Wild Flower Page 6

  “Shoulda had a beer before bed,” I teased, which was exactly what Gran would have told me to do, and Justin laughed, resting on one elbow near my hips.

  “I can just hear Louisa saying that,” he recognized, pressing a kiss to my stomach.

  “He was quiet all afternoon,” I said, settling comfortably on my left side. “When I’m moving he sleeps and then when I finally lie down he thinks it’s a free-for-all.”

  Justin stroked my skin, almost lulling me to sleep. After a time he said softly, “I’m sorry I teased you this morning.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I opened my eyes. “I was being ridiculous.”

  “No, you weren’t,” he said, shifting back up the bed. He caught my hip in his right hand and aligned his much longer body so that we lay face to face. “I wouldn’t like it either, if the situation was somehow reversed.”

  He always tread gently when it came to an even indirect reference to Clint’s dad, Christopher, who died in a snowmobile accident the winter Clint was three. The aching sadness that had permeated my every movement for years after finally let me be, replaced by a sense of fading sweetness at the memories of the time Chris and I spent together.

  I whispered, “I was so jealous of Aubrey once, I guess it’s still in the back of my mind.”

  “There’s nothing to be jealous of, not ever. You know that.”

  “I do,” I murmured. “It’s just that she…the way she talks…”

  “I know,” he acknowledged. “She loves to make a scene. She’s not content unless she thinks everyone is paying attention.”

  “Like Jackson,” I said, referring to Joelle’s ex-husband. Justin’s thumb moved in slow circles over my bare thigh and I squirmed, desire sparking along my nerves.

  Justin agreed, “Exactly like him.”

  I admitted, “I still hate her!”

  “Aw, honey, don’t waste your time.”

  “I know it’s stupid…”

  “Jillian Rae Miller, my wife, my sweet little woman, it’s not stupid, and I don’t mean to change the subject, but I have a problem right now…”

  I snorted at this pronouncement. He had a “problem” that needed my attention at least once a day. I smoothed my left hand down his powerful torso, curling my fingers into his chest hair.

  “I really am flattered that you were jealous,” he couldn’t resist, and at that I pinched his belly.

  He smothered a laugh even as I sputtered in a whisper, “You really want to talk that way to the woman who planned to help you with this?” My hand had reached its destination. “It seems like a pretty gigantic problem to me.”

  He made a sound deep in his throat and pressed against my palm, covering the back of my hand with his own. His dark eyes blazed, and he kissed the outer corner of my mouth, promising in a whisper, “I’ll stop talking.”

  “You do that,” I said against his lips, and felt him grin as he got us both completely naked almost before I could blink.

  Monday morning dawned clear and fresh, the scent of dew-spangled grass and blue spruces flowing in the open window. Justin usually got up for work around seven-thirty and Rae rolled out of bed around the same time; Clinty, my night owl, rarely appeared in the kitchen before ten. I still worked lunch shifts a few days a week and even though the cafe was closed today, Rae and I walked through the woods to Shore Leave after breakfast. I knew Aunt Ellen would have a fresh pot of coffee perking and probably something delicious just coming out of the oven, and I craved the company of the womenfolk. We waved to Justin as he headed for his and Dodge’s mechanic shop. He blew us a kiss, and I collected Rae’s hand and let her lead the way among the familiar trees.

  “Lookit, Mama, a blue jay!” she said as we ambled along the path through the woods, sun dappling our shoulders with little leaf-cutout shadows. I smoothed my hand over her golden hair as she grinned up at me with her long-lashed brown eyes that were exactly like Justin’s. I thought of how she liked to kneel on his lap and pat her hands and trace her little fingers over the scars on his face; she had never been afraid of them, calling them ‘Daddy’s scratchies.’ She asked him once if they hurt, to which he’d replied, “No, sweetheart, not at all,” prompting Rae to promise, “But if they do, Daddy, I’ll kiss them for you.”

