by Sharon Sala
Gracie glanced toward the gathering clouds. "I will never complain about rain. Back home, we never had enough."
John didn't want to take her back this early and offered a different option to extend their day together.
"Want to come home with me for a while? We can watch a movie, maybe nap if you're tired. Or...and I say this with regret...I can take you home. It's your call."
"We're closer to your place, aren't we?" Gracie asked.
"Yes, but either way is no problem," he said.
"Then let's just go there. You can take me home later, after the storm has passed," she said.
"Deal," he said.
Happy she wasn't ready to end their day either, he grabbed the ice chest as she dumped the last of their cans into recycle.
The sky was still sunny with building clouds in the distance, but the wind had already changed as they made their way back to the parking lot.
As soon as John stowed their things, they wasted no time leaving. And they weren't the only ones. Other beachgoers were already hurrying to their cars, loading up their kids and their coolers, hoping to beat the thunderstorm home.
Tired from swimming, sated from the food and the sun coming through the windows, Gracie leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. It never occurred to her to keep up a running commentary with her date.
John was...John. He accepted her for who she was. He made her feel comfortable and safe.
When John reached the main highway again and paused for traffic, Gracie opened her eyes.
He gave her arm a quick pat. "We're not there yet, honey. Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when its time."
She sighed, then scooted farther down in the seat.
John accelerated, merging into traffic, and headed for home with precious cargo aboard. About fifteen minutes later, he began slowing down again, and when he turned off the road and up the drive, Gracie woke again, this time to a sky full of darkening clouds.
The wind was whipping the treetops as he parked in the garage. They got out on the run, Gracie grabbing her bag from the back of the SUV, as John aimed the remote to deactivate the security alarm at the house.
"I unlocked the door. I'm right behind you," he said.
She ran ahead, and then held it open.
The first raindrops hit as he came hurrying inside. She shut the door behind him, and then moved to the window looking over the back deck. The tree limbs were thrashing as the rain blew against the windows.
"It sure is blowing," Gracie said.
John walked up behind her, slid his hands around her waist, and pulled her close. "It's just rain. Don't be scared."
Gracie leaned against him. "I have great respect for storms, but I do love to watch it rain. The sound of rain on a roof makes the best sleeping weather."
John kissed the back of her neck. "Ever make love to the sound of rain?"
She paused. "No."
"I want to make love to you, Gracie."
She sighed. The inevitable moment was here.
"I don't play games," Gracie said. "Making love is serious."
"I couldn’t agree more," he said, and held out his hand.
She took it and walked with him up the stairs, then down the hall to his bedroom.
Uncertainty came off with her clothes.
Nothing about John felt unfamiliar as he stretched out onto bed beside her. They had surely come this way before, in other centuries—in other lifetimes. And the moment he slid into her body, she knew him. The way he moved. The whispers. The promises.
She was finally alive, feeling everything, hiding nothing of herself with no more need for caution. No more holding back.
Making love with him was wild abandon—a growing madness within the storm above them and the one within her.
And then it happened.
The climax—breaking her into a million little pieces.
She was falling, falling, too fast, and then John's arms were around her, and he was whispering her name. She wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes.
Loving John was going to save her.
The storm passed near sundown.
They'd made love again and were still lying in each other's arms, counting down the moments they had left before he had to take her home.
John felt peace in a way he never had before. They were lying face to face, legs entwined, hands still mapping the shape of—
His chin.
Her brow.
Tracing the shape of his nose.
Cupping the side of her face.
"Love you, Gracie," he said softly, and then kissed the palm of her hand.
"I, Gracie, love you more," she said, and then threw back her head in laughter when he nipped the hollow at the base of her throat. But that soon turned to a moan as he kissed his way down to the valley between her breasts.
"One more for the road?" John asked, as he slid between her legs.
"Yes, please," Gracie said, as he swelled within her.
Taking Gracie home and then driving away without her was harder than John could have imagined. Their relationship was new, but the depth of his feeling for her didn't feel that way.
She was in his blood.
Gracie stood in the darkness of her apartment, watching from the window as John drove away. For nine long years she'd buried every personal wish, every emotion she'd had, to be focused enough to do what had to be done for her mama.
Until today.
She'd felt it happening—this coming back alive.
But never would she have believed it would be this sudden, soul-gripping, gut-wrenching bond to a man she barely knew.
It was the scariest, best thing that had ever happened to her, and watching him drive away had been the hardest.
He was in her blood.
Going to work the next day, Gracie was certain the girls in the Majestic would see her rebirth as she entered the shop. She felt awkward and uncertain, like a baby learning to walk. But it didn't happen. They waved. They smiled, and their chatter continued.
She got her apron, and as she got settled at her workstation and picked up the first order, the uncertainty faded.
Understanding there were layers to a life was a relief. She could be strong and vulnerable. She could be happy and sad. She could be a fabulous floral designer, and the woman in John Gatlin's bed. What she never had to be again was her mama's nurse—her mama's advocate—her mama's voice.
