What Might Have Been (4 page)

The sting of tears threatened again as she spun away and melted into the dancing leaves around them.

The last thing she needed to be doing was kissing Luke Collier in the shadows beneath the peach trees as if none of their past had ever happened. As if he wasn't about to take away the one true home she'd ever had. As if she didn't have secrets to hide.

As if they still cared for each other.

She'd meant nothing to him then and she meant nothing to him now. The problem was that Luke Collier had been the love of her life. And up until this moment she'd thought that was past tense. But the force of one brief kiss had proved to her that if she let herself, she could fall for him all over again.

And get her heart crushed for a second time.

“L
ET'S START OVER.”

Luke walked into the kitchen the next morning armed with resolve. Somewhere between lust and the realization that it wasn't going anywhere he'd found clarity.

As long as he and Ainsley both breathed he'd want her.

He could live with that. At least for a few weeks.

What he couldn't live with was the potential for her to disappear on him when he needed her most. He didn't think she was the kind of woman to leave him high and dry simply for retaliation's sake, but he wasn't taking the chance. As she'd pointed out last night, he no longer knew what kind of woman she was.

“What?”

He could see from her startled expression and the flashing rise of a flush to her skin that she hadn't heard him coming. Considering the floors creaked as if they were about to buckle under at any moment, that was
saying a lot. He wondered briefly what had held her attention, then decided it was none of his business.

“We…got off on the wrong track last night.” And that was an understatement if ever he'd heard one. That kiss had been so far out in left field. “Listen. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you. Let's just chalk it up to the past tugging at my heartstrings.”

“I didn't think you had a heart, let alone strings.”

The flush on her skin rose higher and she rolled her lips in on themselves as if she wished to pull the words back. And as much as he'd like to pretend they hadn't hurt, they had. However, showing her that wouldn't get them anywhere but right back to square one…full of emotions neither of them wanted or needed.

Shaking his head, Luke continued. “I know you don't necessarily agree with what I'm doing, but I honestly think it's the best course of action. I can't stay here, Ainsley, and I can't ask you to.” There was too much history for that. It was hard enough knowing that she'd been here, in his family home, all these years. Putting her on the payroll just seemed wrong. “I know you have plans and I'm not asking you to change them too terribly much. Just stay long enough to help me transition. Please.”

Begging grated against his nerves, but he'd learned long ago that ego had no place in business. And that's what this was. Business. Nothing more.

She stared at him for several moments. He watched as her teeth worried the inside of her cheek, her lips pursing and contracting.

Finally, she opened her mouth to say, “You mentioned money.”

And he knew he had her.

“Absolutely. I assume you've been drawing a salary from the orchard. I'll double it if you stay until the final papers are signed. However long that takes.”

“You don't even know how much that is.”

“Doesn't matter.”

This time it was her turn to shake her head. “You're either very stupid or very cunning.”

On solid ground for the first time since he'd followed her into the orchard last night, he let a smile—of triumph and self-satisfaction—through.

“Let me know when you figure it out.”

A twinkle entered her eyes and he could have sworn that the corners of her lips twitched.

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Ainsley narrowed her eyes and straightened her spine. He could tell she was ready to play hardball, ready to make a stand. He'd seen the signs often enough on the other side of the negotiation table. He was intrigued and wondered what, exactly, she felt so strongly about.

“You can't just leave everything to me. While you're here—and since you're hell-bent on selling off pieces of your heritage—you're gonna see exactly what you're giving up. Learn what it takes to run a place like this.”

Luke's muscles jumped beneath the calm facade he'd adopted. She'd surprised him. He'd expected her stand
to be more personal, selfish even. Instead, she was concerned for him. For what he was giving up.

Not that it made any difference. It was just interesting.

“I already know what it takes to run this place. That's why I'm selling.”

“I find that hard to believe. You were a boy when you left and your grandfather took care of the details. You have no idea what he, and every one of your ancestors, put into this orchard. I think you should at least know the value of what you're throwing away.”

