Broken Ground: (Broken Series Book 1) (36 page)

I SQUINTED TO
make out the outline of the woman I loved in the fading light. I couldn't believe she was really here, that she was willing to even look at me much less seek me out. My chest tightened at the sight of her, and the bottom fell out of my stomach when I realized she'd heard every word Gran and I had said.

I supposed that made us even for me listening in on her conversation with Keith at the gala.

I was torn between running to her and fucking crawling. I'd do whatever it took to win her back, pride be damned.

More muttering came from beside me and I impatiently shushed Gran, who huffed at me in response but said nothing more as we made our way to where she stood. When we were a few yards away, Gran pulled away from me and held her arms out to Ali saying, "Hey, baby girl. I'm so glad to see you." She wrapped Ali in a tight embrace.

They stood there hugging and rocking side to side in that unfathomable way women often did. Men treat hugs like a trip to the dentist, get in and get the hell out. Women treat them like a day at the spa, drawing it out and taking great pleasure in it like it somehow fed their souls.

Then again, maybe it did.

From the way Gran was squeezing her, it was obvious that she loved Ali too. The thought made me smile through my uneasiness. You had to be something special to win over Gran, but I'd known Ali was special from day one.

Wondering if they'd forgotten I was there, I cleared my throat and gave Ali my best smile. She glanced at Gran and smiled back. It was a tentative smile, but I wasn't splitting hairs. I didn't quite know what to do with my hands. I wanted to hug her to me, pull her in close so I could feel her heartbeat against my chest and smell the sweet scent of her dark hair, but I couldn't do that yet. I fidgeted for a minute, crossing and uncrossing my arms as I debated and then discarded the idea of offering her my hand. Stupid. This wasn't a fucking business meeting. This was my future, my heart.

In the end, I shoved my hands in my pockets and tried not to glare at Gran, who was highly amused by my discomfort. "Hello, Ali. You look beautiful today." Yep, if that was the best I could come up with, I was screwed.

She eyed me warily and nodded. "Thanks. You look like shit."

Gran chuckled and patted my arm. "I can see you two want to be alone so I'll see myself out." She blew Ali a kiss and shuffled off toward the house. When she'd gotten about thirty yards away, she yelled, "Spencer is taking me home tonight, but I'll come back here and kick both your asses if I have to, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Ali and I said in unison.

I arched a brow at her and took a shot. "You're scared of a little old lady, aren't you?"

She nodded briskly, fighting a smile. "Hell yeah, I am."

Wait a damn minute.

Pointing in the direction where my rotten, bossy, amazing grandmother had just gone, I frowned. "Hang on, did she say Spencer was taking her back?" Ali's forehead crinkled, and she nodded. "As in, she didn't drive to Denson herself?"

Still not understanding, Ali frowned. "I guess not. Spencer's truck was parked in the driveway beside yours, but I didn't see him anywhere. Why?"

He's gonna fucking kill her!

Ali jumped when I roared with laughter. Damn, I wanted to be a fly on the wall when he got his hands on that old woman. Gasping for air, I finally got out, "She stole his fucking truck! He'd never in a million years let her drive that truck. Right now he's at the cabin cussing her for all he's worth, I'd bet my life on it. She can barely keep her little car between the lines, much less a huge dually like his." I wiped my eyes. "She probably drove all the way over here like Mr. Magoo."

Ali laughed with me, looking shocked and a little impressed.

When we finally got hold of ourselves I reached out my hand, hoping like hell she didn't slap it away. She hesitated, looking uncertain, so I prodded, "It's just a hand. I thought we could go sit under the tree, and I'd try my damnedest to explain myself." I held my breath and let her study me, her eyes wary but her body shifting closer in that unconscious way it always did. I caught her eye and whispered, "Please, Ali."

If someone had told me six months ago that I'd be begging a woman just to take my hand, I'd have laughed in their face. What a difference a few months and your future standing in front of you could make.

Ali haltingly extended her hand and I enveloped it in mine as my heart squeezed in my chest. We walked over to the willow, a spot I'd begun to think of as ours, and sat beneath its cascading limbs. Ali left some space between us but turned toward me so that our knees nearly touched on an angle. I wished she hadn't taken her hand away as we sat, the loss of contact felt like a blow.

Trying not to once again dwell on what I didn't have, I decided to be thankful she was here at all. We both folded our arms around our knees and sat watching each other, neither sure where to begin. Deciding I'd done enough damn listening for one day, I started. "Ali, I'm so sorry for not being honest with you. I'm sorry for being a coward. And I'm really sorry you had to hear it all from Cruella de Bitch."

I didn't know what to address first, didn't know if I could even articulate it all, but I had to try. I had to fight. For Ali, for me, for peace. I cleared my throat, deciding I'd start with me. It all started with me. I pointed out at the water glancing over to be sure she was looking. "When I was twelve, I was convinced there were monsters in that lake. My mother tried and tried to get me to get in the water with her, begged me to let her teach me to swim, but I refused. I was scared. I'd nearly drowned when my father tried to teach me to swim 'the man's way', and just the thought of jumping in made me want to hurl. He took a lot of pleasure in making me afraid of the water. I think it was his way of hurting us both." Memories of his mocking sneer made me tense up, but I kept talking. "The last time I was here with my mom, I could tell it bothered her that I didn't trust her to keep me safe in the water. I think it hurt her feelings, but she didn't pressure me. Instead, she floated on her back and drank in the summer sun with a peaceful smile on her face. I think it was the most peaceful I'd ever seen her."

Ali reached out and touched my knee. "You're Rebecca's son." I bit back the lump in my throat and nodded though it hadn't been a question. "The day I met Gran, while you and Spencer worked things out, she walked me around the property and talked about Rebecca. I think I would have liked her."

