Dare (5 page)

“Good night,” I said, shaking my head at him. I wouldn’t float away and disappear if I couldn’t handle eating right now, and I still couldn’t. I put what I hadn’t touched back in containers, hid them at the back of the refrigerator behind other containers of leftovers that should be eaten soon, and cleaned the kitchen.

I could hear Dad’s hearty snores down the hall, as I paused on the stairs on the way up to my room. How long had he had my mother’s contact information? Had she given it to him as soon as she’d left? Had he really carried this ball and chain in his pocket for ten years?

I turned some soft music on in my room to mask what I was about to do, which was an ultimate betrayal. But I had to know. I had to find out if she was still reachable. I did it for the same reason Dad had given me the information. She was my mother, and she was a part of me that I couldn’t escape. I was an adult now, same as her, and we could have a level conversation about what it meant when she left us. Couldn’t we?

I fired up the computer, singing along softly to the song on the radio—an oldie, one that Dad would approve of, one that I had heard through the speakers of the truck long before I was the one driving it. If my memory served correctly, I’d even heard it while sitting between two people—a man who was just as tall as he needed to be and a red-headed beauty with legs that were too long to be useful.

They’d made an odd couple. I pulled a heavy cardboard box out from under my bed to confirm this, pulling out frame after frame of old photos. My mother was a full head taller than Dad, regal, angelic even. She looked like a dancer even in jeans and work boots and a plaid shirt, hoisting me up above her in the middle of the cornfield. I was giggling, her little twin, and it was Dad who was behind the lens of the camera, probably awestruck that this was his wife and child and life and farm and could someone please pinch him and wake him up.

And yet when he did wake up, was it a relief? Was it almost a good thing to finally have his exotic woman fly off and leave him and his daughter in peace? She never belonged here. She let Dad slip his arm around her narrow waist and smiled for the camera in another portrait someone else had shot, but was she really happy?

She couldn’t have been. She’d left her family to try and make herself happy. Was she happy now?

Once my email was up and running, I hesitated, my fingers hovering above the keyboard. Was this really what I should do? I didn’t want to disappoint Dad, but he’d been the one who gave me the contact information. Maybe he wanted me to contact her. But what would I even say? What did I want to say?

Almost of their own accord, my fingers started typing.

“This is your daughter, Rachel Dare,” the email began, “because I’m not sure if you still remember me. It’s been ten years, and I still remember you. Dad still remembers you, still loves you, but I’m not sure about me. You left us, and it really destroyed him. I'm not sure why he still loves you. Did you find what you were looking for in Las Vegas? Did chasing your dream make your happy? Did you catch it? I don’t know why I’m writing this, what I hope to get out of it, but I want you to remember us like we remember you. Maybe I even want to hurt you.”

I pushed my face into the palms of my hands and suddenly, savagely hit the send button. There. It was done. That message would float around in cyberspace until it found a home in the inbox of this email address. Maybe it wouldn’t even belong to my mother anymore. Maybe she’d shut it down years and years ago. There was no way of knowing without waiting for an answer.

I thought I’d feel lighter after sending the email, but the dread weighed me down even more. I put that heavy piece of paper away in the cardboard box along with all of those heavy, heavy frames, eager to just forget about all of it beneath my bed, forget that I had a mother, even, if that was possible. Yes, that would be preferable, to believe that it was just Dad and me.

Dad and me and the redheaded ghost that plagued us both with existential hauntings.

At least Dad was spared from the worry of Sebastian Clementine. That was my own private worry, my painful secret. What had gotten into me with Sebastian? My heart pounded thinking about him even now, considering his hands on me, his mouth on mine.

What would I have to do to exorcise that ghost?

Forgetting him was impossible, I found, over the next few days, working on the farm, making deliveries, cooking and cleaning the house, doing laundry. He was at my elbow the entire time, and my mother was at my other shoulder, hovering there, weightless and heavy all the same. It was even worse that my inbox remained empty, but I tried not to think about it too much.

