Forgiving Patience (2 page)

Welcome back to Patience.

She hadn’t wanted to come back here
in the first place, and as she’d expected, things were already looking bleak.

Finally, just to the right, she could
see a clearing. She was almost there and it would be time to go to work. She’d
been trying to pump herself up for the last hour or so, but now that the time
had arrived, she didn’t know if she was ready.
What if
I’m not strong enough for the ass-kicking I’m about to put myself through? Why
couldn’t Em have chosen to get married in Hawaii or the Smoky Mountains?
Anywhere else in the world would be safer than in Patience.

A mailbox painted on the side with
the barely legible numbers nineteen and twelve was held up by a leaning piece
of wood. Anything more than a slight breeze and the rotten wood was going to be
lying in her ditch. She made a mental note to have it fixed.

Where was the
For
Sale
sign?

Some kid—probably the one who’d
ridden her bumper, must have taken it as some kind of joke. She would have to
ask her realtor about that. The unkempt bushes lining the drive made it nearly
impossible to see the front of the house. The smell of freshly cut grass filled
her head—immediately making her think of the memories, at least the good ones,
of the times she’d spent with friends at the ball field or having weenie roasts
in the Lawrence family’s field. It was hands-down one of those smells that
could take a person back in time. She couldn’t fight the urge to park there for
several minutes, eyes closed and soaking it all in.

She couldn’t glimpse the house she
hadn’t seen since that rainy Sunday morning in May due to the four-wheel drive
truck interfering with her view.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Fenway
is parked in my drive,” she muttered. The idiot who’d come close to ending her
life had his big-ass truck parked in her driveway. “Well, belated birthday
present to me.” She was getting her wish and didn’t even have to blow out any
candles. The guy was going to get a big piece of her mind.

A few years ago, she would’ve avoided
the confrontation, but not now. She was no longer a pushover. She’d grown a
backbone—well, was in the process of growing one—and this guy was going to see
the new Anna. This time she refused to be the same little girl who wasn’t
allowed to have an opinion or voice when it came to her life. She was going to
have to start standing up for herself, otherwise she would be just another
woman who laid down and took what was given to her. Might as well use that
backbone right now and show this boy who he’d just messed with.

Cutting the engine, she peeled her
washed-out jeans and T-shirt clad body off the leather seat, swinging the door
open in one smooth motion. Marching to the truck first, she blew back the
pieces of hair that were falling on her face. What she wouldn’t do for a hair
tie. It was just like any other Tennessee summer, and the air was hot and
humid. Every part of her felt disgusting. If she got rid of the roadrunner
parked in her drive fast enough, she would have time to strip off her clothes,
open the bottle of wine she’d brought, and take a long bubble bath. A bath that
wrinkled every part of her body.

She tried peeking past the over-sized
tires which were covered with mud to peer into the window, but only found an RC
Cola can in the designated holder, trash thrown on the passenger floorboard and
a simple gold chain dangling from the rearview. Nothing useful.

She stomped to the right, then to the
left of the house. Nothing. He couldn’t have gone far. He had to show his ugly
face sooner or later to get to his play toy out front. She would just prop
herself up against his door and wait.

She wished she had her Louisville
Slugger or what did her crazy aunt call it?—oh, yeah, ball-buster. When Anna
got her first place in Linden, Aunt Lidia insisted that she get a ball-buster.
She would remind Anna that every woman needed protection from the crazies in
the world. That’s what she needed. She could use it on the truck, then the guy.
That would let out some of her built-up anger.

“Can I help you?” A deep masculine
voice questioned from behind her.

Anna whipped her head around, almost
losing her balance in the process, coming into contact with a white T-shirt
stretched around toned muscles that were used to hard work as well as torn
jeans showing everything he had to offer a woman. She didn’t know much about
sex, but had a feeling this guy was the pure definition of what sex could be.
At least, what great sex would be like.

Was it getting hotter? For a second
she considered fanning herself but used her brain instead and didn’t give the
man standing in front of her the satisfaction of knowing he was drool-worthy.

To top it off, his ball cap hung low
over his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun and hopefully, from her
uncontrollable stare. A man with a ball cap was a sure turn-on. This was no
boy, as she’d first had thought. Hell, no—he was a full-blooded male. He was
sexy as he—

Wait… She remembered the first time
she had heard that southern boy drawl—and the last.

No way! This could not be him. She
knew it was, but how could it be? She kept her features remote and unreadable
as she looked at his suntanned,
stubbled
face.

She could take one glance at him and
know he wasn’t the same guy she’d professed her stupid young love to all those
years ago. The guy she’d willingly given her heart to. He was hard and
unyielding. A world of hurt and disappointment was in his guarded eyes.

He still, just as in his younger
days, could probably get away with pretty much anything, including murder, with
those same sinful good looks. Damn Lawrence boys. They were unnaturally blessed
with the kind of good looks that made every woman in Patience, and the two
surrounding counties, come running.

“Jake.”

“That’s what most women call me, but
judging by your pissed-off expression, you might have a few other choice
names.” He leaned a shoulder against one of the front porch columns and crossed
his arms over his broad chest.

Peeling her gaze away from his
perfect body, she noticed that all four columns looked freshly painted glossy
white. Scanning the rest of the house, she could see—what in the world?—new
black barnyard-style shutters glistening in the sun. She’d expected peeling
paint revealing exposed wood. She’d thought she was going to have to spend a
small fortune restoring the outer beauty of the aging house. How is this
possible?

The clearing of a throat brought her
back to the man. Oh, yeah, Jake. She would figure out the whole house thing
later. Right now she had bigger things to worry about. Like a sexy man
glistening with sweat.

