I want that so bad I can feel my bones shift, align, and harden. Down to my blood, I want something I’ve never admitted to. Except here at Betty and Glen’s parking lot.
Gotta love being sober and the instant and earth-shattering epiphanies I keep fucking having.
In Bar Nunn, while my father was alive, we gardened. We sold many of the tomatoes in his store. I loved growing my own vegetables or roses or—oh!—sweet peas. Before I went to college and met Tony I had an image of me, on a farm, growing things, with a baby strapped onto me while my hands were dirty. I love the smell of the earth. I love soil stuck under my fingernails.
I close my eyes and see a flash of me, in the future, with that truck, in a huge garden, Jamie’s playing in the dirt with a shovel and he’s getting big. Liv is squealing over her newest sister. I see that I had a baby and I’m happy. So much happier than today.
The daydream is as intense as the epiphany. And slowly, so slowly I force myself to stop fantasizing and open my eyes. Where I’m awake and aching for that castle in the air, which for me is dirt and growing things and that pretty, old-fashion pickup.
I glance at myself in the rearview mirror. Jeez, my eyes are seriously red. I look terrible. But fuck it. I need food for my babies and I only have an hour-and-a-half until I can pick them up. Opening my door, I hike my purse on my shoulder, trying to get out of the car without groaning. I straighten and see a tall form six feet away, at the tail end of my car.
“That is you.”
His voice shatters me. “Shane,” is all I can say.
I take a shaky breath and in two strides he’s there, wrapping me in his strong arms, holding me, breathing on the top of my head, kissing me there too.
“Only four days without you and I missed you so fucking much.”
He chuckles. “You got a potty mouth on you.”
“Are you really an English professor? Because your grammar is atrocious.”
He chuckles louder. “Got the PhD to prove it.” Leaning away, he smiles down at me. “Want to come to my house and see it? It’s huge. The diploma. Not my house.”
I cock a brow. “I love big…diplomas.”
He hugs me again, holding onto my nape, ensuring I’m pressed against his chest. “You’re a funny girl.”
“What’s your dissertation about?”
He looks down at me again, his smile waning. “Twenty-first century poetry, mainly my analysis of Kay Ryan’s work. She’s a poet laureate.”
I lick my lips. “She’s also a Pulitzer Prize winner.”
His smile blooms all over again. “You know Kay?”
I shrug, playing with his cotton plaid shirt. “A little. I listen to the Poet’s Corner.”
He roughly hugs me all over again, rocking our bodies side to side. “Jesus, you’re…Jesus. I can’t find one fucking right word for you.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’m here to meet Joe.” His voice is completely altered, sad.
I look up at him and try to smile. “Getting groceries?”
He shakes his head. “He’s working a job nearby. Said he wanted a beer and to talk.”
I nod.
“Want to join us?”
“I’m an alcoholic.” It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. I haven’t even during the AA meetings.
His brows furrow.
I swallow and keep talking through my racing heart. “I quit drinking more than a month ago, actually almost two months now. I’ve been drinking secretly, on and off, since I was thirteen, fourteen. Almost twenty years. I’m scared I fucked up my liver.”
“I—I’m honored you told me. I hope your liver is okay.”
“I’ve never told anyone.”
“Now even more honored.”
“I don’t know why I said it.”
“I want to kiss you, Moira.”
I look down at his shirt, my heart beating so hard against his chest. His shirt is a Western style thing and I kind of love that he’s wearing it with his worn jeans and cowboy boots. He’s a poet who happens to be a cowboy at heart.
“I’m sorry, but I do.” He inhales. “I can’t seem to let you go.”
“I’m not letting you go either. I should.”
“We should.”
Neither of us moves.
I hear him swallowing and look up. He hasn’t shaved for many days. His beard is getting thick. Dark. But he has some light hair around his lips.
“Were you born blond?”
He nods.
“When did it get darker?”
“I think I was eleven or so. Were you born with strawberry blonde hair?”
