by Maisey Yates
He pushed the plate of zucchini bread toward her, along with a small fork, and she accepted it, trying to ignore the warm sensation in her chest.
“Did you learn this recipe from your mom?” He was pushing for more information about her, and the fact that he cared made her want to give it.
“No. Marlene. My mom didn’t cook. I mean, she never did. But, we did used to bake sometimes, before Frannie got sick. But not after.”
“I’m sorry. Again. For what I said.”
“No. You don’t have to apologize. Everything you said...I’ve thought it. You’re right. They lost a daughter, how could their only remaining child pull away so completely? I mean, I still speak to them. I call my mother once a week or so. But I just can’t... All of the dreams that they had for Frannie and me ended up focused on me.”
“I can imagine that. I mean, to a smaller degree.”
“I needed to go to prom because Frannie would never get to go to prom. I needed to carry an extra rose at graduation for my sister who couldn’t be there. And you know, before your wedding, when I was supposed to be a bridesmaid, my mother was angry, because I hadn’t gotten married yet. My sister is never going to have a family, Colton. She’s never going to get married. She’s never going to fall in love. It’s somehow up to me to do all of these things for her, and for her memory.
“And at the same time I’m not ever supposed to be too happy because we’re missing someone. I’m missing a part of myself. I don’t know how to be all of those things. So I had to come here where I didn’t have to be anything. I had to come here so that I could find out who I was. Because nothing there was ever going to be mine. Not my life. Not my grief. I felt like I was half, but that was what I was always going to be for them, too. Like I had this vacant space they could pour into, to try and make up for what happened.”
She felt drained, saying all of that. Putting words to what had been inside of her for so long. That weight, that responsibility that had been placed on her, it was a part of everything.
“But you’re right,” she continued, “I left. I decided that what they were asking was too much. And I don’t know if I had that right. She’s gone. Doesn’t she deserve all of those things in her memory? Who am I to decide that it isn’t important? Who am I to decide that I can move on if they can’t?”
“I don’t... I can’t actually speak to loss like that. My brother left. He’s still alive. As far as I know he’s off doing exactly what he wants without giving any thought to the pain he’s caused our mother, or to anyone else. I get to be angry at him. That helps a lot with the missing. So, if I’m wrong, and I might be, feel free to tell me to go to hell. But what does your sister get out of these monuments to her memory?”
“I...I just think it...it means so much to my parents...and it...” Everything inside of her felt frozen, completely seized up.
“I can’t imagine the grief they must have gone through. But if the way they’re handling it affects your life, what’s the point? I understand you have guilt over being the only child remaining, the one that left. But it sounds to me like they’re putting more into the child they lost than the child they have.”
He was speaking the words that she had felt deep inside for so long. The things that made her feel guilty. The anger that made her feel like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum over something she didn’t deserve to have. How could you be angry at people who were grieving? How could you be angry that a sibling was sick? How could you feel sorry for yourself?
“I just...” She felt like she was cracking apart inside, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. “I wish that I could be strong enough to do everything they needed me to do. I wish that I could have been enough. That I could have filled both spaces. Instead, I couldn’t even fill one. I had to leave. I couldn’t... I just couldn’t live that life.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“That’s as simple as me saying the same thing to you. Meaning, it isn’t simple at all.”
“It sounds to me that you weren’t allowed to have anything of your own,” he continued, ignoring what she had just said.
That was exactly the truth, and he had hit it head-on. Nothing had been hers. Not anymore. Not her happiness, not even her grief.
A memory pushed at the back of her mind, one that she tried to keep at bay. That day when Frannie had died, and she had been inconsolable. She hadn’t even had the strength to fling herself across the bed and cry, she had simply gone to the floor where she’d been standing, weeping as though she’d lost a part of herself, because she had. Because she was destined to spend the rest of her life as an incomplete half. And she had known then as clearly as she knew it now.
“My father told me that I needed to hide my grief in front of my mother,” she said softly. “He told me that my grief couldn’t compare to theirs. Because I had lost a sister, but they had lost a child, and that was the worst pain in the world. He said that my mother didn’t need to be worried about me on top of dealing with her own pain.”
“Lydia,” he said, his voice tense, “that isn’t fair at all. That doesn’t... It doesn’t work that way.”
“Maybe it doesn’t. But that’s the thing, Colton. Grief isn’t rational. And in that moment, my father had lost his child and had a wife that had fallen apart. I think he couldn’t handle me being devastated. He would never say that, but that’s what I think happened. I think he panicked. Because the entire world was resting on his shoulders and he was in pain. And I had to...I had to be stronger for them. But that’s... Nothing was mine. Not anymore. Not even my grief. I needed to go somewhere where things could be mine. Copper Ridge is mine. My house by the ocean, that’s mine. It’s my space. To feel what I want, to say what I want, to be what I want. And I guess that all seems pretty childish, but it’s all I have.”