It was a Friday, and I was just pulling into the driveway, excited that it was still early in the afternoon to enjoy the rest of the day without being on the road, when everything came to an ugly head.

Sebastian’s car, that useless little vehicle, smooth and sleek and probably way too expensive, was parked in front of my house. It looked like he felt exactly the same as I did about being ignored. He didn’t like it one bit.

My first absurd thought was that Sebastian was here to tattle on me to Dad, to tell him just what words I’d picked up from hanging around farmworkers my whole life. But what purpose would that serve? Sebastian was obviously a very busy man. He wouldn’t have bothered figuring out who Dad was just so he could come all this way to make my life hell.

Maybe I’d seen what I wanted to see, which was even more of a disturbing revelation. Maybe it wasn’t even Sebastian’s car. Did I really want to see him again after the debacle that had happened inside of his office? My face flushed hot with the memory of his mouth on mine, possessive, his hands grabbing at me, and that no-yes feeling that had flooded my body and mind. Sebastian might’ve been pretty to look at, but he wasn’t boyfriend material, no matter how sweet it was to slip into that fantasy. If only he would suddenly be struck dumb and not be able to open that mean mouth of his. Well. Then he wouldn’t have been such a good kisser. Okay, if only he’d forget how to speak for a while. Then I could bear his presence. I could more than bear it.

I parked the truck and shook my head swiftly back and forth, trying to dislodge my strange thoughts from my brain. What was wrong with me? How had Sebastian wormed his way into my existence so thoroughly? He wasn’t even my type—not that I had a type. I’d grown up raised by two people whose very values were constantly at war. How could I have developed a type? My first kiss was on a dare from the herd of children I romped with, my lips pecking those of a seasonal farmworker’s son, both of us shrieking and sprinting away as soon as the deal was done, the game over.

I was a farm girl. It was something my mother hadn’t wanted for me, but she was the one who left me here. I couldn’t separate the farm from my identity anymore. It was as ever present with me as the dirt beneath my fingernails. A city boy wasn’t going to cut it for me.

With no small amount of trepidation, I approached the house. The car had to have been Sebastian’s—even if the side he’d marred by cutting me off was perfectly repaired. That was enough to chap my ass. I’d have bet my boots he’d had someone do it for him, whereas I’d been tasked with finding the parts and supplying the labor for my own repair to the truck—minus the emergency headlight job that had cost a pretty penny.

I opened the door with no small amount of righteous indignation and nearly hit Sebastian with it as he stood in the entryway with Dad.

“Well, there you are!” Dad exclaimed, as Sebastian smirked at what must’ve been the shock that made my mouth gape. “I swear I heard the truck pull in a full five minutes ago. What are you dawdling for?”

“I’m not dawdling,” I protested. “Just trying to figure out who was in here with you.”

“Sebastian Clementine,” Dad said grandly, holding out his hand. “President and CEO of Clementine Organics.”

I pursed my lips to inform Dad that Sebastian and I had met, that he was actually the one who’d scratched up Dad’s beloved truck, that he was a world-class jerk who didn’t deserve our presence, but Sebastian leapt in before I could get a chance.

“I’m charmed, Rachel, just charmed,” he said smoothly, holding his hand out. I took it automatically, only barely able to suppress the shudder at skin-on-skin contact. Sebastian’s grip was light but firm—a businessman’s touch, not the rough paw of someone used to working the land. And yet those hands had been rough on me, tearing at my clothes, loath to let me go from his office that day. Those hands could be hard when they wanted to be.

“Earth to Rachel,” Dad said sarcastically, and I let go of Sebastian’s hand as if he’d burned me. “Did you hear a word I said?”

“Guess I left my brain back somewhere on the road,” I said, grinning sheepishly.

“I was just telling Sebastian here that you’d be happy to take him around on a tour of the farm,” Dad said.

“For what?” I asked, taken aback.

Dad huffed angrily—this point had obviously been explained while I’d been daydreaming about hands and mouths—but Sebastian jumped in, those brown eyes shimmering with mirth.

