“I thought you might want to take Jessy along as you do your chores,” Lyssa said and smiled.
“But I’ve done most of the chores—”
“Don’t you have something to do out there?” Lyssa raised an eyebrow as her smile twisted slightly, doing her darnedest to be subtle and failing miserably. Michael finally realized what she was trying to do and grinned.
“Oh, right—I guess I do have to take care of some—things.” He laughed at himself and kissed Lyssa’s cheek. “Good idea, Mom.”
Lyssa, smiling, swatted Michael’s backside. “Then get going, Mister.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Grinning broadly, Michael glanced to Jessy and raised his eyebrows. “So—would you like to have the grand tour of Forrester Acres?”
“Why, what a good idea,” Jessy said, playing along. “And so spontaneous, too.”
“Great,” Lyssa muttered, good-naturedly grumpy. “Now there’s two of ’em.”
Michael kissed Lyssa’s cheek once more, and then he and Jessy were off on the tour. The sun had begun to set already, the afternoon darkened by low-hanging snow clouds, but Jessy didn’t feel the cold. As they walked, hand in hand, Jessy didn’t care if it snowed, rained or typhooned.
The farm looked as though it could have been a model for Currier and Ives, all rolling hills and snowy valleys and split-rail fences. In the backyard, a barren willow tree stood out in stark contrast to the snow; an old tractor tire slowly swung from one of its skeletal branches, waiting for summer. Michael told her stories about his childhood, the summer days spent fishing for trout and swimming in the pond, the summer nights camping in the treehouse hidden amid the thicket of trees surrounding the pond. It had been a child’s paradise, and as Michael shared his memories with Jessy, he realized that in many ways, it still was.
Every time Jessy’s eyes widened in delight, every time she laughed with him at one of his memories or gazed silently at the rolling hills and valleys, Michael wondered if she could be happy with him, with life on a farm. Ann had tried to be satisfied, but the quiet life had eventually stifled her. Would Jessy be the same?
Somehow, in his heart, Michael knew that she would not be like Ann. If Jessy shared his feelings, she would love him and his family no matter where they lived or what they did—and he knew now that he wanted her to be a part of his life, of his children’s lives.
As the last of the sunlight faded, Michael and Jessy finally reached his favorite place, the old barn he and the kids had rebuilt and used as a getaway. The two-story barn had been abandoned when business expanded and they needed a more modern shed for the cows, so Michael had repaired the barn as a place to escape when the pressures of running the farm got the best of him. He was planning on moving his art supplies to the upper loft in the spring, once the snow thawed and the scenery grew more scenic again.
He pulled the barn door open just enough for them to slip through and followed Jessy inside. She stood in the middle of the straw-strewn floor, eyes closed as she took a deep breath of the sweet, hay-scented air, a smile of pure contentment on her lips. A half-repaired truck sat in the back of the barn, close to a pyramid of hay bales that led up to the loft. A wooden swing hung from the rafters, the wide plank swaying gently in the gust of cold air, beckoning irresistibly.
Jessy shrugged out of her coat and gingerly climbed onto the swing, holding tight to the ropes as she pushed off and began to swing. Michael smiled as he set the picnic basket down and took off his own jacket, lighting a lantern before taking a seat on a bale of hay. He loved watching her as she swung, laughing as she spun and twisted on the swing. For a moment, Michael was captivated by the sight of her, wondering how many times in her life she had ever been so carefree, so happy.
“I used to have one of these when I was a kid,” Jessy said, laughing as the rope uncoiled and sent her spinning in the opposite direction.
Michael stood and caught the swing, slowly pulling Jessy closer to him. The smile remained on her lips, but something changed in her eyes. Finally he was beginning to know the signs, the secret signals that she didn’t even know she was giving him. Right now, she wanted him to kiss her. He could read it in the widening of her eyes, the parting of her lips, the quickening of her breath.