The days flew by.
One day, a check for twenty-five thousand dollars from Mama's life insurance policy was in her mail when she came home.
The moment she saw it, she burst into tears, remembering the day her mama had bought it.
You're gonna earn it, Delia had said. And she'd been right.
She turned around, got right back in her car, and took it to the bank to make a deposit. Her salary was supporting her. Her nest egg was growing. She was still taking care of business.
Every day before John left town, he stopped by Gracie's apartment. Sometimes just for a hug. Sometimes he brought food. And sometimes they made love in her canopy bed.
Labor Day came and went with the same heat and humidity.
John's family arrived to spend the holiday, pulling her into their silliness and their world.
She saw John in his father, David.
Tall, dark hair sprinkled with strands of gray, eyes crinkled up from smiling, big hands callused from a lifetime of work.
She adored him.
His mother, Nola, was the peacemaker. Always soothing over misunderstandings, loving on her grandchildren, backing up the people she cared for. And without pushing the issue, she pulled Gracie into the mix as if she'd always been there.
John's sister, Linda, was a sweetheart. Gracie found companionship with her that she'd never felt from her own sisters, because they'd always had each other.
John's nephews were funny, little versions of their father, Lee, and they kept everyone busy trying to keep track of them.
Gracie thrived on the feminine influence she'd been missing like rain soaking into dry ground.
Life-giving.
Life-saving.
By the time they left, Gracie knew she belonged to someone and his people. She had the beginnings of a family again, and that began to mend a tear in her soul.
After that, Gracie spent every weekend with John at his home. It was beginning to feel like her home, too. She had clothes there. And a toothbrush there. And Coke in the fridge.
He loved her.
She loved him.
It should have been so simple. But there was a feeling within Gracie that made her uneasy. Like the world couldn't inhale. Like it was holding its breath.
Some nights it left her sleepless, almost afraid to close her eyes. Like something was too good to be true.
The feeling usually faded with the sunrise, but it was never really gone.
James Dunham was a shadow of his former self.
He'd lost nearly fifty pounds in the months since his mother's death. He took sleeping pills to knock himself out at night. He couldn't face the torment of his dreams. Time, and the legal system, had come close to breaking him as he went through the steps to finally become the legal owner of the family ranch.
Five hundred acres of land in Texas cattle country, with a going rate of over $3,000 an acre was a nice chunk of change, and without an inheritance tax for anything less than $5.4 million, it was all his.
And then he sold it.
The day that money finally hit his bank, he went home and cried. It was over. Done. Now he had to find Gracie. And that meant talking to Darlene.
He sat down on the sofa with a beer in one hand and his cell phone in the other, then called her. She answered, and as always, sounded pissed that he was bothering her.
"Hello."
"Darlene, it's me. Don't hang up."
"I already know it's you... Caller ID and all. If I didn't want to talk to you, I wouldn't have answered. What do you want?"
"I need Gracie's address."
"Why?"
"Because I finally sold the ranch, and I need to give her the money."
There was a long moment of silence. "You mean her share."
"No. All of it," he said, and heard Darlene gasp.
"You're serious? What about Daphne and Mamie?"
"Daphne called it blood money and rejected it the day of Mama's funeral. Mamie and Joel rejected it, too. And I can't keep it. I don't want to keep it." His voice broke, and he began to cry. "I think I'm dying. Daddy is in my dreams, shouting at me. Mama looks at me from the foot of the bed with tears on her face. I can't sleep. I’ve lost weight. I need to make all this right. Gracie is the only one who stayed. We all walked away from home and Sweetwater years before Mama got sick. But Gracie stayed. We deserted Mama and Gracie when they needed us most, and Gracie still stayed. The money is hers—by everything that's good and holy. I just need a way to get it to her."
For the first time in years, Darlene felt sorry for him.
"I know where she is. I have her address. And I do know the name of her bank because she mentioned it a couple of times. But that's all. And I don't want to be in the middle of this, but I also don't want you injecting yourself into her life to assuage your guilt."
"Don't worry. I have a lawyer. He'll know how to get the money deposited in her account. I'll write her so she'll know where the money came from. She has to take it. She's the only Dunham who deserves it."
There was dead silence. And then, "Do you have a pen and paper?"
James put down his beer.
"Yes."
Darlene began talking, giving him Gracie's home address, the place where she worked, and the name of her bank.
"Normally, I wouldn't help you across the street," Darlene said. "I'm doing this for Gracie, because she deserves it."
"Is she okay?" James asked.
"Mostly."
"Is she happy?"
"She's damn sure trying to be," Darlene said. "Don't go and fuck this up for her. If you do, your mama and daddy won't be the only people haunting your sleep. Do you understand me?"
James shuddered. "Yes, ma'am."
