Montana Dreams

by Kim Law

“You do bring out the best in me.”

  They quit talking then, as both of them waited to see what she’d do. That first night, he’d not only told her he was monogamous, but also that he’d been tested and was clean.

  She’d told him she was on the pill—as well as clean.

  She’d also never before had a man inside of her without protection.

  “It’s up to you,” Jaden told her. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I trust you, so I’m good either way.”

  That was possibly just one more smooth line, but she really did like the sound of it. Also, she trusted him, too.

  Making up her mind, she took the condom and tossed it over her shoulder, the move heating his eyes even more. Then she realigned their bodies and looked into his eyes.

  She sank onto him in one smooth motion, and both of them gasped in pleasure.

  “Arsula.” His need was obvious in the vibration of the single word, and she nodded to let him know that her need matched his.

  This was good, she tried to tell him, but nothing came out. Whatever this was between them, it was really, really good.

  She didn’t have the energy to do much more than hold on as Jaden began to move inside her, but she gave it everything she could. He gripped her hips, and she clamped her arms around his neck, and as they moved together, their mouths never broke for air. Not until she felt him begin to peak, and only then did she pull back. As she continued to ride him, he kept his eyes locked on hers, not looking away until the last second, and breaking only as he closed his eyes and threw back his head. And as he emptied himself inside her, Arsula would swear she could feel the strength of the women of her family holding her up.

  Whatever this was going on between them . . . it was also very right.

  Chapter Nineteen

  How about a grilled cheese?” Arsula stared at the inside of her refrigerator—seeing few options to offer the man she’d spent most of the night having sex with—and pulled out the block of cheddar. She held it up in question, but as she did, the overhead light exposed the line of green-and-blue mold running along two sides, and she immediately tossed it in the trash.

  She looked sheepishly at Jaden, who sat at her kitchen table in nothing but a pair of black briefs and his cast, and held up her hands in defeat.

  “Soup?” she offered. “I think I have a can of chicken noodle. Or I could run downstairs for cheesecake?”

  He chuckled. “You’re not much of a cook, are you?”

  “It’s not one of my highlights, no.” She pushed the fridge door closed and grabbed a box of crackers off the counter. It was three in the morning, and given the calories they’d burned, both of them were ravenous. She was also too exhausted to run anywhere, cheesecake or not.

  “That’s okay.” Jaden snagged her before she could make it to the vacant seat and pulled her down to his lap. “You have other qualities I like.”

  His lips nuzzled at her neck, and amazingly, her body once again perked up.

  “You’ve got to stop,” she groaned, but she arched her neck, giving him better access for his ministrations. “I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow.”

  “Good.” His arm circled her, and he squeezed her bare breast. “Because I’m not going to let you get out of bed tomorrow.”

  “Such big words coming from the man who’s made me do all the work.”

  His hand and mouth stopped moving. “All the work?” he questioned. He peeked at her, his face peering over her shoulder and his brows arched high, and she was reminded of how they’d started the evening on her couch . . . and then what he’d done to her on the very table where they now sat.

  “Maybe not all the work,” she conceded.

  His thumb stroked down the back of her neck, and she shivered in his lap.

  “Probably not even half the work,” she corrected on a soft breath, and his returning hot smile did the trick. She was ready again. Just like that.

  “That’s all right.” He nibbled at her earlobe, while his fingers lowered to the juncture at her thighs. “I plan to let you make it up to me tomorrow.”

  “Just say the word,” she whispered. He slipped a finger inside her, and she moaned at his touch. “I’m clearly at your command,” she went on. “Tell me what you want”—she angled her hips, reaching for his fingers—“and I’ll get right on it.”

  “I want you,” he breathed into her ear. “In a way that’s both shocking and leaves me in awe.”

  His other hand sought out her breast, and as she sat cocooned in his arms, he once again sent her soaring.

  He stroked her with great care as she came back to earth, his mouth still pressing kisses into her neck and his other hand still cupping her in his palm, and Arsula dropped her head to his shoulder. She breathed heavily, the same contentment she’d awoken with only a week before now shrouding her outside of sleep, and she silently begged that what they were doing wouldn’t leave her wounded if it all came crashing down.

  “You ruined your cracker,” Jaden whispered a few minutes later, and she lifted her hand to find the herb-flavored square ground into dust.

  “And you’re ruining me,” she confessed. She didn’t get up and move away, though. She had no strength left in her legs to do so.

  Instead, she pulled another cracker from the box and offered it to him. They sat like that, her collapsed in his lap, taking turns feeding each other crackers until the box was empty, and as a car passed on the street down below, indicating early movement on the start of a new day, Jaden pressed a kiss to her ear.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Her head was still tucked against his shoulder, and she lifted her gaze to his. “You can ask me anything.”

  He motioned to the books that had been on her table earlier, before they’d been tossed haphazardly onto her counter. “What are you doing with those?”

  She eyed the research tome she’d borrowed from her father’s study. It had been sitting on her table for two months. “Bedtime reading,” she answered flippantly. “That fattest one was going to put me to sleep tonight before you rang your bell and forced me downstairs.”

