Wild Flower Page 5

  Ruthie nodded rather than answering, hugging a little closer to me, which told me more than any words. I squeezed her more tightly in response. Both Tish and I were protective of Ruthie in a way that we weren’t exactly of with one another; I wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for Tish if the need arose, it was just that Tish had never required my protection, and vice versa. Tish was opinionated, quick to go on the offensive; she relished arguing her side of any issue, longing to be a lawyer like our dad since I could remember. I used to tease her about the way she felt compelled to inform people within minutes of meeting them that she was bound for a career in law.

  “But?” I pressed.

  “It’s not about that,” Ruthie said, knowing what I was thinking. “Truly.”

  “Then what’s wrong? I could tell something was even before we left on the pontoon.”

  I sensed Ruthann was reluctant to admit to whatever troubled her; our footsteps carried us ever closer to the cafe and we’d subsequently lose any hope of privacy. At the last second, she admitted, “It’s Tish. I’m just going to miss her so much.”

  Tish and Clint had both been accepted to the University of Minnesota; though the university was only a few hours’ drive from Landon, I understood that Tish’s departure in August would signal a change of some magnitude; both Ruthie and I knew Tish planned to return to Chicago and work in a glamorous downtown law office, just like Dad. Tish’s departure at the end of summer meant she was leaving life as we’d known it, in the relative peace and contentment here at Shore Leave, for good. It would never be the same.

  Before I could respond, Ruthie said, with quiet passion, “I don’t want her to go. I know it’s selfish, and stupid, but I can’t stand the thought. I’ll be so lonely without her.”

  “Aw, Ruthie.” I stalled our progress. “I’ll miss her, too. I wish she’d stay around here but you know you can’t convince Tish when she’s set her mind.”

  “I know,” Ruthie sighed, swiping at stray tears before they fell and embarrassed her.

  “I’ll be here,” I reminded her, trying for a smile. “I don’t plan to go any farther than our little cabin.”

  Ruthie burrowed close, the same way she had since she was a little girl. I wrapped both arms around my sister, breathing the familiar scent of her shampoo, the hint of lake water clinging to her long wet curls. She and I were a little shorter than Tish, closer in height to each other. I rubbed her back, over which she’d slung her damp towel. She whispered, “But you’ll be busy with your family.”

  “Never too busy for my sister,” I amended, a little shocked that she would think so; but then again, Millie Jo and Mathias were my daily life—I focused nearly all of my attention and energy on them. I drew back enough to see Ruthie’s face, studying her serious, long-lashed eyes that shone brightly even in the gathering grays of night. Her skin appeared dusky. “I know I get busy but I am always here for you, please remember that.”

  “Thanks, Milla,” she said, and hugged me one more time.

  An hour later, everyone had headed home, even if home meant just a quick walk through the woods; after talking to Ruthie, I was reminded anew how much I appreciated that my family all lived so close. Mathias, Millie Jo, and I climbed the steps to our little apartment above the garage and I managed to get my hyperactive child into bed in Clint’s old room, now hers. Millie was bug-bitten, her nose and cheeks sunburnt a light pink despite my best efforts to keep her skin protected throughout the day. Millie’s complexion was the only reflection of Noah in her little face; my skin was olive-toned and tanned quickly, like Dad’s, while Millie had inherited her peaches-and-cream fairness from the Utleys.

  “G’night, Mama,” she whispered as I tucked her into bed. Mathias was in the shower, singing as he always did when there, but Millie was so used to this that her eyelids fluttered toward sleep despite the sound. I smoothed curls from her forehead.

  “Good-night, baby,” I whispered. “See you in the morning.”

  “Say ‘don’t let the bedbugs bite,’ ” she reminded me, half-asleep.

  “Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” I repeated dutifully, kissing her nose. Millie settled her right arm on the pillow over her head and was snoring almost immediately after this statement.

