Promises Under the Peach Tree (Harlequin Superromance) (18 page)

Twenty minutes later, their toes drying and their popcorn addiction eased, Ally sat at her grandmother’s feet and admired her handiwork.

“I think the daisies were a stroke of genius, Gram.” Ally hadn’t come stocked with any new nail-polish colors, but she did have some nail-art stickers in her purse from the clearance rack at the salon. So she’d used an older bottle of jade green on their toes and then put the daisy stickers on the big toes. “I may have to start charging you.”

Gram laughed. “I love them. Next time bring those zebra-stripe ones. I’ll reimburse you.” She set down her glass of cola, the ice cubes clinking on the glass. “Now show me the damage done on those wrists.”

Ally swallowed hard. Obviously, Gram knew more than she’d let on about the whole hospital thing.

“They’re so stupid.” Embarrassment burned. Not even her mother had asked to look at her arms after the nurses treated her that day.

“I beg your pardon?” Gram adjusted her glasses and squinted at Ally. “They are now a part of you, so they aren’t stupid. Let’s see.”

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she tried hard not to let them fall. She didn’t have the dark to conceal her feelings as she’d had in the parking lot. Rolling up her sleeves, she tugged at the bandages on one wrist and then the other, taking each one half off to expose the healing flesh beneath.

Gram pursed her lips but didn’t look surprised. “They need some air. Were you supposed to wear the bandages for this long?” She glanced up at Ally, her pale blue eyes keen despite cataract surgery.

And glasses.

For that matter, Gram could have her eyes closed and see right through people.

“They didn’t specify.” It was the truth. Sort of.

“Well
I’m
specifying. Wounds need to breathe once they’ve closed up.”

Ally peeled the rest of the bandages off and chucked them in the trash along with the discarded cotton balls from the pedicures.

“The bandages helped hide them,” she admitted.

“Our scars make us who we are.” Gram flashed her calf. “See that one? I got it when I shaved my legs even though my father said I couldn’t. I was so mad—and inexperienced with a razor—that I raked it up my leg and took off half the skin.”

Ally smiled. “That’s a funny story, though.” Her smile faded. “But it’s not the same. I shredded my wrists on purpose because I was upset.”

“My story is funny because of the way I tell it.” Gram crossed her ankles. “But it was not a pleasant day in my house, you can be sure. One day, you’ll figure out the right story to tell about your scars, too. You’ll be able to face the truth of a painful moment and not let it scar you all over again.”

“I thought maybe a tattoo would be better. That way, I could cover them up permanently.” She was only half joking. When she left town after Harvest Fest, she planned to stop at a tattoo parlor and cover up the ugliness on her arms with something pretty.

With any luck, she wouldn’t see her dad again until she was eighteen and then what could he say? Her stomach tightened. She hadn’t expected her time to leave would come so soon.

“A tattoo, eh?” Gram closed her eyes. “How about a picture of my scary face so the next time you looked at your wrist, you’d be afraid to scratch it.” She lifted her head and scowled at Ally, her sneer so ridiculous, Ally shrieked with laughter.

“Oh, my God, Gram, where’s my phone so I can take a picture?” Ally raced into the kitchen. “You have to do that again.”

“Never. Not until you’re in that tattoo shop.” Gram grabbed her popcorn bowl and picked through the kernels. She liked to crunch on the salty ones even though it was bad for her dentures. “Honey, you’re a smart girl, same as me. But you’ve got better medical options today than I did when I was your age. I want you to be smart enough to use them.”

Ally snapped a pic of Gram’s toes and the daisy stickers.

“What do you mean?” She brushed her hair out of her eyes and hoped she was a fraction as smart as her grandmother who had learned Latin in grade school and swore she read more books by the time she’d finished high school than any of her kids had by the time they graduated college.

“I mean. And just hear me out on this.” Gram set the bowl aside again. “The doctors have much better medicines today than they did when I was a girl. More choices, too. And as much as I make fun of all that talk therapy, the truth is, treatment works better if you combine the meds with counseling. Some people need the help short-term. Others—like me—need ongoing help. My point is, if your hard days start getting harder and you can’t hold yourself back from the scratching, I want you to remember there are ways to deal with that pain other than hurting yourself.”

