Confessions of a Small-Town Girl

by Christine Flynn

  “I was just thinking you shouldn’t dismiss something like that,” he murmured, lowering his head to kiss the furrows in her brow.

  Breathing in the clean scent of her hair, he heard her faint, “Oh.”

  “I was thinking about what I want, too.” With his fingers splayed over the back of her head, her hair spilling over his hands, he brushed his lips over her forehead once more.

  Kelsey lifted her palm to his chest. His breath felt warm against her skin. Almost as warm as she felt inside at the restrained need in his touch. She wasn’t going to worry about how right he might be about missed opportunities, or even how she should be rejecting the notion. With that need drawing her, all she cared about just then was discovering what mattered to him.

  “What is it you want?”

  She felt the warmth of his breath on her temple. The brush of his lips followed, causing crazy little shivers to race from her neck to the base of her spine. But just when she thought he might carry that featherlight touch to her mouth, he drew back far enough to see her eyes.

  “For you to kiss me first.” His finger traced the fullness of her lower lip, then tugged down to touch the moist membrane just inside. “You’re not the only one who has fantasies, you know.”

  She should have known he would bare no more of his soul than he already had. Yet any disappointment she might have felt succumbed to the shameless anticipation skimming along her already sensitized nerves.

  She wasn’t a bold woman. Not when it came to men. She’d never made the first move. Never taken the lead. But what she did as she reached up and curved her palm over the hard edge of his jaw wasn’t about boldness. It was about letting him know he had come to mean something far more to her than just a long-ago memory.

  “I can do that,” she told him, and raised up on tiptoe to touch her mouth to his.

  Surrounded by darkness, she did as he had done the first time. And, as that first time, the brush of their lips led to the touch of his tongue to hers and the liquid heat that flowed through her like warm honey. As before, their breath mingled while his arms slipped around her. As before, she flowed against him, curving her arms around his neck, breathing in the masculine scents of musk and spice. That breath seemed to catch, then escaped on a sigh as her breasts brushed the unyielding wall of his chest.

  It shouldn’t have seemed so natural. It shouldn’t have seemed as if they’d been kissing each other forever. Yet, that was how it felt to her as his hands skimmed down her back, wrapping her in his warmth and coaxing her closer when she was already as close as she could get.

  It’s just a kiss, she told herself.

  Liar, her conscience whispered back. It was so much more than a kiss. It was the first time in her life she felt as if she belonged right where she was. It was the first time she’d felt as if she would die if a man let her go. The sensations he elicited as his hands shaped her body and their breathing grew shallow touched her heart with his tenderness and everything else with a heat that softened her in some places, tightened her in others.

  She also knew that in less than thirty-six hours, she would have to leave.

  The thought squeezed hard at her heart, made her cling a little more desperately.

  A moan caught in her throat.

  He seemed to drink that small sound, then coaxed another from her when his hand curved beneath her breast. She longed to have him touch her there. The deeper he drew her into their kiss, the more that longing increased. When his hand eased up, the feel of him shaping her, teasing the tight bud straining against her bra and her blouse nearly buckled her knees.

  At the hitch of her breath, Sam felt his blood pool low in his groin. It wasn’t enough to feel the shape of her through her clothes. He wanted the barriers gone. He wanted to see her, to know the feel of her skin beneath his palm and the texture of her nipple against his tongue. He wanted July 12, he realized, and edged her back, his mouth still clinging to hers.

  Slipping his hand between them, he slowly started slipping buttons from their holes. There had to be twenty of the impossibly tiny things and impatience tugged hard, but he made himself take his time. He wasn’t some randy teenager with no experience and less control, though she had him feeling that way as he nuzzled his mouth along her jaw, behind her ear and back to taste the willing sweetness of her mouth.

  A raw sort of hunger taunted him as he felt her small hands grip his shoulders and the last button finally gave way. Pushing aside the fabric with the backs of his hands, he curved his fingers around her rib cage and pulled her closer to work the front clasp of her bra.

