by Johnson, Cat
“Ryker. I need you inside me.”
He swallowed, nervous. “My leg has a lot of scars.”
“I don’t care what it looks like. I want you.”
He nodded, unzipping his pants, then he tugged them off, along with his underwear.
Her gaze swept over his entire body, and her eyes darkened with desire. “Come here.”
He crawled over her, then remembered.
“Fuck!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t have any condoms.”
“I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.”
“You sure?” he asks.
She nodded. “Please, Ryker.”
He kissed her fiercely as he lined up at her entrance. Then he broke the kiss and looked her in the eyes as he pushed in.
“Lily,” he gritted out.
This was everything he remembered and more. It felt like home.
“I love you, Ryker.”
He began to move and kiss her neck.
The emotion was almost too much. He’d been bottled up for two years, not allowing anyone in but this woman. She got him. She always had. Now he couldn’t hide anything from her. He didn’t want to.
His gaze met hers. He wanted her to see, to know how he felt about her. “I love you too, Lily. Always and forever.”
She smiled. She remembered. “Always and forever.”
The sensation built in the base of his spine. He couldn’t stop it.
“Shit. Sorry. I told you it would be quick, but I’ll make up for it.”
And then his orgasm hit. He pushed in as far as he could as it shuddered through his body. He stayed there for a few moments, savoring the feel of her all around him before he collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms.
He’d give her a lifetime of orgasms or whatever she wanted as long as she would remain forever his.
Epilogue
Six months later
Ryker swung open the door to the bank with the biggest smile on his face. He spotted Lily and snuck up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Happy Coming Home Day.” He kissed her neck.
Turning in his arms, she said, “Happy Coming Home Day to you too.” She gave him a chaste kiss.
She was at work, so he wouldn’t push.
“Coming Home Day?” Tabitha asked.
“Lily agreed to move in with me. Finally.”
When she’d announced she was moving out of her parents’ place six months ago, Ryker had thought she’d move into his apartment. But she’d insisted they take things slow and date first.
While he understood why she wanted that, it only lasted one week before she was staying over at his place all the time.
Thank god she’d finally accepted his offer to officially move in.
“I’m so happy for you two!” Tabitha said. “Thank you for keeping Lily in town. It has been great working with her.”
“Yes, it has,” he agreed.
“How is your mother taking the news?” Tabitha asked Lily.
It had been no secret how Lily’s mother felt about Ryker. But the woman had warmed up to him lately.
“Better than I had thought. Kate said she talked to her and told her if she didn’t come around, she’d have two estranged daughters.”
Tabitha’s brows lifted. “That was all it took?’
Lily shrugged a shoulder. “I guess so. Mom said she was happy for me.”
“I’m happy for you too,” Tabitha said and gave her a hug. “Have fun moving.”
“Are you ready to go?” Ryker asked Lily.
“Yes, let’s do this!”
They left the bank, grabbed her boxes from Kate’s apartment, and took them to his place.
Well, their place now.
Ryker had suggested they find a new, larger apartment, but Lily wanted them to stay in his. Although she’d grown up with money, his Lily was frugal; he loved that about her.
By the time they’d carried all her boxes inside, he was ready to strip off all her clothes. But Lily insisted on unpacking first. Something about not being able to relax until she’d put everything away.
When she reached for the top drawer of his dresser, he leapt across the room.
“I cleared out the second and third drawers for you.”
“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek.
Sweat formed on the back of his neck. What had he been thinking, hiding the ring in his sock drawer?
He smiled to himself. In a few months, he was going to surprise Lily with a grand proposal. He would have done it already, but it was taking longer to plan than he had expected.
He was thankful all their friends were helping him.
While Lily finished unpacking, he withdrew to the kitchen and poured them each a glass of sparkling apple cider, and then returned to the bedroom.
“Let’s toast,” he said.
She closed the dresser drawer and took a glass from him.
“You have made me the happiest man, Lily. I love you.”
“I love you too, Ryker. Always and forever.”
About the Author
Danielle Pays writes steamy romance novels with a touch of suspense. She enjoys romance as well as mystery and suspense and blends them both using her beloved Pacific Northwest for inspiration with its mix of small towns and cities.
When she’s not writing her characters into some kind of trouble, she can be found binging Netflix shows, trying to convince her children to eat her cooking, or drinking wine after battling said children at dinnertime.
www.daniellepays.com
https://www.subscribepage.com/daniellepays
Bumper Crop
Jessie Harper
Can an old love grow new fruit?
1
Laney
The tomato was not my smartest purchase.
The tomato plant, because there’s not a hint of red and ripe yet, just those fuzzy green leaves and that bitter scent on your hands after you touch them. I have no business buying a tomato plant. But when my mother speaks for the first time all day, talking about growing the juicy red fruit with her father, the silence after makes me desperate. When that’s the clearest, most lucid conversation we’ve had since I came back to Mint Springs? You can bet I’m going to grow a bumper crop of tomatoes.