  He pinched her butt. “I didn’t force you to do anything.” He then pointed at the shelves loaded to the gills on the other side of the room. “And what about those?”

  “Those I’ve already read.”

  He stared at her, his look indicating that her answer didn’t suffice, but she offered nothing else. She wasn’t sure she could trust him with these particular thoughts yet. He seemed to have come a long way in accepting who she was, but that could change on a dime.

  Jaden shifted her to the chair beside him, then he crossed to the shelves and began reading the titles out loud. He chose only to call out the research books or the college-level course manuals she’d purchased over the years, however, and he didn’t stop reading until she grabbed his shirt, where she’d earlier shoved it to the floor, and shrugged into it. He stood there silent. Patiently waiting.

  “What?” she finally snapped. “They’re books. What’s the big deal? I like to read.”

  “But why read these books?”

  “Why not these books?” She pulled a horror novel from the top shelf. “I read this one, too. Are you going to make something of that as well?”

  “I’m not making something of these,” he pointed out. “I just want to understand you, Arsula. From what you shared earlier tonight, I thought I was finally beginning to get there. But this changes things. What’s going on here? What are you doing with all of these?” He returned the last book he’d picked up.

  “I’m thinking about throwing them at you at the moment,” she countered, but he didn’t back down.

  “My question remains. If you’re all about being a life coach . . . then what are you doing with these types of books?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my books,” she argued.

  “No. There isn’t.” He made his way over to her. “Nothing at all. I’d love a house with a huge library,
and I’d be thrilled to have half your collection in there.”

  “But?” she said.

  “But . . . this seems like you’ve crossed a line somewhere.”

  She stared up at him, and she wondered which side of the line he’d fall on. “How do you figure?”

  The question was little more than a stall tactic, but she also suspected he wouldn’t stop.

  He dipped his head to hers when she looked down before he answered, his arms hanging over his crutches and his foot stuck out behind him, and when she once again met his eyes, she saw more than simple curiosity. He cared. How much was still up for debate, but he wasn’t just trying to solve a puzzle here. He cared. About her.

  “What are you looking to learn, Arsula? Are you in school? Hoping to get into school?”

  “I could get into any school I wanted, thankyouverymuch.”

  He paused at that, and she could see him working through what she’d told him about her family before. They were all doctors. Therefore, they probably had money. They would also have connections. Conclusion: they probably could buy her way into whatever school she wished to attend.

  “Good grief,” she grumbled. Why could men be such idiots? She crossed to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, but instead of drinking it, she pointed the mouth of the bottle at him. “I can get into any school I want because my IQ falls into the ninety-eighth percentile, moron. Not because my father would buy my way there.”

  That had him weaving on his crutches, and she pointed to the chair he’d vacated when he’d first started his interrogation.

  “Sit down,” she commanded.

  He sat.

  She handed him the bottle of water and got herself another one, and then she lowered back to the other chair. She scooted it over until it was positioned in front of him, and then she told him more about herself.

  “I like to read,” she started. “I always have. I soak it in, and I move on to the next book.”

  “Then why didn’t you . . .”

  She held up a hand to silence him. “This is my story. Let me tell it.”

  He nodded, and she went on.

  “Why didn’t I go to college, right?” Of course that would be the first response from someone like him. “That’s a question my father would like answered as well.”

  She tipped up her bottle and took a drink, and as drink turned to guzzle, her hand began to shake. Jaden reached over and lowered the bottle, as if he’d noticed the same thing, then he set both waters on the table and took her hands in his. He leaned forward, inching her closer at the same time, until they sat elbows on knees, facing each other.

  “Switch subjects,” he said. “What’s the deal with your father?”

  A tear slipped down her face.

  “Dammit,” she muttered. Then she looked up and offered a silent apology. But she hadn’t meant to cry. Not about this. It wasn’t worth crying over.

  Not really.

  “Basically,” she finally answered, “my father is disappointed in me. I’m smart. I test higher than any of my brothers, and I always have. I could make something great of myself.” His exact words when they’d talked over Christmas had been that it was “time to grow up. Time to quit screwing around.” “He’s ‘tolerated my hobby’ all these years, but he can’t understand why I follow my passion and not his advice.”

  Jaden’s eyes seemed to be looking for more than she was saying. “And his advice would be what?”

  She lifted her brows. “Like you can’t guess?”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “I get it. He wants you to go to medical school. That’s understandable.”

  “You would think so.” She smirked. “And the thing is, it wouldn’t take me the normal four years to get there. I could test out of a chunk of undergraduate classes, go year-round, and load up my schedule. I’d be finished in a couple of years, max. Then it would be on to medical school. To possibly follow in his footsteps as the great neurosurgeon that he is.”

  Jaden lifted a finger. “Wait a minute. Your father is a neurosurgeon?”

  She could see that Jaden had heard of him. “Dr. Donald Moretti. One of the best and most sought after in the country.”

