by T. L. Haddix
“It sounds like you,” he admitted. “How big is the formal garden?”
“A full acre. My property manager, Flaco, tends it like it’s his child.”
Ben finished off her cake, his mind reeling at the knowledge of just how far apart they were in social status. “And there’s a carriage house where this Jonah lives?”
“Yes. It’s renovated, and he owns the land it’s on. Doug left it to him in his will. Jonah tried to give it back, but I wouldn’t take it.”
Ben was starting to get a hinky feeling about Jonah’s relationship with Ainsley’s late husband. “That’s a pretty generous bequeathment. They must have been close.”
“They were. They grew up together.” She stood and went to the doors, looking out into the night. “So what about you? What are you doing these days, other than cutting the grass for princesses who like to push you into swimming pools?”
Laughing, Ben settled back on the loveseat and enjoyed the view of her in the short robe. “I’m renting a tiny apartment in the old hotel downtown. And what makes you think I’m doing anything other than cutting grass?”
She rolled her eyes and sent him a knowing look over her shoulder. “I know you. So fess up. What’re you into?”
The moment stretched, not uncomfortably but most definitely with some tension. She did know him. That was a little unnerving.
“I’m waiting for the fall term to start at UK. I’ll be joining their graduate program, going for a landscape architecture degree.”
Ainsley’s hands moved from resting on her hips to being crossed over her chest as she turned to face him fully. “You’ll be living in Lexington?”
“I will.”
She walked slowly over to him, stopping between his spread feet. Her head was tilted to the side, and he could see that his answer had confounded her somewhat.
“That’s interesting,” she finally said.
Ben reached out and undid the belt of the robe. Parting it, he slid his hands to her hips and tugged her onto his lap. “Not as interesting as what I have my hands on right now.”
“No?”
“Not even close,” he told her as he nuzzled the space between her breasts.
This time, some of the desperate frenzy had dissipated, and they were able to take things slower and enjoy each other a little more. The lovemaking was no less emotionally powerful this time, though. He made Ainsley come apart three times before he donned a condom and took his own pleasure.
By the time they finished, he was ready to curl up with her in the big, soft bed and sleep the rest of the night away. But staying the night was a taboo that he’d set for himself, and he forced himself to get up and get dressed. The disappointment on Ainsley’s face, though quickly masked, almost made him reconsider. Almost.
“You can’t stay?”
“No. I have to be up early, and no offense, but I don’t really want to have to explain my presence to Byrdie. She looks like she could wield a mean frying pan. I’d rather not find out.”
Ainsley laughed, stretching languidly as he bent over and placed a kiss on her lips. “She does have a way with kitchen implements. I’ll have to tell you about that sometime.” When he started to draw back, she looped her arms around his neck. “Will you come back?”
Ben braced his hands on either side of her on the bed. “Do you want me to?”
“Yes. I very much do. But it’s up to you.”
“Then I will. Maybe not tomorrow. But I’ll come back.” After one last kiss, he straightened away from her. “Lock up behind me.”
“I will. Drive safely going home.”
He winked at her before he ducked out of the french doors and forced himself to walk away. It would have been too easy to stay, and that was part of the reason he didn’t.
Instead of the anger and control he’d expected to have, he’d felt warmth… and love for the woman who’d utterly destroyed him. He cursed himself for being a fool, for falling so easily back into her trap.
As soon as he got home, he dug into his nightstand and pulled out the letter she’d written him, telling him that she’d married someone else. He read and re-read it until the anger that kept him insulated started to return. Once he’d achieved enough emotional distance that he felt safe, he folded the letter and put it back in the journal where he kept it.
Forgetting that Ainsley had lied to him, forgetting that she’d used him for a good time, would only lead to heartache, especially if she continued to be warm and giving. His heart was telling him that the woman he’d seen tonight was the real Ainsley, but his head was on full alert.
“You’re only scratching an itch,” he told himself as he stripped down for bed. “Don’t you dare think that it’s more than that. This is your turn to take what you want and walk away when you’re done. Don’t ruin it by letting your dick convince your brain her heart’s involved.”
He turned off the lamp and punched his pillow, then settled in on his stomach to sleep. As tired as he was, a couple of hours passed before he managed to drift off. Too much emotion and too many thoughts were racing through his mind, no matter how much he wanted to deny its existence.
Time would tell if being intimate with Ainsley again had been a blessing or a curse.
Chapter Nineteen
Ainsley walked on clouds the rest of the week. Ben came back twice, on Tuesday and Wednesday night, and their lovemaking was just as powerful and overwhelming as it had been Monday evening.
She tried to ignore the fact that they didn’t talk about anything personal. She wasn’t ready to go down that road, and from his avoidance of any serious topic, neither was Ben. But it did bother her a bit.
Her time in Hazard was drawing to a close. She had a little more work to do on the business deals with Hershel, but not much. She also needed to come to a decision about the house. That Friday morning, she discussed it with Byrdie, who was packing to go visit a cousin who lived up the road a few miles.
