Sugar Creek (29 page)

When he peered up at Rachel, she looked saddened, nibbling her lip pensively. “You think she wouldn’t know, wouldn’t realize?”

“
I
almost drowned when I was her age,” he volunteered. “In Blue Valley Lake.” Mike explained that one of his uncles had owned a house on the water back then, and that the Romo clan had gathered there for the Fourth of July one year. “We were swimming off the dock, then all got out to eat lunch. When I was done, I was so eager to go back in that I slipped away without anybody noticing. I got in the water by myself—and forgot my life jacket.”

Rachel gasped, but Mike was so lost in the memory
now, the strangeness of it, that he kept right on talking. “I was swimming around—making the motions anyway—but I was gradually drifting under the water, deeper and deeper. It was…the damnedest thing.” He shook his head softly. “I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t worried. I didn’t realize anything bad was happening. I guess I was so little that I just…didn’t have those kinds of fears yet. I remember opening my eyes underwater and seeing different colors—probably from the sun shining down through it. I was completely at ease.

“I don’t know how long I was down there—not too long, I guess, or I’d be dead—but then something bumped my shoulder, and the next thing I knew, one of my aunts hauled me up to the surface. She’d just decided to jump back in, too, and happened to kick me with her foot. The timing was pretty amazing. And then the whole family freaked out and nearly crushed me with hugs—and gave me the scolding of my life.

“But the point is…maybe kids that little don’t have a fear of drowning yet, and maybe that makes it…completely peaceful. They say, even as an adult, that you eventually just shut your eyes and go to sleep. It just sounds like…well, not a bad way to go, if you have to go at all. I know I’ll never get over losing her, I’ll never get over the guilt—but if I knew for sure she died peacefully, it would help.”

Next to him, Rachel looked wrung out with emotion—but also suddenly…adamant. “No, Mike,” she said then, shaking her head, “the point
is
…when you went into the water,
they weren’t watching you
. Not your parents, not your whole extended family. And it doesn’t mean they didn’t love you—it just happened. It
happens
. Which means losing Anna wasn’t your fault.”

Mike let out a long breath. Damn. She was right—no one had been watching him, either. He couldn’t believe it, but he’d never thought about that before.

Still…“That doesn’t absolve me, Rachel. It just means they were guilty for a few minutes, too. And if I
had
drowned, they’d probably feel like
I
feel about Anna.”

Above him, she tilted her pretty head. “I’m just saying—it really can happen to anyone. Even the best, most attentive parents can look away for a minute.”

He nodded in concession. “You’re right. I know, logically, you’re right. And believe me, my mom and dad have tried to make me get that, too. In fact, I try like hell not to let them see the way it still bothers me. But what it comes down to is…” He stopped, peered up at her. “My whole world changed that day, and nothing has ever felt right, really
right
, since then.”

Rachel pursed her lips, looking a little bewildered, then finally she said, “Why didn’t you leave, Mike? With your parents? I know you said there was no reason to, but…I think there was. Doing what they did, starting over someplace new, could maybe help you…distance yourself from it. Even just leaving this house—you know?”

Mike only sighed. He knew good and well why he hadn’t left Destiny. He’d seriously considered it, many times—when Lucky took off, when his parents moved, and even a few times since then. But there were…things he had to do here.

“I didn’t leave,” he said, “because…I guess I feel responsible for keeping Destiny safe. I couldn’t keep Anna safe—but if I can keep other people here safe, it makes me feel like I’m doing something worthwhile. It’s like…”

“Penance?” she suggested.

But he shook his head. That wasn’t it at all. “No, it’s like…an apology. To Anna. For not protecting her. And…and…” His chest deflated and he had to shut his eyes, tight, to keep the sudden wetness there from leaking free. There was more truth hiding inside him. The truth he’d never let out. Maybe not even to himself.

“What, Mike?” Rachel whispered, touching his arm.

He shook his head vehemently now against the pillow, feeling too much. To leave Destiny…would be to close a very big door. It would be to admit…to admit what he knew, what he’d known his whole life—that Anna wasn’t coming back. And it was one thing to know it—but another thing to truly accept it deep inside.

“I know she’s gone. I know she’s dead. I
know
that.” He forced his eyes open then, forced himself to meet Rachel’s. “But…what if I’m wrong? What if…what if she came back? What if she came back home and I wasn’t here?”