Knowing nothing about gardening doesn’t stop me from turning into Sullivan’s Nursery. My car seems to pilot itself straight there after I’m done shopping at the Piggly Wiggly. I ignore the ice cream melting in the Georgia heat and start searching for what I want—this magical thing that can bring my mother back to me, if even just a little bit.
“Ma’am?” There’s that dreaded Southern nicety. “Can I help you find something?”
“Yes. Tomatoes. Just point me in the right direction.” I don’t need to linger. I’ve left my mother alone and that’s never a good idea.
“I’d be happy to show you. Any particular variety you’re interested in?” His face is genuinely eager, smiling as he starts to lead me deeper into the rows of plants.
“Variety? Um…”
“We have different ones—for growing in pots, or if you want to use them a certain way.” He can’t be more than sixteen years old, this tomato expert. He’s tall and screams wholesome—blue eyes and russet hair that’s probably gotten him a fair amount of teasing.
“I have no idea about any of that… I just want a tomato plant.” And I want this to be simple. Already I’m starting to sweat a little in the heat, the edges of my hair beginning to curl no matter how hard I’ve worked to tame them straight. The humidity has never annoyed me more than it does now, now that I’m back here under the worst of circumstances.
“I know who you need,” the boy tells me with more confidence than is warranted for tomato plants. He cups his hands around his mouth. “Dad!” It’s aimed at the back of a man deeper in the rows of plants I can’t begin to name.
The same red hair, and when he turns, the same blue eyes. Matthew Sullivan. Matty Sullivan who shou
ldn’t be here in the same way I shouldn’t be here. Older, broader, bearded. The boy from twenty-five summers ago suddenly standing close enough for me to see the way he startles when his eyes lock on mine.
“Laney?” The shocked way he says my name knocks me off-balance. My name on Matty Sullivan’s lips still has the ability to make me lose all sense, apparently.
It also freezes me to the spot, stuck next to what I know to be petunias.
“Laney King back in Mint Springs. Never thought I’d see the day.”
2
Matt
“We had a deal,” Laney hisses at me once we’re out of earshot of my son. We’ve moved farther down the row because there’s no reason for Matthew Edward Sullivan the Third—otherwise known as Trey—to learn he’s been speaking to the woman who should have been his mother.
“I was just about to say the same thing to you.” I don’t look at her. That’s partly to keep this conversation from getting heated and partly because every time I look at Laney I get a punch in the gut. What the hell is she doing here? I can’t manage being so close to those wide brown eyes and all that chestnut hair. It’s shorter than she used to wear it, but I’m almost certain if I lean down I’ll get a whiff of jasmine.
“To me? You’re here, what? Working with your dad? That was not what we decided, Matty. Not even close.”
“Matt. No one calls me Matty anymore. And my dad passed away a few years ago. I own Sullivan’s now.”
One hand comes to her mouth to cover her startled gasp, the other moves to my forearm where her fingers instantly send a jolt of electricity through my entire body.
“I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Laney tears up in a way that’s going to make this look like more than just me helping a customer.
“How would you have known?” I keep my voice low. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be, Laney.” I move my arm back to the plants, shuffling things around like I have purpose. Trying my damndest not to think of that perfect summer when Laney was mine.
“Was he sick? My mother never mentioned anything.”
“Cancer. That’s why I came back. I did everything the way we promised, right up until I couldn’t. Now I’m fine to be the pot, but you’re standing here right next to me, kettle. This better just be a visit.” I take a chance and look her full in the face. That’s a mistake because, even now, Laney King is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“I’m here for a while. My mom’s… she’s... the tomato’s for her.” She gives a little nod like that’s that.
“But you’re supposed to be in New York. Not growing tomatoes in Mint Springs.” And I’m supposed to be in Atlanta. She doesn’t throw that in my face, even though she could.
“I can’t move her. It’s complicated.” She gives a little sigh of resignation. “Now tell me which of these I should buy and I’ll get out of your way.” She turns back toward the tables packed with tomato plants and I notice the bare spot where her wedding ring should be. That doesn’t mean anything, I remind myself. And it doesn’t change anything, either. But I see her eyes flick to my left hand when I reach out to select a plant for her, notice the way her eyebrow raises just a fraction when she sees my ring finger’s naked too.
And that’s enough to make me start having thoughts I shouldn’t about Laney King. There’s a reason we decided to end things twenty-five years ago.
But, for the life of me, right now I can’t remember what it is.
3
Laney
“You’re supposed to stake them,” my mother’s voice cuts through the silence of the morning.
I jump. “Mama, I didn’t know you were out here.”
She’s like a cat the way she sneaks around. Having her loose on the front porch isn’t a big deal until I remember how sure I’d been she couldn’t get the heavy front door open.
“Needs more sun, too. Won’t grow like that.” She’s still in her thin pink nightgown, her curly hair escaping from the ponytail I’d wrestled it into this morning. It’s gone almost entirely gray since she stopped her regular visits to the beauty salon, or, rather, forgot that was something she would normally do. She’s barefoot, tapping the toes of her left foot impatiently as she regards my attempt at gardening.