  The feel of his hands on her bare skin turned the longing inside Kelsey to a deep, burning ache. With his breath hot on her neck, he trailed a path of moist heat to where he gently cupped one breast. Lifting its weight, he edged aside thin lace and carried the teasing caress of his lips to its center. She’d never felt anything as exquisite as the rough heat of his tongue. Or so she thought before his free hand dug into her hip and he pressed her hard against the bulge straining behind his zipper.

  Her breath caught as he groaned. Through the haze of mind-numbing sensation it occurred to her, vaguely, that she had absolutely no sense of caution where this man was concerned. None of her usual reserve existed around him. None of the sensibilities that would have made her question what she was doing standing in a meadow with her blouse hanging off her shoulders in the moonlight with a man she would never see once she left.

  She had no idea where her restraint had gone. But she knew exactly what Sam was doing. He was acting out the little scenario in her diary. The one where he’d taken off her blouse and they’d been skin to skin in the moonlight. The one where he’d shown her…everything.

  “Kelsey.” He’d pulled her against him, his lips vibrating against the shell of her ear as he whispered her name. “Do you have any protection?”

  She felt herself go still a moment before she shook her head. Her voice thready, she whispered, “No. I… No,” she repeated, making it clear she was as unprepared as he apparently was to see that fantasy through.

  Her response had his body going as motionless as hers in the moments before he sucked in a lungful of the cooling night air. Blowing it out, he pulled his hands from beneath her blouse and wrapped her in his arms. “In that case,” he said, his voice husky, “I think we’d better slow down.”

  Dragging in a deep breath, too, she let her forehead fall against his chest. With her hands curled against his shirt, she could feel the hammering of his heart, and the deep, deliberate rise and fall of his chest as he sought to calm the hunger she’d felt coursing through him. That hunger had fed her own. Knowing he wanted her as badly as she did him made it almost impossible for her to believe it was better that they stop. Almost. As the night sounds began to register, she realized she had just been handed the best chance she had to protect her heart.

  Part of her ached to her core to know the feel of him. But another part, the part she had to live with, knew she was already in trouble where Sam was concerned. And the last thing in the world she wanted was to fall in love with a man who couldn’t love her back.

  She lifted her head, felt him shift against her as he lifted his own.

  “Will I see you in the morning?” she asked.

  For a moment, he said nothing. He just took another long breath and reluctantly eased one shoulder of her blouse back into place.

  “I don’t think so. My uncle is picking me up at five-thirty to help him deliver a load of calves,” he finally told her. “It’s going to take all day.”

  She lifted her chin, swallowed her disappointment. “Then I won’t see you before I go.”

  “No.” He spoke the word quietly, deliberately, as if he knew they were ending it all right there.

  The thought that he didn’t seem to mind letting her go jerked hard at her heart. Then, he touched her hair, letting his fingers slide the length of it as if memorizing its feel before he turned his attention to fastening the buttons he’d undo
ne.

  “But keep my offer to help you with the mill in mind. And if you do decide to come back,” he murmured, “I’ll be better prepared for us both.”

  Kelsey was a logical person. A reasonable person. At least, she considered herself so. But it seemed to her that logic had gone the way of the dodo and reason hadn’t come into play lately at all. By the time she’d left Maple Mountain thirty-six hours later, however, she felt certain that her common sense would surface by the time she reached Phoenix, and that thoughts of Sam and the mill would give way to more practical concerns.

  Common sense had apparently evaporated, too. Sam and the mill were still resolutely stuck in her mind nine hours, two connections and a bumpy landing later.

