by Goode, A. J.
Her voice wouldn't work, she realized. She had lost the ability to form words. So she nodded dumbly.
"Wh-" she managed, and cleared her throat before trying again. "What should we do for our first date?"
* * *
The County Fair was a small one, as fairs go, with only a few rides and a small midway, but Tara had never missed it. She loved to wander through the craft displays and animal barns, and she had a major weakness for "fair food" of any kind. Her former boyfriend, Randy, had seen the fair as more of an opportunity for beer-drinking and rowdy behavior rather than a chance to rub elbows with their small-town neighbors, so it hadn't been as much fun for her in recent years.
"I can't ride any rides this year," she warned Ethan.
"That's okay. I throw up on the ones that spin around."
"Really?"
"True story. Every year. I think they have my picture at the ticket booths, warning the carnies not to let me ride the Gravitron or the Zipper."
She wasn't sure if she was up to spending an entire afternoon on her feet, but he promised her that they would take breaks whenever she needed. The weather was still miserably hot and humid; she hesitated before slipping into a lightweight cotton sundress and twisting her hair up into a clip on the back of her head. With the shoulders exposed and her hair pulled up, her scars would be visible to everyone, she realized. And by "everyone", she meant "Ethan".
But it was so hot, she reasoned. And she really shouldn't care whether he saw the scars or not. They were only pretending to be a couple, after all. Once he saw the ugly red lines running down her neck and between her shoulder blades, he would be as repulsed as Randy had been, and that should take care of any lingering concerns she might have about any more late-night make-out sessions. There was no way Ethan – or any other man – would ever be attracted to her again with that mess going on.
She heard him catch his breath when he helped her into the Expedition and saw her back, but he said nothing.
He parked as close to the entrance as possible, near the barns, so they began there. Ethan seemed to enjoy showing her the farm animals, even daring her to reach across the fence and touch some of them. She wasn't terribly excited about the cows and pigs, but she didn't need much encouragement before scratching the little goats behind the ears and petting the velvety noses of the different breeds of horses.
Every time the ground was a little uneven, he took her elbow until they hit level ground again. She wasn't sure if she should be grateful for his protection or offended that he thought she couldn't handle it by herself.
"Mr. Davis!"
They turned just before entering the rabbit barn, and saw three teenagers trotting toward them.
"Hey, Landon. Michael. Carrie," Ethan called out to them, smiling. "You guys having a good time at the fair?"
"Yes, sir." The taller of the boys was openly staring at Tara. She felt her face grow warm under the scrutiny.
"I love your dress," the girl told Tara. Her eyes flickered back and forth from Tara to Ethan.
"Thank you. And I love your sandals," Tara returned the compliment.
"So, are you, like, Mr. Davis' girlfriend?"
Tara glanced at Ethan, whose smile had begun to look a little forced. "Carrie," he started.
"Were you all in Mr. Davis' class last year?" Tara interrupted.
They all three spoke at once, telling her about his math class and how he had taken part in a school fundraiser the previous year. She wasn't able to listen to all three excited voices at the same time, but she caught something about donkeys and basketball. She also caught on to the fact that Ethan's students adored him.
As they turned to go, Tara saw both of the boys flash Ethan a thumbs-up. She felt ridiculously pleased to see the smile on his face as he waved them off.
"They seem like nice kids," she told him.
"They are. Landon and Carrie think they are madly in love, so Carrie's mother makes them take her younger brother Michael with them everywhere they go. Apparently, little siblings kind of put a damper on teenage sex."
"I see. And donkey basketball?"
"Long story. It was a fundraiser for a student whose mother had cancer. Teachers against students, and the teachers won by one basket." He raised his arms triumphantly and then bowed at an imaginary audience. "I scored the winning shot, by the way."
"My hero."
Chuckling, Ethan touched her elbow and guided her toward a bench in the shade. "I'll go get us some lemonade," he offered.
She nodded, suddenly realizing that she was weary. It was ridiculous that she tired so easily since her accident. The doctors had assured her that she would eventually get her strength back, but it was hard for her to be patient on days like today when the slightest bit of exertion left her in need of rest.
Her reverie was disturbed by the sound of raucous laughter from somewhere behind her. Young men, enjoying the beer tent, obviously. She thought she recognized one of the voices, but told herself not to turn around. She did not need to see Randy, not today, not ever. And especially not when he'd been drinking.
"Are you all right?"
She started. Ethan had returned and was standing in front of her with a tall paper cup in each hand. He frowned.
"I'm fine," she said. She accepted the cup of ice cold lemonade and moved over on the bench to make room for him. "I just – that's my ex," she blurted.
"Which one?"
She didn't have to turn around to be certain. "Short guy, dark curly hair, drunk off his butt. Probably wearing very expensive clothes and far too much jewelry for a man."
"I see him. I think he sees us too." Ethan sat next to her and gave her a lopsided grin. "Want to mess with him a little?"
She smiled despite herself, and nodded.
Ethan slid closer to her on the bench. He draped an arm across her shoulders—covering the worst of her scars, she realized – and cupped his other hand around her cheek to turn her face toward his. "Look up into my eyes," he murmured. "Whisper something to me, anything, and smile."