“I don’t think there’s anything childish about taking control of your life. Or realizing that you need something different than what you have.”
She shifted, feeling fragile, brittle. Everything felt like it hurt. She felt tender. New and strangely hopeful. Speaking these words out loud and having the world not fall around her. Telling someone and having acceptance, rather than judgment... It changed so much about what she thought. About how she felt.
It also made her want to hide, but she supposed that was nothing new.
It made her want to go to her house, her house that was her sanctuary, her self-created sanctuary that belonged to only her, and hide away from this man who seemed to be able to see down deep into her soul. Who saw parts of her that she didn’t even know were there.
Parts of herself she had done a pretty good job of keeping hidden even from herself. But she had a tendency to want to show herself to him. Had a tendency to open herself up and let him see the dirty, messy things that she normally swept under the metaphorical rug.
“But maybe there is something a little bit childish about hiding most of your past from everyone you know, so that you never have to deal with it at all,” she said, looking down at her bread.
He turned and pressed the plunger down in the French press, then poured her a cup of coffee, adding cream and peppermint. She didn’t even yell at him for doing it for her, even though she doubted he had gotten the ratio right. He was being too nice. She would take her slightly wonky coffee, just because it had been such a thoughtful thing.
That thought disturbed her. That she was willing to take potentially gross coffee just because she was having soft fuzzy feelings for him.
Still, she accepted the coffee. And actually, it was good.
“Everyone is hiding,” he said finally.
“Everyone?”
“Yeah. I think so. I think it’s easy to pretend you’re doing the hard thing, that you’re making the selfless decision, when you’re really doing what will keep you safe. Or, I guess, the simple truth i
s there often isn’t an easy thing. It’s just that one decision protects you, and the other doesn’t.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think staying with your family would have been easy. I don’t think leaving was easy.”
“Maybe it was the same for your brother.”
He laughed. “Okay, Gage may have taken the only true easy way.”
“But you’re assuming that it was easy. That he didn’t go through anything. That it didn’t cost him to walk away.” She swallowed. “Or that he doesn’t care about leaving you with the consequences. Maybe he does. Maybe, he just thought it was worth it. I didn’t leave consequence-free. It required adjustment for my family, and I know they weren’t happy for me to leave, but they adjusted. Unlike your brother, I didn’t cut them off completely, but I didn’t make it easy. And it didn’t make it wrong.”
“So it was all right for him to leave me with everything?”
“He didn’t leave you with everything. He left. And you chose to be the one to pick it all up.”
Colton pushed his hand through his hair. “What’s the alternative? To just let it go?”
“To trust that everyone in your family is an adult and they can take care of themselves. And to realize there’s a lot of ground between abandonment and having your own life.” She straightened, taking a sip of her coffee, and looking at him square in the eye. “Do you think I’m weak, Colton?”
“Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”
“I left. I left because as difficult as it was, as much as I want to support my parents, I can’t be everything for them. My life is not in existence solely for me to devote myself to them. And you don’t think there’s anything crazy about that, do you?”
“No,” he said.
“Good. I don’t, either. And there wouldn’t be anything easy, or crazy about you doing the same. About you being up front with your dad and telling him that you aren’t going to give your entire life to the family name when you want something for yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“I want you to. You...you have no idea how amazing it is to finally tell someone. To be able to stand here and talk to you. I have never said most of this out loud. I’ve never had this conversation, not with anyone. Not with Sadie, not with Natalie, not with anyone. You’re the only person who knows all of this about me. Telling you, having you hear me without judgment... You have no idea. You really don’t. I want to give you something.”
“I can think of something,” he said, his gaze turning sharp, intense.
“I was thinking emotions,” she said, “not sex.”
“But I like sex. Emotions are terrible.” He leaned in, nuzzling her neck, sending a streak of lightning through her body. “This seems better.”
“I was mad at you,” she said, her tone faint.
“I know. But you aren’t mad at me now.” He kissed her neck.
“I’m smart enough to know that you are trying to change the subject by getting me hot and bothered.”
“Is it working?”
She let her head fall back on a sigh. “Yes.”
“Good.” He kissed her again, and she started to forget what they were talking about.
“No,” she said, fighting against the fog that was crowding her brain. While at the same time wanting to latch on to it. There was something magical, something completely unique about the way that Colton made her feel. About the way that he commanded all of her focus, all of her control and all of her attention in a way that nothing else could. Her brain was a busy place; it was always working, always two steps ahead of the moment. Colton forced her to be in the moment. Something she had been avoiding for years, ever since she had first existed in a moment that was too painful to stomach. She had practiced being somewhere else. Practiced planning the next thing.
It was an effective block against dealing with strong feelings. And it had become a habit. To be somewhere else. To have one foot in the future in order to shift some of the weight from the present.
Colton stole that from her, and it was both a blessing and a curse.
