Awake: Book 3 of the Wild Love Series

by Jameson, Red L.

  But I was the one that made this secret. I forced Joe not to tell his brother about us. Like so many things in my life, I made it a secret, compartmentalized it, fit it into a mental drawer and tried to deal with it at a later time. I can’t help but wonder if my attraction to Shane and vice versa would ever have occurred if I had been more honest, less scared, about what’s happening between Joe and me. I worry that I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  Joe pats my arm again. “You need groceries for the kids?”

  I nod.

  “I’ll help you get them.”

  I begin to shake my head, wanting to tell him not to worry about my groceries.

  When Joe turns to me, his face is stern. “Listen, Moira, don’t coddle me right now. Treat me like I’m a fucking man who can help you get groceries. Don’t treat me like I’m a psycho. Please.”

  “I don’t think you’re a psycho.” I hug him even tighter, but his body is tensing. “I think you’re perfect.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You make it damned hard to get pissed at you when you feed me such bullshit.”

  I smile up at him. “No bullshit.”

  “She’s blushing even when she says bullshit,” Shane says.

  Joe squeezes my forearm that he’s holding. “She is. That’s awesome, you prude.”

  I let go of Joe and jump off the tailgate. “Stop it, you meanies.”

  “Meanies?” Shane arches a dark brow, shaking his head.

  I blink and in that flash, he grabs me, my wrists, forcing them behind my back, holding me with one hand on my struggling arms, the other holds my hip, pivoting me toward Joe.

  “Get her.” Shane’s joking, but there is an edge to his voice, something animalistic growling through.

  Joe smiles, giving me a wicked grin I’ve only seen before we have sex. God help me, but desire is pouring through my body, hot and liquid, making my thighs squeeze together. He straightens from the tailgate, looking at my body, especially my breasts, as if he’d like to bite me all over. Then lick me.

  23

  Joe cocks his head to the side. “You ticklish, Moira?”

  I struggle against Shane, but he’s locked me in tight. “Oh my god, talk about being meanies.”

  Shane laughs. Somehow while I’m fighting, which is really half-assed because this is getting seriously hot, my back lands against his front. He’s hard, which utterly surprises me. But I don’t jerk away. I don’t do what I should. Instead, I wiggle against him, causing such sweet agony within my body.

  Joe takes a long inhalation, shaking his head. “Let’s get your groceries before I do something crazy.”

  “Ah.” Shane sounds disappointed. “Come on. You have to get her back for calling us meanies.”

  I lean my head against Shane’s shoulder to look up at him. “Well, you are, you big meanie. You have me restrained just for calling you a name.”

  “What happened to Jennifer?” Shane’s smiling while he’s glancing down at me. “I liked Jennifer better than meanie.”

  “Name calling evolves, Shane.” I shake my head with feigned disapproval. “Get with the times.”

  “Okay, you two,” Joe says, pulling me away from Shane. “Break it up.” Joe easily slides a hand around my waist, but then yanks it away, slightly flinching. “Let’s help Moira get her groceries.” He looks down at me, concern again on his face. “You sure you can manage this?”

  “I just fought off your brother. I can handle walking across the parking lot to buy some food.”

  Joe shakes his head. “I fought him off, meanie.”

  I giggle and Joe holds my hand, pulling me along. “Grab Shane and make up with him.”

  I do as Joe says, holding Shane’s hand as I walk quickly toward the grocery store. I don’t think Joe knows what it’s like to have shorter legs, but I don’t have time to tell him about it as I glance back at Shane.

  “I’m sorry I called you a big meanie, you big meanie,” I say.

  “I’m sorry I restrained you, Jennifer.” Shane’s gold eyes are bright and mesmerizing.

  “There.” Joe sighs. “That’s nice. Everyone made up.” He shakes his head before we enter the store. “Thanks for being such weirdos. Makes my day better.”

  Somehow we’re in the store, all holding hands, chuckling like we’re kids. I have to grab a cart, which means we’re not touching each other, and, oddly, I feel a tinge of sadness when I’m not. Why does holding hands feel so…rewarding? Do men get as much from that? I mean, it’s such a small gesture with such a huge meaning, which is we belong to each other. Or does it mean that?