“I have every intention of knowing the value…we're going over the financials today.”

“There's more to the world than money, Luke.”

“Yeah. There's technology and progress, two things that this place seems allergic to.”

Shaking her head, Ainsley dropped her arms to her sides and a wistful expression crossed her face. “Whatever. My one requirement.”

It was no more than he'd planned to do anyway. He wouldn't dream of entering into negotiations for an asset he didn't fully comprehend the value of. The best way to do that was to get his hands dirty. He'd learned that lesson early on, his hands deep into the guts of computers for hours on end.

He might not like it, but he'd do it.

However, she didn't need to know that. “All right,” he said, the words ringing with reluctance.

Turning to flip the switch on the light above the sink, she tossed a towel onto the counter and headed for the
doorway. Stopping even with his shoulders, she turned her head and looked at him.

“And just so you know, I would have stayed for nothing. Do you really think I would have left Gran alone with you?”

With a final sweep of her gaze down his body, she bounced on her heels and headed out the door.

Her scent brushed past him, a combination of lemon, peach and warm summer. He wondered if she'd already been outside this morning and thought she probably had. Farm life equaled early-morning chores. Already he could hear the insistent whine of machinery in the distance. He had no doubt that if he went outside he'd see people handpicking the trees. When the hottest part of the day was miserable, it paid to start your work at first light.

He stood there, rooted to the floor, clenching his fingers into fists. The urge to reach out for Ainsley as she'd stood beside him had been strong. Stronger than he'd expected.

Last night he'd convinced himself that nostalgia and the dreamlike quality of the moonlight had helped to tear away the barriers between them. That without the otherworldly film transforming the moment, he never would have touched her. Never would have been overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her.

Apparently, he'd been lying to himself. Today there was nothing but early-morning sunlight and the clear, crisp scent of a clean kitchen between them and he felt the same urges.

The difference was this morning he'd kept himself in check. And he'd continue to do that for the foreseeable future.

From the hallway he heard the musical lilt of Ainsley's voice as she taunted, “Are you coming? Some of us can't afford to stare at the kitchen wall all day.”

Well that truce didn't last long,
he thought ruefully following her.

 

S
HE SHOULD PROBABLY LET UP
on the taunting. Teasing a tiger was dangerous…. But right now, it was the only surefire way she knew to keep him at a distance. Hope fully he'd be so distracted by her sniping, that he wouldn't notice the weakness she felt toward him.

Her standoffish attitude was also a reminder to herself that their past was far from rosy and glowing. As much as she shouldn't, apparently, she needed that reminder.

The problem was, the heat still lingered between them. And she didn't like it.

Ainsley walked into the office and sat down at the desk. She wasn't surprised when Luke showed up seconds later; she'd all but dared him to follow. Perhaps she should have thought through the taunt before she'd lobbed it. In reality, she would have much preferred a few moments alone in order to get her wayward thoughts and libido back under control. Again.

“So. What are we doing?”

“
We
aren't doing anything. I'm going to get in touch with an agency about hiring more workers to pick the
fruit when it's ready. I'm expecting we'll be ramping up the harvest in the next week or two.”

“Haven't we already started?”

Ainsley shook her head. “We're late this year.”

Mother Nature and the fruit dictated when to harvest, as much as their commercial clients would have preferred otherwise.

“We have a standing contract that we need to fill. I'm sure you'll want to take a look at it, as it'll be part of any sale.”

Spinning around in her chair, Ainsley began digging through a drawer for the paperwork. She took delight in the bemused expression on Luke's face when she plopped the lengthy document down next to his hand.

Not that she didn't think he was more than capable of handling it, Mr. Multimillion-Dollar International Corporation. But there was no denying he was out of his element when it came to the vagaries of farming contracts.

Reaching over, he snatched up the sheaf of papers and started thumbing through. Just like yesterday, he crowded into her space. Not that there was much of it to be had in the tiny room… He filled the area around her, his hips propped against the edge of her desk, his long legs stretched out before him, blocking her escape route. The overwhelming and heady scent of him surrounded her.

