by Inez Kelley
She almost expected him to reach over and trace her cheek with his fingers. Instead, his spine stiffened and his shoulders squared. He tucked the discussion sheet back inside the folder. “That’s all I have. You’ll need to sign the forms and mail them back.”
They were finished. Oh, she’d see him again, when scheduling projects or outlining services, but them, they, were finished. Her ribs felt too tight and air was a precious commodity. How strange because the gaping hole he’d left in her heart should have given things more room.
Angling her head back, she looked up into the dark green canopy. The leaves rustled, moving noisily in the wind. The many knurled arms jutting from the thick tree stem seemed to welcome her, to beg her to come and rest, to forget all her worldly worries and just exist in nature. Tears crested hard in her eyes, and she blinked, trying to prevent them from spilling. This magnificent, glorious old tree was going to disappear in a whirl of saws.
Jonah had said it had once survived something catastrophic. It seemed so cruel that it would be felled now by something as common as man.
“You knew I’d have to see my abuelo tree before it was cut down. Did you come to gloat?”
He licked his upper lip and focused outward, toward the horizon. “No. I wouldn’t do that.”
“When?” Her voice faded beneath the breeze. “When will it be cut?”
“That’s up to the property owner.”
A scoff scoured her raw throat. “So Webb hasn’t made up his mind when it will die yet.”
“Webb doesn’t own it. He sold it last week.”
“What?” She went to her knees, raking her scrutiny over him. “Why? Who bought it?”
“I did.” Drawing his knees up, he draped his arms on them loosely. “I bought the meadow and the grove over there, three acres that sit between the Falls land and Black Cherry Canyon.”
“You own it?”
“No.” His shoulders rose as he inhaled deeply and blew the breath out. “You do.”
“No, tú estás equivocado, o medio loco. I don’t own this.”
He flipped the accordion folder opened and handed her a heavy folded packet of papers. “Now you do. Or you will, once you sign it.”
Her fingers shook so hard she could barely take the pages from him and unfold them. There it was in black and white. Purchase Agreements between Hawkins Hardwood and Jonah E. Alcott, finalized yesterday and a private land grant to her. Her cheeks went numb and her stomach flip-flopped.
The paperwork required a description of the land and Jonah had named it Zury’s Folly. The longitude and latitude and physical location smudged in her sight as her tears fell. Jonah had saved her abuelo tree. More than that, he’d given it to her. It was safe, could live and die as nature intended, with all the dignity and beauty it deserved.
A pop raised her head. Champagne foamed over the lip of the bottle, splattering the calf of his jeans. He muttered a curse and held it away from the blanket. Once the white froth settled, he reached into the cooler and brought out two long-stemmed flutes.
“This was chilled this morning. But you took your sweet time showing up so you have to drink it lukewarm.” He filled and handed her one glass. She took it automatically, her voice stolen by the most generous and amazing gift she’d ever received. After pouring his own glass, he raised it toward her. “To Zury, happy land ownership.”
He sipped but she was frozen. “Why?”
“Because a toast is customary when celebrating.” A tease sparkled in his eyes like the bubbly liquid in his hand. “It isn’t every day a woman gets a three-hundred-year-old tree as a present. I didn’t have a clue how to wrap it.”
“I don’t understand.”
He tipped her glass toward her mouth. “Drink it, Zury. Just put it in your mouth and swallow.”
She sipped but it could have been arsenic for all the attention she paid. He threw the remainder of his champagne back like a shot then laid his glass aside.
“Noah asked me why I didn’t own a house, why I still rent. I told him I’d eventually get around to it but that wasn’t exactly the truth. I rent because it doesn’t really matter where I live. It’s just a place to sleep. I’ve always thought that one day I’d find a place I really belonged and then I’d buy there, settle down.”
She wasn’t drinking her champagne. He took it, downed it, then reached for her hand. No force on earth could have prevented her fingers from twining with his. She’d missed his touch so much. The innocent brush of hand on hand powered into her soul and made it sing.
“I envied you. You found where you belong so early in your life. It’s taken me thirty-five years to do the same thing, but I know exactly where I belong now. You showed me that.”
“Where?”
“With you. I come from Bible people, had the scriptures crammed into my head before I could walk. I doubted when I got older, wondered if the verses were just a bunch of stories and allegories. But there is one thing I know to be the truth. I belong with you.”
Had she slipped on the hike out here, fallen and hit her head? Was this some maliciously wishful dream? Did she dare believe him? “You do?”
