Authors: Sydney Allan
"No wonder I missed the town. I was wondering how long a drive it would be," he said, as he glanced in the rearview mirror and pulled onto the driveway.
"Do you need to be back soon?" For some reason, she felt guilty for dragging him along but then remembered he was the one to suggest it.
"No, Ella's in play therapy with Marian and Frankie until late this afternoon. You've got me for at least four hours."
A dozen goofy retorts leapt to her mind, but she resisted. It would be so easy to get comfortable, let her guard down. But she needed to at least attempt to maintain a distance.
Four hours. In response to his inviting statement, she simply nodded, a smile tugging at her lips and cheeks.
Garret glanced at her, giving her an odd, forced smile, then returned his regard to the road. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." The air heated inside the truck, even though the air conditioning puffed icy air.
He nodded.
"I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of..." She watched him look up and down the road before turning the truck onto another dirt washboard. "And I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. That was wrong. You helped me, and I appreciate that." Her voice vibrated as she spoke.
After shrugging his shoulders, he said, "It's okay."
Silence.
The quiet was driving her crazy. Why had he asked if he could come along? She watched the tree trunks bounce by as they drove and tried to spy the deer, rabbits and other critters hiding along the road.
"I wasn't always this way, you know," he said after a while.
She looked at him, studying his profile. "What do you mean?"
His eyes met hers for an instant before returning to the road. "So defensive. So damn cold."
"I don't think you're cold. I know what I've said, but I was angry--"
"No," he interrupted. "You were right."
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"I don't know."
She didn't know what to say. A heavy sigh sat in her chest. "Look, Garret. We've had problems working together since the moment we met, and I admit most of our difficulties, if not all of them, were my fault. I haven't been professional, I haven't been focused--"
"Stop." His eyes flashed. "Stop blaming yourself for everything."
"I'm not--"
"Yes, you are. And it's damn annoying."
Her gaze dropped to her lap as she sat on the gray cloth seat. She tugged at a thread hanging from the hem of her shorts. "I'm sorry."
"Damn it! Quit apologizing. We're both adults. We are both accountable for the problems we've had. Quit taking the blame for everything. I suppose you blame yourself for what that nut, your supposed fiancé, did a few days ago?"
She ripped the thread from her shorts, twirling it around her fingertip. In a way, she did, she supposed. But he was still wrong. "Well, if I hadn't fought--"
The truck lurched as he turned to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. The tires skidded on gravel and dry dirt, sending a plume of brown into the air around them. He glared at her. "Have you not learned anything in your training about abusive men?"
Defensiveness crept to her belly, sending her heart pounding and tensing the muscles of her back and shoulders. "Why the hell do you care?"
He stared wide-eyed at her, speechless. He wouldn't say, because, she suspected, he didn't know why he cared.
Typical. Speak before you think.
Glowering, she added, "What's the problem? You're suddenly at a loss for words? Are you a control freak, or only a fool? You think you're helping me by tagging along and lecturing me like I'm a stupid kid?"
His gaze lurched from her, and settled on something in front of the truck. The muscles in his neck tensed, and his face grew deep scarlet, but he didn't speak.
"What's wrong, you trying to hold back another sarcastic retort? Is that all you're good for? Stinging comments? If you really cared, not that I expect you to, but if you did, you would quit talking to me like you're better than me, like you have everything figured out, and you'd show at least a tiny shred of compassion." She drew in another breath, preparing to continue.
"You're right," he said, interrupting her train of thought, and disarming her for an instant.
"What?"
"You're right. I've been trying to be the all-knowing big-shot psychiatrist. But I'm not fooling anyone, not even myself. I don't know a damn thing. I can't even figure out how I feel about this damn place."
She sat, stunned, waiting for him to continue, and when he looked at her, pain shown clear in his eyes. "I can't even love Raphaela like a father should because I'm too damned busy trying to fix her."
"Oh, Garret," was all she could say. The air crackled between them. All she could think of was her aching desire to hold him, to give him the slightest notion of comfort and understanding. But she resisted. Now was not the time to complicate things by touching him.
"I did the same thing to our marriage, analyzed the hell out of it until Marian basically checked out. She simply pretended to be happy to avoid more stupid exercises where we'd lie to each other and pretend nice. I made our relationship so much work there was no room for joy, simple contentment."
She nodded, understanding how that could happen.
After one last soul-searching gaze, he pulled the truck back onto the road and drove the rest of the way into town without saying a word, and Faith was grateful for the quiet. There was a deep sense of comfort in the silence, an understanding, that words were not necessary to bridge the chasm. They had reached a new level of closeness. The thought sent a wave of warmth through her.
Now, what to do about Steven, and Marian, and her boss…
Was that even necessary? She'd only become a friend with Garret. Nothing more. There hadn't been any physical intimacy. Only words and unspoken understanding.
The tiny town was little more than a handful of old shops scattered upon a cracked blacktop road. She directed Garret to park the car in front of the hardware store. A town like Cooperville had no art store, and she would have to drive much farther to find a big city. So, she made do with what she could purchase here. Thankfully, the hardware store also stocked paper and other office supplies.
After gathering everything she needed, she paid the aged shopkeeper, a pleasant man with leathery skin and bright blue eyes, and walked out into the warming afternoon. Her stomach growled, and she turned to Garret to suggest they grab some lunch before heading back.
When her eyes fell upon him, she spied his heated expression and immediately became self-conscious. She turned her head and looked across the street.