  She didn’t believe for an instant that she and Sam had any sort of future together. No matter how tempting, and despite her earlier penchant to romanticize where he was concerned, she wouldn’t let herself even begin to contemplate possibilities in that direction. The life he’d chosen was the antithesis of everything she needed, and he guarded his heart too carefully for the kind of relationship she craved. But he had refused to let her keep her old dreams about the mill buried. He hadn’t pointed out all the reasons buying it wouldn’t work. He hadn’t enumerated all the things that could go wrong. He had encouraged her, helped her find solutions, and had her seriously questioning what she had insisted couldn’t be done.

  Without those barriers, she was again exploring possibilities. And because the possibility of making the mill work existed, the spark of enthusiasm he’d ignited refused to be extinguished.

  That die-hard spark was still glowing under a whole bushel basket of doubt when she let herself into her apartment, dropped her travel bag inside the door and opened the drapes to let in the early evening light.

  The drapes were still swaying as she stood by the living-room window, dispassionately studying the orderly space with its deep sage sofa full of fat pillows and vintage art photos on the walls. A scene of wildflowers added soft shades of yellow and lavender to the wall above a small walnut dining table and chairs. With its creams, taupes and greens, its comfortable fabrics and uncluttered feel, the apartment was as serene as she’d been able to make it.

  Everything she owned would fit perfectly in the miller’s quarters. She could envision it all there now with the windows open to a view of a meadow and the sound of a creek drifting inside.

  She had no time to worry about how carried away she was getting before she noticed the light blinking on her answering machine.

  She had seventeen messages. Half of those would be from charities wanting her usable discards. Most of the rest she discovered as she scrolled through the numbers on the caller ID were from her boss at the resort and Doug wanting her to call as soon as she returned. One was from her friend, Amber, the sauce chef who lived in the next unit over wanting her to do the same so she could meet her for a drink.

  After calling her mom as promised to let her know she’d arrived safely, she called Amber. Amber was her girl’s-night-out buddy. The California native, a transplant like herself, could talk for hours about anything and could fill her in on all she’d missed at work. But Amber wasn’t home. Since no one knew Kelsey was back yet, she left the other calls unreturned—which left her with little to do other than unpack while she tried to not think about a man with incredible hands, and wonder where she could learn to grind flour.

  Remembering a specialty mill in Oregon she ordered flours from, she idly speculated about whether or not its owner would be willing to talk to her and give her a tour.

  Morning brought no respite from her mental tug-of-war.

  She awoke wondering if Sam had gone to the diner for breakfast, then rolled over and buried her head under her pillow when she remembered she had to call her boss. And Doug.

  She was no closer to a decision now than she’d been when she’d left for Maple Mountain a week ago. All the time she should have spent weighing the pros and cons of each offer had gone to Sam and contemplating what had somehow grown from a wish in her diary into another option for a career.

  The fact that she was actually considering it a viable alternative had her throwing off the covers and climbing from bed.

  There was only one way she could think of to put the matter of the mill to rest. That was to call a Realtor in St. Johnsbury, since they didn’t have one in Maple Mountain, and ask him or her to find out which bank held the property and if they would sell it. If they weren’t interested, or the price was too high, she could stop obsessing about it.

  The Realtor returned her call as she was getting out of the shower. Since it was barely eight o’clock, she hadn’t yet called her boss or Doug. Not that she knew what she would say to either of them. But with the time difference, it was eleven o’clock in Vermont and the Realtor hadn’t wasted a minute of his potential commission.

  The bank was indeed interested in getting rid of the property it had carried on its books for years. They were also more than willing to negotiate the price.

  Still wrapped in a towel, Kelsey sank to the edge of her bed. The whole idea of throwing away certain security was crazy. Insane. It also put a knot in her stomach the size of a lemon.

  “I’ll call you back,” she said, and hung up.

  Standing, she nudged back the towel wrapped turban-style around her head, crossed her arms over the one wrapped tightly around her body, stared at the instrument and sat back down.

