by Penny Reid
“Good.”
I felt her small smile, still a bit sad, against my skin. “Do you promise? Do you promise you’ll always take my calls? Do you promise you’ll always be there for me when I need you?”
“Yes,” I responded straightaway.
“No matter what?”
“No matter what or when. I promise.”
With that said, Jessica settled. She relaxed. She fell asleep.
And so did I.
CHAPTER 29
“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters most, in the end.”
― Ernest Hemingway
~Jessica~
One month later…
I was nervous. With Bethany Winston’s passing, Ashley was now the matriarch of the Winston family and I really wanted to make a good impression.
I’d known Ashley—Duane’s only sister—when I was a kid. She and Jackson had been real good friends growing up, and I’d been his annoying younger sister gawking at the local beauty queen. I hadn’t seen her in years, almost a decade.
And now she was home for Christmas. Duane had spent all of Christmas Eve up at Drew Runous’s house on Bandit Lake with his brothers, Drew, Ashley, and some of Ashley’s friends from Chicago. He’d invited me but I felt strange about it. I figured the family needed time together to remember their momma without the introduction of new girlfriends. But I did accept Duane’s invitation for Christmas day.
Therefore I was nervous. Basketcase by Green Day was on repeat in my head. I’d been so anxious I made four pies and hadn’t checked first before stepping out of my shower; Sir Edmund Hilary, once again, had tried to murder me with his litter box.
Duane came over for Christmas brunch, visited with my daddy and swapped dirty looks with Jackson. When I was satisfied that the man-time had been adequate, I pulled him into the kitchen and showed him my pies, asking which one he thought Ashley would like best.
He shrugged one shoulder, kissing my cheek then the back of my hand, entwining our fingers and drawing me close. “Ashley likes all kinds of pie, as far as I know. These look great.”
I sighed, lamenting his lack of specificity and helpfulness. “Well then, maybe pie isn’t the answer.”
“Pie is always the answer.” He grinned down at me, lowered his mouth to mine and gave me a sweet, soft kiss. “You need to relax. Ash is good people. She’s going to love you.”
I swallowed, pressing my lips together. “It’s just, I’d really like for us to be friends. I mean, if she’s moving back here from Chicago in March, then I’d like for us to—”
“She is moving back. She and Drew will probably get married sometime this year, start working on a dozen kids of their own.” Duane’s mouth hooked to the side and his gaze grew fuzzy and warm.
I squeezed his hand, the look on his face making me feel fuzzy and warm.
Over the last month Duane and I had been making plans, lots and lots of plans. I hadn’t expected him to embrace the idea of world traveling with such gusto, but he had. He texted me links during the day, articles or blog posts discussing potential destinations for our world tour, or travel tips for non-tourists.
When asked, he flat-out told me he wanted to go to Italy first, specifically Maranello. In fact, he’d purchased the Rosetta Stone software and started learning how to speak Italian. I was confused by his choice until I realized Maranello is the home of Ferrari and the Scuderia Ferrari Formula One racing team.
Of course.
So that was our plan. We found a few villas for rent just outside of Modena, an ancient city in North Italy dubbed “the capital of engines”, and Duane was researching potential employment possibilities.
“I didn’t know Ashley and Drew were a thing, not ’til you told me two days ago. When did that happen?”
“When momma was sick and Ashley was down here taking care of her at the end of the summer. But I don’t reckon either of them were ready to admit it, not until a few days ago. Pair of dummies, both of them, wasting all that time. We should’ve just locked them in a room together back in September.”
I smirked at his pronouncement. “You know, the same could be said for us. We wasted a lot of time, too.”
Duane’s gaze cut to mine and his mouth was curved with a half frown, half smile. “And whose fault was that?”
“Yours,” I answered immediately.
His eyes narrowed, but now the curve of his mouth was a full smile. “That’s right, and don’t let me forget it.”