Turning away, she pulled in a deep breath, hoping it would be devoid of him. It wasn't.

The blood beneath her skin felt as if it was strumming
faster, a primitive beat that was relentless and unavoidable. “It's up for renewal at the end of the season?”

“Sure.”

“Why aren't we locked into a longer contract? You said we've been dealing with this company for years.”

“You never know what might happen. The trees get disease, or they stop producing. Or someone decides to sell. Besides, it goes both ways. While the relationship has been profitable for us for a very long time, the short contract allowed us to keep our options open, as well.”

His only response was a noncommittal grunt that made her want to smack at him.

“Remind me, this help you're hiring…how long will they be here?”

“As long as it takes.”

“And is this the only time we hire migrant workers?”

“You know the answer to that, Luke.”

He looked up from the document he was still scanning, a frown on his face. “I'd rather not rely on my memory after all these years, especially since I paid as little attention as possible,” he said. “Pretend I don't know anything about peaches.” Then he returned his focus to the papers in his hand.

Part of her resented his ability to read while carrying on a conversation with her. It had taken her hours the first time she'd read that damn contract. Hours with a Google page open so she could search for the legal terms she didn't understand.

“I assume they're still migrant.”

“Yes.” Ainsley shrugged. It was a facet of their business. They didn't need full-time employees to maintain the trees. They hired seasonal workers several times throughout the year, whenever they were needed. Collier Orchards maintained a regular staff of five or six who managed all the off-season work. They would never have made a profit if they'd kept workers on the payroll who had no job to do most of the year. And they treated all of their employees very well, while they were there.

“I suppose I should wait until after the harvest to sell,” he mused.

She didn't think he expected an answer but she gave it to him anyway.

“Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“On who you sell to. Any of the neighboring farms would simply take over the management of our orchards and fulfill the contract themselves. Someone outside of the area might have problems.” She paused, surprised at what she was about to say but she couldn't stop herself.

“I'm surprised that it even matters, though. Why are you worrying about something that could be someone else's problem?”

Dropping the contract back onto the desk, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her. Really looked. She wasn't expecting the impact of his gaze and her stomach did a barrel roll to her toes.

With a half smile tugging at his lips, he said, “Money.”

She should have known.

“What gets me the best price? Do I get more from the
sale of the property if the buyer has a contract in hand and a guaranteed buyer for the crop? Or do I make more by fulfilling the obligation ourselves before closing the sale? Options. Options are always a good thing. They put you in the power position.”

Oh, he knew everything there was about the power position. He'd always maintained it in their relationship. While she, she'd been reduced to doing whatever she had to in order to survive.

She just shook her head, unwilling to say something she might regret. At some point if not right now.

“Let's take a walk.”

 

A
INSLEY TRAILED AHEAD OF HIM
, spouting a lengthy monologue about things he didn't care to know about.

Around them a sense of frenzy permeated the atmosphere. A large group of people scattered between the trees worked tirelessly, picking the fruit from the branches by hand.

His BlackBerry buzzed at his hip. Dragging his attention from the woman in front of him, he glanced down at the screen and realized it was Mike. Without putting a stop to her monologue, he answered the call.

“Collier.”

He ignored Ainsley's glare as he listened to his VP on the other end of the line.

“Luke, do you have access to a fax machine? I just emailed you the counteroffer and need it signed and back to me as soon as possible so it can be waiting for Miyazaki when they open.”

Luke's mind turned with the logistics of handling the problem. From the middle of nowhere. He carried a portable printer for his laptop…with as much traveling as he did he'd learned quickly not to rely on anyone else's technology. He eyed Ainsley's stiff back as she continued to walk ahead of him. Based on the lack of modern technology he'd seen before, he'd bet there wasn't even an ancient fax machine buried somewhere in her office—the kind that still used rolled thermal paper you could only buy from mom-and-pop office supply stores.