O
h, Mike,” she whispered. Just that, nothing more.

And he realized he’d just given voice to the most crazy, illogical thought in his head. Jesus Christ. What was he thinking? What had come over him? Since when did he spill his guts—to anybody? Shit—he didn’t even know he was capable of that. But apparently he was, and he’d just spilled it all to Rachel Farris.

Damn, a part of him felt so weak, so…vulnerable. And he
never
let himself feel that way—
never
.

Except for maybe…when he was with Rachel.

This was a whole different kind of vulnerability, but from nearly the moment they’d met, she’d knocked him off balance, taken away his self-control. And now he’d just let her see…what no one else saw. That there was some insane part of him that still believed Anna could come home more than twenty years later.

“I know that can’t happen,” he felt the need to tell her, trying to sound more like his usual gruff, commanding
self. “I get that. So don’t think I’m some kind of a nut, okay?”

She shook her head, still looking sweet and compassionate. “I don’t think you’re a nut, Mike.”

And he wanted to keep being that tough guy—the guy he usually was, the guy he
really
was—but his voice softened again anyway as he realized, “I guess it’s just the twelve-year-old kid in me who keeps thinking some kind of miracle could happen. It makes no fucking sense, I know. It’s not even really real—it’s just the way I felt that day, running around the lake calling for her. There was still…
hope
then.
Hope
that the worst hadn’t happened. And if I left Destiny, then I would be…sure. Certain. That she could never, ever, ever come back. And I guess my mom and dad reached the point where they were ready to be sure. Deep down inside. But maybe I’m just not quite there yet. Maybe I never
will
be. Maybe I just need that last, stupid, tiny little ounce of hope, you know?”

“I know,” she whispered, surprising him. “I get it. I get needing hope.”

No more arguments from her suddenly. No more advice about what would be good for him. Just acceptance. And that was all he could ask for.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, then lifted his hand to her face and leaned up to give her a small kiss.

After that, they didn’t talk anymore, and Mike was glad. He’d said far too much already. It was much easier to stop thinking now, easier to just concentrate on holding Rachel as she eased snugly into his arms. He let them close warmly around her—then reached up one hand to turn off the bedside lamp, bathing the room in darkness.

There, that was better.

No more bad memories or regrets. No more pictures of Anna keeping his illogical hopes alive at the same time that they broke his heart. No more anything—except for the warmth of a beautiful woman in his arms.

He hadn’t thought ahead to this part, that she’d likely be staying the night. But she couldn’t exactly leave without a car, could she? And she seemed content enough about it. And to Mike’s surprise, so was he.

Rachel awoke the next morning with Mike’s body spooning hers, his hand loosely cupping her breast through her T-shirt. Mmm, she liked that—everything about the moment felt warm and cozy, right down to the sound of the rain still falling outside.

Funny, in Chicago, she hated rain. It meant getting soaked on the way to work, hoping it didn’t ruin her shoes, fighting with umbrellas on the sidewalk. This was the only time she could ever remember the rain making her feel so…warm. Kind of cocooned here with Mike in the house.

Daylight shone through closed shades, and she opened her eyes and glanced around without moving. She didn’t particular want to wake him yet. She didn’t want him to move his hand.

But then she remembered everything he’d confided in her last night. Oh, what a difference a day made. She knew the deepest pains of Mike’s heart now, and her own heart contracted just thinking about it. She’d felt helpless to ease his hurt and had just wished she could somehow take it all away. But she knew, already, instinctively, nothing within her power could ever do that. It ran too deep. He was a man wrought with guilt and regret—all she could do was…care about him.

Wow, she’d told him that. That she cared about him. Maybe for some people, that wouldn’t be a big deal. But for her, especially with Mike Romo, it was. A few short weeks ago, just being attracted to a guy whose last name was Romo—at one time the worst four-letter word any Farris could utter—had seemed unthinkable. Not to mention having sex with him. And telling herself over and over that it was only physical had somehow helped her accept it.

But now—well, turned out it wasn’t so horrible. To care for a guy. To even
admit
caring for him—to him and to herself. In fact, it probably accounted for all the warm fuzzies rippling through her right now. And the more time that passed, the less it mattered that his name was Romo. Even the idea of him buying the orchard someday—while it still stung—no longer held the horror it had only a week or two ago.