I shake my head. “It was red when I was born then all of it fell out and grew back this blondish color.”
“It’s so beautiful. I have dreams about your hair.”
I smile. “Tell me about them.”
He slowly shakes his head, looking intensely in my eyes.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m making love to you. I dream of being inside you, of feeling your body against mine, of making you sweat, and call out my name. And I dream of having your hair in my fists when I come. But I can’t tell you that. It would make you uncomfortable.”
I can’t help but silently giggle. “Yeah, you can’t tell me that. That’s so forward.”
“See, I told you.”
“So forward it makes my panties wet.”
He closes his eyes and groans. He’s getting hard against me, catching up to my own desire. Then he pushes me away into my still open car door.
“I can hear my bike. Joe’s using it today.”
I try not to hurt too much from the distance Shane’s created and nod. “What are you driving?”
He points with his head at the very pickup truck I fantasized about. My heart beats faster than ever before. God, my knees suddenly can’t hold me up.
He grabs my waist. “Are you okay?”
My legs are wobbly. I feel incredibly weak while I nod, my lids fluttering uncontrollably as my vision blackens for a second.
“Your face is pale.” He’s huffing. “Are you going faint?”
I put a hand to my head as I hear the motorcycle getting nearer and nearer. “I don’t faint, silly. I’m a Wyoming girl. We don’t faint. We don’t swoon.” But I just did. “That’s your old Ford?”
“Joe and I bought it together when he was sixteen and I was nineteen. We’d saved up for years. Jesus, are you okay?”
The motorcycle is driving by and I can hear Joe ask, “Moira?” over the rumble of the engine.
I fan my fingers over my eyes and open them to see Joe, parking behind my car, turning off the engine and racing toward me. He’s there in a second, placing a big hand around my waist.
“Jesus, are you okay?”
“I must look horrible.”
“You have no color in your face,” Shane says in a whisper.
“What happened?” Joe asks.
I grip the top of my car door, trying to take more weight in my legs. “I think the heat got the better of me for a moment.” I smile up at him. “Hi.”
He smiles, but the look in his eyes conveys concern. “Hi, are you okay?”
I nod. “Feeling better.”
“What happened? Why—” he looks at his brother. “Did you call her here?”
“I needed groceries,” I say quickly.
“Just happened to run into each other.” Shane’s also talking a tad too fast, making me think he’s a bad liar too, even if we are telling the truth.
I pat Joe on his tall shoulder. “I think I’m okay. Just the heat. Had a bad day.”
He leans closer, examining my eyes. “Were you crying?” He cringes slightly and looks at his brother.
I shrug and try to wave off both of their arms and hands that are on me. “I—I talked to Tony. It was exhausting but good. I think I was just overcome with things.”
Both Shane and Joe’s faces twist into harder versions of themselves. They really don’t like my ex-husband. Oddly, t
here are parts about Tony that I might like now. Not the exhibitionist sex part. Of course. But we’ll work things out. We are working things out.
“He’s going to pay me more money for the kids and leave me alone,” I say, hoping I sound reassuring.
“Really?” Shane asks incredulously.
I shrug. “Tony’s not all bad. Somewhere in him is a good heart, believe it or not. He’ll do the right thing. And if not, I have a kick-ass lawyer who’ll make him.”
“You got a lawyer today?” Joe’s smiling with maybe pride for me drifting through his gray gaze. “That’s quite a day.”
I’ve been so caught up in myself that it takes me that long to see the faint blue half-moons under his eyes. He looks more than tired. Exhausted. He, too, looks like he had a bad day.
“Are you okay?” I snag his t-shirt along his powerful shoulder, tugging it slightly. He’s so handsome, even though he’s a little dirty, his plain light green shirt has smudges of dirt and I’d guess drywall powder here and there. His pants, around the knees, are dark from the earth.
He shrugs and shoves his instant fists into his pockets.
I realize how invasive I’m being. Joe didn’t call me to talk, which I’m hurt that he didn’t. But he’s obviously not doing well and wanted to talk to his brother. Hopefully not about me. I hate how I’m thinking about myself but can’t seem to help it.