Ally didn’t realize she’d started trembling until she set her phone aside and it rattled a little on the glass top of the end table.

“I don’t understand.” Even though she did. Gram thought Ally was crazy and should be medicated.

Her stomach lurched uneasily around the popcorn she’d eaten and she checked to be sure the trash bin was still close by. Her arms itched, the skin newly revealed and available for her nails to find comfort.

“Oh, honey, don’t misunderstand me.” Gram leaned forward, lowering her legs so she could lay a hand on Ally’s arm. “You’ve got your mama’s genes in you, too, and I pray you won’t have to walk the walk I’ve had to. But if—and that’s a mighty big if—you have problems like mine, I want you to grab hold of every ounce of help available so you can continue to blossom into the bright, wonderful young woman I know you can be.”

Ally’s chin quivered as her grandmother voiced the deep fears that had been rumbling inside, yet giving her hope when exposing them to the light. She squeezed Gram’s hands, encouraging her to continue. Needing her because Gram understood about the fears of being labeled and laughed at in a way her mom never could.

“Ally, dear, if science had given
me
half the options your generation has now and if I’d allowed myself to take them rather than worrying so much about what small-minded gossips thought of me, I wouldn’t be such a proper mess.” She patted Ally’s arm again and leaned back. “My issues went untreated for a long time, and the longer you let it go, the harder it is to find level ground again.”

“You’re not a mess, Gram.” Ally loved her grandmother fiercely. And for the first time, she wondered how leaving town would affect her. Would Gram be angry with her? Disappointed in her? Would it upset her?

Maybe she could call Gram after she left, to reassure her.

“That’s because I’d never showed you my scary side before today.” Gram made the face again—the sneering, scary one—and Ally made a fast grab for her phone. “Nuh-uh. You’re not putting me on Insta-Matic.”

“It’s Instagram. And it even has
gram
in the name. It’s perfect for you.” Ally put the phone back in her lap and was quiet for a long moment. “So...about the other thing. You think I should take medicine for the scratching...and talk to somebody, a professional somebody?”

Her voice wobbled as she said it, because no matter how Gram explained it, Ally worried the whole Finley family saw her as a carbon copy of her grandmother. And although Gram definitely wasn’t a mess, she had hurt family and friends with outbursts that Ally had never witnessed. Plus, she was moody and didn’t want to see people sometimes, which maybe had hurt Ally now that she thought about it. But it’s not as if she could control that.

“That’s not my call to make. I think you should talk to your doctor and tell her why you scratch, and she’ll help you figure out a better way to deal with your feelings. But if a day comes—long after I’m gone—when a doctor says medicine and therapy could help you cope with those feelings, I want you to remember what I told you. I don’t want you to be stubborn like me.”

Ally wanted to tell her they still had a long time together, but a sharp rap at the door almost scared her out of her seat.

“Who is that?” she started to ask, hopping to her feet, but the side door was already starting to open.

Gram looked unconcerned.

“Can I come in?” a man’s voice called a second before Ally’s dad peered around the door into the living room.

“Geez, Dad. You scared me to death.” Ally picked up the popcorn bowls and empty glasses to bring into the kitchen while her father stepped inside with one of Ally’s floral tote bags under his arm.

Luce, Gram’s lab, followed him inside, tail wagging and thunking against the fridge.

“I brought you some stuff your mom packed for you.” Dad’s voice was weird and awkward whenever he mentioned her mother lately. Like Mom was some alien creature who didn’t live with them. “And some mail I thought you might want to see.”

He shouldered the bag off his arm and flashed a white envelope with the University of Kentucky logo. The college was one of many her mom had insisted Ally add to her list of places to apply to.

“Probably just another ad for the school.”

Dad squinted at the envelope. “It’s from the Education Abroad program.”

“Scott,” Gram called from the living room. “Come in here so I can hear what you’re saying.”

Ally took the envelope without reading it and followed her father into the living room. “Why were all the lights on at our house when I went by earlier?”

She’d been too upset about Ethan to stop in before, but she was curious what was going on at home. Plus, now that she noticed, Dad had another bag under his arm.