“Colton,” she scolded, “we are talking.”
“I don’t want to talk.” He kissed her lips, snatching the next words right from her mouth.
“Tough luck,” she said.
“Story of my life.”
“Yes,” she said, “I feel really sorry for you.”
“Not sorry enough.” He put his hand on her waist, his fingertips sliding up toward her breast, making her shiver. All of her focus went to that touch, to him.
“You’re helping me become mayor,” she said, and for some reason, those words made him freeze. “I want to help you. I don’t want to help you keep your mom happy. Although I do care about that. I want to help you with more. I want you to have this ranch, the way that you see it. Take it. Don’t you think you’re worth that?”
“You sound like a shampoo commercial.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“If you’re not man enough to take the ranch,” she said, hardening her tone, “I’m not sure you’re man enough to take me.”
* * *
COLTON COULDN’T LET that go unanswered. He had no idea what to do with this moment, how to classify this conversation. It was anger, baked goods and desire, mixed with a generous helping of soul-baring secrets. Only Lydia could ever bring all those things together. Only Lydia could make him feel like this.
When she talked about claiming the ranch, she made him feel like it was possible. When she talked about hiding, he felt like she was chipping away at his own defenses, at his own stronghold, built to protect him from all manner of things.
Things he didn’t even have names for, because he didn’t do this kind of weird self-examination stuff.
But then, he didn’t do what he was about to do, either. Except, Lydia made him break all of his rules. Lydia made him into something different.
How the hell had that happened? How had the only person he’d ever met who was more uptight than he was managed to set him free? Who knew that somehow, they would be combustible together, when they had never combusted before in their entire lives?
He wrapped his hands firmly around her slender waist and lifted her off the ground, settling her on the counter, knocking her coffee cup to the side, sloshing some liquid over the edge. Her fork clattered off her plate. He was on the verge of causing a serious kitchen accident, and he simply didn’t care.
“You want to say that again, peaches?”
“If you aren’t man enough to take hold of your aspirations, I don’t know if you’re man enough to grab on to me.”
“I think I and my inoffensive penis could change your mind.”
She tried to keep a straight face, but he saw the corner of her lip turn upward. “Inoffensive isn’t the word I would use anymore.”
“Oh yeah? What word would you use.”
She reached down, cupping him through his jeans, squeezing him tight. “Big, for a start.”
“Cliché. But I’ll allow it because my ego likes it,” he said, his voice tight.
“Hard.”
“Uh-huh.”
She leaned in, her teeth scraping over his jawline, the feral little action sending a rush of pleasure down his spine, settling at the base and jetting to his cock. “Mine,” she finished, squeezing him even more tightly.
That left him completely undone. Incapable of response. Incapable of anything but submitting to her touch. He braced his hands on her thighs, pushing her skirt slowly up her hips, parting her thighs so that he could step between them. She didn’t release her hold on him.
“I’m yours?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her waist, kissing her chin, adding his teeth, as revenge for what she done to him earlier. “I guess that makes you m
ine.”
She shivered beneath his touch and he gloried in it.
“You think?”
“I’m going to need you to say it, peaches.”
“I’m yours,” she said, giving the words easily, simply, as though they were the most natural thing in the world. And they left him feeling like he was in a free fall.
“Am I allowed to take you?” He slid his finger along the edge of her panties, feeling her wet and ready for him beneath his touch. “Or do you have more ultimatums?”
“How about I put it this way,” she said, her voice husky. “If you’re man enough to take me, you’re sure as hell man enough to take the ranch.”
He felt...unmanned. Completely and totally unequal to the gift that was spread out before him. This home, this land, this woman. He’d never done a damn thing to deserve any of them.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take them. She made him feel like he could. Made him feel like he should.
But then, she made him feel like sex on the counter in his kitchen was a great idea. Lydia, possibly the only person on earth as sensible as he was. Somehow, together, they were wild.
She made him want to drop everything and have her all the time. She made him crazy. She made him something that went way beyond control, that went way beyond common sense and every other pillar that supported his life. Wanting her, being with her, it didn’t benefit anyone. Anyone but him.
It had nothing to do with a staid, sensible future. Had nothing to do with carefully laid plans. It was heat, it was fire. It was destructive and it was restorative. It was absolutely everything, and whether or not it was a good idea, he couldn’t turn away from it.
He pressed her more closely to him, holding on to her tight, pulling her off the counter before depositing her back on the floor, grabbing hold of her hip and turning her away from him. She gasped, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the top of her shoulder. “Trust me,” he said.
He unbuttoned her top, letting it flutter to the floor before making quick work of her bra. He cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples, marveling at the perfect, soft weight of them in his hands. There had never been anything so perfect, not in all the world. Not a sunset, not a swing, not a ranch spread. His entire world right now was Lydia Carpenter’s breasts and their unmatched perfection.
