Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set

by Grover Swank, Denise

  Yet she kept reaching for me—mostly for kisses and touches, petting and embracing—and I wasn’t inclined to deny Jessica anything. So I waited. For her to settle. For her to relax. For her to sleep. And I used the time to appreciate the feel of her in my hands.

  “I was just thinking your skin is awfully soft,” I answered honestly.

  “Really?” Jess’s leg was between mine and she was on her stomach, one arm over my chest. Her face was turned toward my neck and I felt her breath against my shoulder.

  “Yep.”

  She propped her elbow on the mattress and lifted her head, held her cheek in her hand and gazed down at me. “Do you want the name of my moisturizer? I can get some for you, maybe for Christmas? A stocking stuffer?”

  I made sure my expression was as flat as my tone. “My stocking doesn’t need stuffing.”

  She gave me a little smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I would have missed the subtle sadness if I hadn’t been able to see so well in the dark.

  Jessica shifted like she was going to lay down again, but I stopped her by gripping her arm. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

  She blinked. “Can you see my face?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you see my face? It’s pitch black in here.”

  “I just can. Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”

  “Can you see in the dark?” Now her eyes were narrowed.

  “I’ll answer you when you answer me.”

  Jess hesitated, and in her hesitation I saw more unhappiness. My chest constricted with dread.

  But then she said, “My Aunt Louisa…she was my mother.”

  Before I had an opportunity to process these words her face crumpled and she sucked in a breath. Tears and sobs soon followed. Jessica flung herself down on me and I automatically wrapped her in my arms. I was confused. But once I sorted out what she’d said, I was mostly astonished.

  “She was your mother?”

  Jess nodded, burrowing herself against my neck.

  “How long have you known?”

  “Just found out last Thursday,” came her muffled response.

  I cursed, holding her tighter, my chest again constricting. I wasn’t one for regrets, but if I could have rewound the last week and done everything over, I would have.

  “I’m so sorry. I should have… I’m so sorry.”

  She shook her head and pulled away, sniffling. “No. No it’s fine. Really. It’s just—”

  “I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve gone to Texas for the funeral.”

  She continued as though I hadn’t spoken or she hadn’t heard me. “It’s just, I don’t know why she never told me, you know? She gave me to her sister, treated me like an employee every time I visited—which, technically, I was, I know that—but I don’t understand why she didn’t want me to know until it was too late.”

  “What does Mrs. James say? Or the Sheriff?”

  Jessica’s eyes came back to mine and she wiped a tear from her cheek, her lips pressing in to a wobbly smile. “My daddy says it changes nothing. He says I’m his, have been since the day I was born and he held me.”

  Though it was a strange thing to remark upon while naked in bed with Jessica under the man’s roof, I said, “I’ve always liked Sheriff James.”

  She nodded, then continued, “Momma says Louisa never gave her a reason. One day, Louisa called and said she was pregnant, said she wanted to give the baby up for adoption, but wanted to check with her first to see if she wanted me.”

  “And your momma and the Sheriff wanted you.”

  “Yes. They did. And Momma says Louisa never wanted to talk about it, about me.” She heaved a watery breath. “My birth mother didn’t want me, and when she was alive she…she made me feel so inferior. Is it wrong I’m so sad about this? Is it strange that it hurts so much?”

  I shook my head, cupped her cheeks between mine, and gave her a firm kiss before responding. “No. It’s not wrong. Our situations aren’t the same, but I might as well have been a goat to my father.”

  Jessica half laughed, half sighed. “Duane—”

  “It’s true. All us kids were property to him. He didn’t want us, except when he did. I know a thing or two about being left, discarded. But I’ve had my whole life to grow accustomed to it.”

  Even in her sadness Jessica grew fierce and angry. “Your daddy is a pathetic excuse for a human being, not worth your time or thought. If he couldn’t see how amazing you are then he should be horsewhipped, then covered in paper cuts and lemon juice, then shot, then—”

  “Hey now, Annie Oakley, settle down.” I slipped my fingers through her hair, and brought her cheek back to my chest. “All I’m saying is that you get to live through this however you decide. There’s no right or wrong.”

  She nodded and heaved a full breath. “I don’t know if I want her money. It feels like a payoff.”

  Her words settled around us, both heavy and light, making me frown and smile. She was so stubborn.

  “If you want my vote, I think you should take the money.”

  “Hrumph.”

  My smile widened. “Just because it came from bad beginnings, doesn’t mean it can’t be put to good use.”

  “How about, I’ll only take it if you agree to spend it with me.”

  “Nice try, Jess.”

  She shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

  We were silent for a stretch. Though we were two people, in that moment we were really one unit. We were unified. I didn’t like Jess having this new sorrow, but I was glad to help. Maybe it was selfish on my part, but I liked that she needed me.

  As though reading my thoughts, Jess kissed my chest and said on a sigh, “You know you’re essential to me now, right? There’s no escape, Duane Winston.”

  “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 tops 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 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 entendres 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, balancing 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 he 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.”