  He stared in awe.

  “I know,” she told him. “And his daughter reads dreams for a living. You have to know that makes him proud.”

  Sarcasm dripped heavily from her words.

  “But what gets me,” she went on, “is the fact that I’m actually considering doing it. Because I want to make him proud. And because I know I could be excellent following in his footsteps. He used to come home from work and share stories of his surgeries. I loved it. In high school, he’d quiz me by relaying symptoms and histories of actual patients, then wait for me to work through a diagnosis. Nine times out of ten, I was spot-on.”

  “But?” The look Jaden wore was one of utter befuddlement.

  “But,” she repeated. “He says that a lot, too. But I love what I do. And I don’t need his idea of more to make me happier. I love meeting people, talking to people. Helping people. I love knowing that the gift that was passed to me due to my ancestry isn’t being ignored.” She stopped for a moment and fought not to hang her head in shame. “But I’m an embarrassment to him,” she whispered. “And I really do hate that. He’s my idol. He always has been. I couldn’t love a parent more than I do my dad. Therefore”—she glanced at her collection of books—“I’m considering it. Only, how do I make both my dad and myself happy?”

  “What about this one?” Arsula turned in a circle, modeling a royal-blue hat with a white feather sticking out of the top.

  “It looks very eighties pimpish.”

  She giggled and put the hat back. “How do you know anything about eighties pimpish?”

  “Netflix. How else?”

  “Yeah?” She chuckled. “Somehow I can’t picture you sitting around binge-watching anything, but I suppose if I had to choose an era for you, eighties movies would fit the bill. Probably you’re a closet Friends lover as well.”

  “Probably. I am full of surprises, you know?”

  “You’re mostly full of crap.” She winked, and he laughed.

  They thanked the vendor for letting them look, then moved on. They’d been at the flea market for a couple of hours now, and though he was having a great time, this wasn’t where he’d ever have expected to spend a Saturday. They were here because of Arsula, though. She liked flea markets . . . and he was finding that he liked making Arsula happy.

  It had been a week since he’d cooked dinner for her, and though they hadn’t gone out publicly in that time, they were definitely together. He’d cooked for her once more during the week, and she’d hung out and watched TV in his room a couple of nights. She’d also held him off physically after their marathon thirty-six hours of all-sex-all-the-time the weekend before, citing that she wanted to take things slower than they’d jumped into. But they had done a whole lot of making out.

  “I want to take a quick look in this one,” Arsula said before hurrying into a booth set up with only vintage pieces. The pimp hat she’d previously had on would fit in nicely there, even though most everything else had at least fifty years on it.

  “Take a look at these old pocket watches.” He stared down into a jewelry case as he stopped beside her. “My dad used to carry one of these.”

  She looked up. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” The salesperson handed over the one he pointed to, and he pressed the top button to pop it open. “It was very similar to this one. For a period of time when I was a kid, I wanted to be just like my dad, and top on the list of things I’d need to accomplish that had been a gold pocket watch.”

  She’d gone back to perusing the pieces herself. “Cute. How old were you when you wanted to be like him?”

  “I don’t know . . . sometime before I was ten, I guess.”

  He handed the watch back over, and they moved from the counter.

  “So after your mother died?”

  He didn�
�t immediately answer, because he was suddenly reminded of their conversation from the Saturday before. Arsula had asked what his first memory of his mom was, and he’d actually told her. All of it.

  In more than three years of dating, he’d never shared that story with Megan, but once the words had come out, he’d been both relieved and terrified. Relieved that he could share something like that with someone other than a paid counselor, and terrified at what else he might decide to tell her next.

  He’d also wondered what else he might want to tell her next. Because as she liked to point out, she was easy to talk to.

  Or maybe it was just that he liked talking to her.

  “Yeah,” he finally responded. “It was after my mother died.”

  He took her hand and moved to the next booth. He liked doing a lot of things with her.

  They browsed in silence for a while, and he let himself think back over the past week, especially about what she’d told him concerning wanting to be a life coach yet feeling like she had to choose between that and her father’s wishes. He knew that a lot of females had the tendency to be total daddy’s girls. He’d met more than one who would walk over hot coals for her father. But he’d never have guessed Arsula to be hesitant to make life choices for herself. Or not to make them, as the case was, due to wanting to keep from letting her dad down. He’d always seen her as more certain of herself than that. And especially after he’d sat beside her earlier in the week and she’d walked him through the proposed website. Arsula Moretti knew what she wanted, and she went after it.

  Only, apparently she didn’t all the time. And that bothered him.

  Bringing the back of her hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss against it, and even without her looking over at him, he could feel her smile. That’s the kind of feeling she should always have. Never any sort of uncertainty.

  “How’s the website?” he asked. “Did you send that list of changes we came up with to Megan yet?”

  A secretive smile played at her lips. “I did. This morning.”

  “Why the cat-who-ate-the-canary grin on your face, then?” He pulled her to a stop, and he couldn’t contain his own excitement. “Did you hear back from her already?”