“I was telling your father how interested Clementine Organics is in partnering with small, organic farms to explore produce distribution,” Sebastian said. “And he told me you were the perfect person to show me how it all works, so to speak, on your farm.”

“We’re all organic,” I said automatically—something I spouted when people concerned about such things stopped by for a look at our products. Then, I winced. “But you knew that or else you wouldn’t be here.”

“Very astute,” Sebastian teased—or at least I hoped he was teasing. Actually, I hoped Dad didn’t realize he was teasing. I studied the floor at my feet very carefully to see if I could divine the answers to any of those questions.

“You all come back up to the house once you’re done,” Dad said, his voice tinged with exasperation. I knew what he was thinking—that I was off daydreaming somewhere else, that those dreams would rob him of me just as they’d robbed him of my mother. I’d do just about anything to keep him from realizing what I was
really
daydreaming about…the man standing right between us.

“Come on, then,” I sighed, beckoning and hoping Sebastian would follow.

He started laughing when we were still within earshot of the door. “Are you really that surprised to see me?”

I chanced a glance over my shoulder, but Dad had already shut the front door, probably shaking his head sadly at my behavior. “Of course I’m surprised, you jerk. What are you really doing here? Tell me the truth.”

“I did tell you the truth, just as I told your father,” Sebastian said smoothly. “My company does organic produce, your farm does organic produce. It’s natural to want to work together.”

“There are dozens and dozens of farms around here,” I said. “Are we really the only one you visited in person?”

“You’re not that special,” he said dismissively. “I’ve been by your competition already. Pretty impressive operation. You all have your work cut out for you, trying to catch them in sales.”

“We’re not trying to catch anyone in anything,” I sniped back. “They have better land over there, is all. Can’t really help the way the lots were partitioned off, now, can we? We’re doing the best we can.”

“Unlucky?”

“I didn’t say anything about luck either.” I scowled at him, and the dimples appeared in his cheeks, betraying his efforts not to smile. “What? Are you here to laugh at us just because we’re not the most successful farm in the region?”

“You’re not even in the top twenty-five in this area,” Sebastian said, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Why are you all even still in business?”

Now he’d pricked my pride. “We’re in business because we live it and love it,” I said, puffing out my chest. “We’re in business because we care about people getting quality produce. And maybe we don’t sell it at the highest price, or grow a whole crap ton of it, because we like focusing on getting things right. It’s a passion project.”

We’d stopped in front of the corn plot, and Sebastian was looking at me funny. I tried to go back and see what I’d said wrong, what he’d make fun of me for, but I couldn’t remember the words to my tirade. He’d insulted Dad’s dream, and that made me angry enough to vouch for it myself.

“This is the corn,” I said needlessly, pointing. “It’s likely to keep another week on the stalk. Most everyone else already has their corn out, but that was too early. This crop will have a sweeter taste. Maybe we’re not riding the wave of the season or being trendy or super successful, but I guarantee you this corn will be the sweetest out of everyone’s. Do a blind taste test, a side-by-side comparison. Do whatever you like.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he said quietly, still looking at me in that funny way, his brown eyes strangely bright.

“What, for the corn that won’t be ready for another week?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. “For my sass?”

“For your passion,” Sebastian said. He tried to take my hand, but I jerked it away, my eyes darting around. Was he insane? Anyone could see us here out in the open.

“Look, maybe we should talk about what happened back in your office,” I said uncertainly. I wanted very badly to be an adult about this. If there was something lingering between us, I didn't want it to affect Dad’s business deal with Sebastian. I wouldn’t ever be able to forgive myself for something like that.

“I’ll write you a check right now to cover the repairs you had to get,” Sebastian said impatiently.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Cash, then.” He reached for his pocket, and I was the one who seized his hand this time.

“Listen to me.” His brown eyes met mine, warmed even as I looked at him.

“This is about the kissing,” he said, the corners of his mouth quirking upward. “I’ll talk about that with you all day, if you want.”