“Stand up for a second.” Michael grabbed the rope to steady the swing and straddled the plank as Jessy stood. Without a word he turned her to face him, then settled down on the seat and gestured for Jessy to do the same. She awkwardly sat astraddle the plank, cheeks pinkening as she realized how close they were, then darkening as Michael gently lifted each of her legs, repositioning them over his thighs. Jessy never looked away from him, the mixture of innocence and uncertain desire in her eyes affecting him instantly.
“This is cozy,” she said softly, a faint smile curling the corner of her lips. Only a few inches separated them as they gazed at each other, the swing slowly twisting and turning, swaying back and forth as Michael gently propelled them. He slipped his arms around Jessy’s waist, pulling her even closer. Her eyes widened slightly, but she settled against him, waiting for his next move.
Michael was momentarily at a loss, stunned by her trust, by her breathless expectation. His desire to touch her, to make love to her, had grown almost exponentially over the past few days, building to such a fever pitch that just the sight of her was enough to create a flurry of distracting fantasies. He hadn’t realized how much he could want a woman until now.
And now he wanted Jessy. In his heart, in his gut, he knew he wasn’t rushing things, that there was no timetable, but until this moment he hadn’t been able to gauge Jessy’s feelings. Now, if he was truly seeing what he thought he was seeing in her eyes, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And maybe she even loved him as much as he loved her.
The realization was as frightening and exciting as it was sobering.
“What’s wrong?” she asked softly, touching his creased forehead, smoothing her fingertips over his skin. At her touch, he felt his body respond, every muscle tensing, every nerve flaring into life. He gazed at her for a few moments before speaking, greedily drinking in her soft smile, her warm eyes. He dimly remembered the horrible things Ann had said about Jessy and wondered how anyone could look at her and not see how beautiful she was.
“Remember when you told me that you weren’t used to this sort of thing?” Michael smiled faintly as he spoke, even though he felt as if his stomach had twisted into a knot. He was more than nervous. He was terrified.
“I remember it well,” she said, her full lips curving in a way that sent darting pangs of desire through his body. “Why?”
Michael said nothing for a moment as Jessy rested her hands on his hips. His breath caught. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel such overwhelming need for a woman; in the years since his divorce he’d lived the life of a monk, not even bothering to consider anything as unnecessary and frivolous as sex. He’d concentrated on his children and his work and nothing more.
Now he felt those two years of celibacy catching up with him all at once. With a vengeance.
Without thinking twice Michael leaned closer to Jessy and kissed her, the movement sending the swing swaying anew. Their lips brushed softly against each other, breaths mingling, shifting with the movement of the swing. Michael deepened the kiss, tasting Jessy’s mouth with slow, measured strokes of his tongue, feeling her timid but aroused response. Wrapping his arms around her, Michael urged Jessy closer, until she was nearly sitting on his lap. The feel of her moving against him was almost too much to bear. Involuntarily, he shifted, straining to be even closer—
And Jessy abruptly broke away from the kiss, eyes huge as realization of what they were doing, what she was doing, hit her. She looked at him with an odd mixture of fear and desire, silently questioning. Michael didn’t move, couldn’t move. All he could do was stare back at her and feel more and more like a creep with every passing moment. She wasn’t ready for this. He’d known she wasn’t ready, he’d promised not to rush her into anyt
hing, to take it slow—and now this. No wonder she was looking at him like that.
“Jessy—” He couldn’t seem to raise his voice above a murmur, his lips and tongue thick, numb. “I don’t know—I mean—”
Jessy shook her head slightly, cutting off his fumbling apology, and carefully stood, her cheeks crimson as she slipped away from him. She kept her head down, her eyes averted, trembling as she rubbed at her mouth and took slow, deliberate breaths. Shakily, she took a few steps away from the swing, keeping her back to him.
Michael climbed off the swing, feeling more miserable with each passing moment. Damn it, why did he have to act like a teenager in
heat? Why did he have to take so much for granted?
“Jessy,” he said again, his voice a little stronger.