***
We held two pies each and I carefully picked my way along the path leading to the Winston’s front porch. I was in my fancy boots and didn’t want to track mud into the house, so I tried to step on thicker patches of dying grass to avoid puddles.
The top of the mountains were blanketed in snow. However, moderate morning temperatures lower down in the valley had melted most of the overnight precipitation, leaving some ice on the ground, but mostly just cold mud. I glanced toward the house and smiled, seeing that the Winston boys had left up the garlands, holly, and white twinkling lights lining the porch and the roof of the house. As well, the wreath I’d made still donned the front door.
I’d been over to the house last week to make dinner with Duane, and had been appalled by their lack of holiday décor. They didn’t even have a Christmas tree.
That night Duane had made chicken and dumplings; meanwhile I tasked the brothers, set them to work adding wreaths and lights and garlands to the house façade as well as the big staircase and fireplace. Cletus, in particular, had grumbled the entire time, calling me an interfering female.
I wondered if they’d kept the bough of mistletoe hanging up between the kitchen and dining room. Regardless, despite the mess of the front yard, the grand old house looked great, festive and welcoming.
“It does look nice,” Duane said at my shoulder; I saw he was looking at me, reading my expression and my mind.
“Yes. It does. I’m glad we took the time to do it.”
“Me, too. Thanks for being such a bully.”
I flattened my expression. “I wasn’t a bully. I was merely a persistent peddler of holiday cheer.”
“You told Beau that if he didn’t help put up the Christmas lights on the roof then you wouldn’t make him apple pie ever again.”
I shrugged, climbing the steps to the porch. “So? He needed some persuasion. And he’s a complainer.”
Duane laughed, a good robust rumbly chuckle, and the sound made me smile.
“Besides,” I added, “he only complains and resists because he likes being threatened.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. He needs a firm hand.”
Duane stopped laughing, but I heard teasing in his retort. “You keep your firm hands where they belong.”
“And where is that?”
“On my drive shaft.”
Now I barked a laugh, almost dropping the pumpkin pie in my left hand, and then snorted because I was laughing so hard. Dirty automotive double entendre were now my favorite.
I remembered my nerves just as Duane leaned around me and knocked on the front door with his boot, calling, “Open up. Our hands are full of pie.”
Not three seconds later, almost as though he’d been lying in wait, the door flung open revealing a grinning Jethro in a hideous reindeer sweater. “Well, hello beautiful.”
Before I understood what was happening, Jethro bent down, wrapped his arm around my waist, and planted a big old kiss on me.
My eyes bulged and frantically cut to Duane—who looked startled at best, murderous at worst. I felt Duane’s boot brush past my leather clad calf on its way to administering a swift kick to his eldest brother.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Duane’s boot must’ve connected with Jethro’s shin, because the kiss abruptly ended with Jethro stumbling back two steps, his grin now a happy grimace.
“Ow, damn that hurt.”
Duane stepped in front of me, balancin
g a pie in each hand, and bellowed, “I didn’t know you wanted a broken nose for Christmas, Jethro.”
“Relax, Duane.” Jethro laughed, bending over to rub his shin as he pointed toward the ceiling. “We moved the mistletoe, it’s right there.”
“Duane, you’re standing under the mistletoe, and you have pie.” This comment came from Cletus who’d appeared out of nowhere, swooped forward, and grabbed a pie out of Duane’s hand. Then he called over his shoulder, disappearing with the pie, “I’d kiss you but I don’t want our beards to tangle.”
Duane glanced at the ceiling briefly, then back to Jethro. I could see my man was not amused. Meanwhile, I had to roll my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing.
Beau sauntered over, leaning to the side, and giving me a smile though he addressed Duane. “Well come in, dummy. Don’t keep your woman standing out in the cold.”
Duane shoved the remaining pie at Beau. Then he turned, took both pies out of my hands and gave them to Jethro. Then he turned again, wrapped an arm around my waist, and kissed me. Actually, he kissed and dipped me. My arms automatically went to his neck and I kissed him back with fervor. When we finally straightened, I was dizzy and smiling like a well-kissed goof.
