by Ann Roth
With Rafe paying JR’s wages, the tree-removal expert had little choice but to keep the kid on.
“I convinced Zach to give you another chance,” Rafe said. “On two conditions. One, from now on, if you’re tempted do anything you’re not supposed to, no matter what the situation, consult Zach or me. Otherwise, don’t do it. And, two, I get to teach you how to do mindful observation, the mental trick I mentioned a while back.”
JR started to argue, but Rafe silenced him with a look. “Do we have a deal?”
“Yes, sir.”
Rafe extended his arm and shook hands with JR.
Next, JR shook Zach’s hand. He frowned. “How are we supposed to work without a bulldozer?”
“A loaner is on the way,” Zach explained. “While we wait, we’ll deal with the tree roots you dug up earlier.”
“Okay. What about mind thing, Rafe?”
“Let’s meet here tomorrow, before you start work. It’ll mean an earlier morning than usual for you.”
“But tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“Yep.”
After a brief hesitation, JR gave a grudging nod. He murmured something to Chelsea, then engulfed her in a warm hug that made Rafe’s heart squeeze.
JR joined Zach, and they tromped toward several massive tree roots.
“My brother has no idea how lucky he is to still have this job,” Jillian told Rafe in a voice only he could hear.
“He’s not a bad kid, just needs some guidance and to think things through. The focusing tools I’m going to teach him will help. I’m going to push him to go for his GED, too.”
It was good to see her soft smile. For some reason, he had to swallow past a lump in his throat. “I doubt Zach will hire him again, but the owner of the construction company building the house might. I’ll ask.”
“You’d do that after what he pulled?”
“He’s been showing up on time and works hard. That counts for something. How are you?”
Her gaze flicked away, to something over his shoulder. “Between prepping for the last pottery class and getting ready for the Arts Festival, I’m busy. You?”
“Doing okay.” Rafe kicked the dirt with the toe of his running shoe.
After a brief pause, Jillian brushed her hands together, as if she’d had enough of their conversation. “I’d better get back the studio.”
With a hollow feeling Rafe didn’t understand, he watched her join Chelsea at the edge of the field and walk away.
*
Ten days later, spring was in full swing. Tooling along with the Beemer’s top down at eight-fifteen a.m., Rafe smelled the flowers and heard the rumble of heavy machinery even before he pulled onto the dirt lot near his property.
Having just come off a crazy busy forty-eight-hour shift, he needed to collect Calvin from the dog-sitter’s, go home and grab some Zs before heading to Adam’s to help install a fence around the back yard. But Tim Marx, the builder Rafe had hired, had broken ground yesterday, and Rafe couldn’t wait to take a look.
Half a dozen vehicles filled the lot, as well as the trailer Marx dubbed his traveling office. Rafe pulled to a stop and exited the Beemer. As he strode through the trees, he noted an idle grader waiting to level the area Zach and JR had cleared. Men in hard hats were stacking two-by-fours, while an excavator scooped dirt from a rapidly growing hole soon to become the foundation and basement.
At last, his own house on his own land. A dream come true that should have had him jubilant. Instead, Rafe felt even worse than when he’d met with Sonia to review the blueprints.
Chalk that up to a nasty case of woman blues. He missed Jillian—her company, her contagious smile, her laughter. But he couldn’t give her the love she wanted and deserved, and needed to keep his distance.
He walked around, searching for Tim Marx. Instead, he spotted JR. Rafe had convinced the builder to hire the kid on a trial basis. He ambled toward JR. “I’m looking for Tim.”
“He’s out, picking up supplies, but he should be back soon.”
Rafe nodded. “How’s it going?”
“This is only my second day, but okay, so far. I’m practicing those mind tricks. They help with the sore muscles. I won’t screw up this time.”
“I have faith in you.”
JR’s chest expanded. “Chelsea and I opened a bank account to put away money for our own place.”
He seemed to be growing up at last. Jillian must be relieved. “Good man. Did you think any more about your GED?”