  I eased her door to within two inches of being shut and then proceeded to the bathroom, stepping over and subsequently ignoring the piles of dirty clothes shed on the tile floor there, the shambles of combs, brushes, gels, toothpaste, and cosmetics strewn over the miniscule countertop. Since living together as of last February, Mathias and I had discovered that neither of us was particularly organized, neat, or concerned about household messes. It was a relief that we were both relaxed in this regard, though our place wasn’t exactly company-worthy at any given moment. I unhooked my bikini top and slipped from the bottoms, still damp from the lake, letting both pieces fall to the floor atop Mathias’s swim trunks, already smiling as I drew aside the aqua-blue shower curtain to join him.

  Mathias stood facing me, head tipped back in the spray, singing even as water purled over his face. At my entrance, he opened his eyes and grinned, dimple flashing, beckoning to me as he continued crooning the chorus to an old Travis Tritt song, “Drift Off to Dream.” We were hooked on old-school country. I shivered with undiluted pleasure, my nipples tightening and swelling at the sight of him, my man in the steamy shower, powerful and gorgeous, his black hair dripping down his neck, all of the dark, curling hair on his body riotous in the shower’s steam. He wrapped me close, already growing hard, strong hands gliding down my back, pulling me flush against him, still humming the song.

  I dug my fingers into his hair as he licked a path down my neck. He lavished attention upon my breasts, his tongue swift and hot on the swell of my flesh, both hands spread wide on my ribcage as the showerhead poured hot water over us. He went next to his knees, grasping my hips.

  Hi, I said with no sound. I cupped his face, his handsome, unshaven face, moving my fingers tenderly over him, even as desire beat fiercely between my legs.

  Hi, honey, he said back, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my palm, caressing my hipbones with his thumbs. I traced the outline of his sensual lips and shivered again, as he grinned knowingly and rested his face against my belly. He let his tongue make patterns over my wet skin before bracing his chin against my belly button and looking up at me, eyelids slightly hooded.

  Yes, I said, again without sound, and with no further encouragement he bent his face between my legs, taking me over the edge and then beyond, holding me upright when my legs would have given out in the desperate need to spread around his hips, reduced to primal instinct for the countless time since the night we first made love.

  “I need you…right now…” I ordered when I could bear no more, and Mathias surged to his feet, lifting my legs around his hips and entering my body with all the force I needed and craved, right down to my bones. He braced me against the yellow shower tiles and I bit the top of his shoulder to keep from waking my daughter with my cries, my fingernails creating deep crescents in his back. He groaned, his tongue reclaiming my mouth just as possessively as his cock claimed me, lower down.

  “Yes,” I gasped, over and over, and swore I saw stars from the intensity of our lovemaking.

  We clung together in the steaming shower for some time after, our bodies still joined. Mathias smoothed wild, tangled hair away from my cheeks and studied me somberly, his eyes replete with love. He kissed the scar on my top lip and then licked water droplets from my mouth and chin. He asked quietly, “Do you know how much I love you?”

  I tightened my arms and legs around his strong, wet body, whispering, “I do know,” and tears of joy gathered in the corners of my eyes; one trailed down my left cheek, and he nudged it away with his nose.

  He said, “It only gets stronger every day. I wake up and see you and it hits me all over again. I never imagined I would feel this way in my life. I can hardly bear to be apart from you long enough to go to work.” And then he grinne
d a little, making fun of himself. “God, I don’t mean to sound crazy. You know what I mean.”

  His words, crazy or not, pleased me immeasurably, and I felt just the same. The second I saw his truck coming up the driveway toward Shore Leave in the jewel tones of evening light, all was right again in the world. I held him by both ears and said what I’d been thinking earlier. “You are crazy. But you are also mine.” My throat choked around a lump of intensity as I called him by my special nickname, the one no one but me used, “You are my love, Thias. I need you so much.”

  Against my lips he murmured, “Honey, let’s get dried off and in our bed. Our full-size, non-feather bed in which I am going to practice making you my wife.”

  I giggled as he kissed me, already nodding agreement.