His smile made the sun jealous. “Yes. ‘For wherever you go, I will go; and wherever you lodge, I will lodge; Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God. Where you die, I will die, and there will I be buried.’”
A sob broke from her chest. He moved, bridging the distance between them and cradling her face in his hands. His lips grazed hers. “I hope I get this right. If not, blame Google Translate. Te amo, Zury. Te amo.”
His accent was atrocious.
“English,” she pleaded. “I need to know you understand and mean it.”
“I’ll tell you every day, a hundred times a day. I love you. I love that we fight constantly but never hurt each other with words. I love that you aren’t afraid to slam me when I’m being an ass. I love that you have such a beautiful strength about you, that you’re willing to do anything to protect what you love, even let it go.”
She lunged, launching herself at him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The ownership papers flew and they sailed backward, crashing to the blanket in a tumble of arms and legs. “I love you. Te amo. ¡Dios, te amo tanto! I love you.”
His laugh echoed through the meadow. “I love that you are so enthusiastic. You’re the most spontaneous, happy, loud, beautiful, sexy, frustrating woman God ever created, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you...except the way you drive my Mustang. We’ve got to work on that.”
She captured his mouth, claiming it with a lover’s right. He claimed hers back, delving his tongue between her lips and coaxing hers to dance. It was a hot tango of breath and lips, of nips and licks. It wasn’t pretty or choreographed, just two people desperate to reconnect, to get as close as possible. Noses bumped, knees knocked, and his finger snagged on her belt loops as he pulled her closer. She fisted her hands in his shirt and kissed him, wishing she could crawl inside him and melt. The edges of her heart mended and swelled, her love pouring out with every tiny kiss.
The pathetic need to breathe parted them. Chests heaving, they still weren’t ready to separate and he held her to him. Beneath her damp cheek, his heart beat with a robust rhythm.
“Joni, pinch me. I’m dreaming.”
He chuckled then pinched her butt. His hand remained afterward, gently rubbing the sting away. “You’re awake.” His chin rubbed across the top of her head. “I’
m sorry I was such a dick.”
She angled up, pushing to her arms, and tossed her head back to let the summer sun and wind dry her tears. There was no more need for tears. Her heart could fly. They’d both found exactly where they belonged. With each other.
“’Sokay, Slick. I’ll make you pay for it.”
A carnal light blazed in his eyes as he started opening her blouse. “Darlin’, I’ll not only pay, I’ll make change and rock your world.”
* * * * *
Coming Soon
Watch for book three in the Country Roads series coming in summer 2014.
More than trees will fall when Webb Hawkins comes face to face with a woman from his past. And they haven’t seen the last of Eric Redbear. His vendetta against Hawkins Hardwood goes to the next level in
SHOULD’VE BEEN HOME YESTERDAY
by Inez Kelley
Go back to the beginning of the Country Roads series with Take Me Home by Inez Kelley—available now!
Take Me Home
Logging manager Matt Shaw is wary when Kayla Edwards, the owner of Mountain Specialty Spices, hires his firm to harvest timber on her Appalachian property. It’s a place he knows better than the back of his calloused hand—it’s his family’s old homestead, lost years ago in a painful foreclosure. He’s hauled himself up from dirt-floor poor since then, and resolves to stay professional...but Kayla’s vivacious beauty makes it hard to focus on his job.
Home. That’s how army-brat-turned-foodie Kayla feels about her new mountain hideaway. What’s more, the hottest lumberjack ever to swing an axe has agreed to manage her timber crop and get the old maple syrup operations back on tap. Matt’s ruggedly sexy ways and passion for the land have her falling hard.
The heat between them grows wild...until Kayla discovers that Matt hasn’t been up front with her. She feels devastated and, worst of all, used. How can Matt prove it’s her he wants and not her land?
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About the Author
Inez Kelley is a multipublished author of various romance genres. She spends most of her time in a cramped little office surrounded by a multitude of books, a few plastic geckos and her computer. The growing horde of dust bunnies, her children’s request for meals and a never-ending laundry pile vie for her attentions. As a former 911 dispatcher, she is used to calamity and doesn’t get too worried until either someone is bleeding or the fridge is empty. With one teenage daughter and growing twin boys, those things occur regularly.
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ISBN-13: 9781426898006
THE PLACE I BELONG
Copyright © 2014 by Inez Kelley
Edited by Deborah Nemeth
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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