She didn’t look at him. The sheer awkwardness of the moment was unbearable. Michael wished he could rewind the last ten minutes and start all over again. At the very least, he wished he could give himself a good swift kick in the butt.
Especially when she finally faced him again. He had never seen her look so alone—or so lonely.
“Don’t apologize,” she said quietly, a faint but grim smile curling the corner of her lips. “It’s me—I’m not—”
“No, Jess—”
Jessy picked up her jacket and started walking towards the door. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered, almost to herself.
Michael caught her arm gently and she stopped without turning to face him. What had she gone through? What had Wilks done to her?
“I need to talk to you about this,” he said softly. “Please, Jessy— give me that much.”
Jessy finally raised her gaze to his, holding it for a long time, and Michael could see every flicker of indecision and fear. His heartbeat felt sluggish and sick as he waited for her to respond. He didn’t want to lose her now that they were so close to finally building something together, but he had the very bad feeling that with one wrong word, one wrong touch, he could lose her forever.
“Okay,” she finally whispered. She averted her eyes from his gaze, but Michael caught the flare of hope she was trying to hide. “Let’s talk.”
Michael reached out and took her hand. She squeezed it tightly, as if she were afraid to let it go.
“I know a place,” he said and smiled.
Climbing a mountain of hay was not one of Jessy’s finer moments, but she managed to haul herself over the bales with a minimum of clumsiness. A horrible anticipation had settled over her, impatient to hear whatever it was Michael was planning to say to her. She knew what she hoped he might say—but she also knew better than to expect too much.
In all honesty, she was stunned by her reaction to the kiss on the swing and the abrupt turmoil it had triggered. That one kiss had left her feeling weak and frightened and hungry for more. She knew that Michael had misread her actions, probably believing that she had pulled away because she had been scared of his obvious arousal, but that was far from the truth. The rush of desire she had felt for him had left her feeling pole-axed, as if someone had taken control of her mind and body and thrown all her caution and timidity out the window. She’d only pulled away because she had been astonished by her own arousal, not Michael’s—although that had been a revelation in and of itself. She had never dreamed that a man could want her, had never imagined that anything she could do would make a man desire her so much.
But it was happening. And she had to deal with it.
“Here we are,” Michael said as he helped Jessy up to the final bale. There were bits of hay in his tousled hair, sticking to his sweaty brow; Jessy had the sudden thought that he looked like every farmer’s daughter’s dream date. “My oasis.”
On the top of the piled hay, high above the barn floor, Michael had created a refuge of sorts, a hollowed out nest lined with thick blankets and pillows of all shapes and sizes. Paperback novels were scattered around the nest’s rim, along with a battery-powered lamp and a stack of newspapers and magazines.
Jessy smiled despite herself as she looked at Michael, who had switched on a small battery-powered lamp. She could imagine Michael sprawled among the pillows, reading as the kids played on the swing below, napping on those rare afternoons when there was nothing more pressing to do.
“I fixed this up during the divorce,” Michael said, stepping into the nest. He held his hand to Jessy, helping her down. The whole thing felt surprisingly steady and solid beneath her feet. “I spent a lot of time up here, just thinking about everything.”
It felt like he was stalling, so Jessy remained silent, watching as Michael settled down against the pillows and opened the picnic basket. He looked up to her, expectant, and Jessy realized that he wanted her to sit with him. She awkwardly lowered herself to the blankets, surprised by how comfortably the nest was padded. It almost felt like a feather bed.
They remained unnaturally silent as Michael rooted through the picnic basket, taking out the sandwiches and coffee thermos that Lyssa had packed for them. The sudden change of mood—from pulsing desire to aimless chit-chat—bewildered Jessy. How could two people go from such rampant lust to casual conversation without making mention of such a drastic mood swing? The urge to say something, to question Michael, was enough to make her squirm.
“So,” Michael said as he poured Jessy a mug of coffee and handed it to her. “Here we are.”
“Yep.” She sipped at the coffee, keeping her eyes riveted on Michael. “Here we are.”
