24
Kennedy
Jameson was quiet on the way to my house.
I was quiet on the way to my house.
The air in the cab of his truck was murky, thick with tension, and it was my fault, but I still didn’t know how to verbalize my feelings. While in the shower I’d tried to gather my thoughts but I couldn’t stop the tears long enough to rationalize my emotions. But as Jameson pulled into my driveway, I knew I had to figure something out. He deserved to know I wasn’t mad.
I waited for him to stop the truck and I reached for his hand, laced our fingers, and set them on my lap. I stared straight ahead at my old farmhouse. The brick exterior of the original structure was weathered with age. The wood siding on the addition had been replaced by my dad, but was coming up on twenty years old and needed a good scrubbing and to be repainted and repaired. But what had caught my attention was the wraparound porch.
My dad had put it in the year before he died. One of the many projects he’d enlisted my help with. I could remember him telling me to ‘measure twice and cut once’ when we were cutting the railings. Him telling me to always use screws to fasten the floor boards, never nails. It would be easier when you needed to replace one. We spent days staining and sealing all of the woodwork. And when we were done, Mom brought out a pitcher of iced tea. With no porch furniture yet, we sat on the boards, my dad on the steps, and we enjoyed the fall evening. My mom was beaming with happiness, my dad proud to give his wife what she’d wanted.
That was what Jameson wanted me to keep. My treasured memories.
“I’m sorry,” I started. “I was mad at first. I let my pride take over and cloud my reasoning. But I wasn’t mad when I told you I couldn’t talk to you. I was overwhelmed. I can’t explain with what. Maybe part of it was relief that someone was in my corner and would stand beside me. And it goes beyond just helping me keep my house. Maybe it was because since my dad died, I’ve felt like it was up to me to take care of everything on my own, and now I feel like you’ve taken some of the weight off my shoulders. Maybe because no one has ever understood me and you do.” I took a deep breath and looked from the house to Jameson. He was turned in his seat staring at me. “If the offer still stands to loan me money, I’d appreciate the help. But I want a contract with a monthly payment schedule set up. Part of why I’m scared to borrow money from you is that I don’t want it to muddy what we have personally. Basically, I don’t want to lose you over money.”
“If you need a contract to feel comfortable, then we’ll have one drawn up. But I want you to understand, I’m not a bank.” I started to speak but he continued before I could get my words out. “Meaning that I don’t want or need a set monthly amount. That’s not the way your business operates. You have busy seasons and off-seasons. During the off-seasons the payments are deferred and during the busy ones, you pay whatever you feel comfortable paying. I have the money, Kennedy. I’ll open an account tomorrow and you use it as you need it.”
“Thank you for believing in me,” I whispered.
“No need to thank me for that.”
“And thank you for helping me. And I’m sorry for treating you to my tantrum back at your house.”
“You didn’t have a tantrum. I should’ve handled that conversation better. I’ve never done this, any of it. I know I can behave like a stampeding bull and railroad people. I’ll try to curb that, but I doubt I can change it completely. Especially when it comes to you.”
“Why me?”
That had been a burning question in the back of my mind. Jameson was gorgeous and successful, why in the world would he be willing get mixed up with me and my metric shit-ton of problems?
“Because you are the only person that has ever made me think of my future. Made me hopeful. You’re the only person that has ever made me feel whole. You quiet the voices in my head and soothe my heart. You showed me that love isn’t something to be afraid of. Though the thought of losing you terrifies me, so in some ways falling in love is scary as fuck. Because for the first time in my life I have something to lose.”
My eyes had drifted closed as I savored his declaration.
“Look at me, babe.” I opened my lids and his hazel eyes glistened with purpose. They were resolute and the sight stole my breath. “When I told you I wanted to invest in your business, what I really meant was, I wanted to invest in our future. Before you, I never thought about having a home, or having a wife, and most especially about having kids. But now that’s changed. Now when I see this house, I can see my kids running in the back field. I can see them tearing through the house you’ve fixed up. I can see us sitting on the back deck or the front porch watching them do whatever it is kids do. Hell, I have no idea what kids even do because I’ve never been around them. I never wanted or thought I’d be a dad because I was afraid I’d be a shit father like mine. But you showed me differently, I am not him. I know you want to repay the money, but what you need to understand is you’ve given me something, and you continue to give it to me, something money can never buy.”
“I can’t talk to you again, Jameson,” I choked out, emotion clogging my throat.
I was drowning in happiness. My mind was fighting to keep up with everything he’d said, still trying to process him investing in our future. He should’ve stopped there, because now that he’d mentioned our kids running around the yard, that was all I could think about, making it difficult to speak.
Jameson smiled and squeezed my hand. “That’s alright. I don’t need you to say anything. The way you look at me says it all. We’ll get through this, I promise.”
I nodded because there was nothing else to do. I believed him and I was afraid if I tried to tell him how much he meant to me and that I wanted all those things, too, I’d turn into a blubbering mess.
Harold Ward was a plethora of knowledge. There was a reason he’d been the president of the Eastern Shore Beekeepers Association for as long as he had. He seemed to know everything there was to know about keeping bees.
