by Erin Wright
While the cats yowled and purred their way through the pile of catnip, he sniffed the air. It smelled…off. He pulled away from Iris and breathed in deeply. “Are you…cooking something?” he asked hesitantly. Iris had never been much of a cook, but that sure smelled like snickerdoodles.
Burnt snickerdoodles, if his nose was correct.
“Oh noooooo!!!” she wailed, yanking away from him and hurrying to the kitchen, using furniture along the way for support. “I was going to set the timer, and then…”
She yanked the oven door open and the smell hit at the same time as the sight of dark smoke curling out. Choking, he ran over to the window above the kitchen sink and yanked it open, then searched for the fan switch over the range. He flipped it on high, then turned back to see Iris, hands on hips, glaring at the oven. It was a good thing looks couldn’t kill, or he was plenty sure the oven would go up in flames, with the strength of that glare.
Of course, if she continued to keep cooking, the oven might go up in flames anyway…
He couldn’t help himself – the laughter he’d been holding in came busting out. She looked up, shooting death rays at him too, and then…she broke. Her lips twitched, one corner and then the other, and then she began laughing also.
“Oh Declan,” she said, between gales of laughter, “how is it that I can be so smart, and yet so stupid at the same time? How hard is it to set a timer?!”
If Iris Blue McLain was anything at all, it wasn’t stupid. She had more book smarts in her little pinky than he did in his whole body.
Street smarts, on the other hand…
He decided to sidetrack her from her train of thought by scooping her up into his arms and carrying her to the couch, matching the squeal of her surprised laughter with a grin of his own.
He settled down on the couch, cradling her in his arms. The way she was squirming around on his lap meant he was going to be very interested in something other than her complete inability to cook in just a minute, but he tried to stay focused on the topic at hand.
No matter how tempting it was to just stare at her pink, soft lips.
“So why did you skip setting a timer?” he asked, once she’d finally stopped laughing. He wasn’t about to pour salt into an open wound and say it out loud, but it seemed like a plenty easy thing to do.
“I got sidetracked reading,” she said meekly, like she was confessing to a triple homicide. She was completely embarrassed.
He was completely enchanted.
“Andddd…” he prompted, when that appeared to be the end of her explanation.
“I thought I’d just read for a minute. That minute became a really long minute.”
He threw his head back with a hearty chuckle, the fun of lightly teasing Iris almost outweighing the pain of discussing reading. “Anything in particular that you were reading?”
“A romance novel. Julia Quinn. She’s my favorite historical author.”
“Hmmm…” Declan’s mind had wandered from the topic because…well, it was reading, for one, but even more importantly, Iris was sitting on his lap. Suffice it to say, the blood in his body was not in his brain. His hand wandered up under her shirt, stroking the soft bare skin of her back.
She felt amazing.
“Well, we better get going before the festival ends without us!” she said brightly, wiggling off his lap and to her feet.
Had she wiggled a little more than she’d needed to, to get off his lap? He was pretty sure she had. She looked over at him and just smiled innocently.
He didn’t trust that innocent smile – not one bit.
He figured he was being damn smart not to.
She grabbed her cane from the corner – a wooden staff with intricate swirls, topped with a funky head. Her hand fit into the grip and he realized that it was a specialized grip made just for her. Or at least a hand close to her size.
He’d never seen anything quite like it. “Where did you get that cane from?” he asked, helping her into her jacket draped over the end of the couch.
“Ohhh…uhhh…”
She was back to blushing again.
One of the best things about dating Iris McLain in high school and college was that she never hid a single emotion on her face. She was an open book. It made watching her endlessly fascinating, like watching a play where turning away for just a moment meant missing minute details and insights into what she was thinking.
They strolled together towards the front door, and he called out to the cats, who were busy cleaning each other from their catnip bath, “You two stay out of trouble. Now,” he said, turning back to Iris on his arm, “Miss McLain, spill the beans. What’s up with your cane?”
“I made it,” she said in a rush.
That stopped him in his tracks. “Really?” he asked, stunned. “I had no idea you knew how to do that sort of thing.”
She shrugged and started walking forward again, obviously uncomfortable with his praise. He opened the front door and they began their slow amble towards his truck. “Well, I decided to figure it out. Those black orthopedic canes with the four feet sprouting out of the bottom? No way. Not for me. My body may think that I’m 90 years old, but that doesn’t mean I have to dress like it. So I had my parents bring some books home for me from the library and I started studying them. There are some really amazing canes out there.”
Books. She taught herself how to make canes by reading books.
He didn’t know why that fact bothered him so much. He shouldn’t be surprised. She was so damn smart, she read books for fun, something he had no concept of.
He just smiled and held open the door of his truck for her, helping her in and then hurrying around to the other side. He couldn’t let her see how much her explanation affected him. He couldn’t make her injury all about him. Especially because it was all about the stupid him, the one where letters didn’t stay put and books were torture devices.