  There’s only a few people in the store, and the smell of fresh produce takes me back to the days when my father was alive, and I would stock tomatoes and other things for him. I didn’t like stocking the canned goods, but I loved being around the fruit and vegetables. My dad would order exotic foods like starfruit or passionfruit, something that people in Wyoming, before the time of Google, would know nothing about.

  I loved feeling the waxy surface of a bright yellow starfruit. Or the erotic smell of the center of a passionfruit. Back then, I would have days where I’d only eat fruit—cherries from the Cascade Mountains of Washington, Hermiston watermelons grown along the Columbia River of Oregon, or the red Flame grapes from southwestern Idaho. Everything was bought seasonally, so during the summer months I’d eat like royalty, then savor our own potatoes with a variety of squash the rest of the year.

  I don’t know why, because it only makes me sad, but I find myself talking about my father, his grocery store, the fresh produce that I crave.

  Joe picks up a bright green melon. “Like this? You’d eat stuff like this all day long?”

  I walk to him, pulled by the beauty of the green hide of the melon. “That’s an Emerald Gem. It has a bright orange center, tastes like the perfect combination of a cantaloupe and honey dew. But sweeter. I haven’t seen one of these…” I ramble off, not able to finish because my throat’s so tight.

  “You know your melons,” says a craggy voice.

  I glance at a small woman with a crown of short silver hair, stocking bananas close by. Smiling, I shrug. “My dad taught me.”

  “He was good to teach you. Kids your age don’t know nothing about fruits or vegetables. Many that come in here don’t know the difference between a cucumber and a zucchini. Makes me wonder what the hell they eat.”

  I softly giggle and nod at the cranky woman.

  She ambles closer. “I’m Glen.” After wiping her hand on her stained white apron, she extends it to me.

  I shake it. “I’m Moira.”

  “You aren’t Jan’s daughter, are you? Jan from Bar Nunn?”

  I’m sure my eyes are popping wide. “How did you—? Yes, he was my father. Jan Van de Berg. You knew him?”

  Glen nods, not exactly looking as excited as I am. She goes back to stocking the bananas, saying, “Of course, I did. I knew every good grocer back then. Your dad showed me pictures of you. I know faces. Know yours. That and can’t forget a girl with that color of hair. And I also eavesdropped on your conversation. Heard that you were Jan’s daughter.”

  I laugh, but when she frowns at me, I hold in my mirth.

  Glen’s one of those Wyoming women that I always admire but can never emulate—tough, bossy, a tad grumpy, opinionated, and never second-guessing herself. Or at least it seems like she’s the kind of person who’s never unsure. God, I wish I could be like that.

  “…not like now,” Glen says, making me realize I zoned out while she’d been talking. But I pay attention to her as she continues, “Back then we had a lot of pride in giving food to our community. Now, shit, those big stores give us fruit that has no flavor. Genetically modified, my ass. Bet my dog’s shit would taste better than those grapes they sell.”

  Joe and Shane’s eyes are probably as wide as mine and we smile at each other.

  “But those soulless corporations know how to sell. I’ll give them that.” Glen’s placing the bananas on the shelf
a tad forcefully, and I decide to take over to make sure the fruit doesn’t get too bruised. She leans against an apple display, showing off perfect heart-shaped Red Delicious fruits. “I’ve hung in there, though, Betty and I,” she says. “We own this joint, have since we were kids, basically. Your age. I did remember your name, right, Moira?”

  I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t call me ma’am.”

  “Yes, Glen.” I nod again as I set the bananas away, trying not to wince.

  “What do you do, Moira?”

  I hold onto a bunch of bananas, not daring a look at anyone when I say, “I raise my kids. I have two, a daughter, three, and a son, six.”

  Glen audibly sighs. “Not a working woman?”

  I shake my head, feeling heat pour into cheeks.

  “Well, you got two men providing for you, so I suppose you don’t need to work.”