I shrug and plaster a smile into place. “You wanted to talk to Shane, and I should just let you. I’m sorry.”
Joe puts his huge hand on my shoulder, making me stop from pushing away from my car. “No, I…I wanted to talk to you. But I knew you had the kids.”
“They’re at a playdate.”
He nods. Then looks over at the pickup truck. “Can we talk more over there?”
I nod as does Shane, and when I close and lock the door of my car, Joe swoops in and picks me up, carrying me to the old truck while I’m laughing.
“Stop it.” I smack at Joe’s immovable shoulders. “Put me down. I can walk just fine.”
He shakes his head while he’s trying to hide a smile. “Nope. Listen, a lady nearly faints on my shift and I’m going all medieval on you.”
“Medieval?”
“Yeah, I’m going to carry you around and play that you’re a damsel in distress.”
“Oh, my knight in shining armor,” I exclaim.
“Why does the damsel in distress suddenly have a Southern accent?” Shane asks, smiling at me as he’s walking beside us.
“I can’t do an English one very well.”
“Try it.”
I shake my head.
“Do it,” Joe orders.
I frown at him.
“I’ve had one fucking bad day. So you have to do the not-so-good English accent.”
I smack Joe’s shoulder again. “Bossy man.”
He shrugs, lifting me higher on his body. “I’ve heard the knights were kind of bossy. Seems fitting.”
“Do it,” Shane adds. “I’m dying to hear it.”
I inhale and shake my head. “Oh, my knights in shining armors.” God, my English accent truly does suck. So I switch to my American vernacular. “Would it be armors or just armor?”
Shane shrugs. “Is there a plural to armor? Am I a knight too? And by the way, that accent is Irish. Through and through. Not a lick of English in that.”
“You try it.” I throw a jab out at Shane, who’s snickering. “Let’s hear your English accent.”
He’s parked in the shade of an overgrown plum tree, the back facing out, and unlatches the pickup’s tailgate. Shaking his head, he says, in a perfect posh English accent, “Throw the princess up here.”
“You two are the worst knights.”
Joe, while softly chuckling, sits with me on his lap on the tailgate, but then he peeks at his brother and sets me beside him, losing his smile in the process. I think he’s trying to conceal our relationship from Shane, who knows about it and is concealing that exact fact from Joe. God, what a soap opera I’ve created. Feeling terrible about the secrets the brothers are keeping from each other, I can’t help but touch Joe’s hand.
“What happened? Why’d you have a bad day?”
He runs a hand through his hair that’s been growing and isn’t so Army-regulation short. There are golden blond tufts that stand out and I want to touch my palm to the spikes, but I rein in my impulse.
“Almost got fired today.”
“What happened?” Shane’s voice is lowered, serious now.
Joe tries to chuckle as he glances at me then his brother. Shane’s leaning closer to me, his chest almost touching my shoulder, but I don’t think he notices. His golden gaze on his brother is beautiful. He’s all hard ridges of concern and protective nurturing.
“Freaked out.” Joe clears his voice. “Marty, an older guy who works on the crew, had a heart attack. Just dropped to his knees then on his face in half-a-second. And I—fuck.” He clears his voice again. “I couldn’t remember 911. I was just screaming, ‘Medic. Medic.’”
“They can’t fire you over that,” Shane says defensively.
“Oh, it gets worse.” Joe tries to chuckle but it sounds forced and sad. “I—I knew where I was, but I didn’t. I know I’m in Laramie, but I thought he’d been shot. So I kept trying to find blood, you know? I got Marty’s pulse which was thready, he wasn’t breathing great either. But I couldn’t find the bullet wound, and it’s best to not move a man until you know if he’s been shot in the spine.
“Then the EMT guys show up, and I don’t know what happened. Apparently, I was screaming how I couldn’t find the blood. I’m yelling and protecting Marty from incoming shots, because even though I knew I was at a job site, I was back there. I heard the shots. I could have sworn I felt an IED explode not too far off. And in the meantime I’m not letting the EMT guys do their job. If Marty dies, I’ll fucking—fuck.”