  Justin was once so self-conscious of his scars that it had almost ended our relationship before it even fully began; it took some damn hard convincing on my part that they didn’t bother me at all, that he didn’t look like a monster. I realized that other people might not share this opinion; I bore witness to the way people who did not know him, out-of-towners in Landon for example, would do a double-take when they caught sight of his face. I saw only the man I loved, the stubborn, passionate, loving man who’d staked a claim in my heart back when we were little kids. An accident in his repair shop led to the red, rope-like scars that crisscrossed the right side of his face and continued down along his neck. But as I’d told him years ago, it was this accident that eventually led us to one another.

  I breathed deeply of the fresh morning air, smelling the lake, a scent as dear and familiar to me as any I knew. I didn’t want to let the thought of Aubrey Pritchard ruin the morning in even a small way, but she intruded despite my best efforts. I acknowledged that if Justin’s face had never been scarred he may very well still be married to Aubrey; though they’d weathered problems in their marriage prior to the accident, it was the catalyst that finally ended their relationship and Aubrey left him for another man.

  God, Jilly, you’re being completely ridiculous. It’s not like you to get so ruffled.

  But just the idea of Justin still somehow belonging to that smirking snake of a woman made me nauseous. Shore Leave came into view through the trees and Rae darted ahead, effectively refocusing the direction of my thoughts.

  “Don’t run into the parking lot!” I yelled after her, even though the cafe wasn’t open. Other than Dodge, who stopped out every morning for coffee, only Mom, Aunt Ellen, Camille, and Millie Jo would be around and about, but still. Supply trucks often rumbled through the lot on early Monday mornings like this. Rae changed course and trotted back to me as I continued at a more sedate pace past Mom and Aunt Ellen’s white clapboard house, the one in which I’d been raised, and then the detached garage with its second-floor apartment, painted a cheerful yellow, where Clint and I had moved when he was just a toddler, shortly after Chris died.

  “C’mon, Mama!” Rae ordered, standing with hands on hips. She wore a pair of orange shorts and a matching tank top, dotted with multicolored flowers. I smiled and wondered if any child, ever, looked so adorable.

  “Mama’s coming,” I assured her as we reached the cafe, Flickertail Lake a muted indigo blue, still mostly in shade as the sun slowly crested the trees on the eastern shore. Mathias’s work truck was the only vehicle in the lot. I heard Mom and Aunt Ellen chatting through the open window, and then Millie Jo raced to the screen door.

  “Rae!” she squealed.

  I loved how they always acted as though they were being reunited after months apart. The door sang on its aging hinges as I entered the warm space, smelling coffee and cinnamon rolls, just as I’d been hoping.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Aunt Ellen said; she and Mom were situated at table three, as usual.

  “Jillian, Dodge told us about Aubrey’s car,” Mom said without preamble.

  Dammit. It was the last thing I wanted to talk about, but in our family nothing was ever a secret for long.

  “Yeah, how stupid, huh?” I asked, joining them, trying for a self-deprecating tone.

  “You know I don’t insure that damn old truck,” Mom said. “Why ever did you drive it into town?”

  “My trunk’s full,” I explained shortly, fetching my coffee mug. I poured a steaming cup and added two sugar packets. Stirring with just a touch more force than necessary, I added, “I didn’t figure you’d mind.”

  “I don’t mind. I just wish you hadn’t taken off someone’s headlight with it.”

 
“Joanie, let it rest. Dodge will fix it up and we’ll be done with it,” Aunt Ellen scolded. It had always been their dynamic; whatever Mom cast out of proportion, Aunt Ellen reeled back into perspective.

  “Jo told me about how Aubrey stormed out to the shop on Saturday, like I’d hit her car on purpose,” I said, and now I was the one not letting it rest. “As though I could have known it was her fucking car.”

  Aunt Ellen hid a smile behind a sip of coffee while Mom frowned at my cursing. Ellen and Mom looked as much alike as older versions of Jo and me, with fair hair going gray, pale skin prone to cinnamon-colored freckles in the summer months, and eyes of a rich golden-green. I was the oddball, having inherited my father Mick Douglas’s blue eyes instead.

  “Jilly, the kids,” Mom complained.

  “They aren’t paying attention,” I muttered, only half-apologetic.

  “Dodge was more concerned than he let on about Aubrey causing problems if she could,” Aunt Ellen admitted, and she knew Dodge better than anyone, even if she would not openly acknowledge this if confronted. She patted my hand. “But don’t you worry, Jilly, there’s nothing that ridiculous woman can do except bluster.”