  I glance up and shake my head vigorously, but Glen’s not looking at me. Her eyes narrow while she’s gazing at Joe and Shane, as if inspecting them for rabies.

  “You two garden for her?”

  “Trying to grow my first one,” Shane says. “Just finished rototilling.”

  “Well, I’m not handing out any prizes for rototilling.”

  Shane nods and looks away. I think he’s trying not to uncontrollably laugh at being verbally smacked down the way he just was.

  Glen reaches out to me, touching my hand. “Sorry. I’m just grouchy. My arthritis is bad today.”

  “I’m sorry. What can I do to help?”

  Glen doesn’t smile at me, but I wouldn’t expect her to, anyway. She pats my hand which feels like I earned something luxurious, like a silk coat. “You did the bananas, so that’s good, Moira. You live here now? Laramie?”

  “Yes, I sure do.”

  “Why haven’t I seen you in here before?”

  I rearrange a few bananas. “This store reminds me of my dad.”

  “Miss him?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was a real good man. I don’t like men, as you probably noticed. But I liked him. He was one of the few good ones.”

  I nod. “He was.”

  “Real shame he died so young. Your mom sold the store, didn’t she?”

  I nod again, for some strange reason not at all feeling defensive about being asked such personal information.

  Glen shakes her head. “Real shame. He wanted to give it to you.”

  I straighten and cover my heart with my hand. “He did? He wanted to give me his store?”

  Glen notices me, my hand on my chest. “He didn’t tell you? Your mom never said anything?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, shit. I sure stepped in it, didn’t I?”

  I blink and swallow, wondering why I feel like I’m going to cry. My father knew how much I loved his store. He saw me. Or maybe I allowed myself to be seen by him. The real me. The one who wanted things besides marriage and babies. The part of me I’ve tried to cage since my father’s death. And that part of me had to become monstrously frightening in order to tear free from its confines. My monster isn’t some scary creature. It’s just me. The real me.

  “Well, I’m sorry for saying anything.” Glen shake’s her petite head.

  I reach out and touch her shoulder, but when I feel her tense I let go. “No, I—I’m glad to know. I would have loved the store.”

  “Would you have?” Glen’s scrutinizing me so hard she has to close one eye, like that can help her see through me.

  I nod. “Yes. I—I loved his store. I was just talking to Joe and Shane about the fruit and veg—”

  “Do you want a job, Moira?”

  I tilt my head to the side, probably looking like an idiot, because I can’t quite process what Glen’s asking.

  Glen sighs. “Betty and I are old farts now. Can’t keep up. And with that huge twenty-four-hour corporation store that came into town, it’s even harder to keep up. Well, it helped that Betty and I—what do you kids call it?—came out of the closet a couple years ago. Since then we have very loyal gay buyers and some of those hippy dippies like you and your men.”

  I try once more to open my mouth and protest Joe and Shane being my anything, but Glen holds her palm out to me.

  “Listen, girly, I saw the three of you all holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes the way you did. Betty and I pretended to be just friends then just roommates for almost fifty years. And don’t forget we live in a town where not that long ago they killed a young man for being gay. But the point is, you don’t have to pretend nothing with me. I might sound like a judgmental ass, but I’m not. Besides, if I liked men, I’d probably want two as well. I tried to talk Betty into something like that, but…oh never mind.”

  Glen shakes her head and places her hands on the rolling cart with the empty box of bananas. “I’ll give you a few days to think about taking the job, Moira. Call the store with your answer. If you’re anything like Jan, and my guess is you take after him in a lot of ways, then Betty and I are interested in having you around. Maybe take over when we retire. She wants to go to Fiji. Shit, what’s there anyway? Sand? I don’t want my ass full of sand. But that’s what she wants. So we’ll probably go for a few weeks. If she wants to live there then…well, never mind. Just give us a call in the next two days and let me know what you’ve decided.”

  She wheels away, her cart making squeaky noises as she leaves. I can only blink and look at Joe and Shane. Joe’s smiling widely.

  “Do you want a job?” he asks.

