch? She’d moved away to keep this exact scenario from happening.
Pale faced, she reached the screen and pushed it open. “Mother,” was all she could say as the older woman marched into the room, her expression leaving no doubt of her displeasure.
“Elizabeth.” Her mother sniffed. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”
Unable to string together two coherent words, Lizzie turned to acknowledge her father. “Daddy,” she mumbled, looking down to accept the silent kiss he placed on her forehead along with his signature one-shoulder squeeze. That was as demonstrative as her father got. “Breakfast smells good,” he muttered, craning his neck to see into the kitchen.
Placing the car keys in her purse and latching it closed, Lizzie’s mother turned from her appraisal of the room to eye Lizzie. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, young lady, running off to this Godforsaken place alone.” She reached up to touch her bangs, making sure they were still in place. “Did you think I’d let my only daughter languish in the wilderness and not come to save you?” Glancing toward the potbelly stove in the corner, she sniffed again. “I will never, in a million years, understand what could possess you to come to this place.”
Right on cue, Elliot stepped into the room. His hair was damp and perfectly combed, his jaw cleanly shaved, his trousers crisp, and his shirt spotless. He looked particularly handsome and well-groomed this morning, causing Lizzie to moan.
“Oh!” He inhaled, taken aback, but recovered instantly. “
Hello.”
The older couple stared at Elliot as if he’d sprung two heads. Lizzie clamped her eyes shut and ground her teeth.
The older woman’s painted-on eyebrows raised far up her forehead, slowly and carefully scrutinizing every aspect of Elliot’s clothing and deportment. When she finished her perusal, her eyes slid sideways toward Lizzie. “Perhaps I spoke too soon. I believe I do understand why you came to Smithville.”
Feeling the tension hanging heavy in the room, Elliot stepped forward, his hand extended toward Lizzie’s father, confident that no explanation or introduction was required.
With an expression of amazement, Lizzie’s father shook Elliot’s hand, a wide grin slowly spreading under his giant mustache.
Lizzie’s mother stepped forward, her eyes snapping like firecrackers and her chin at a jaunty angle, perfect for looking down her nose. “I am Beatrice Norquest, Elizabeth’s mother,” she said, placing emphasis on her name as if he should recognize it and be impressed.
Elliot smiled and Lizzie melted. She was sunk for sure. No woman could resist that smile.
The older woman’s gaze darted to Lizzie, then back to Elliot. “And just who might you be?” she purred, her most polite smile slipping into position.
Lizzie dropped limply into her old sofa.
Elliot tossed Lizzie a quick glance, then reached his hand toward her mother. “I’m Elliot Reynolds, ma’am.”
* * *
Lizzie gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, her stomach rolling and her chest tight with anxiety. Elliot’s black car glided ahead of her up the long driveway, somehow looking as carefree and relaxed as the man himself. Her compact car, on the other hand, jolted violently over each rut in the dirt driveway, jarring her tense muscles and knocking her teeth together.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 70