“You awake?” Even the raspy, sleepy-sounding voice near her ear made her a little melty inside.

“Mmm-hmm. Sort of.” She’d been enjoying that lull of not quite being fully wakeful yet.

“What do you smell like?” he murmured.

She flinched and glanced over her shoulder. “Huh?”

“You always smell good and I’ve wondered for weeks—what is it?”

Oh. Well, when he put it that way, the question was much more appealing. “Is it my shampoo? Mango?” Despite all her hair had been through since yesterday, maybe the scent had stayed with her.

He snuggled a little tighter against her, burying his face in her tresses. “Hmm. Mango. Yeah. It’s nice. You should never wash your hair in anything else, Farris.”

For some reason, his words turned her warmer than she already was. “Thanks,” she whispered. “I won’t.” And now, because of this, she really wouldn’t.

“You in the mood for pancakes?”

Even though Rachel hadn’t wanted to leave the bed just yet, she tilted her head a bit deeper into the pillow, liking the suggestion anyway. “Um…yeah, I could go for some pancakes.”

Half an hour later, they stood over the griddle on Mike’s stove while Jack Johnson’s smooth voice echoed softly from the bedroom, accompanying the rain as he sang about banana pancakes. Rachel watched as Mike, looking scrumptious in a pair of boxer briefs, poured four
perfect round blobs of batter—and she used a wooden spoon to keep it from dripping from the spouted bowl. After which Mike set down the mixture and drew her into a loose embrace.

Mmm, being held by him was becoming one of her very favorite things. She pressed her palms lightly against his muscled chest and tilted her head up to receive his kiss. His gaze shone all sexy, as usual, and it was all she could do not to moan.

“Um, about last night,” he said then.

“What about it?”

“I…don’t usually tell people that stuff.” Oh. Well, she knew that. But the look in his eyes said a lot more. Like
I trusted you completely
and
Please don’t tell anyone.

“Don’t worry—I’m not a blabbermouth,” she promised. Of course, sometimes she
was
a blabbermouth, particularly with Tessa and Amy. But she wouldn’t be—not about this. Just as she hadn’t told them about Edna and Giovanni, either.

“And, uh, don’t expect me to be all open and talkative like that all the time.” He lowered his chin, adding, almost as if to himself, “Maybe never again.”

Ah—he was embarrassed. Despite the gravity of what he’d shared with her, his sheepishness was almost cute, especially on such a normally brusque guy. Rachel held back her smile and simply said, “Understood.”

“Good.” Mike drew his gaze from her then to peer out the window above the sink. “Rain doesn’t seem to be stopping.”

“Nope,” she agreed, arms looped around his neck now.

He brought his focus back to her. “You, uh, have anywhere you need to be today?”

“Well, Sunday is a ‘pick your own’ day at the orchard, but there won’t be any day-trippers out in this weather. And Edna keeps urging me to take weekend days off anyway, probably afraid I’ll get apple burnout. Why?”

Giving his head a thoughtful tilt, he replied, “Because I don’t, either, so…after we eat, maybe we should just go back to bed for a while.”

Rachel bit her lip, her inner thighs already aching for him. “To sleep? Or to…?”

The grin he flashed was at once sweet and wicked. “Both.”

Mmm. Sounded good to her. So she lifted a quick kiss to his mouth and said, “Hurry up with those pancakes, Romo.”

It was late that afternoon before Mike drove Rachel home. Everything outside still glistened and smelled of fresh rain, but the last drizzle had finally stopped, letting the sun burst through the clouds. As they wended their way toward the orchard, Rachel sat up close against him in the truck, a habit she’d picked up that he liked. It was chillier out than yesterday, so he’d given her a big, warm flannel shirt to put over the little yellow top she’d worn to the ball games.

“
Really?
” she’d said, scowling, when he offered it to her a few minutes earlier. “You want me to wear
that
?”

He’d just shaken his head. “Don’t worry, Farris, no one will see you.”

“
You
will.”

“And I’ll still think you’re sexy as hell. Promise.”

“You didn’t think I was sexy in Edna’s smock,” she pointed out.