“I called about it after work yesterday. There’s a class this summer I’ll probably sign up for.”
“Smart thinking.” Rafe clapped his shoulder. “Is your sister ready for the Arts Festival this weekend?”
“Finally. Miller and Chelsea are helping her load Miller’s truck right now.”
“Two days early?”
“You wouldn’t believe all the stuff she’s bringing. It’ll take hours to pack everything into the truck. She wants to go tomorrow so she and Chelsea can get the booth set up and open with a bang on Friday. Miller offered to sleep over. That way, they can leave first thing in the morning. Chelsea will follow them in Jill’s car.”
Stuck on the fact Miller would spend the night, Rafe paid no attention to the rest. “With you and Chelsea in the spare bedroom, where will Miller sleep?”
“Beats me. I don’t pry into my sister’s private life.”
According to JR, Jillian and Miller were friends. Now Rafe wondered whether their friendship included benefits.
The thought of her in bed with another man was too much. He let out an unhappy growl.
JR’s eyes widened. “Chill, Rafe. As I said before, Jill and Miller aren’t into each other that way. The living room couch makes into a bed. He’ll probably bunk there.”
Rafe could live with that.
“I don’t know why you care,” JR went on. “You say you aren’t into her.”
Rafe wasn’t supposed to be, not anymore.
JR’s eyes narrowed. “You are.”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
Despite Rafe’s scowl, the smart aleck had the gall to grin. “Later.”
In a foul mood, Rafe stalked around, waiting for Tim. When the builder showed up some quarter of an hour later, Rafe spent all of two minutes talking to him before he grew antsy and left.
He knew exactly what he ought to do—forget Jillian and move on. But how in hell did he do that?
Chapter Seventeen
‡
Around noon Thursday, Jillian, Chelsea, and Miller transferred the last of the crates from Miller’s truck to the booth where Jillian and Chelsea would spend their waking hours for the next three days.
Over a hundred artists and craftspeople milled around the fairgrounds, chatting with each other and working to create tempting and welcoming spaces for tomorrow’s opening day. Jillian and Miller greeted old friends and made new ones. Chelsea fit in well and seemed to enjoy meeting everyone.
Forty-something Miller, tall, with thinning hair and smile creases around his eyes, checked his watch. “I’d best get back to Guff’s Lake. I promised my assistant manager some of the afternoon off.”
“It’s lunchtime. Let me buy you a sandwich first,” Jillian offered. Nearby, an enterprising restaurant had set up a food stand for hungry artists.
Miller shook his head. “You sprang for dinner last night, fed me this morning, and filled my truck’s gas tank. That’s enough. I’ll grab something on the way out of town.”
“Okay. Thanks for lugging everything down here and helping us unload it. I owe you.”
“Just keep sending those pottery students my way for their supplies.” Miller kissed her cheek. “May you sell out and come home with a bunch of new orders.”
Jillian held up her crossed fingers.
“You’ve been talking about and working on this festival since I first met you,” Chelsea commented as Miller strode toward the parking lot and disappeared. “Now it’s finally here… I guess I
thought you’d be more jazzed.”
Lately, working up enthusiasm for anything wasn’t easy. Determined to shake off the blues, Jillian forced a smile. “I’m super excited. It’s going to be a great festival.”
Running the booth would keep her too busy to even think about Rafe. “I am running low,” she added. “I need food, and I’ll bet you do, too. Let’s get sandwiches. We’ll eat, then organize the merchandise, lock up, and check into the motel.”
*
Taking a break from fence building in the late afternoon, Rafe and Adam reached into the cooler for a couple of beers and settled into lawn chairs on Adam’s backyard patio. Overhead, chattering birds flew back and forth, building nests, and a couple of squirrels chased each other up a tree.
Adam popped off the screw-top, tilted the bottle Rafe’s way in a silent salute, and drank. “That Arts Festival in Medford is this weekend.”
“Yeah.”
“You could drive over there and talk to her.”
No need to say her name. They both knew who he meant. “What for?” Rafe said.