  Chapter Three

  “JILLY-HONEY, YOU WANT ANYTHING?” JUSTIN CALLED FROM the kitchen, where I imagined him standing in the wedge of light created by the open fridge, hoping just like I often did that something delicious and easy to prepare had magically appeared on its clear-plastic shelves. I wasn’t much of a cook and neither was Justin, but somehow we managed. We’d arrived home from Shore Leave a half hour ago, the kids drooping with exhaustion from an evening spent on the lake.

  Early this morning I’d told Justin everything Joelle told me while sitting on the porch swing. By the dawn’s light, which painted the log walls of our bedroom with a cheerful rosy-orange glow, my rage over Aubrey’s words seemed misplaced, even ridiculous, though I nearly writhed with embarrassment as I explained that the person whose expensive little car I’d crunched in the parking lot belonged to his ex-wife, and that she was…unhappy about this situation.

  Justin’s expression went from mildly concerned to outright amused as I related this particular part of the tale. He tucked an arm under his head, still relaxed on his pillow, and teased, “Are you sure you didn’t realize it was her car? God, it’s actually funny, in its own way.”

  Irritation instantly replaced all other emotions. “Funny?”

  He repeated calmly, “Yes, funny. Don’t spend one second worrying about Aubrey and her endless need for drama. It’s what she would want, Jills.”

  I flopped to my back and pressed both hands to my forehead, closing my eyes, probably irrationally upset, but upset nonetheless. Justin rolled to his elbow; I could sense his grin and it angered me all the more. Just to be a pain in the ass, I grumbled, “Doesn’t it bother you at all that she demanded you fix her car? That she thought she had the right to drive over to the shop and accost Dodge?”

  Maintaining a reasonable tone, my husband said, “I can’t believe it bothers you this much, baby. I shudder at the thought of even hearing her voice. God, I wasted too many years with that woman as it was.”

  “But she wanted to see you,” I pressed, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes and rubbing.

  There was a moment of total silence before Justin, with an air of dawning awareness, asked, “Jillian Rae, are you jealous?”

  Because he’d hit the nail so close to the head I rolled away from him, mortified that I’d pushed it this far. Of course I wasn’t jealous. I knew better than that.

  “No,” I muttered, as though insulted.

  “I don’t know if I should be shocked or flattered,” Justin said then, and I could tell he was grinning now, relishing this opportunity to tease me. He decided, “I have to say, I’m pretty damn flattered.”

  I snatched a pillow and thwacked him across the head. He blocked my next shot with crossed forearms, laughing.

  “You should be so lucky!” I bitched, and then contradicted myself in the next moment as I pretty much yelled, “I’m not jealous!”

  He was rendered almost breathless by his laughter, and with disgust I threw aside the pillow. My eyes had teared up and before he could notice, I struggled from the bed and stormed, as much as a pregnant woman is able, to the bathroom. The slam of the door was particularly satisfying. Attempting to sound contrite, Justin called, “Baby, come on!”

  I heard Rae in our room then. “Daddy, can you make pancakes?”

  Clint must have been on her heels, as he followed up with, “And bacon? Please, Dad?”

  I knew it meant the world to Justin that Clint called him Dad. I’d never asked Clint to do so; it was something he started on his own. Once, not long after my car accident, Clint explained that he loved Justin because Justin made me so happy; in that conversation, Clint had teared up admitting how glad he was that Justin was going to be his father. Just considering those truths dissolved my anger in a burst similar to an exploding firework. Even so, I soaked in the hot shower for a good fifteen minutes to calm down before joining my family in the kitchen for a breakfast of blueberry pancakes (one food item Justin could manage to prepare).

  Now, twelve hours later, Rae was asleep in her toddler bed and Clint on his phone; I could hear the muted sound of his voice from behind his closed bedroom door. Lying on the bed, I slid my bare legs over the softness of our top sheet, luxuriating in the fact that most of the day’s humidity had dissipated. The bedroom windows were propped open to the pleasantly cool air. I was not in favor of shutting out the sounds of the night, even if it meant keeping the air conditioner from running. We kept a small fan near the bed and I loved the tinkle of the wind chimes strung at Rae’s height in our blue spruces, the peaceful breath of an occasional breeze, the sigh of it through the lush summer leaves. From our bedside table, the trailing bouquet of honeysuckle blossoms I’d picked this afternoon scented the entire room with rich sweetness.