"Don't." Gently, he took her chin in his hand and coaxed her to look at him. "Quit hiding." His thumb stroked her bottom lip.
Her eyes met his before continuing over the rest of his face. The sun, now high in the sky, sent cool blue flashes in his curls, and shadows under his high cheekbones. Lingering dampness on his lips glistened. She dropped her packages at her feet.
He leaned forward and the scent of soap and after-shave hovered close to his body, enveloping her as he neared. She couldn't tear her gaze from his eyes, and her body relaxed as he drew her into his arms. His embrace felt so right. Her curves fit against his hardness, her head reaching his chest, her breasts pressed against his upper abdomen, her pelvis against his leg.
She turned her head and listened to the steady thump of his heart. It was the most calming, and yet arousing, sound she had ever heard. In her thirty-two years, she'd never felt as alive as she did that moment. If only time would stand still.
And then he leaned his head down and tentatively kissed her. His mouth was soft, his lips brushing hers in sweet butterfly kisses. She longed for more, her body instantly heating, despite the seeming innocence of the kiss. She instinctively pressed her pelvis into his thigh, and he responded with a deep groan that rose from his chest and found its way into her mouth.
And then the sweet kiss changed, became one of fierce hunger, of passion. His lips parted, and his tongue slid along hers, pleading admittance. When she opened to him, the fierceness of his hunger penetrated her, sending blades of desire to her core. Her head was spinning, and she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and clung to him.
A horn sounded from the road, wrenching Faith's awareness back to the world that had fallen away from them. The kiss ended, and she opened her eyes, immediately sweeping her gaze over Garret's face. Did he regret it?
Please, don't apologize.
He smiled, and she thought she might explode with joy. He didn't regret it, and neither did she, despite the situation, despite Steven, Marian, her job. Despite it all, she felt nothing but pure sweet joy at that moment, in his arms, her mouth still tasting of his kiss.
"I'm starving," he said, finally shattering the silence between them. "Would you like to get a bite to eat?"
"I'd love to," she said, feeling like she stood outside of herself. Like they were two different people simply enjoying a day in town.
He glanced up and down the road. "Not much to choose from here, eh?"
She shook her head. "Not exactly. There is a mom and pop diner up the road a bit. Would you like to drive or walk?"
Smiling down at her, he said, "Walk." He squeezed her hand, and tugged gently on her arm. She took a step and then realized she'd left her bag on the sidewalk.
"Oh, wait. I almost forgot my supplies. I must have set them down when…" She couldn't finish. Even the thought of the amazing kiss left her speechless.
Still holding her hand, he scooped up the bag and carried it to the truck. After dropping it on the back seat, he looked at her. "Ready?"
She nodded. Her cheeks heated even more.
"What are you thinking?" he whispered in her ear as they walked.
A charge of electricity zapped up her spine. "I thought the woman was supposed to ask that."
He laughed, the sound warm and frolicking, full of the promise of fun. She hoped she'd hear it more. "So, now I'm like a woman?" he asked.
"Oh, God no!" She lifted her eyes to his face and self-consciousness washed over her again. "I mean…" She clamped her mouth shut. It was no use. Her brain had turned to mush. Putting two words together was out of the question.
His chuckle danced around her, and she dropped her head. This was too much to think about, to comprehend, and to accept. She needed time to think, to let what was happening register, to let the synapses form in her liquefied gray matter.
And time to consider the consequences.
Not now. Just enjoy the moment for once.
She'd never been the type to live for the moment. That way of living was too risky, too frightening. But today, it was also very tempting.
Looking up at his profile, she pledged to herself to relax and let things go where they might. No need to over-cerebrate. There wasn't anything to ponder. Yet.
Walking down the street with Garret at her side, Faith forced herself to busy her mind with more pleasant subjects. The first thing she noticed was the way his hand felt wrapped around hers. She tried to imagine what other people must be thinking as she strolled by them with the most handsome man in the world at her side. Surely, they thought she was the luckiest woman in the world.
The diner sat low, where the main road intersected with a rural dirt road that meandered from the hills to the north. A barn-like roof hung over the outside walls like a wide hat brim, sheltering the inside from the beating heat of the summer sun. When Garret opened the door, a tin bell tinkled and a pleasant faced waitress smiled a welcome as they stepped into the restaurant's cozy interior.
It was quiet, filled with a few diners sunken low in vinyl-clad booths, and a few others scattered along the counter on high benches. Garret led her to a booth in the corner, and she slid into the seat, enjoying the smells of coffee and chili. She didn't drink coffee, too bitter for her taste, but she loved its smell. It reminded her of childhood mornings, before her mother and father had divorced and shattered the lives of their three children.
"Have you eaten here before?" he asked, scanning the plastic-coated menu.
"Nope."
"I don't suppose they offer low-fat fare," he said with a grimace. "I'm trying to watch my cholesterol. It was pretty high."
They read the menus in silence, until the waitress, wearing a deep burgundy uniform and white apron, came to take their orders. After she stepped away, Garret broke the awkward silence. "Tell me about yourself. I want to know about Faith LeFeuvre, the woman, not Faith LeFeuvre the art therapist."
"There's not much to tell."
"Of course there is, don't be shy."
What had changed in him overnight? He'd made a complete one-eighty in less than twelve hours. Where had that coarse, defensive man gone? "Can I ask you something?" she asked.
"Sure."
"Why the sudden change? Why are you being so nice to me now?"
He shrugged and smiled. "Did you like it better the way it was?"
"No."
"Then what is there to worry about?"