“The kissing and the hands…yeah, maybe we should talk about it.”

“Talk away, Rachel. I’m all ears.”

“I …” Oh, great. I was the one who’d wanted to talk about it and now I was too shy. “It was just a one-time deal, Sebastian. I don’t know what came over us.”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“Yep.” He grinned. “We’re two adults. We let ourselves get carried away by the moment. There’s not a thing wrong with it.”

“I just wouldn’t want it to mess up anything you might want to have with Dad,” I said. “I want to try and be mature about it.”

“Of course,” he said. That grin told me he was teasing me. “We can be mature. Would it be mature to tell you that I want to kiss you again right now?”

Something low in my stomach clenched and unclenched. “What about our one-time deal, Sebastian?”

“It doesn’t have to be a one-time deal,” he reasoned. “What are you feeling right now?”

“Right now?”

“Be mature about it, Rachel,” he reminded me. “Right now. Your feelings. Go.”

I watched his lips move as he spoke. I was transfixed by them. “I’d kiss you again.”

And then his mouth was on mine, right there by the cornfield. I yanked myself away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Everyone can see us.”

“So?”

I cleared my throat, rubbed my mouth almost unconsciously. “So wouldn’t you like to see the barn where we wash our produce?”

“You really want to continue the tour?” Sebastian asked, dubious.

“In the barn, no one can see us.” I walked toward the hulking building, suddenly aware that I was still clutching Sebastian’s hand like an idiot. I shook myself free and found he continued to keep pace with me. I hoped no one saw us together like that.

“I like the way you think,” he said, patting me on my back as we hurried across the lot.

“Shut up. Don’t talk.”

I yanked the door open to the barn, which was mercifully empty, and pulled him inside.

“Rachel, just what—?”

And I was the one who kissed him that time, grabbing the front of his shirt, bringing him closer to me, trying to take all of him, pressing myself against his body. I didn’t care about appearances anymore; I didn’t care about the truck, or how thoughtless he’d been. All I cared about was how badly I wanted him.

We stripped each other’s clothes off, walking out of our pants, me not bothering to struggle out of my boots. Sebastian didn’t seem to care very much about the boots. He took one appraising glance at me before picking me up and pushing me against an appliance.

Someone could’ve walked in at any time and gazed upon our naked bodies and I wouldn’t have known it. I wouldn’t have cared. Somehow, that possibility made everything have even more of an edge, made us being together even hotter.

Sebastian kept kissing me as he inched one finger inside of me, then two. I was no virgin, and yet he seemed to know exactly what I wanted, exactly what felt good, more so than any other guy I’d ever been with. I’d been under that impression at his office, when we’d been kissing, that he understood what women wanted. I didn’t care that it probably meant he’d been with loads of women. I didn’t care about anything right now—except for that mouth on mine, those fingers inside of me.

Maybe I only got that impression because I was so attracted to him. Attracted physically, yes, and something more.

“More,” I told him, and he obliged, removing his fingers from me and readjusting his grip, trying to get us comfortable against the equipment before he gave up, kicked our clothes together on a pile on the floor and laid me down on top of it.

“You’re going to ruin your clothes,” I remarked, only barely aware that we were going to ruin my hair, grinding the back of my head into the dirt floor.

“Shut up.”

I opened my mouth to retort and gasped as Sebastian took that opportunity to enter me fully, my body already slicked and prepared by his fingers, eager for him, accepting. I arched my back completely off the ground at that entrance—a grand entrance—and wrapped my legs around his waist. He was muscular, a lean swimmer’s body, maybe. I ran my hands down those ropy muscles as he waited for me to adjust, his arms shaking with the effort to hold himself off of me, to hold himself back.

I used my thighs and ass to pull back, then thrust upward almost aggressively. That move took him off guard—that I was more than capable of initiating sex, that I was eager for it, that I wouldn’t break if he was a little rough with me. I liked things a little rough. It was more exciting that way.