  “No, I’m not hungry!” I called back.

  Seconds later Justin appeared in the bedroom and just like that I felt a jolt in my heart. I smiled in a lazy fashion at my sexy husband, who remained shirtless, his swim trunks riding low on his lean hips. One little tug and he’d be completely naked. He let his dark, smoldering gaze travel down my body before coming back to my eyes.

  “Those flowers smell so good,” he said, holding my gaze in his. He leaned on his forearms over the end of the bed and caught my ankles in his hands. He slid his palms up the backs of my calves and tilted to kiss the inside of my left knee. His lips were warm and the lightning bolt in my heart zinged at once southward.

  “You’re not hungry…at all?” he questioned quietly.

  “Maybe just a little,” I allowed, and he climbed over the end of the bed and cupped my belly, smoothing his broad palms in gentle circular motions, as someone stroking a crystal ball.

  “Hi, son,” he murmured, resting his chin on the crest of my rounded stomach. Love for him, and for our children, both the two down the hall and the one yet within me, flooded my soul, and I berated myself for how I’d acted this morning. I reached to tuck a strand of his black hair, even wilder than normal from the evening on the lake, behind his ear.

  “Justin,” I whispered, a catch in my throat. Outside, one of the gray owls called and Justin moved with fluid grace, bracing carefully over me and taking my face in his strong hands. He traced my lips with his thumbs before lowering his mouth to mine and kissing me so softly that I shivered.

  “I know, baby,” he whispered, reading my eyes. “I know it.”

  “I was just thinking of the summer you started calling me ‘Jilly-Anne.’” I twined my arms around his neck. “You must have known how much I crushed on you, even way back then.”

  “I wasn’t observant enough that summer, but subconsciously maybe I had a clue.” He kissed my nose and then my chin, which he bit lightly, sliding one hand down my ribs as he ran his tongue along my bottom lip. “You’re so soft. Soft as silk, baby, I can’t touch you enough.”

  “I need your mouth…right here…” I pressed my breasts against his bare, hairy chest. Justin nipped my collarbone, easing the soft, stretched-out white tank top I was wearing over my left shoulder. My nipples nearly sliced through the material. Pregnancy made my nerves, my skin, so very sensitive that I could hardly bear the teasing. I clarified breathlessly, “Right now, I mean.”

&
nbsp; Justin skimmed the tank top over my head without further ado. Tenderly, expertly, he caressed with his tongue, taking me between his teeth, suckling by turns, knowing exactly what I needed. He lifted his head, voice a little hoarse as he observed, “It’s kinda like palming basketballs, these days.”

  I giggled. “Basketballs with nipples, you mean.”

  He murmured, “You taste so good, baby…”

  At that moment our son landed a kick on the inner curve of my belly, strong enough that I gasped in surprise and Justin raised his head, eyebrows lofted high.

  “Holy shit, that was a big one.” He studied my stomach as though imagining the baby boxing his way free of the confines.

  “He’s not done yet,” I said, rising to both elbows and observing what was surely a tiny heel pressing outward just beneath my ribs, distorting the roundness.

  “Oh, wow.” Justin laughed a little, following the baby’s movements with his fingertips. “I love when I can see him. Look there.”

  I smiled at his expression. “I feel it, believe me. Wow, he’s on a roll now.”

  “It doesn’t hurt you, does it? I don’t remember Rae kicking you so hard when she was in there.”

  I shook my head and admitted, “It’s uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt. He’s definitely more active than his big sister. Clinty was that way, too. Maybe it’s a boy thing.”

  “Whoa!” My belly subtly changed shape with each new kick and his tone was that of someone on the sidelines of an athletic competition.