“Well, that was awful. This isn’t so bad. Trust me.”

“All right,” she’d finally conceded with a sigh, and now he couldn’t help thinking she looked pretty cute all wrapped up in his flannel.

He still regretted how open he’d been with her last night, just because…he wasn’t like that, and he’d never before felt compelled to trust a woman that way. But she’d said no more about it, which he appreciated—and he’d almost
forgotten it all when they’d gone back to bed after breakfast, when he’d been moving inside her again, making her moan her pleasure.

When he was thrusting hotly into her warmth, he didn’t feel weak
or
vulnerable—no way. Nope, in those moments, he went back to being Tarzan. Funny, when he’d first suffered that overpowering lust for her, the fact that he couldn’t restrain it had left him feeling…defenseless. Before her, he’d been accustomed to having a firm command over most everything in his life. But once he’d started getting used to it, to
her
, all those negative feelings had finally fled, leaving nothing but good, hot ones behind. Losing control, it turned out, wasn’t always such a bad thing. If he hadn’t lost control with Rachel in the first place, he wouldn’t know how good it felt to be deep, deep inside her.

And he was starting to think he had a pretty damn good thing going with her. It couldn’t go much
further
, of course—since she’d be leaving soon—but he planned to enjoy her while he had her.

“Oh, look at the trees,” Rachel said as they drove back past Creekside Park. Mike had noticed, too, that the fall colors had deepened, brightened, just over the past couple of days. Autumn was here in earnest now, and winter lay just around the corner.

But it wasn’t winter yet—and Rachel still had apples to pick before she could go back to Chicago. So as they drove across Sugar Creek to the orchard, he asked, “If I make plans to see you again, you won’t freak out and accuse me of inducing romance or anything, will you?”

“No,” she said softly. Just that, nothing more.

Of course, this
was
romance now. But if she still didn’t want to acknowledge that, he’d let her have her way.

Pulling the truck up beside her 325i, he said, “Well then, I’m invited to a big bonfire Friday night at the Schusters’ pumpkin farm. If you want to go with me. Bob and Mary
Schuster were friends with Logan’s family when we were growing up, and I know them pretty well, too. There’ll be a hayride, marshmallow roasting, that sort of thing. It’s usually a nice night.” He turned to peer down at her, his next words half teasing, half serious. “Unless it sounds too boring for a big city girl like you.”

Rachel shook her head and smiled. “I’d love to go. And I’m
never
bored with you, Romeo.”

As Rachel pulled up outside Under the Covers, her arms ached. And as she got out of the car, the arches of her feet hurt and she suddenly regretted wearing her carmel-colored Prada boots. It was Wednesday night and the last few days had been busy—she’d picked so many apples she was seeing them in her sleep. And when she wasn’t picking them, she was wrapping them in newspaper and stacking them in the root cellar.

First thing Monday morning, Edna had informed her it was officially crunch time, so when Amy had called about getting together, Rachel had explained she couldn’t take time away for any more lunches—they’d have to do dinner instead. Now, as she pushed through the bookstore’s door, making the overhead bell jingle, the muscles in her back complained, too, and she felt happy to get away from apples for a while—but the truth was, despite her aches and pains, she was gratified by the work. By helping Edna. By just
being
with Edna.

“Is that you, Rach? I’m in the back,” Amy called.

“Yep, it’s me.”

“Can you lock the door and turn the Closed sign around in the window?”

“Sure,” Rachel said, flipping both the lock and the cheerful sign, decorated with flowers done in felt tip pen. She couldn’t help smiling—only Amy would find a way to make being closed look so merry.

“I’m just shelving some new arrivals in the romance section, but I’ll be right out. Tessa is meeting us at Dolly’s. Sit down and play with Shakespeare or something,” she suggested.

As if on cue, that’s when her old buddy, Shakespeare, silently appeared from between two bookshelves. The fat cat looked up at her and said, “Meow.”

“Hi,” she whispered down to him, not particularly wanting Amy to hear her greet the cat. And the second Rachel took a seat in one of the easy chairs near the door, he hopped up into her lap as easily as if he belonged there, as if they did this together all the time. It
was
sort of becoming a habit, though, she supposed. He plopped his wide body down across her denim-covered thighs, paying no attention to the fact that he knocked her purse to the floor.