“What am I going to do if I can’t find that file? Do I risk selling the house and take a chance that no one else will find it, either?” She was sitting cross-legged on Byrdie’s bed, watching her pack.
“Well, baby girl, I don’t know. How damaging would that information be if it got out?”
Ainsley propped her chin on her hands and shrugged. “It could hurt them. I mean, part of the power behind the threat died with Mother, but not all. So if I want to be certain to keep his family safe, I have to hold on to the place. Or burn it down.”
Byrdie huffed. “Sounds like a good plan to me. I’ll hand you the matches.”
It sounded more enticing than Ainsley wanted to admit. “So what do you and your cousin have planned? Wild night on the town? Chasing handsome men around the lake?”
“Hush that.” Byrdie’s cheeks glowed. “Probably sit around with a pot of coffee, or three, and talk until five in the morning. You know how we get.”
“I do. It’s nice. I’m glad you can go to her this time.”
Byrdie’s cousin had come to visit them several times, but like Ainsley, Byrdie hadn’t been back home for a long time before this visit, not since she’d walked out on Geneva.
“You sure you’ll be okay here by yourself?”
“I’ll be better than okay. I’ll be fine and dandy. Ben may stop by.” She looked down and traced the pattern on the bedspread. “Is it wrong? What I’m doing?”
“Now, you know better than to ask me that. I’m biased.”
“I wonder sometimes what would have happened if we had run away, if she’d never gotten to deliver her ultimatum. Think she still would have used that information against Ben’s family?”
Byrdie closed the suitcase before she answered. “I do. I think she would have destroyed any and all happiness you found, any way she could. So as much as you’ve been
hurt, baby girl, that things worked out the way they have? It might be your best shot at happiness. I know it probably doesn’t feel that way right now.”
“No, I understand what you’re saying. I agree.”
“You looking forward to lunch with Hershel?”
Ainsley grabbed the suitcase before Byrdie could and headed out the door with it. “I am. He’s good people, he and Tammy.”
Unfortunately, the day deteriorated after Byrdie left. Ainsley got dressed and left for her lunch date with Hershel, but got stuck behind a wreck and was late.
“I’m so sorry,” she told him when she finally made it to the restaurant at the country club. “I had to backtrack and go through Christopher. I hate being late.”
“Sugar, you’re fine. I’m enjoying not having to work for a little bit.”
They caught up on things they hadn’t had a chance to discuss in their business meetings. As their server was clearing their plates, and just when Ainsley was starting to forgive herself for being late, a tall man passed their table. When she saw who he was, she sucked in a sharp, choking breath.
When he saw her, his eyes went wide with shock before his lip curled in disgust.
“Well, they’ll let anyone in here these days,” he sneered. “I’ll have to have a word with the manager before I leave.”
“Hello, Elliot.”
He kept his eyes on Ainsley’s face as he asked Hershel, “You’re not doing business with her, are you? I heard she was in town, selling off Aunt Geneva’s holdings.”
Hershel stood, his hands going to rest on his hips. “Son, who I do business with is none of yours. Why don’t you move along.”
Elliot looked Hershel over head to toe, dismissing him. Without another word to either of them, he turned and went back the way he’d come.
“Are you okay?”
Ainsley was surprised to find herself shaking. “I am. Once again, I find myself having to apologize to you, Hershel.”
He waved a hand. “No. You’re not the horse’s ass. He is. I never did care for the boy.” He helped her to her feet and tucked her hand in his elbow as they walked to the parking lot. “Was that the first time you’ve seen him in a while? I was surprised he wasn’t at the funeral.”
“Yes. After everything that happened when I got married, we went our separate ways. I became too much of a liability, too much of a scandal.”
“Not to everyone. You know that.”
Ainsley smiled. “I do.”
“So are you going to make it to our house Sunday for dinner? Tammy’s chomping at the bit.”
“What time?”
“Oh, around one or so.”
“I’ll be there with bells on.” It was the same answer she always gave him, and it never failed to make them both smile, though she had to force the expression this time.
Once they’d parted ways, Ainsley sat in her car for a few minutes, regaining her equilibrium. As contentious as their relationship had always been, Ainsley missed Elliot. He’d been like a brother to her, and when he’d cut her off from his life, that distancing broke something inside her.
She hadn’t quite told Hershel the truth. Only Jonah and Byrdie knew that. Elliot had, somewhat impatiently, stuck around while she struggled to get sober. It was only after Doug was diagnosed with AIDS and Ainsley had been forced to admit the truth to her cousin about her marriage that Elliot had thrown in the towel.
She hadn’t expected him to react well. But she hadn’t quite expected his disgust and fear, either.
“What the hell do you mean, your husband has AIDS?” he’d demanded. Elliot had been in town on business and had stopped by Dragonfly Creek for a visit. “That’s a fucking fag disease.”