Casting about for something to talk about, anything that didn’t involve books, he blurted out, “So you never told me how this happened.” He waved his hand around in the air, gesturing to her whole body, but inside, he was panicking. He’d told himself not to ask; to let her bring it up when she felt comfortable. Now that he was desperate to change topics, he was pushing her for answers when she’d been staying far away from the subject.
He wasn’t being fair, and he knew it.
He couldn’t seem to stop himself, though.
“Oh, I haven’t?” She let out a high-pitched laugh that was uncomfortable and awkward as hell. “I guess I didn’t realize that.” The tips of her ears were a brilliant pink, which was Sign #1 that she was lying her ass off to him. Iris never could lie worth a damn. He opened up his mouth to apologize for bringing it up, but she kept talking in a rush, keeping him from saying anything.
“I was driving home from the hospital after an 18-hour shift in the ICU. There’d been a bad wreck that day – three-car pile-up – and I was exhausted. We’d had a nurse call in sick so we’d been short-staffed, and then the wreck meant that the ICU had been packed. Pocatello isn’t as small as Sawyer, of course, but we’re nothing like Boise or Salt Lake.
“Anyway, I saw something out of the corner of my eye but my reflexes were too slow. By the time I realized the herd of deer were crossing the freeway, I was already plowing into them. I killed two deer that night.” Her voice had dropped to a mere whisper, and her knuckles were white, gripping together. She looked like she was holding on for dear life…with herself. “I don’t remember much after that for almost a week. It’s just gone.” She shrugged, staring at the country road ahead of them.
Deer. She hit deer.
His mind flashed back to his mother’s vehicle. He’d been the one tasked with managing the disposal of the vehicle after her accident, and the bloated carcass of the animal that had killed her…
He swallowed hard, feeling the palms of his hands grow sweaty.
Breathe, just breathe.
“I’m really glad you’
re okay,” he said softly, reaching over and patting her hand. She grabbed his hand with surprising strength, clinging to it like it was her lifeline.
And maybe it was.
“Thanks,” she said softly. “I don’t like to talk about it – that accident took so much away from me. I don’t think I’d told anyone the full story before now. I wish I could say that I feel better, now that it’s out of me, but…I mostly just feel afraid. What if it happens again? What if this time, it kills me? Like it did your mom?” Keep a straight face. Just nod. Don’t show your reaction. “And, I killed two other beautiful animals. If I’d been more alert, I might’ve been able to slow down or swerve or something. Instead, I just plowed right into them…” Her voice cracked, and he squeezed her hand, his heart breaking right along with her.
It felt like someone had taken his heart out and was wringing it dry.
“Anyway,” she said in a happier tone that rang with false brightness, “Mom and Dad are encouraging me to go to a counselor, and I probably should. I keep telling myself that just talking about it won’t actually kill me, even if it feels like it will.”
They’d long ago pulled to a stop in front of the city park, the Harvest Festival in full swing around them. He squeezed her hand, listening to the silence, waiting to see if she wanted to say anything more. He’d forced her to speak about it; it was only right that he let her tell him everything she wanted to say.
Finally, when it became clear she had nothing else to share, he cleared his throat and asked softly, “Are you okay to go out there and mingle with the fine folk of Sawyer? If you want me to take you back home, that’s no problem.”
She turned to him, a forced smile on her face. “No, of course not! We’re here. Let’s go have some fun.”
He raised her knuckles to his mouth and brushed them against his lips. God, he loved this woman. Even if he didn’t deserve her, he couldn’t make himself give her up.
Chapter 20
Iris
She waited for him to come around to her side of the truck to help her out, her insides jelly. She was surprised by how hard it’d been for her to tell him about the accident. She’d been avoiding it on purpose, of course, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that it was rough to talk about, but still, it was even worse than she’d thought it was going to be.
Strange as it sounded, it was the week after the accident that was just a giant black void in her brain that scared her the most. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember any of it. She wanted to. She lay awake in bed and tortured herself with that time period again and again.
But it was just gone.
Which was freaky as hell. She couldn’t imagine how shaken she would’ve been to wake up without any memory at all. That thought was even more terrifying.
Declan opened up the door and helped her down, getting her situated with her cane before closing the door behind her and they started off towards the festival. She smiled up at him, forcing her fears and pain down deep inside of her. She was with Declan Miller, the man she’d loved since the 10th grade. She wasn’t about to waste time reliving the worst night of her life. She had better things to do – like flirt with Declan Miller.
“So what are we going to hit first?” she asked, glancing around the city park. A small train, pulled by a four-wheeler, whizzed past, small children in the “train cars” grinning with excitement. She wished she could fit into one of those cars. Alas, she was about 30 years too old for it.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “We could find food first, or just wander around. Or…” He got a slightly panicked look on his face. “Ummm…would you rather just sit? I can bring things to you.” He looked awkward as hell, and she wanted to put him out of his misery as quickly as possible.
“No, I’m fine. As long as I have my cane in one hand and my other arm through yours, I’m okay. It’s good for me to walk around.” She wouldn’t be able to do so forever, but dammit all, she’d do it as long as she could. She was sick and tired of being an invalid. And sick and tired of sitting all the time. “Let’s go look at the animals. They’re my favorite part.” Of course. He knew that – it was always her favorite part.