“Because you’ve barely cracked a grin in weeks, and I’m tired of looking at your gloomy mug.”
“Lay it on me, why don’t you.” Rafe sipped his own beer. “There’s nothing for Jillian and me to discuss because there’s nothing between us. Not anymore.”
His bud snorted. “Get real, man. This thing between you two is unlike any of your past relationships. It’s serious.”
No point in denying that. Rafe blew out a heavy breath. “I can’t give her what she wants.”
“So you keep repeating. If you remember, I used to sing the same song—until I woke up and realized I wanted to be with Sam forever.”
“Your issues are totally different from mine.”
“True, but I have some doozies, stuff I’m still wrestling with.”
They both went quiet for a while, sipping beer and enjoying the afternoon sun, before Adam swiveled his head Rafe’s way.
“Answer me straight from the gut—do you trust Jillian?”
“I would trust her with my life,” Rafe replied without hesitation.
Had he actually said that? While he was still reeling from the realization, Adam gave a sage nod.
“Maybe it’s time you took deeper look at yourself and what you want.”
Chapter Eighteen
‡
Outside Rafe’s place, all was dark and silent. Not even the first birds stirring—too damn early to get up, especially on a Friday.
He’d never considered himself a deep thinker, especially about his own stuff, and after a restless night spent turning Adam’s unasked-for advice around his mind, he had yet to figure out a damn thing. Or sleep.
Giving up on both, he left his bed. Bleary-eyed and sorely in need of caffeine, he padded downstairs. He let Calvin into the back yard, started a pot of coffee, dumped a can of dog food into Calvin’s bowl, and let him back in.
The Vizsla wolfed down his meal – then licked his lips and looked to Rafe with a what’s next expression.
“Give me a break,” Rafe muttered.
It’d be several hours before the morning paper arrived, but no big—at the moment, he had zero interest in reading. Too unsettled to sit and wait for the coffeemaker to do its thing, he prowled around the main floor, Calvin obediently at his side.
“It’s this thing with Jillian,” he explained, questioning his sanity for sharing his problems with his dog. But with his ears cocked forward, the animal appeared to be listening. “For the life of me, I can’t let go of her and move on. I’m driving myself crazy.”
The coffeemaker finally gurgled to a stop. Rafe filled a mug and set it on the breakfast bar. Suddenly hungry, he grabbed a bowl, a box of cereal, and a half-gallon of milk from the fridge. Moments later, he plunked onto a barstool and dug in.
Two cups of coffee and three bowls of cereal later, he’d filled his belly. Oddly, he still felt empty.
Wearing an expectant expression, Calvin sat on his haunches at Rafe’s feet, silently inviting him to say more.
Rafe rubbed his chest. “There’s a hole in here, and I don’t know how to fill it.”
His steadfast pal did his version of a canine eye roll and tossed his head.
“You think I’m in love with Jillian.” Rafe scoffed. “You’re as bad as Adam. You both know me better than that. I don’t do love.”
The dog scrambled up, trotted toward the back door where his leash hung on a hook, and barked at it.
Rafe frowned. “Nope, we’re not going to her place to talk. She isn’t there. She’s at the Arts Festival in Medford.”
Stubborn gaze still pinned on the leash, Calvin let out a soft whine.
“If you think I’m going to drive ninety miles one way for a conversation, think again. Anyway, she’ll be way too busy for us.”
Yet despite the objections Rafe voiced, he seriously considered making the drive. Which showed how off his game he was.
Serious—that’s what Adam had labeled the Jillian situation. Rafe had to agree, even if he didn’t want to feel so strongly about anyone and had never expected to.
As for the trust thing he’d blurted out on the patio… Still shaking his head, he slid off the stool, loaded his dishes into the dishwasher, and put away the cereal and milk.
He wanted to keep seeing Jillian, but she wouldn’t allow him back into her life unless he bought into her dream—a ring on her finger and the whole nine yards that came with it. Commitment and marriage and kids.