Darlene ended the call without saying goodbye, but it didn't matter. All he wanted now was to get that money into Gracie's hands before God struck him dead.
It was late September. A heatwave had been hanging over the area for days, highs close to the nineties, with enough humidity to soak the clothes on your back within minutes.
Even the tourists filling the city were either at Table Rock Lake and in the water, inside the music shows, choosing air-conditioned entertaining, or lining up for the water rides in Silver Dollar City.
Because of the heat, John and his crews were out at the crack of dawn, working hard to finish up yards and landscape jobs before mid-afternoon. He made the rounds every day to his crews, taking them cold drinks and snacks to keep them hydrated, and because he wanted to see Gracie, he took drinks to all the girls in the Majestic, too. Just seeing him coming in the front door with a carrier full of icy drinks or frosty malts, put smiles on their faces. Gracie took their jokes in stride because she always got a kiss with hers.
The morning dawned with the heatwave still in place.
Gracie woke before her alarm went off and checked her phone. As always, she had a good morning text from John.
Have the best day, sweetheart. See you this evening. Stay cool. Love you.
As always, Gracie sent back the same reply.
Love you more.
She turned on the TV as she got dressed, hoping for a little rain in the weather, and noticed there was a cool front coming across Kansas and the northern part of Oklahoma. Part of it might sweep their way, and it might not. Nothing to count on to cool anything off.
She dressed for the weather, and after downing a bowl of cereal, she headed to work, and walked into all kinds of drama.
A couple of weeks back, Donna had taken a request from the Wisteria Inn Hotel to redo the display piece in their front lobby. It would be placed on a massive four-foot tall table in the middle of the lobby using one of their own urns. They'd requested that the new display be at least five-feet tall and reflect the name and ambiance of their hotel. They'd left the design up to Donna. But they didn't want fresh flowers. They wanted high-end artificial flowers that would stay in place until the holidays rolled around.
This morning, the entire order for the Wisteria Inn had arrived, and Donna and two of the girls were going through it, making sure everything she'd ordered had arrived in the right colors and quantities.
"What's happening?" Gracie asked, pausing to keep from stumbling over the massive boxes all over the place.
"The order came for the Wisteria Inn," Donna said. "If everything is here, I'll have our delivery guys get the products to the hotel. I'm sending you and Reba to do it."
Reba's eyes widened. "Uh..."
Donna grinned. "Don't worry. Gracie is in charge of the design. But she's going to need an extra pair of eyes and hands."
Reba grinned. "Oh. Thank God. I love my work, but I also know my limitations."
Gracie began poking around inside the boxes. "Good stuff, Donna. This will be fun to do."
"They have their own urn. It's squat and heavy. It won't topple. Just make it Old South elegant. The wisteria will make it showy."
"I can do that," Gracie said. "When do we start?"
"My delivery guys are on the way. I'll load up two of the vans and send them out to the hotel with the flowers. You two grab your own tools and follow. Take a picture for me when you're done."
"Will do," Reba said.
"Am I supposed to be working in the middle of the lobby, with everyone coming and going?" Gracie asked.
"No. I told them that wasn't safe, and to give you a space all your own. They'll probably set you up in one of the empty banquet rooms on the second floor. They can move the finished piece on their own. All you'll need to do is follow to make sure nothing jiggles loose or fal
ls off, and then you two are done."
The buzzer sounded at the back door.
Donna jumped. "That will be the drivers. Someone get the door. The rest of you, let's load these boxes."
A short while later, the vans were gone, and Reba and Gracie were on their way to the hotel. Reba turned the blower up on the air conditioner as she drove.
"Lord, but it is hot out today. And it's too still and muggy. Something weird is gonna pop with our weather before this day is over. You mark my words."
Gracie frowned. She thought about the weather report she'd seen earlier. Maybe it wouldn't be bad. Maybe it would just be rain.
They arrived at the hotel and were soon ushered up into an empty banquet room on the second floor. The urn she was to use sat on a table in the middle of the room, and an employee from the hotel was approaching.
"Good morning, ladies. My name is Paul. If there is anything you need, I'm here to assist you."
Gracie eyed the setup and then began pointing.
"I will need some tables placed around the one with the urn, arrange them like a platform we can stand on while we work."
"Absolutely," Paul said, and grabbed his radio. Within minutes, he had the makeshift platform in place, and ice water and glasses nearby. "Cell service isn't very good up here. I'm going to leave you with a two-way. Just press the button and page me if you need anything. Or at least let me know when you're done."
Gracie nodded, and as soon as they were gone, she and Reba got to work building the infrastructure first. Artificial stems were basically wire with rubber or plastic coatings, and since the flowers and greenery here were huge, everything was heavier. That meant whatever Gracie put them in, needed to be strong enough to keep them upright and in place.
They spent two hours building infrastructure inside the urn before they were even ready to begin the piece. Then once they did, the work went faster.
