by Lainey Reese
The sauce Jax had made was bright and alive with flavors—garlic, basil, and it had a bit of a bite to it from the crushed red pepper he sprinkled in. As she took a delicate sip of the red blend wine that paired with the meal beautifully, she eyed him over her glass. “So, I’m not trying to be sexist, but seriously. This is amazing. How did you get so good?”
He sipped his own wine and then wiped at his lips with one of the cloth napkins he found from God knows where before answering. “In college, since pizza got old after a week, I picked up a cookbook from the library.” He smiled at her and took another sip before continuing. “If I’m being perfectly honest, I loitered in that cookbook aisle for a good hour waiting on a girl to see I was hungry and come rescue me. Can’t begin to tell you how crushed I was when that didn’t happen.”
“Oh, I bet.” Andie laughed, fully enjoying him and his story.
“Alas, no beautiful undergrad with culinary skills saved me, so I grabbed a book that had lots of pictures and took my starving ass to the grocery store.” The sun was setting, and the dining room table was awash in the red-golden rays streaming in from the window. As Andie savored every bite of the food and sip of the wine, she also savored the company of her dining companion.
“And what was your first attempt?” she asked him while her head got as soft and fuzzy as the light filling the room.
“Pot roast. It seemed a safe choice, and I didn’t think too much could go wrong,” he answered.
“Let me guess. Flavorless and tough as a dried-out old shoe, right?” she asked, remembering every pot roast she ever attempted to cook.
“It was delicious.” When Andie looked at him with eyebrows raised, Jax held up his hand like a boy scout. “Honest. Everybody on my floor at the dorm was beating down my door, trying to get some.”
“That is just not fair.” She stabbed a slice of Italian sausage that had been seared to crispy perfection and shook it at him in mock-anger. “I’m a wretched cook. Dismal. And I have a zillion cookbooks too. But you get it right from your very first meal?” She grunted at the unfairness of the universe and plopped the food in her mouth with an angry snap of teeth.
“I was just as surprised as you. But cooking is just math. I’m a tax guy. Numbers and equations, that’s my sweet spot. Math always make sense and just adds up.” He waved a hand, flushed a little, and Andie was charmed to see him get flustered by her obvious admiration. “It’s a quarter-cup of this and a half-cup of that. And if the roast weighs this much, you need to cook it at that temp for this long per pound. See? Math.” Then he shrugged as though it were the simplest thing in the world.
“Well,” Andie said and lifted her glass to toast him. “I am impressed. You are a man of rare talent, sir, and my hat’s off to you. Feel free to come cook for me as often as you like.”
“I might just take you up on that.” Then he clinked his glass to hers, and the two of them moved on to other topics and finished their meal as the sunset turned to twilight.
Andie didn’t remember her plans with Luke until she heard the sound of his truck door slamming just outside the front door. “Oh crap.” She looked at Jax over the rim of her wine glass and was at a loss for what to say. “Umm. Sorry about this” was all she got out before her screen opened and Luke walked in.
Why, Andie wondered, does it hurt my heart to see he showered and changed for our meeting? She was still mad at him for the mean things he said out at the fence this afternoon. She shouldn’t be feeling guilty about anything. But she was. She felt awful for forgetting their plans, and the feeling only intensified when she saw his expression harden as he saw her with Jax.
“Well, shit.” It wasn’t until he dropped his hands at his sides that she noticed the flowers. A lovely simple bouquet of gerbera daisies in bright, sunny colors was in danger of getting demolished as he tapped them against his thigh. Andie pushed to her feet and rushed to their rescue. “Hello, Luke.” She met his eyes briefly, and the look on his face caused her cheeks to burst into flames. “Are those for me?” she asked as she reached him and motioned to the trembling blooms. She smiled a little to see his rough, worn boots covered in a rainbow of petals.
“Uh. Yeah.” With a flush of his own, Luke thrust the flowers at her and glared to where Jax calmly continued to sit and sip at his wine. “I was an ass earlier. I thought these would help. Did you forget you already had a date for dinner tonight?”