It had taken us several hours to build the new bee boxes and when we were done, he’d suggested a new location for my hives. He explained that if I set the houses near the apple tree my dad had planted it would change the flavor of my honey. I’d had my original hives near my garden for pollination. Harold had suggested a separate hive for that purpose.
Jameson jumped on the idea and asked Harold to leave the plans we used so he could build the other hive later. He even asked Harold to explain ‘bee space’ again so he was sure to space the frames correctly. His enthusiasm was contagious. Maybe I’d be all right. Maybe after the dust settled, we’d come out on the other side stronger.
Nixon, McKenna, Chasin, and Holden had shown up as we were putting the new bees in the completed hive, and with a wave they promptly went into my house. It had been rather amusing seeing big, badass Jameson with a keeper’s mask and gloves on. I could tell he wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable being around a bunch of bees, but he powered through it and stayed. Even though Harold and I both told him we could finish up.
With the promise to return next week to check on the hive, Harold left me and Jameson to watch as the bees checked out their new home.
“Thank you.” I wrapped my arms around Jameson’s middle and rested the side of my face on his chest.
“I never knew how much went into beekeeping,” Jameson told me. “They’re interesting. I had no idea each hive could have twenty thousand workers all diligently working to serve their queen.” I smiled against his chest. “Bees are smart, they know where it’s at.”
“That they do.”
“You ready to get your garden sorted?”
I pulled away and looked up into his handsome face and I couldn’t get over how lucky I was.
“I am. You know what’s funny? It’s like we have a complete role reversal going on.”
“What do you mean?” Jameson tilted his head in question.
“Well, you’re normally the one whose attitude is…how can
I describe it…”
“Hateful,” he supplied.
“That’s a good word for it.” I smiled. “And I’m the one who’s always taken it on the chin and did it with a smile. But when I was ready to throw in the towel, suddenly you had a sunshine attitude.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, I love the grouchy, prickly side of you too much.”
Jameson gave a small jerk, then his eyes softened. “You know I love you, right?”
“I do.”
“Good.” His smile was bigger than I’d ever seen it.
“You know I love you, too, right?”
“Yeah, Kennedy, I know.”
“Good.”
His hand went to my ponytail and he yanked it back so my face was tilted up. I lost sight of his eyes when his lips crashed onto mine. His tongue glided against mine and I groaned into his mouth. This was the first real kiss he’d given me since I’d been attacked.
I don’t know how long we stood in my meadow, but with each stroke of his tongue he washed away all of the fear and bad memories I had from that day. And as the minutes passed, he gave me back my home. My security, my hopes, my dreams of a future filled with happiness.
Just like that—all I needed was Jameson.
Chasin was cutting my grass, smiling like an idiot while he mowed circles in the yard. I guess when you didn’t have to spend an hour-plus on the mower every few days, zooming around on a zero-turn mower could be fun. It’d taken Chasin a few minutes to get the hang of using his hands to both turn and accelerate. But after he figured out how to use the handles, he was off zipping around.
Men and machines—I guess it didn’t matter what they were operating or how old they were, they’d find a way to screw around.
Jameson and Holden had taken my chainsaw to the edge of my property to cut some branches that had fallen. Later I’d split the logs into manageable pieces and use them for firewood. But for now I appreciated them just getting them out of the way.
McKenna was in the house working, listening in on Reggie Coleman, and Weston was in his car following him. So far nothing exciting had happened.
Nixon and I were in my barn and he was looking at my Case tractor.
“It doesn’t have an enclosed cab,” he noted.
“Nope.”
“At least it has a shade cover.”
Nixon was still pointing out the obvious. Some tractors had enclosed cabs and even offered a heater, air conditioning, and a radio. My dad used to say those were for sissy farmers who were afraid of sweating. He only said that because we’d never been able to afford one. With price tags upward of a hundred thousand dollars they were out of our price range. Even when the farm had good years, and the prices of corn and soybeans were high, he still wouldn’t have bought one.
“When Mr. Nickels died, Mrs. Nickels sold it to me. I replaced my dad’s old John Deere,” I told Nix. “My dad knew just what to do to make the old beast run but I never could. The Case has a straightforward diesel engine. And really, it’s all I need. I’m working up forty-eight acres, not five-hundred.”
“Yeah, but you have to be hot as hell running this thing.” He banged on the tire and continued his walk around.
“So? I’m not afraid of hard work and sweat.” I stood a little straighter and braced for the “you’re a woman doing man’s work” lecture, surprised it would come from Nixon. “What’s bothering you? I’ve been running tractors all my life. Hell, I’ve picked up hay bales right alongside of you.”
“You shouldn’t have had to sell the rest of your land.” His comment startled me and I steadied myself on the wall of the barn. “You work too hard. Your dad left that to you. He wanted you to work it. You should’ve been able to.”
“I gave it my best shot, Nix.”
“I know you did. That’s why it pisses me off. You shouldn’t have had to sell,” he repeated.