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked, tugging on the duffel while Luce nudged the back of Ally’s knee with her head.

She reached down to pet the dog, scratching her behind the ears.

“Actually, Ally.” He paused near her grandmother’s chair. “I’m sorry to crash your sleepover, but I might need to stay here tonight.”

“What?” Why tonight of all nights did Dad decide he had to be here?

“I don’t know where else to go.” He sucked in a deep breath and Ally realized that he looked like hell. Unshaven. Shaggy. Tired. “Your mother asked me to leave.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“T
HIS
IS
ALMOST
as good as a cupcake.” Nina took another bite of the poached egg on an English muffin that Mack had made her for a late-night snack.

She had been starving, but she was also grateful for the distraction of the food after the intensity of what had happened between them earlier. Her body still hummed with pleasure and her nerve endings continued to buzz with feel-good vibes. But her heart and her head were both struggling to make sense of the way she and Mack connected. Was it just the natural resurrection of old feelings that the sex had stirred? Feelings that were just ghosts of the love they’d shared as teens? Or was it more than that? Either way, she wasn’t ready to sort through it just yet. Besides, she was supposed to be living in the moment and not overanalyzing things.

“It never occurred to me I should buy flour this week.” Mack polished off his water. He was seated next to her at the built-in banquette in the old field manager’s quarters that had been seriously upgraded since the last time she’d been there. “Or sugar. Or anything else you tried to find in my cabinets to make cupcakes.”

She snuck peeks at him while he ate, remembering touching his bristly jaw and kissing his lips. Running her fingers through his hair. He’d felt familiar and new at the same time. Being with him had been so natural and so easy. There hadn’t been any of the awkwardness that had plagued her with other guys.

“At least you had eggs. This hits the spot.” Of course that could also have something to do with the fact she’d worked up an incredible appetite the old-fashioned way. All of her senses were singing. She adjusted the rest of the egg to center it on the remaining muffin. “But I seem to recall you always had some cooking skills.”

“Eggs? Does that count as cooking?”

“Poaching is an art.” Even the muffin had been toasted to the perfect degree and then slathered with real butter. “The longer I bake, the more I appreciate the simple recipes. Fresh ingredients and the right preparation are the foundations of great food.”

“Well, I can do simple. Once Mom started checking out on childcare on a regular basis, someone had to step up in the kitchen.”

“That seems an unlikely role for the youngest in the family,” she said, treading carefully as she always did around conversations about his mother.

And after their conversation in the boat, she knew she had to be careful about the subject of family and kids, as well. Her heart hurt for him that he’d isolated himself from any hope of a deeper connection with his mother or with kids of his own. “We all had our strengths.” As usual, Mack didn’t give much away when it came to his family.

Settling back against the banquette’s gray cushions, Nina made an effort to draw him out. The more time she spent with him lately, the more she wondered how well she’d truly known him while they were dating. Clearly, his mom had been aware that he hadn’t wanted children, even as a teen. Why hadn’t Nina understood how serious he was about that?

“I know Scott was the leader and caretaker. You cooked. What about Heather and Erin?”

“Heather is the peacemaker,” he said right away, obviously more at ease talking about the rest of his family than about himself. “She’s good at calming everyone down. And Erin...she’s the distractor. She can sense when to crack a joke to diffuse the tension or how to create a new drama that will take the attention away from the old one.”

“You know them well.” She wished she’d asked him more about his family when they were younger. Too late, she realized she tended to create dramas of her own, like his sister Erin. Why hadn’t she realized that she didn’t always need to be the star of a story? “You must miss your siblings.”

“They stop by the bar every now and again.” He finished off his food and shoved the plate aside. “My sisters travel quite a bit looking for vintage stuff at estate sales and flea markets to sell in their store and on their website.”

“I wish I’d spent more time with them when I had the chance.” Maybe if she’d understood the family dynamics better, she wouldn’t have let Mrs. Finley’s angry words get the better of her that night she’d left Heartache.

Nina pushed her plate aside, too, then shifted on the cushioned bench seat to face Mack.