“I’m afraid I did.” She looked at him as she brought the flowers up to her chest. “After what happened in the field, I was upset. Then Jax offered to fix me dinner.” She took a deep breath scented with the earthy tang of fresh-cut blooms and admitted, “I should have called and told you directly that I didn’t want to talk to you, let alone go out. Not calling was rude of me. I’m sorry; I would have called if I’d remembered.”
“Hey.” Jax pushed up from the table and started toward her. “He was a prick, Andie. You don’t owe him an apology.”
“Sit your ass back down, Jax. And shut the hell up.”
When Jax’s expression turned thunderous and he looked as though he was going to wade into the battle Luke was spoiling for, Andie held her hands up. “Stop.” She glared at Luke and Jax alike. “This is not going to happen. Jax, please. I appreciate you wanting to stand up for me, but really, it’s not necessary. And you—” She jabbed a finger in Luke’s direction. “—will remember whose house you are in and treat my guests with respect or you can turn around and leave.”
With arms folded over his chest, Luke sent Jax a last murderous glare then asked Andie, “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”
“Sure. Let me set these down.” When she turned to lay the flowers on the table, she sent a non-verbal apology to Jax and mouthed, I’ll be quick, before following Luke out the door.
Luke felt like he’d just been gut-punched. Walking in and seeing her with Jax was too familiar of a feeling, and he wanted nothing more than to shove his fist through the pansy’s face. Talk about history repeating itself.
“Luke.” Andie looked at him with solemn eyes and a slight tremble to her bottom lip. “I am sorry I didn’t think to call. To be honest, even if I had remembered, I would have thought our little scene in the yard would have made it clear I wasn’t interested in seeing you tonight.” She paused for a moment then added, “Or ever again, for that matter.”
“Shit, Andie.” If she had kicked him, he wouldn’t have been more surprised. Or hurt. “Don’t say that.” He reached out to her, but she stepped back before he made contact, and he let his hand drop. “I’m sorry. I keep fucking up with you. The one person on the planet I don’t want to piss off.” As he hoped, that won him a small smile.
“This just isn’t going to happen, Luke. You and I just weren’t meant to be friends. Why don’t you leave the papers here, and I’ll go over your offer with Jax?” At the name, Luke felt his guts tighten and had to force himself to unclench his fists and take a calming breath before he spoke. “No. That’s not gonna work for me.”
“What isn’t going to work?” she asked, and Luke felt a large part of his anger defuse. Andie had a way of quirking an eyebrow that made the entire thing disappear into her bangs while the other one just tilted up on the tail end, and it gave her such a charming expression that he almost lost his train of thought.
“You are right about one thing. We aren’t meant to be friends.” Luke stepped right up to her until he could feel the tips of her breasts against his chest, and her breath feathered his neck as she looked up at him with wide eyes. “Not by a long shot.” He lowered his head, testing himself as well as her reaction. A little closer now, she wasn’t drawing back, and he took that as a good sign and brushed his nose along hers, just a hint, a tease as her breathing increased.
“I know the taste of you,” he told her, his lips so close he could feel the warmth of his words as they floated against her mouth. Felt the cool wind as she parted her lips and took a soft gasp at his intimate reminder. “I lie in bed at night an
d, without even trying, that taste fills my mouth. Floods my senses and makes me crave you. Makes me wish I savored you that night. Drank you down like fine wine instead of like a frat boy at his first kegger.”
Closer. He stepped closer now as the memories and his nightly musings melded together with the delicious reality of her in the flesh and right in front of him. Her breasts flattened against him, and he rested his forehead to hers as he went on. “I want another shot, Andie. I want more. More from your sweet lips.” A kiss, so swift and light he wouldn’t even know they touched if she hadn’t gasped. “More from your beautiful body that makes me hard every time I see you. Or think about you.” Another kiss. Another sweet gasp. “We can take care of the sale all on our own. We don’t need the asshole for that. We can even take care of it in bed. After.”