“At least Mr. Nickels bought it. He worked the land until he died.”
“Yeah, and now that fucking weasel Coleman owns it.”
Reggie Coleman did indeed own it. When he bought the Nickels’ farm, that included the acreage that had once belonged to my dad. It was a kick in the teeth thinking about it.
“I want you to have it back.”
“No way.” I put my hand up. “I can’t manage the extra two-hundred acres. It’s gone. I’ve made peace with it. As long as I still have the house, that’s all that matters to me.”
“You could rent the land out,” he suggested.
“Really? To who? That’s why Mrs. Nickels had to sell in the first place. No one would touch it. She was growing a forest of weeds. And you know how expensive it is to spray herbicides on the fields. She couldn’t afford it.”
“Fucking Reggie Coleman,” he bit out.
“You can say that again. I know he put the word out so no one would rent her land. But I just can’t understand why everyone bows down to him. What makes him so high and mighty? Why is everyone in this town so afraid of him? I can understand the shopkeepers who discontinued selling my stuff, he could raise their rent or even cancel their leases. I wouldn’t put it past him to do some shady shit like that. But farmers? It doesn’t make sense, but I know he did it somehow.”
“I agree with you.” Then Nix changed the subject. “What do you want to do? Plow the field now and get it ready for a fall crop or is it too early?”
“It’s never too early to get a jump start on tomorrow’s work,” I told him.
“My dad used to say that.” Nixon smiled, but it looked painful.
“Your dad taught me a lot about hard work. Him and my dad were cut from the same cloth. Men’s men, but still had a soft hand and a kind word. I think my dad would be happy that your dad continued to teach the lesson he’d started. I loved your dad, Nix. He was a good man. And losing him was devastating.”
Nixon looked thoughtful and took his time to gather himself. I knew how much he’d missed his dad when he was gone in the Navy. And having him pass away while he was gone had to be hard for him.
“He was proud of you,” Nixon said and held my stare. “‘That girl can work from sun up to sun down and show my men a thing or two and she does it looking as pretty as can be.’” Nix did his best impression of his father’s gruff voice.
Wetness hit the corners of my eyes. I’d known Wayne Swagger was pleased with my work on his farm but I hadn’t known he’d talked to Nixon about it.
“He was always a character. Coming up with some crazy saying that made no sense but weirdly it did. And he swore by that damn Farmers Almanac. Wouldn’t plant beans until the moon was just right.” I shook my head. “I’m really sorry you lost him. I don’t know if I told you that already. But I hope you know how much he loved you and talked about you all the time. I think his favorite thing to yell at the guys when they slacked off was, ‘You don’t know Navy SEAL tough. Until you do, quit your bitching and get to work.’ He was proud of your accomplishments.”
“Thanks for that. I miss him.”
“I know you do.”
“Just one more time I wish I could hear him yell at me across the house to get my ass to work, then mumble under his breath I was as useless as tits on a bull. You know not very many people would understand why a son would miss his dad berating him. But you do.”
“Hell, yeah I do. Your dad was a cantankerous old man, but damn if he didn’t love hard. And he loved you the most, Nixon.”
“If him working me to the bone equaled love, he did.”
“You know it does.” I smiled.
Nixon’s expression darkened. “We need to clear the air about that night. Jameson brought it up and—”
“No, we don’t. I was out of control and you were the only one who did right by me.”
“I should’ve handled it better. Been gentle.”
“I wouldn’t have listened to gentle. You saved my life that night and let’s leave it at that. You did what I needed you do
to—you were the no-bullshit man your father taught you to be. And thank God for that or I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
Nixon nodded and deep lines formed on his forehead. “I’m proud of you, Kennedy. You’re a damn good woman, and don’t you ever forget it.”
“I am,” I agreed. “But it’s because of my dad and yours and you. Strong men, who taught me to value myself. And don’t you ever forget that.”
“I may’ve forgotten to include bossy.” He smiled.
“You ain’t seen bossy yet, friend. Now get your ass in gear and help me grease the PTO so I can get to work.”
Nixon smiled, shook his head at my ridiculousness, and laughed so hard it filled the barn.
“Jameson is one lucky bastard,” Nix said through his hilarity.
Nixon’s approval meant the world to me, though I knew I was the one who was lucky to find a man like Jameson.
25
Jameson
Jameson had found that Holden and Weston had been correct, he needed to double-up on his workouts if Lola and Janice were going to be around. The women pushed food like a dealer on a street corner.
“A good Southern woman never allows her guests to leave hungry,” Lola announced when Nixon had declined a third helping of potato salad.
Which incidentally was the best thing Jameson had ever eaten and he would be begging Kennedy to make it again for him in the near future.
“Ma! For the five hundredth time, you were not born in the South.”
“So? You don’t have to be born in the South to be Southern,” Lola bristled.
“Yeah, ya do. That’s what being Southern means.”
“Being Southern is not a location, it’s a mindset.”
Everyone in the room except Kennedy chuckled at Lola’s declaration.
“Jesus,” Kennedy muttered.
“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”
Jameson's Salvation Page 19