  I still have my hands over my heart, and I nod without thinking. Until that very second having a job wasn’t much of a thought of mine.

  Joe rushes closer and hugs me. Shane’s near too, looking excited. And I can’t help but apologize for not saying enough.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t clarify—what we—that we aren’t—”

  It’s Joe who laughs and shakes his head. “I thought it was cool. Kind of kinky. For me, I’ll take being called hippy dippy rather than meanie or Jennifer.”

  I laugh but when I glance at Shane I notice his smile cracking, something more serious and somber under.

  He ambles away, picking up an Emerald Gem. “I’m going to get a few of these for the kids and you.”

  I nod but he’s no longer looking at me, intent on bagging the melons.

  “Hey, here’s a thought,” Joe says. “Shane really is starting a garden at his house. I’m trying to help, but—Moira, why don’t you and the kids come over and see what you think of the garden? Maybe help us plan it out? We’ve never grown anything, but—”

  “Joe and I, as kids,” Shane suddenly interrupts. He sounds nervous while he looks over a cluster of purple carrots. “Probably sounds stupid, but we wanted a garden. Mom was always working. Dad too. Even during the summers my dad would work, trying to become the dean he is now. It’s corny that Joe and I wanted a garden so bad.”

  “I love gardening,” I say a tad breathlessly. “I wanted to grow one at the house…where I live now. But Tony thought it was useless, so…I haven’t grown anything in years. But I’d like to help. If I can.”

  Shane doesn’t look at me but is bagging corn, enough to feed a small country. “Good. We—Joe and I—need the help.”

  There’s enough tension between Shane and I, maybe Shane and the whole world, that I want to duck away, run from this feeling. My heart hurts. I wonder if Shane’s does too. We’d thought it was best to stay away from each other. Now, we’ll be tested. And, god help me, but with people like Glen around, assuming we’re some threesome, it will be the test of my lifetime, because, again god help me, I want that. I want Joe. I love him, I’m pretty sure. And what’s not to love? He’s a soldier and protector who lets me have my way with him. But when it comes to matters of the heart he gives as much as I do. I feel like I have a sense of control over my life when I think of him and me together.

  And then there’s Shane. A man I feel drawn to. This pull is irresistible. But I’m going to
have to resist it. For Joe. And I will do anything for him. But, Shane wants to garden. Well, Joe and Shane want to garden. They both own the truck of my dreams, and thanks to Glen I can’t help but wonder…

  Oh, I’m being silly.

  I push the cart farther away from Shane, pretending to be deeply interested in green peppers.

  Joe’s hand slips along my waist. “You got your color back,” he whispers.

  I smile. “Good.” I’m looking at the vibrant red peppers now. “I must have looked terrible.”

  “You’re always gorgeous, but you didn’t look well. You looked faint.”

  I snort.

  He leans closer, his breath against my ear. “Do you think you’re pregnant?”

  Well, I hadn’t thought of that.

  I blink at the peppers, panicking as I try to calculate when I should be having my period. Next week. No, in a few days, actually—no wonder I’ve been so emotional and crying lately. The point is, I’m not late. Not at all. And I started taking birth control because Joe and I would like to have sex without the condoms. But we’re still using them, knowing the birth control pills aren’t quite effective yet.

  But even with the double use of safety, there’s always a small possibility that…

  “I’ll buy a pregnancy test when Shane’s not looking.”

  I glance up at Joe. He doesn’t look worried or scared. He’s smiling down at me.

  “We’ll just check.”

  I swallow and nod, my heart beating so loudly I worry Shane can hear it.

  24

  Since Joe asked if I was pregnant, I’ve been dying to take the test. Joe bought one of those early detect tests, and I finally have a moment of privacy hours after the grocery store, after picking up my kids, and then driving all the way to Shane’s house.

  I almost fainted again while parking in his drive. Well, faint is a strong word. My vision got a little blurry when I glanced at the small farmhouse, the acres Shane has full of sage brush and wild grass and the wraparound porch with chipped white paint. God, I want to live here. Yes, that was my first thought. Even with my children in the car. Even with Joe not too far away.