Ainsley’s stomach churned at hearing the ugly word. She’d come to loathe the term over the past few months, as she’d heard it applied more and more to Doug and Jonah as well as other people within their circle.
“Please don’t use that word.”
“Why not? It’s the truth. How’d he get it? Oh, God—you don’t have it, too, do you?” He physically recoiled from her.
“No, I don’t have it. And Doug… Doug is gay, Elliot.”
The silence between them was so profound, it hurt her ears.
“You married a fag?” he finally whispered.
She raked her hands through her hair, tugging hard. She’d known then that he wasn’t going to be able to accept the truth. “That’s why Mother set the marriage up. People were starting to ask questions, and his family was worried.”
“And you went along with it?”
“That hardly matters now. The point is, I wanted you to know what was going on. He’s not going to be here very much longer, and you’re my only family.”
Elliot was shaking his head. From the way his nostrils flared, and from the horror in his eyes, Ainsley knew what was coming.
“No. I won’t have someone like that in my family. My God, my children have been around him.”
“Well, it isn’t like he can pass his gayness on to them by being around them, for crying out loud,” she snapped.
“I stood by you through the booze, the pills, because I knew you were in a bad place. But this? I can’t stand by this. I’m a deacon in the church, Ainsley. Do you know what would happen if word got out?” He looked as though he were going to be physically ill. Taking pains to not come close enough to her to touch, he hurried around her and fled.
That had been the last time Ainsley had seen him. She hadn’t heard from him when Doug died or when her mother had died. She’d made a point of sending him a copy of Doug’s death announcement, in case he might reconsider. She would have had a hard time forgiving him for abandoning her, but she would do it. He was the only family she had. Surely that had to count for something.
Apparently not, though.
She’d thought earlier about going by the photography studio and seeing if Zanny was available to have coffee, but after the punch of seeing Elliot, all she wanted was the privacy of home.
Back at the house, she changed into comfortable clothing. With her hair back in a loose ponytail, she wandered through the quiet rooms, stopping in her father’s bedroom. Over the past few days, she and Byrdie had made progress in packing up her mother’s belongings. But Ainsley hadn’t yet been able to tackle her father’s room. The one day she’d tried, the emotions had been too strong.
She thought it was time. She was already a hot mess emotionally, so she might as well put it to good use. Backtracking downstairs to get a few boxes, she returned to the master bedroom and got to work.
Like in Ainsley’s room, Geneva hadn’t changed anything about Sol Brewer’s bedroom. The clothes hanging in the wide closet were dusty and dated. Methodically going through the pockets, Ainsley made quick work of the expensive clothing. She distanced herself as much as she could from what she was doing.
She didn’t want to keep any of it—not her father’s favorite leather coat, now cracked with age, or the tie with ducks on it that she’d gotten him for his last birthday. None of that represented her memories of the man who had seemed larger than life.
Once the closet was cleaned out, she moved on to the jewelry box on the chest of drawers. She ran a hand over the smooth leather. This box, she couldn’t face. Not now. This was where the ghost of her father lived. She set it aside to pack in the few boxes she was taking back to Lexington.
When she emptied out his nightstand, she was surprised to find a half-empty package of old-fashioned condoms inside. She sat down hard on the side of the bed, knowing if she could see her reflection, her eyebrows would be halfway to her hairline.
“Oh, boy. This is unexpected.”
Geneva had conducted multiple affairs and one-night stands throughout the years, despite her physical disabilities, both befo
re and after Sol Brewer’s death. Ainsley had been aware of that from a fairly early age, maybe ten or eleven. She’d also understood that her parents were no longer intimate and hadn’t been for years.
Being able to bag handsome young men—the more beefcake-y, the better—had been another of Geneva’s trophies, which she’d rubbed in Sol Brewer’s, then Ainsley’s, face, especially once Ainsley got to be an older teen. Geneva was, after all, able to do something Ainsley wasn’t—attract men.
Ainsley had always thought her father was a saint for putting up with the behavior. Now, she realized he had probably had affairs of his own. The knowledge was a little disappointing. She knew her father had feet of clay, but still. Knowing he’d had sex outside his marriage made him a little too human.
As much as she’d learned tolerance and acceptance the last few years, she still had lines that she didn’t think should be crossed. Adultery was one.
She tossed the condoms into the garbage bag, then finished going through the nightstand. Fortunately, it held no more unpleasant surprises.
By the time she finished clearing out his room, it was early evening. She grabbed a cold drink from the refrigerator and stepped out onto the patio. The back side of the house faced mostly west, and ominous storm clouds were gathering. The wind, hot and humid, had picked up, and the smell of ozone hung heavily in the air.
“Oh, lovely. Of all the nights for a storm to be brewing.” Her nerves ratcheted up to a level of unease that had her itching for a cigarette, and a drink. She stopped moving and stood perfectly still. Using a technique she’d learned in rehab, she made herself aware of her surroundings and how she was reacting to her surroundings, then forced herself to think logically, rather than emotionally, about how she was feeling.