“There. Now she’s been kissed under the mistletoe.” Duane pressed me close to his side. “No need for any more liberties.”
“She’s been kissed under that mistletoe,” Jethro corrected, his mischievous hazel eyes—which looked almost green this evening—shifting to mine just before he gave me a wink. “But we’ve got mistletoe all over the house. You can thank Jess for the original idea, and Cletus for running with it.”
I felt Duane’s hold on me tighten, saw his jaw work and clench just before he abruptly pulled me forward, giving his brothers the stink eye as we passed. “Come on, Jess.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to find all the mistletoe in the house and disarm it.”
We’d managed only a few steps before the sound of new arrivals made him stop and turn. Ashley Winston and Drew Runous had arrived.
The Winston boys grew suddenly both alert and boisterous, pulling their sister in for hugs and passing her around like she was a national treasure. The noise brought Billy, Cletus, and Roscoe out from wherever they’d been hiding—not that they’d actually been hiding. I suspected Roscoe had been hovering near the front door, probably ready to pounce on me as part of their staged practical joke.
Billy and Cletus came from the direction of the kitchen, so I guessed they’d been busy cooking.
It was nice to see that all the Winston boys appeared to be just as eager to greet Drew as they’d been to greet their sister, passing out profuse handshakes, smiles, and salutations of Merry Christmas.
I stood stock still and waited for my turn, certain I looked like an indecisive statue as I debated what to do with my hands. Did I try to give her a handshake? Or was I expected to hug? Or some combination of both? Kiss on the cheek? Kiss on both cheeks?
Drew made it to us first. I’d seen him only a handful of times before and always from a distance at the community center for jam night. He played the acoustic guitar and sang when the occasion called for it, but wasn’t the outgoing sort.
If he wasn’t singing or playing guitar he wasn’t making noise. As well, Drew Runous was a tall man, taller than all the Winston boys by an inch or more, his beard was bushy and blonde, and his eyes were a steely gray. He reminded me of the Viking god Thor, if Thor had been a reclusive federal game warden from Texas with excellent manners.
“Duane,” Drew said as they shook hands, and Duane bestowed one of his rare smiles on his friend.
“Drew, do you know Jessica James?”
Drew’s attention swung to me and he offered his great paw. “Jessica James…you teach at the high school and your daddy is the Sheriff.”
I nodded, slipping my fingers into his, expecting a firm and efficient handshake. Instead, he held my hand in his, not moving it.
“That’s right, I teach math.”
“She teaches calculus,” Cletus said from someplace. “And she doesn’t grade on a curve.”
I laughed lightly and Drew gave me a smile that made his eyes shine. Then he pulled me forward into an unexpected bear hug.
“Welcome to the family, Jessica,” the big man said as he set me away, sounding and looking more sincere than a man had a right to sound or look. To my astonishment I felt my chin wobble.
I didn’t get a chance to respond because Ashley was there, bumping him out of her way with her hip, and saying, “Jessica James, is your cat still trying to kill people?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off by pulling me into a warm, soft, lovely smelling hug. In truth, she smelled like pancakes. Delicious, buttery, fluffy, vanilla pancakes.
And when she’d finished with our tight embrace, she slipped her arm through mine and pulled me away from the congregation of beards, walking us toward the living room. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I’m so glad you’re here. I was hoping to see you yesterday, but understand you had a family commitment. Duane was telling me about your plans to go to Italy in the summer, and then after that he said something about Greece?”
“Yes, but Greece might be next year, depending on how long we stay in Italy.”
“Well, if you’re still in Italy next summer then maybe I can talk Drew into a trip.” She grinned down at me, her big blue eyes excited. “I’ve always wanted to go, and there’s this yarn from Italy, one hundred percent cashmere, called S.Charles Collezione…”
I turned and glanced over my shoulder as Ashley told me about this special yarn she wanted to procure from Italy and I found Duane standing next to Drew. The two men were watching us with mirrored expressions of amusement and adoration.