Shane slides off the tailgate and stands in front of Joe, while I wrap an arm around him.
Joe’s still trying to smile. “Man, I fucked up today. If Marty dies—”
“I’ll call the hospital and see how he’s doing,” I say.
Shane’s nodding. “You did what you were trained to do, Joe. Nothing wrong with that.”
“The fuck it’s not. I might have killed a guy today because I can’t—because something in my fucked up brain switched. I was there, even though I know I’m not. Fuck. What the fuck am I supposed to do with my goddamned life? What I’m trained for kills civilians.”
I grab my phone from my purse, praying he’s not right, because I’m scared of what Joe might do if he is. As much as he’s trying to put on a good show for Shane and me, I hear the desperation in his voice. His panic is a palpable force that’s sucking my breath away, hurting my heart.
Shane shakes his head, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s too soon, bro. You pushed yourself too hard. Quit. Get a job later.”
“And—what? Just stay at mom’s house and watch Judge fucking Judy all day?”
I know exactly who to call and am so thankful to Tony for the connections that I have. Tony’s the only brother of eight sisters, all of whom are nurses at the hospital. I know there’s HIPAA, but I can get around it if Marty’s dead, which would soon be public knowledge.
I’m getting transferred to one of my former sisters-in-law while I’m trying to pay attention to Joe and Shane and their conversation. Joe does push himself too hard. I couldn’t believe he got a job so soon.
“No, live with me,” Shane’s saying. “Help me with the house. I can’t pay you…anything. But that can keep you busy until…”
“Until I’m not so fucked up.” Joe shakes his head. “What if I’m always fucked up?”
“Oh my god,” says Tina, Tony’s oldest sister. She’s loud enough that both Shane and Joe look at me. “The receptionist said Moira Landing is calling me. Is this really my favorite sister?”
God, I love her and miss her. She still calls me her siste
r. I chuckle. “It’s me.”
She squeals. “How are you? Where’s my favorite niece and nephew? I want to see them. How big are they?”
“They’re huge. Jamie’s been growing so much this summer. I had to buy him all new clothes. And Liv’s even louder.”
Tina laughs. “I can’t wait to see them. But listen, hon, I’m at work—”
“I know. That’s why I called. I’m sorry but I have a favor to ask.”
“Sure, hon. Anything for you.”
“There was a heart attack that came in today from a construction site. A guy by the name of Marty—”
“Martin Buffet,” Joe clarifies.
“Martin Buffet,” I repeat.
“Marty.” Tina’s voice is soft and warm. “I can’t say much about him, you know. But he’s doing better. He won’t be staying in the ICU but going straight up to telemetry soon. Which means the heart attack wasn’t that bad. You can probably visit him in telemetry, that’s on the third floor, tomorrow.”
I sigh. “He’s definitely alive?”
“And kicking. He hit on Tanya not too long ago.”
I laugh, impressed that any man would hit on Tanya, Tony’s second oldest sister who’s a tad on the intimidating side. Actually, Vikings would probably be scared of her.
After promising to see Tina soon, I hang up and smile at Joe. “Did you hear—”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “He’s okay.”
“Thanks, Moira.” Shane’s eyes are warm and there’s gratefulness swimming in his deep orbs. But then a flash of, perhaps, guilt flares too.
Joe nods his head. “I feel a bit better knowing I didn’t kill someone today.”
I wrap both my arms around him. He’s so wide it’s hard for my hands to link. My chest is in the middle of one of his shoulders, and he’s chuckling, probably at my silly hug.
He pats one of my arms. “Thanks for making that call.”
I smile, wanting to tell him I’d do anything for him. I want to kiss him and reassure him with my body. I want him to cup my breasts and lay his head against them. I want to do what a non-secretive lover would for the man she loves.
Awake: Book 3 of the Wild Love Series Page 23