“Except for Grandma Donato and a couple of teachers, I didn’t think I would ever trust a woman,” he confessed to Calvin. “But Jillian… There’s nothing flaky about her. She’s loyal to her brother. No matter what, she has his back. If I let her, she’d have mine, too. Kind of like my crewmates at the fire department.”
Only different. Warmer and a whole lot sweeter. “She’s always been straight with me, sharing her thoughts and feelings, regardless of the consequences,” he went on. “She’s amazing, all right—one in a million.”
Calvin nodded.
But could Rafe make the kind of commitment Jillian deserved?. Having never pictured himself as a husband or a father, he found the idea intimidating.
Yet, here he was, considering it. Spooked, he shoved his hands into his pockets, glanced unseeing at the kitchen floor, and then began to pace the room.
Damn, he was confused…
His cursed dog bumped against his leg and stared up at him. “I’m no coward, so quit giving me that look,” Rafe warned in his sternest tone.
Calvin appeared unruffled, his gaze never wavering.
“I’ve had it with you and your accusations,” Rafe grumbled. “You’re going outside again, and I’m heading upstairs to shower, shave, and get dressed. And, yeah, figure out what I want.”
*
All that thinking led to Rafe showing up at the Medford Fairgrounds some hours later. He still wasn’t sure why he’d come or exactly what he wanted, only that he needed to see Jillian and talk with her. He’d figure out what to say then.
With live music, mouthwatering aromas filling the air from the food booths and tons of people with money to spend, the Arts Festival was in full swing. Pulling Calvin to a stop, he studied the map provided when he’d paid his admission fee. Jillian’s booth was smack in the middle of the action—the ideal place to draw in lots of customers.
Between the milling crowds and the distractions pulling Calvin in the wrong direction, it took a while to reach her booth. Some half a dozen people looked over her pieces, with five more lined up to pay for purchases. Wearing a wide grin, Chelsea handed a young couple a carefully wrapped parcel and receipt. At the opposite end of the counter, Jillian engaged in conversation with two middle-aged women.
Taking advantage of the moment, he drank in the sight of her. Tall and lovely, her face animated and alive. So beautiful, this woman he loved.
Love. The word clicked into his mind and settled in, as if it belon
ged there, and suddenly, everything felt right.
With absolute, deep-in-his-soul clarity, Rafe knew he loved Jillian and understood that he always would. Awed, he shook his head.
At last, if sensing his gaze, she looked straight at him. Startled, confused.
His.
And just like that, his formerly empty chest expanded, growing full to bursting. The slow, goofy grin he’d scorned Adam for bloomed on his own face.
“Excuse me,” he said, pushing through the line. He hopped over the counter—not so easy, but with years of firefighting training behind him, doable.
Her eyebrows jumped comically up her forehead. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to have a word with you—privately. Chelsea, will you take over and watch Calvin?”
All eyes, the girl nodded. “Sure, Rafe.”
Jillian dug in her heels. “I’m kind of busy here.” She gestured at the waiting crowd. “Can this wait?”
“Nope.”
She clamped her lips together, showing him what she thought of his reply. “It’ll have to. Just now, I’m not going anyplace.”
“You want me to do this here?”
“How am I supposed to answer that, when I have no idea why you’re crowding Chelsea and me in our booth.”
“Fine. We’ll do it here. I miss you.”
“You drove ninety miles to say that?” Jillian crossed her arms and eyed him. “Your timing is a little off.”
Yeah, I miss you did sound lame. “Sometimes it takes a while for me to get things through this thick skull of mine. But when I do…” Rafe rubbed the back of his neck. “The thing is…”
The area had grown quiet, shoppers all eyes, waiting for what happened next. As if he and Jillian were starring in some spectator sport. Not exactly optimal, but now that he knew what he wanted, he wouldn’t let a bunch of nosy people get in his way.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he said. “And I realize I…” He had to stop and swallow past the lump in his throat. “I love you.”
Jillian’s jaw dropped. “But you don’t fall in love.”
“Apparently I do.”
“Are you sure?”
“More than I’ve ever been about anything.”