I gave Duane a bright smile, which he returned, and I found myself truly at a loss.
He was giving this up—this amazing family, with their holiday pranks and steady love and support—just to be with me, just to travel the world and share adventures. I felt both astonished and blessed.
But most of all, I was humbled. He was giving up his home. And so I made him a silent promise that he’d never regret giving up so much. Not for one second.
***
Duane went through the house and systematically removed all the mistletoe.
Well, all the mistletoe he could find.
He missed a bunch in the pantry and had to fight his way to the front of the line to rescue me from his brothers—all of whom had lined up except Billy. Billy had caught me earlier under another bunch hanging just outside the downstairs bathroom. However, like a gentleman, he’d been content with a kiss on the cheek.
Ashley pocketed every bunch Duane removed, slipping them into her bag. She planned to hang them up all over Drew’s house. She wanted to catch him unawares for the next week before she had to fly back to Chicago.
She really was planning to move back to Tennessee and hoped to return for good no later than the end of March. I was glad to hear it because it would give us a few months of getting acquainted before Duane and I were off. Plus I still thought these boys needed someone. They needed a good woman to keep them safe, and Ashley already loved them with her heart and soul.
Dinner was nice. Actually, it was great. The boys were lively and animated, telling stories about Ashley and Duane, hoping to embarrass their siblings. This may have worked for Ashley, but I already knew most of the stories they told about Duane. Therefore I didn’t hesitate jumping in and adding details they missed.
My eagerness earned me high fives from his siblings, but only heated glares from Duane. And it was totally worth it. Each hot look ignited a simmering thrill low in my belly because each promised delicious retribution. I had a feeling I was going to enjoy his version of revenge.
After dinner I served my four kinds of pie. When all the dust settled, not a single slice remained. Truly, there is no feeling quite like making four pies and leaving with no leftovers.
Dessert was followed by an impromptu family concert. Cletus played his banjo and Drew accompanied on his guitar while Billy and Ashley sang folk duets of Christmas classics. They looked like twins, Ashley and Billy; and their harmonies were beautiful, like they’d been singing together all their life, like they knew each other from the inside out. I guess, when I reflected on it, they did.
From the time the music started until it ended, Duane had me wrapped in his arms on his lap. I leaned into him, enjoying his easy affection. He touched me with contentment, with wistful sighs and smiles, melting my heart with each cherishing pass of his fingers through my hair and stroke of my back.
Midnight came and went. Around 1:30 a.m. Duane told me it was time to go. Leaving took another twenty minutes as sleepy hugs were handed out and Ashley made me promise to have lunch with her before she flew back to Chicago. The entire brood gathered on the porch to wave as Duane pulled the Mustang out of the drive and turned on Moth Run.
I yawned, eyeballing Duane in his bucket seat.
“I miss the Road Runner,” I said, my words a little slurred because I was dead tired.
“Why?”
“Because it was a bench seat. This car has bucket seats.”
“Fair point.” He nodded solemnly, then took the turn off for the cabin.
I gave him a small smile and shook my head. He hadn’t mentioned we’d be staying the night at the cabin, hadn’t discussed his plans with me, but couldn’t say I was surprised. He’d been doing this with regularity over the last month, taking us out to his fortress of solitude.
Sometimes we’d have picnics, go on walks, talk, play cards. The cabin was where we’d discuss my Aunt Louisa and my feelings on the subject. I’d lost it a few times, cried tears I didn’t know I needed to cry. And he’d held me close, reassuring me that I was wonderful and her absence in my life was her loss. I talked through my messes and he listened, giving advice if and when I asked. He talked through his frustrations and I listened, giving advice if and when he asked.
But most of the time we ripped each other’s clothes off.