“I discouraged that,” he reminded her. “One of the many perks of dating you was being able to get out of my house more. It was more fun for me to go places with you or visit you at the farm.”

Had she known that?

“That would explain why I have so many memories of the peach orchard.” They’d stargazed at night in the back of her truck. Sometimes they’d have a bonfire on the fringes of the orchard and invite friends. She remembered one spring when the trees had been in blossom they’d gone for a long walk and ended up making love on a blanket in the grass. Afterward he’d covered her naked breasts with pink petals.

“The peaches are the farthest from the house.” He peered out the window over the bare field.

This side of the barn looked out over acres of land that used to be a cornfield, but now it was full of tall grass.

“Is that why we chose that spot?” She liked reminiscing with him. It had been too long since she’d allowed herself to think about Mack and her senior year. But it hadn’t all been bad. There’d been a lot of fun memories, too.

“That was a carefully calculated plan, yes, ma’am.” He rested an arm along the back of the seat cushion, his forearm brushing hers.

Her heartbeat had only just started to return to a normal rhythm after the heated encounter earlier. Yet that simple brush of his arm made her pulse jump again, her body more than ready for round two.

“You were awfully clever for a seventeen-year-old.” That much hadn’t changed. Mack’s business success proved that he had a quick mind. She knew firsthand you had to be a world-class problem solver to be an entrepreneur.

His gaze dipped to her mouth. “I had a compelling motivation to find places to be alone with you.”

She laughed. “Is that what we’re calling it these days? ‘Compelling motivation’?”

“What would you call it?” His eyes were surprisingly serious as he tipped up her chin to meet her gaze.

The warm brush of his callused fingertip sent a pleasurable shiver through her. She’d thrown on a pair of his shorts and a flannel shirt for their impromptu meal and her nipples beaded against the soft cotton.

Her throat went dry. She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I just thought you had the hots for me.”

“It was more than that, Nina.” His fingers cradled her cheek for a moment before they slid into her hair and sifted through the strands. “I was crazy about you.”

She heard the past tense. Understood it. But still, it hurt to think about what they’d lost. For so long, she’d been focused on her own hurt. But now, she could see his, too, and it went deeper than she’d ever understood. He thought she’d abandoned him.

“I guess I shouldn’t use that word,
crazy,
considering the circumstances with my mom.”

Actually, now that Nina was seeing their relationship in a new way, Mack’s mother’s remarks to her made more and more sense.

My son adores you. But that doesn’t mean you can just hold out your arms and accept love as your due, Nina. You have to give it, too...

“I don’t know, maybe your mother understood us much better than I did.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. But then again, words had a way of falling from her lips whether she intended to speak them or not.

She felt Mack’s reaction before she heard it. He tensed. Straightened.

“What?” The word was all sharp edges.

She’d never told him about the argument she’d had with his mother. Even then, she’d known he would be furious with her for trying to talk to his mother when he’d drawn clear boundaries between her and his family.

“I—” It was one thing to not mention the incident. It was another altogether to lie about it. Her stomach clenched uneasily around her eggs.

“When did you speak to my mother about us?”

She’d exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Finley in church a few times when she and Mack had been dating. Other than that, there’d been no meals with the family. No invitations to sit with the Finleys during town picnics or at the Harvest Fest. She understood now that Mr. Finley—and Mack and his siblings—had tried to keep her as insulated from the larger community as possible. But back then, it had felt like Mack didn’t want her around his parents.

“That night, after the accident, I couldn’t sleep. I went to your house.” After she’d told Vince to leave her alone and never try to touch her again, she and Mack had argued. Then, they’d made up. They’d made wild, passionate love in the orchard, oblivious to the horror taking place back home.

Mack’s friend had died. Mack’s mother had believed it was him. Nina’s phone had been out of batteries. His had been in the car that Vince had taken to drive home. The whole town was grieving and she and Mack had been oblivious, tearing each other’s clothes off.

“Tell me exactly what happened. Right now. Don’t leave anything out.” He spun to face the table, his elbows on the polished wood, his hands bracing either side of his forehead.

She shifted in her seat, too, the temperature seeming to drop in the kitchen that had been a warm and happy place just a few minutes ago.