He grinned down at her and said, “Some things never change.”
She grinned back. “You know it, babe.”
They wandered over to the soccer field, where pens were set up to hold the animals during the festival. Most of the animals were at full weight, there to be bid upon. But between the rows of full-sized sows and cows, Iris spotted a litter of piglets. “Ohh!” she squealed, and began tugging Declan towards them, as fast as her body would allow her to go. “Look, Declan, they’re adorable!”
A gentleman appeared, and it took Iris a moment to recognize him. It was Mr. Harther, a local specialty pig farmer.
“Hi, Mr. Harther,” Declan said, putting his free hand out to shake. They chatted for a moment about the amazing weather they were enjoying, considering the time of year, and then Iris’ patience was gone.
“So why do you have piglets in October?” she asked, breaking into their discussion of the occurrence of strong winds in the valley in the fall.
“Well now, that’d be me not keeping strong enough fences,” he said with a bemused smile on his face. “There’s that saying – where there’s a will, there’s a way, and well…I guess there was a will!” His weathered face got a little pink and Iris tried to hide her grin at the farmer’s embarrassment at discussing sex with her, even if it was of the porcine variety.
Declan slipped his arm out from under Iris’ and leaned over the enclosure, scratching one of the piglets under their chin. The baby pig closed its eyes and sighed with obvious pleasure.
“I woke up one morning,” the farmer continued, “to find the boar had burrowed his way into the sow’s pen and had made himself at home. She was supposed to become someone’s bacon and ham supply this winter, but once this happened,” he gestured at the pen in front of them, “I realized that plan was off the table. I know you raise wheat, Declan,” he said, turning to him, “but you’ve always had a way with animals. If you ever decide to switch over to pig farming, let me know. I can get you started with your own herd.”
Iris held on to the enclosure for balance, watching as Declan played with the piglets. They tumbled over and around each other like small puppies, fighting for milk from their mama, or for attention from Declan. Their squeals filled the air. Iris thought it was just about the most adorable thing she’d ever seen.
“Oh no sir!” Declan exclaimed, straightening up quickly. His back was ramrod straight as he looked at Mr. Harther. “Millers are row crop farmers. We’ve been here since the 1800s. We don’t raise anything else. That’s the way it is, and that’s the way it’s always gonna be.”
His voice was strident, forceful, and the speech was a little on the…practiced side? Iris stared at him, working through the possibilities. Why was Declan acting so weird about such a simple and friendly offer?
“I just thought I’d let you know it was an option,” the older farmer said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No need to get worried about it. I just thought you were a natural. Always have. Well, anyway, I best be getting the missus and I some lunch. You two enjoy the piglets.” He turned and headed towards the food wagons lining the sidewalk running through the middle of the park.
Iris elbowed him hard in the ribs.
“Oww!” Declan said, rubbing his side. “What was that for?”
“What was that speech for?” she demanded. “You acted like he asked for your first-born child.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “There’s just no use discussing such a thing. I’ll admit that pigs are my favorite animal, but…well, you heard me. Millers raise wheat and corn and hay, not animals.”
“Stetson raises cows,” Iris pointed out in her very best ‘I am acting patient with you even though I want to hit you over the head for being stubborn’ voice.
“Stetson’s always been the one to do things differently. Not ever
yone gets to be Stetson. You ready for an elephant’s ear?” he asked in a transparent bid to change the topic that was so obvious, a five year old would’ve spotted it.
“Sure,” she murmured, and then made her way over to a wide open spot in the grass and collapsed into a heap. She’d worn herself out, standing so dadblamed much, and her leg muscles and eyes were straining from the exercise. As she watched Declan wind his way over to the food vendors, she repeated his words in her head.
Not everyone gets to be Stetson…not everyone gets to be Stetson…
The hell of it was, she had no idea what that meant.
And she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to push him for an answer.
Chapter 21
Declan
Declan drove to Iris’ apartment, his thumbs beating on the steering wheel in time with the upbeat country music twanging from the radio. It’d been two weeks since Iris had graduated from Hermingston and one week since she’d started working for the Portneuf Medical Center as a coder. They’d been sad to lose her as a nurse, of course, which meant that when she’d come back to them and applied for the job of a work-from-home coder, they were thrilled to bring her back.
Declan was as proud of her as if he’d done it all himself. Which of course he hadn’t. He never could. Maybe that was why he was so proud of her.
Either way, he was ready to take her out for dinner tonight to celebrate her victory. After all she’d gone through, for her to do as well as she was…well, it was a miracle. That’s all there was to it. She sure was something.
He bounded out of his truck, a package tucked under his arm. He’d asked the lady down at the store to wrap it up for him so it’d look nice, and not just be wrapped up in the Sunday comics like it would’ve been if he’d been put in charge of that part of the process. Thank God all he had to do was pick the damn thing out and hand over his credit card. He figured that was a pretty fair trade.