The silence that descended upon them was nearly stifling. Jessy drank her coffee slowly, her stomach churning, watching as Michael plucked an orange out of the basket and began to idly peel it. A thousand scenarios unspooled in her mind, a thousand possible ways for Michael to change her life forever. Whatever he was going to say, good or bad, it would be momentous. At least, that’s how it felt. The waiting, the anticipation, ratcheted up her dread by the millisecond.
“I wish I’d known you when I was a kid,” Michael said suddenly, popping a section of orange into his mouth.
Jessy smiled slightly, more confused than ever, and slowly shook her head. “No, you don’t,” she said, looking away from Michael.
“Why not?” Michael leaned against the side of the nest, stuffing a pillow beneath his arm as he propped his temple against his hand. “Would you have gone to the prom with me?”
Jessy’s gaze shot to his again, the faint smile on her lips fading. “You wouldn’t have asked me.”
Michael frowned, scooting the basket out of the way as he moved closer to Jessy. “Why’s that?”
“Well—” Jessy cleared her throat, taking a steadying breath before she looked squarely at Michael again. “Let’s just say that not too many sixteen-year-old boys want to be seen with a girl who has the figure of a sumo wrestler.”
“You sound pretty sure about that,” Michael said after a moment. The flatness of his tone startled Jessy into looking at him again. He watched her intently, his gaze challenging her.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed my weight,” she said quietly. There it was, finally spoken aloud.
Michael kept his gaze steady on hers. “All right—I won’t.”
His answer rattled Jessy, but she refused to let it show. She’d had a lifetime of practice keeping her true emotions hidden. But since Michael seemed to be in the mood for speaking frankly—
“You know, that’s what really surprises me about you,” she said, forcing a casualness into her voice that she did not feel. She felt as if she were picking her way through a minefield. “You act like my weight doesn’t matter—“
“It doesn’t matter.” Michael took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. Jessy kept herself very still, unable to respond to his touch. This was the conversation she had dreaded from the beginning. “Honey, it really doesn’t matter to me.”
“Are you sure?” Jessy’s gaze was direct, unflinching. She had the unsettling sense that this was the point of no return, that whatever was said beyond this moment
would affect their relationship drastically. For an instant, she wanted to turn back, to stop right now—but she knew in her heart that she couldn’t. This was an issue that she needed to resolve right here, right now, if she wanted to have any kind of peace of mind.
“It does matter,” she said, voice soft. She threaded her fingers through his, bracketing his hand with hers. “Michael—I weigh two hundred and twenty pounds, and that has mattered to every person, every man, who has ever looked at me. There has never been a day that it hasn’t.”
Michael said nothing, simply watching her, and she felt excruciatingly vulnerable. But she couldn’t stop now.
“When you’re this fat,” she said quietly, unable to hide the pain, the bitterness in her voice, “people don’t look at you. They look over you. Men seem to be afraid that if they make eye contact, I’ll suddenly develop a fixation on them or embarrass them in front of their friends. They don’t want to be seen with any woman who might be less than perfect, who’s not beautiful and slim and—”
“You’re being unfair.” Anger hummed beneath the soft tone of Michael’s voice. “Don’t make assumptions about me, Jessy, because you’re wrong. Maybe you’ve known some narrow-minded jerks, but I’m not like that.”
“How many fat girls have you dated in your life, Michael?”
Michael’s anger deflated almost instantly. He didn’t answer, sliding his gaze away from hers for a moment.
“That’s what I thought,” Jessy said grimly.
“You’re not being fair.”
“So I’m wrong?”
Michael looked back to her again. “No,” he said softly. “You’re not wrong.”
“I didn’t think so.” Jessy didn’t like the coldness of her tone, but couldn’t help it. She knew that Michael didn’t deserve this kind of attack, but couldn’t stop herself. This was something she’d had to live with her entire life. A few kind words from Michael, no matter how much she cared for him, couldn’t reverse so many years of pain.
The Giving Season Page 18