Tara tore her gaze away from his lips and up into his eyes. She could feel his breath on her skin.
"What should I whisper?" she asked.
"Anything you like. Unless your ex can read lips, it doesn't matter."
"He can barely read books." Tara fought the urge to laugh out loud at the look of surprise on Ethan's face. Smiling at each other was okay, but laughing would ruin the appearance of intimacy that they were trying to create. Looking into his eyes, it dawned on her that she no longer felt like laughing; she had a sudden need to feel his lips on hers, to taste him again, to revel in the feeling of his hands on her skin.
She reached up to brush her fingertips across the tiny scar near his lips.
"Tara—" Ethan's whisper sounded strangled. He turned his head and kissed her fingers, sending bolts of electricity streaking through her body.
"We . . . should stop," she said.
"Yes, we should." But he made no move to pull away from her.
From somewhere behind them, a voice broke through. "Really! Ethan, what if your students see you?"
They jerked apart and looked up to see the two indignant elderly ladies who had shown up on their doorstep the previous morning. Well, only one seemed to be indignant. The smaller of the two women – Lenora – was covering her mouth with one hand in apparent astonishment, but Tara thought the old woman's eyes were sparkling with concealed laughter.
Vernabelle was definitely not laughing.
"Nice to see you again, ladies," Ethan said smoothly. He stood up and helped Tara to her feet.
"It is shameful for a teacher to behave this way in public," Vernabelle told him.
"You're absolutely right. I apologize. I guess we just couldn't help ourselves, right, Tara?"
She nodded, feeling her face grow warm again.
"Bea always told us how perfect the two of you were together," Lenora said. "She would be so happy to see you so obviously in love. Verna, we shoul
d leave them alone and mind our own business."
"But, but—" her sister sputtered.
"Our church is putting on a Sloppy Joe dinner at that tent over there," Lenora told them, pointing. "We donated some pies, so you two should head that way when you get hungry. All proceeds go to the Food Pantry."
"Not your famous blueberry pies, Miss Vernabelle?" Ethan asked. "Your pies are the reason the Methodist tent always brings in more money than any of the other food stands. Tara, you have not tasted pie until you've tried one of Vernabelle Hyde's blueberry pies."
She began to look slightly less miffed. By the time he finished charming her, she was beaming at them both. They promised to return to the Methodist tent for dinner and finally moved on after several hugs and knowing smiles from the sisters.
"That was impressive," Tara said under her breath.
"Vernabelle Hyde is a direct line to Jacqueline," he told her. "Our 'relationship' will be the talk of the town within the hour."
Of course. Tara could have kicked herself. She'd been so caught up in those moments on the bench that she'd forgotten it was all just for show. It had been all about making a point in front of her ex-boyfriend and establishing themselves in public as a couple.
He had acted to save his house, not because he wanted her.
Fine. If he wanted to give them a show, she'd give them a show. She stopped in her tracks, turned to face him, and went up on tiptoe. Before she could lose her nerve, she leaned in close and kissed him.
Chapter Nine
Ethan was too surprised to pull away from the kiss. It started tentatively, but he had to have more. He pulled her close and claimed her mouth with his, suddenly hungry for the taste of her.
She stiffened in his arms and then melted against him even as a few catcalls and whistles broke out near them.
Damn it.
Reluctantly, he pulled away from her.
"What was that for?" he asked hoarsely.
"Just giving the people what they want," she told him. She seemed as rattled as he was; however, there was smugness to her smile that he wasn't sure he liked.
He didn't like anything about the way he was feeling right now. He had felt slightly off-balance all afternoon, and he hated to admit to himself that it was all because of Tara. Seeing that swaggering jerk of an ex-boyfriend had triggered some uncomfortable jealousy in him, and he had acted on the crazy impulse to hold her close just to make the other man feel that same jealousy.
Ethan hadn't expected to feel so attracted to her in that moment. And he certainly hadn't expected her to kiss him like that.
He wanted to take her away from the crowd, get her alone, and finish what she had started with that kiss.
"You don't play fair," he growled.
She laughed.
After that, the games on the midway were anti-climactic. He won a small purple teddy bear by shooting three baskets in a row at a basketball stand, and she proved to be remarkably skilled at Skee-ball. By the time they finished their Sloppy Joes, potato chips and blueberry pie at the Methodist Church tent, he wanted nothing more than to be alone with her somewhere.
The breeze had picked up by then, and he remembered the storm that was coming in over the lake. "We should go," he told her.
She nodded, and he realized for the first time that she looked utterly exhausted.
"Can you make it back to the car?" he asked.
"I'm not that fragile. I'm fine."
She leaned heavily on him as they returned to the Expedition. He helped her into her seat and cursed himself mentally for not noticing her fatigue earlier. He still didn't fully understand exactly what had happed to her or why she tired so easily, but he felt like a selfish pig for allowing her to get so exhausted while he played stupid carnival games.
"You're mad," she said quietly, when he had started the vehicle. "I'm sorry." Thunder rumbled off in the distance.
"Why didn't you tell me you were getting so tired?" he demanded.