  Vacillating between panic and anticipation, she picked the phone back up, took a deep breath and called directory assistance for Ted and Janelle Collier’s number, since she didn’t know if the trailer had a phone or how it would be listed if it did. Even as she listened to the line ring, she told herself that if she couldn’t reach Sam fairly soon, or if he sounded at all hesitant hearing from her, then the whole idea simply wasn’t meant to be.

  She had no trouble at all reaching his aunt, who said she’d be happy to give Sam a message to call. Mrs. Collier also told her that having him call back really wasn’t necessary. He was right there having lunch. He’d just helped his uncle weld in a new milk tank, and the two men would be heading for Maple Mountain soon to install the cabinets in Megan’s new kitchen. They’d been delivered yesterday.

  Kelsey was trying to calculate the odds of having caught him there when she heard his deep voice in her ear.

  “Kelsey.” A note of concern underscored his tone. “Is everything okay?”

  That quick concern was unexpected. So was the tug of longing she felt at the sound of it. “Everything’s…a little unsettled,” she admitted, missing him already. “I’ve been thinking about the mill. I just need to know how long you think it would take to make the upstairs livable.”

  They had never discussed how long refurbishing would take. All they’d talked about was what needed to be done. If he thought it would take longer than a month for her to move in, she told herself, she would take that as a clear sign that the venture wasn’t meant to be. He had only that long after he finished his sister’s house and before he left Maple Mountain to help her, and she would want to be in her own place before he did.

  “That depends on what you mean by livable. If you don’t mind the noise of a generator and having cords running to your appliances and ancillary lights while the plumbing and wiring are brought up to code…a couple of weeks.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Unless there are problems with getting materials,” he qualified. “The windows aren’t a standard size, but Sheetrock, insulation and paint shouldn’t be a problem.” He hesitated. “Why?’

  Because I can’t stop thinking about this. Because I can’t stop thinking about you, either, she thought, but banished the admission as quickly as it formed.

  “Because I might need to take you up on your offer.” She gripped the phone a little tighter. “If you’re still available.”

  She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say. It was entirely possible that in the three days since she’d seen him,
he’d committed himself to something else. Or that he’d lost his enthusiasm for her project.

  “I told you I would be. When will you know for sure?”

  She didn’t allow herself to consider how she felt about the smile in his voice. With the timing obstacle cleared, her thoughts jumped to a few of the other minor details looming in her path. A major lack of knowledge about milling, for one. And lack of a business plan. And a plan for marketing and distribution. Real, solid, flow-chart-and-cost-analysis plans. Not the sort of castle-in-the-sky speculation she’d done talking with him.

  She needed to get on the phone and the internet. She needed to call the mill in Oregon. She would talk to her industry friends who’d gone out on their own in their various endeavors. If she ran into a snag anywhere along the way, she would put the idea to rest forever.

  “Kelsey?”

  “I’m still here.” Any snag at all, she emphasized to herself. “Sorry,”

  A chuckle came over the line, the sound rich, deep and strangely knowing. “Which are you doing? Trying to talk yourself into it, or out of it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you want my advice?”

  “Please.”

  “Ask yourself where you’re happiest.”

  The advice might have surprised anyone else who knew Sam. It didn’t surprise Kelsey at all. She knew he lived by it. And he was happiest avoiding all the things he didn’t want to think about.

  “Then what do I do?”

  “Go with your gut.”

  “My gut is in knots.” Those knots kept getting bigger by the second, too. “I just can’t tell if they’re knots of excitement or terror.”

  He chuckled again. “You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Just remember how much you’ve always wanted this. And stop second-guessing yourself.”

  She took a deep breath, quietly blew it out. “I’ll try.”

  His voice went flat. “You don’t try to do something like that,” he chided. “You let your instincts take over and just do it.”

  He made it sound so simple. As if all a person had to do was flip a switch and some sixth-sense would kick in. But, then, she supposed, he’d undoubtedly had a lot of practice letting his instincts take the lead. That, and the man had to be fearless to begin with. He took risks constantly in his line of work. She’d never taken a real risk in all her life.