Luke wasn’t prepared for the ice-cold instant withdrawal his last statement caused. He was going in finally for the full kiss he’d been starving for, when she nailed him in the gut with a tiny, rock-hard fist as she jerked her head back.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded in outrage while Luke rubbed his stomach and stared at her. Baffled.
“What was that for?” he asked. “What got into you?”
“Who does that?” She looked truly dismayed, and for the life of him, Luke hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. When he just looked at her blankly as he tried to figure out what had gone wrong, Andie lost it.
“Are you such a jackass that you don’t even know what you did?”
“Jackass?” Now, Luke was getting a little steamed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “What could you possibly be upset with now?” he asked.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, only he was too riled to be charmed by her. “You don’t get it. Do you? God! Why do I keep letting my guard down with you? You seriously expect me to believe you weren’t deliberately and blatantly trying to seduce the farm away from me?”
“What?” He couldn’t have been more surprised. “Where the hell did that come from? What gave you that idea?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Arms crossed and that eyebrow gone again, only this time he was too pissed to appreciate it. “Maybe because you just told me we can sign the papers in bed.” A glare. “After.”
“Now, hold on a damn minute,” he said as his words came back to him minus the fog of desire, and he again wanted to kick his own ass. “You took that all wrong, and if you take a minute to cool off, you’d know that yourself. I’m not a complete ass.”
“Yes, you are. And no. No, I’m done. You need to leave now, Luke.”
“Fuck that, Andie. We need to talk.”
“No, we really don’t.” Her look was cold and stony.
“Yes, Andie, we do.” He took a chance and stepped close again. This time, she backed up and held out a hand in warning to keep his distance.
“I’m not asking you, Luke. I’m telling you. Go home.”
“No. Andie—”
“I think you better leave, Luke.” Jax stepped out onto the porch and stood with his feet spread and his posture braced. “Now.”
No way in hell he’d let Jax fucking Blake order him around. Luke stabbed a finger in his direction. “Get your ass back inside, Blake, before I kick it for you.”
“Oh for the love of God.” Andie was clearly exasperated. “I told you to remember whose house you are in, Baxter,” she said, placing herself directly between them. “Leave. Now, before I call the sheriff.”
“Shit, Andie.” Luke couldn’t believe things had escalated that drastically or that quickly. He couldn’t believe things had gone so bad with her… again. “This isn’t over, Andie. I’ll go, because the last thing I want is to upset you all over again. But this is not over. Not by a long shot.” Then, with a last glare at Jax, he got his ass out of there before he forgot his good intentions and worked his frustrations out by pounding on the other man for a while.
He drove away with both his thoughts and his guts churning, while in the rearview mirror he watched Jax wrap his arm around Andie with the night sky twinkling to life behind them.
For the next three weeks, life settled into a grueling yet wholly satisfying routine for Andie. Jax became a regular visitor, showing up at least twice a week to fix dinner. Since Logan was usually there, he would normally join them, so the atmosphere was always relaxed and friendly.
Andie worked all day. Every day. She remembered this from her frequent childhood visits; there were no weekends or holidays when you lived on a farm. It was a never-ending parade of chores that recycled themselves faster than she could keep up. Amazingly, she was keeping up though. She had a suspicion she wasn’t doing as great as it appeared she was. Thanks to Logan. He always denied it, but she was positive he was taking on a lot of her chores. Like the fencing. When she worked up the nerve to try to face it again, the entire fence had been patched. He denied knowing anything about it, but she’d given his paycheck a nice bonus regardless. That wasn’t the only thing either. Every day, there were chores that were her responsibility already completed before she got to them, and although he continued to deny any knowledge about it, she knew it had to be him.
Although the orchard wasn’t huge by some standards, Andie decided to hire out another full-time field hand. Logan argued that they were doing a good job on their own, but Andie was very afraid she just couldn’t keep up, and she couldn’t expect him to always be picking up so much of her share. Logan brought his young friend Abram to meet her. He was a boy from the neighboring Amish community, and Andie was charmed by his thick accent and shuffling shyness from the start, so she offered him a job on the spot.