The tomato lists to one side in the giant pot. I followed Matt’s instructions, still the thing just sort of leans no matter what I do. But it’s finally got my mother talking. It’s not the warm and fuzzy moment I’d hoped for, but it’s communication.
“Should I move it? Water it more?” I wait as my mother considers these options.
“It should be in the ground. Who grows tomatoes in pots?” She scowls a bit at me, dismisses me with a wave of her hand.
“Tell me how you used to grow them, Mama.”
I try to keep her talking, but my mother’s back in her own world, looking out at the edges of the front yard like she can’t even hear me. She hasn’t eaten anything today and I’ve had a time convincing her to drink even a few sips of water.
“Are you ready for a little lunch, maybe? I got pimento cheese. The kind you like.” In reality, the only pimento cheese my mother likes is the kind she makes herself. My grandmother’s recipe. Award-winning, I was always told. But now my mother can’t begin to tell me the recipe, much less make it herself.
“I’ll wait for my daughter. We’re going out to lunch. Celebrating her graduation. I should get my purse.” My mother smiles at me like she would a neighbor, like we’re standing out here exchanging pleasantries before she goes on about her day.
“We’re not going out to lunch, Mama.” I cannot begin to imagine how that would go.
She rolls her eyes. “Well, you and I aren’t going. It’s a special thing for Laney.”
“I am Laney, Mama.” I know it’s useless but I say it anyway. She might be talking, but today isn’t going to be one of her good days.
My mother regards me coolly. “Laney wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that.”
I look down at the ratty tank top and jeans I’m wearing, my feet shoved in plastic flip flops from the pharmacy. Chipped toenail polish winks up at me. She’s right. Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead in this outfit. Three-weeks-ago-Laney would have found it unimaginable she’d be sweating in the sun, her hair in a braid that would rival anything from Little House on the Prairie, wearing the same pants as yesterday. I burst out laughing. It’s more of a giggle at first, but by the time I’m interrupted by the sound of a truck coming up the drive, I’m bent over at the waist, tears streaming down my face.
My mother watches me with vacant eyes. The joke’s lost on her as she waits for teenage me to show up looking prepped and polished for their lunch date. The truck distracts her, but only for a second. She gives it a glance and then goes back to looking up at the trees.
“Sassy King isn’t exactly pageant ready either,” I say under my breath. Growing up, my mother was never without lipstick. Even in a heat wave she’d look put together. Like she’d just had a long nap or a dip in the pool. But today my mother’s about to greet company in her nightgown.
I shield my eyes with my hand to see who’s come all the way out here for a visit. Hardly anyone visits Mama. That’s how it took so long for someone to notice how bad she’d gotten. When she stopped going out people forgot she was all the way up this long drive by herself.
“Oh,” my mother exclaims. “It’s a man.” She seems both delighted and perplexed by this discovery.
“So it is,” I confirm as I watch Matty Sullivan park in front of the house. “So it is.”
4
Matt
I did not expect to see Sassy King on the front lawn in her nightclothes.
The gown’s long enough to cover most of her, but her arms are bare, and I can see the veins through her paper-thin skin. She’s skinny as a scarecrow and the smile she gives me when I climb out of my truck has me thinking I should have called first. But if Laney’s got a cell phone, I don’t have the number. And even though I stil
l have the Kings’ home number memorized, I couldn’t bring myself to dial their landline.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” I call out to announce myself. Laney’s got her hand partially covering her face, making it impossible for me to judge her reaction. Her mother isn’t bashful about coming out to greet me, though, and she skips through the grass toward me like a little girl.
“Good afternoon, yourself,” she says, tilting her head to one side. Laney definitely resembles her mother, although the wild look in Mrs. King’s eyes—the kind I know from my days with Laney—means nothing but trouble.
“How are you, Mrs. King?”
Her face scrunches up. “Oh, no. Call me Sassy. Elizabeth’s my name but everyone calls me Sassy. Come on up to the house.”
I follow reluctantly behind. I’ve known Laney’s mother forever, and while I haven’t seen her in a few years, I would’ve thought she’d recognize me. Laney stays where she is on the porch, another sign of trouble.
“Well, this is a surprise.” Laney doesn’t sound like it’s the good kind. I’m not Christmas presents under the tree as much as discovering your puppy’s peed on the carpet.
“Thought I’d come out and see how your tomato’s doing.” It’s an excuse and she knows it, but ever since she showed up at the nursery I haven’t been able to think of anything else but Laney King. Just that one little hitch of her eyebrow has me reliving all sorts of moments I’d done my best to forget. Now the past won’t let me go so I’ve decided to meet it head on.
I can already tell that isn’t going to have the effect I’d hoped.
“That thing’s never going to grow,” Laney’s mother says. “She doesn’t know the first thing about it.”