"She would have adored you." I drew in a deep breath and sighed. "She left everything to me in her will. I'm pretty sure she was about to leave my father, which was why it all went to me. Gran was trustee and handled everything until I was old enough to take ownership but when the time came, I didn't want it. So technically, it's still in her name but the land is supposed to be mine." I met her gaze and saw the understanding in her eyes. "I didn't ever want to come back here, didn't want to even think about this place and what might have been. If it weren't for Gran pushing the issue, wanting to finish Mom's house, I never would have set foot on this land again." I grasped the hand Ali had laid on my knee and whispered. "I never would have found you."

She squeezed my fingers and asked, "So you weren't keeping it from me because you thought I was like my mother?"

"No, of course not. I didn't have any clue who you were when we first met. How could I? I didn't even look at your resume' or see the names on your emergency contact list. I didn't give a damn about where you came from, I only cared about where you were. Right here in Denson, making my time here so much easier than it would have been without you." I took in a slow breath, watching the fireflies at the edge of the woods across the lake and continued, "I never wanted anyone here to know I was Rebecca's son because small towns have long memories. Her accident was big news here, and I don't like talking about it. Ever. It wasn't a malicious decision, I swear. It was just a matter of privacy."

Her hand trembled slightly in mine, and her voice fell to a whisper. "What about that night at the hospital? Why didn't you tell me it was you?"

God, she sounded so ashamed. A little part of me died every time I thought about her with those bruises, but it wasn't her fault. None of this was her fault. "Baby, I didn't know at first. It wasn't until the gala that I put it all together. By then I was so attached, so dependent on you that I couldn't tell you what I remembered. I was afraid you'd pull away from me. We were only friends then, but I wanted that friendship, I wanted it more than I've ever wanted anything, so I kept quiet."

"So you didn't befriend me because you thought I needed rescuing? Didn't make love to me out of some sick form of pity?" Her voice cracked as she struggled to speak.

"Absolutely not." I shifted closer and put a hand on her chin, forcing her head up so she could see my eyes. "I was already yours when I remembered. You dazzled me, Ali. You made me feel alive and excited and buoyant. I haven't felt like that in so long, I almost didn't recognize myself. You made me whole again." Her emerald eyes shone in the moonlight, beautiful and haunted. "And I don't do pity. I never wanted it from anyone, and I never give it. I hated those damn sympathetic looks I used to get after my mother died. It made me feel broken somehow for people to look at me like that." I nudged her chin higher. "And I'd never look at you that way. You're fucking amazing, Ali. Every part of you, everything about you is extraordinary."

She pulled my hand to her lips, softly kissing the pads of my fingers. "You're not broken, Clay, any more than the tree we're sitting under. The one a hurting little boy took his anger out on because he didn't know how else to deal with losing his mother." My heart skipped in my chest when I realized she's made that connection, though I should have known she would. She saw me, all of me, and still came back for more. That angry boy I'd once been sighed from somewhere deep inside, relieved to find some peace after all this time.

Ali turned and ran her free hand over the rough bark of the willow, smiling softly as she bid me to do the same, but still holding my other hand to her lips. "You stomped it, kicked it, split it in two, and it thrived anyway. It became exactly what it was always supposed to be; strong and steady and beautiful. So will you." She bit down hard on the end of my middle finger, the sharp sting enough to make me jump. Then she smiled sweetly and let go of my hand. "But it'll be your turn to get stomped if you ever lie to me again. I've had all the deception I can take for one lifetime. You want this to work," she pointed back and forth between us. "You have to be straight with me at all times. I want the truth, even when it's unpleasant. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She nodded, smiling at the sheepish look on my face. "Glad we got that settled. What do we do now?"

I raised one eyebrow and winked, which made her laugh, then stood and held out my hands. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you."

She gave me a smiling smirk as I pulled her up. "I bet."

"Not that, silly. At least, not yet anyway." I chuckled and started back toward the path. "I want to show you the piece I've been working on."

THE HANGING WORK
lamp gave off just enough light to illuminate the work area I'd set up in the corner of the barn so I could work on my project while I was on site here in Denson. It was a far cry from my workshop back in Richmond, but I'd managed.

Ali ran her hands over the intricately carved trim that encased the enormous slab of oak that would be the back door to my mother's dream home. "It's beautiful, Clay, absolutely stunning. Is it going in the house?"

I absently brushed some sawdust out of one of the grooves and smiled, excited to share this with her. "It will as soon as I finish. I want the entire piece to be perfect." I nodded to strips of carved wood on the sawhorses off to my left. "Those pieces will be the door casing."

She walked over and examined them. "The wood is antique, isn't it?"

"It's about a hundred years old, give or take." I paused to force a swallow. "It was my mother's antique farm table."

Ali's head jerked up. She looked at me with surprise before returning to her inspection, running her hands over the pieces with reverence. "You held onto it all these years?"

"Gran had it in storage until about ten years ago when my friends and I started our company. Once I had a decent shop to work in, I went and picked it up." I shrugged as I brushed away more sawdust. "I wasn't sure why but I wanted it with me. I never had the heart to break it up and use it for a project, though. It's been sitting in the corner of my shop ever since the day I dug it out of storage."

A flood of fond memories rushed through my mind, and I smiled. "My mom had the table crammed in the little breakfast nook in our kitchen. My father hated it, bitched that it took up too much room, but she refused to give it up. We sat there every night, me and her, working on my homework or having a snack before bed. It was my favorite place in the world when I was little, this table."

"And by turning it into a custom made door, you're putting it in your mom's house in a way that will assure it stays there." She smiled at the idea. "I think it's perfect."