Abram was quiet and kind, and Andie felt a sort of warm affection for the young man. He worked hard and never uttered a word of complaint, no matter how grueling the work or how long the day. Her uncle had several close friendships within their community and had a deep respect for their way of life. He used Abram regularly to help out around the farm, and the boy was more than grateful to be back and on a full-time basis now. Working side by side with Abram, Andie was reminded daily of why her uncle carried such an affection for the Amish. He was such a calm and kind person, with a quiet air of competence about him that always put her at ease.
“Abram?” she asked him one lovely morning in the orchard. “Is it all right for me to ask you about things in your life? I don’t want to accidentally offend you or anything.”
His pleasant face flushed at that before he answered. “Miss Andie, you can ask me anything you like. A lot of people are closed off about our life and don’t want our secrets getting out, but I’m not like that.”
“Really?” Andie was intrigued by his forthright answer, considering how stoic and monosyllabic he usually was. “Why is that?”
“I think most of the elders in my community are so set on protecting and preserving our way of life that they just get a little carried away in the guarding part of it all. We can still lead a simple, God-fearing life and make friends with outsiders at the same time.”
“I take it your elders don’t share that belief?” she asked.
“Not that I’ve seen.” He took his hat off and used a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I had my rumspringa and took the time to explore not just America but other countries and cultures at the same time.”
“You did?” Andie was seriously impressed. He looked completely the part of an innocent Amish young man, and yet from what he just said, he was more worldly and well-traveled than she was.
“Yes. I did,” he answered, and when he saw the obvious impression his news made on her, he flushed a deep rose. “I’ve always been curious about other cultures. I’ve always wanted to know what would have happened to our way of life if we had let modern things and progress into it the way others have. You understand?” he asked.
Andie was floored. As he spoke, the shy, timid boy melted under the heat of a topic he was obviously passionate about. What stood before her now was a man, confident and pr
oud as he spoke from his heart.
“I visited the reservations of Native Americans first, as that is the sad tale told to us most often by our elders as a story of caution. A warning of what letting our guard down will bring. Then, I went to countries like China and Japan, who are famous for their strong traditions, to see how well those traditions have stood the test of technology and progress.” He shook his head, and a look of sadness stole over his expression. “In my eyes, I saw not traditions as a valued way to live and raise your children, but rather as a tourist trade to sell to foreigners.”
He shook his head again briefly. “There are wondrous things in your world, Miss Andie. Wondrous and miraculous things that are so beautiful as to weep over them. And conveniences so abundant as to make my head spin. But… the cost those things come at?” He looked her straight in the eye, and again, Andie saw not a boy but the man he was becoming. “No. Our way of life may be harder than yours in some ways. But I would not see my mother teach my daughter how to make a quilt as fine as hers so that it can be sold to hang on a wall, while the people who bought it sleep under blankets mass produced by machines. No. Mother will teach her, so she will learn how to keep her own family warm someday. That is the way I believe it should be.”
“That’s a beautiful way of looking at it,” Andie told him, moved beyond reason by his words and the images he painted in her mind. “I’ve never thought about it like that before.”
“I saw people of beautiful cultures perform the traditions of their ancestors for onlookers, and I wondered how many of them practiced these stunning rituals at home in their everyday life? I watched, sad in my heart, as after the performances, these beautifully attired natives would don the clothes of the modern man and put the clothes of their heritage away like they were nothing more than costumes. I knew then that would never be me. Not if I could help it.” Abram stooped to lift the branches he pruned while talking and tossed them into the wheelbarrow. “Now, I know you must be thinking of all the lovely quilts we have at our marketplace down the road a’ways. We do sell our wares and goods as well. The difference that must be pointed out is that they are not the trappings of our past nor the discarded ideals of those who came before us. We are as we always have been. My mother sells the same wares her grandmother and great-grandmother did before her, and when she goes home for the day, it’s to the same house and in the same fashion—by horse-drawn buggy.”