“You remember, we sneaked back home after midnight.” Mack had taken a bike from the farm to make the trip home faster. Gram had been waiting up for her to find out what had happened since she’d heard only half the story—that there’d been an accident in town. Back then, Gram hadn’t used her phone much, let alone any other technology. “And you called me after you got home to say—”

“That I shocked the hell out of my family by being alive.” He didn’t even look at her. “Yeah, I remember.”

They’d realized then that it had been Vince who’d been killed. Nina had been almost too stunned to speak. The guilt, disbelief and sorrow literally took her legs out from under her. She’d ended up on the floor.

“Well, I was worried for you.” And shaken. God, her world had changed irrevocably in that moment. “I never did go to sleep.”

“Neither did anyone else, Nina.” He sounded weary. Impatient.

She tried to remember what her college counselor had said about people handling grief differently and knew that had been true for her and Mack. She’d felt so much at once, while he’d felt each facet slower and deeper. Longer.

“Right.” Toying with a saltshaker, she knocked it over, spilling salt everywhere. “So I drove over to your house just before dawn. To talk to you. Or just see you. I couldn’t stand being by myself.”

Mack might have needed her in the months after Vince’s death and considered her absence an abandonment. But damn it, she’d needed him right then. She’d cursed the fact that they were only eighteen because in her heart, she’d already believed he was her soul mate.

“I was probably in my father’s office, getting another lesson about how to talk to police officers and what to say to the press. We discussed the best approach to expressing Finley grief.” The bitterness in his voice was evident. “But I didn’t think you’d show up at the house because we’d agreed—”

“I figured the circumstances were unique.” She bit off each word, anger rising.

Finally, he looked up at her. “You’re right.”

Being justified didn’t make telling the rest of the story any easier. And since Mrs. Finley had been in a horrible, horrible place that night, it wouldn’t serve anyone any good to tell him everything that had been said. She hoped his mother didn’t remember.

“Your mom answered the door when I knocked.” Nina remembered thinking she didn’t look anything like the woman she saw at church sometimes. Her blond bob had stuck up in odd directions. A chunk of hair had been missing in the front to reveal a patch of bloody scalp. She’d obviously torn a section out.

Nina had known right away that she’d made a huge mistake.

Mack swore under his breath, but there wasn’t any heat in it.

“You know what?” He stood abruptly. “I’m not sure I can handle hearing this right now. And I’ve already got a damn good idea of the kind of things she would have said to you that night. She screamed enough crap at me that I’ll never forget without me taking on everything she said to you, too.”

Nina had never seen him truly angry. But he was mad now. The emotions he normally kept on lockdown animated his body movements and simmered in his eyes. She tugged his shirt tighter around her and wished she’d never opened her mouth.

Wished she’d never been foolish enough to act on impulse with him. When would she ever learn?

“I’ll get going.” She stood, backing out of the banquette on the side opposite him. “I have baking to do.” It was a lame thing to say, but she was too upset to think clearly.

“Right. Great.” He rapped the side of his fist lightly against the stainless steel fridge, the tension in him coiled tight. “But I wonder how in the hell you justified being pissed at me for not telling you about Jenny’s miscarriage when you kept this tidbit to yourself for eight years.”

She’d been trying to protect him, hadn’t she? She brushed past him to get into the bedroom so she could put her clothes on.

“Because my mother ended up in the hospital after that showdown, Nina. It might have been helpful to us if we’d known what had driven her over the edge.”

She whirled on him.

“You take that back.” She’d spent many therapy sessions talking about that particular point and trying to come to terms with her guilt. “I did
not
cause your mother’s breakdown.”

He said nothing. Eight years ago, that would have devastated her. Now, she saw it for what it was. He never talked about his emotions and he stuffed everything deep down to take care of others. So when those emotions came out, he didn’t have a clue how to handle them.

“Mack Finley. I’m calling a cab. I am leaving. But before I do, you’re going to apologize for that piece of nastiness because you know it’s not true.” She picked up her clothes and marched toward his bathroom to try and pull herself together, knowing it wouldn’t be as easy to resurrect her heart as it would be her outfit.