"I – I didn't want to be a bother."
He put the SUV into gear and maneuvered through the grassy field that had been turned into a parking lot for Fair Week. A few fat raindrops splashed on the windshield.
"I hate being like this." Her voice was so quiet that he almost missed her words.
"Like what?" It was raining in earnest now. He switched the windshield wipers on high and eased the vehicle out onto the road.
"This. Tired. Weak. I'm not used to being such a wimp."
"You're hardly a wimp, Tara. You've been through a lot."
She didn't answer. He risked a quick glance over at her and then focused his attention back on driving.
It was a true Michigan thunderstorm, sudden and violent. And powerful. Ethan felt the force of the wind blasting against the Expedition and gripped the wheel more firmly as a near-blinding flash of lightning streaked across the sky.
"Do-do you think people are okay at the fairground?" she asked softly.
"I'm sure they all went inside the barns and buildings," he assured her. He didn't tell her that the people at the fairgrounds were quite possibly safer than the two of them were at the moment. The windshield wipers were barely keeping up with the pounding rain; he turned on the headlights and tried to peer through the darkness to make sure he was still on the road.
Should have left earlier, Davis, he told himself. He'd grown up right here on the Lakeshore, and he should have known just how quickly these storms blew up. This one was bad. It was not supposed to be pitch-dark at seven o'clock at night in August. The streetlights should have come on, triggered by the sudden darkness, but their absence made him wonder if the power had been knocked out along this road.
Tara made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a whimper.
"You okay?" he asked, through clenched teeth.
"Fine." Her voice was too high, too breathless.
She was terrified.
Lightning flashed again.
He heard her shriek just as he saw the tree limb falling in front of him. Cursing, he slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the left. The Expedition skidded on the wet pavement, and Tara cried out again as they finally came to a stop, mere inches from the huge chunk of maple tree that now blocked the road.
Ethan took a deep breath and forced himself to release his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. They were okay. Not a scratch or a dent, nothing to worry about. They were—
"Get me out!"
Tara was not okay. She was frantically grasping at her seatbelt, sobbing and muttering incoherently. He tried to pull her close and comfort her, but she was beyond hearing him. She batted his hands away and found the seatbelt release. Free of it at last, she wrenched open her door and leaped from the vehicle.
What the hell?
"Get back in the car!" he bellowed. It was no use. She was running down the road, rapidly disappearing into the darkness of the storm.
He leaped out and was instantly soaked to the skin. Damn it all! What was wrong with her? Didn't she realize that she was placing them both in danger?
He caught up to her easily, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back against his chest. She struggled against him, but he pinned her arms to her sides. This was not the time to be gentle. "Settle down!" he roared, tightening his grip. Lightning flashed again, so close that he imagined he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Thunder followed almost immediately, a boom so loud that the ground shook beneath their feet.
Suddenly, the fight went out of Tara. She sagged weakly against him, as though she could no longer stand on her own. Wordlessly, he lifted her and took her back to the Expedition as fast as he could get there. She put up no resistance when he reached around her to buckle the seatbelt.
Once he was buckled safely into his own seat, he allowed himself to look at her. Even in the darkness, he could see that her face had gone chalk-white. She sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her head bowed. Her hair had come loose from its clip and hung around he
r face in wet, rain-flattened strands that she didn't even bother to push back. He wondered if she was even conscious, but then he saw that her eyes were wide open, staring blankly at her knees.
"Tara?" he asked, as gently as possible. "Talk to me. Are you all right?"
She shook her head.
"Are you hurt?"
"Just get me home," she whispered. "Please."
Easier said than done, he reflected. He could easily back up and turn around to take another route to the Seashell, but he couldn't drive away and leave that giant limb blocking the road. It presented too much of a risk to other drivers.
"Just hang on," he told her. He found his cell phone and quickly dialed in 9-1-1 to report a tree down on Avery Street. No injuries, he assured the operator. Just a tree down and blocking the road.
He turned on his hazard lights and sat back to wait. The storm was blowing over almost as quickly as it had blown up, and the flashes of lightning were coming farther and farther apart. The rain began to let up. Dark clouds blew away, and weak, watery sunlight returned.
Just as Ethan decided that it was light enough for drivers to see the tree limb in time to avoid it, a police car pulled up beside them. The officer rolled down his window and gestured that Ethan should do the same.
"Anybody hurt in there?" the officer asked.
"No, just shaken up. Mind if we go now?"
"Nah, go ahead. Thanks for calling it in."
Ethan backed carefully around and headed for Kalamazoo Avenue. It was less than a mile out of the way, and Tara didn't make a sound until he had pulled into their driveway.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be," he said shortly. "Let's get inside."
The storm had knocked out the power, so the house was dark. Even the late afternoon sunlight reflecting off the Lake did little to improve the lighting. He found two flashlights in a kitchen drawer and sent her off to get dried off and changed while he hurried into his own room to find dry clothes for himself. A short time later, dressed in shorts and an old Nirvana t-shirt, he went out to the living room to wait for her.
He waited for what seemed like hours, although it was really closer to fifteen minutes. There was no sound coming from her room.