She could do this. He might not have
been expected, but she was strong enough to take on big bad Jake Lawrence.
Fortunately, she wasn’t the same impressionable eighteen year-old girl. Like
him, she too, had changed. “Did you not just see me back there?”

“Not sure what you’re talking about,
sweetness.”

Did he really just say that? She let
the sweetness go because he knew damn well what she was talking about. How
could he not? “I find that hard to believe since you rode my bumper for almost
a mile. Do you know you ended up running me off the road? I could’ve been Ms.
Edna for all you knew.”

“First, I knew you weren’t Edna. The
old woman drives a Buick, for God’s sake. Second, Edna goes American all the
way, not some foreign make. She wouldn’t be caught dead in what you poke around
in.”

“Thought you didn’t know what I was
talking about?”

He smirked. “If I’d wanted to run you
off the road…I would have.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of
threat?”

“Just stating the obvious.”

“You could have killed me.” She knew
she was over-exaggerating. He seemed nonchalant about the incident, and it was
irritating, to say the least.

He bent his head downward, kicking
some of the day’s mud covering most of his work boot off the side of the porch.
What was his deal? Did he make it some kind of habit to go around torturing
innocent women because he had the need for speed? Then again—he had a reputation
for causing pain and suffering for people who didn’t deserve it.

Finally, after being satisfied with
the look of his shoe, he said, “Come on, Anna. You know your life wasn’t in any
danger, and I sure as hell wasn’t close to ending it.” A corner of his lip
turned up. She didn’t know if it was supposed to be a half smile or if he was
trying to intimidate her. Neither one was going to work. Maybe the smile…no…not
even the sexy grin.

Intimidating or not, it was the first
time she had heard her name spoken by that mouth in eleven years. She had a
plain name. Nothing special. He had no nicknames for her, except for the
sweetness comment, nor did he draw out a syllable—still, he said it like no
other man she had ever been around. It took all her strength to stay composed
and not get unnerved.

“Do you know what you did to my car?”
He stood there, arms still crossed, looking either dumbfounded or like he
couldn’t give a damn. “Let me inform you, your little stunt probably scratched
the paint.”

“Are you hurt?” He didn’t hide in his
voice that he wasn’t the least bit concerned for her well-being.

“What?”

“I asked, are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt. Does that make it
okay for you?” A flash of fire entered her stare. She too, crossed her arms,
taking a strong stance against the man using his long legs to leave his
position on the front porch and approach her. She expected to see a limp or
even a wince of pain as he walked. There was no evidence of either. To a person
who didn’t enjoy America’s pastime he would look like a perfectly healthy man.
A man who had never experienced excruciating pain. But she knew differently.

Even though she was a New York fan
through and through, on a quiet night or lazy Sunday, she would find herself
searching the channels for an Atlanta game—thankfully Jake hadn’t played for
Boston…otherwise there would be a lot more hostility going on right now. It was
something she’d never admitted to anyone.

It had been a clear July night. She
ducked out of the office an hour early and found herself curled up on the sofa,
gripping the remote as she watched what was unfolding on her television screen.

Rounding second base, heading to
third, she could see Jake’s childlike grin fade to stone. Even through his
recent pain, his concern seemed to still be for the game. He headed home
against the third base coach’s instruction, and came face-to-face with Carlos
Lorenzo. The only hope Jake had at being safe and getting the assurance run was
to charge the two-hundred-and-something pound catcher. After successfully catching
the ball being bulleted from centerfield, Lorenzo planted both feet and guarded
his plate. He was known as being a man who didn’t mind being trampled over.
Jake gave it all he had, and after coming into contact with the man, he
collapsed on home plate, grabbing his right leg. The television cut to
commercial too quickly for her to comprehend what had happened. The manager and
his other teammates tried to downplay his accident at first, but Anna knew in
her gut it wasn’t going to be okay for Jake. She cried for him that
night—another thing that remained a secret.

He stopped an arm’s length away. She
took a calming breath and stared at the magnificent man. He had all the
classically charming looks. His hair was still russet, dripping with sweat and
curling out from under his ball cap. A slight dimple was centered on a strong
chin, and the blue eyes gone dark were unreadable and staring into her, causing
her proudly strong stance to weaken.

He kept in shape probably out of
habit more than anything. She imagined that if he rolled up his sleeves, he
would reveal a farmer’s tan. His clothes and boots were covered in that day’s
grime. He smelled of sweat and dirt, but under all that, she could smell the
cologne he’d put on that morning. The mixture of scents flowed to her through
the gentle breeze provided by Mother Nature.

“You don’t have anything broken.
You’re not bleeding. Did you happen to hit your head?”

She instantly reached to rub a palm
across her forehead. “No.”

“Then we can rule out a concussion,
so I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal—you want to know what
the big deal is? I was driving down a usually deserted road, my road, only to
be run up on by a reckless jerk and forced off. That, is the big frigging
deal.”

“Sorry, but I’m not seeing how this
is my fault—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish
before she stopped him in midsentence. She already knew he wasn’t going to cop
to it. Taking responsibility for anything wasn’t his style.

“I see you haven’t changed.”

“What makes you think that?” he
asked, still sporting his ‘I don’t give a damn’ expression.

“You don’t care what you do or who
you hurt, just so long you get what you want.”

She was showing him the backbone she
hadn’t had all those years ago. Her good friend Liza would’ve been proud. She’d
worked hard for this backbone. It was nice to finally put it to good use. He
couldn’t break her heart, run her off the road, or anything else he desired. He
could take his charming looks and stick it. She wasn’t falling for it.