  “I was a little bit upset yesterday,” I said on a sigh, still downplaying. “Justin talked me out of it.”

  “Good for him,” Mom said. She called to the girls, “You two want a treat?” and they scampered over.

  “Aunt Jilly, I helped make these,” Millie Jo told me, pointing to the cinnamon rolls, and I ran a palm over her soft curls; she looked so much like Camille.

  “That’s nice of you to help Grandma.”

  “There’s the lovebirds,” Mom observed as she dished out rolls for Rae and Millie Jo. I followed her gaze out the front windows to spy Camille and Mathias in the parking lot, kissing good-bye near his truck. I was amused by the sight of them even as I considered Jo’s words from last night; Mathias Carter was, as Jo and I would have said in high school, a total fox. He was hunky, with a killer grin and the kind of powerful shoulders that drew second glances like a honeysuckle blossom drew bees. And yet, despite his undeniably strong and capable physical appearance, there was a sweetness, a vulnerability, about him—that spurred within me a sense of need to protect, aggravated by the bizarre events in the woods last February, when he’d been struck and dragged over the frozen ground by an unknown assailant. I knew Camille was plagued by this sensation as well. As though the loss of him was somehow inevitable.

  Just relax, I thought, clamping down upon such thoughts. Quit worrying so much. You’re letting your imagination run wild, same as always, instead of paying attention to what is right before your eyes. And I couldn’t help but smile as I observed, He’s plenty fine, right out there.

  The way Mathias looked at her, Camille would probably be pregnant by nightfall. Probably I should call Jo.

  “Hi, guys!” Camille chirped when she breezed into the cafe a minute later, as Mathias drove away. “Hi, Aunt Jilly! How’s the baby?”

  “He’s all tired out from keeping me awake half the night,” I said, cupping her elbow as she caught me in a quick, one-armed hug. She smelled sweet, like lilacs, or maybe lily-of-the-valley. The long ripples of her hair brushed softly against my cheek.

  “Millie Jo-Jo,” Camille scolded, trying and failing to catch the little girl into her arms. She called after her daughter, “Wipe your fingers before you touch anything!”

  “What’re your plans for the day, sweetie?” Mom asked Camille. “You and Millie heading over to White Oaks later?”

  “Yep,” she said, finding her coffee mug and joining us. “We’re helping Bull varnish the porch. Or,” she amended, “We’re keeping him company while he varnishes.”

  Bull and Mathias would likely complete ninety percent of the renovation on the old cabin, rather than relying on hiring out the work. Much like Justin and Dodge, who were actually related to Bull and his family through a second-cousin connection, the Carters tended to be self-sufficient.

  “Can Millie sleep over tonight?” I asked Camille. “Rae has been begging.”

  “She’d love to, but Noah is picking her up this evening for a few hours. Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Now who’s this?” Mom muttered, peering out the window. “I don’t recognize the car.”

  We all watched as the unfamiliar vehicle, a small green canoe strapped to its roof, came to a halt near the porch, its bumper scraping the raised cement strip separating the parking lot from the grass. A man climbed out, straightened his sunglasses, and then cast his eyes toward the cafe.

  “Lost, maybe?” Aunt Ellen wondered aloud.

  He climbed up the porch steps and either didn’t notice or totally disregarded the CLOSED sign on the screen door, stepping inside without so much as a courtesy knock.

  “Can we help you?” Mom asked in her most contrary voice, the one I recognized from my high school days, pruning up her lips. We all studied this intrusive stranger with varying degrees of irritation. He was wiry and darkly tanned, and as he removed his sunglasses I saw that his eyes were just slightly too close together, giving him a vaguely eerie appearance. Maybe this was an uncharitable observation, but as his gaze skimmed over all of us and decided to rest on me, I felt a distinct flutter of misgiving.

  “Sorry to interrupt you, ladies,” he said in an easy tone, immediately causing me to second-guess my apprehension. He sounded normal, even nice. “Ed Sorenson directed me out this way. I’m over from Moorhead State, collecting water samples in the county. Ed said your place has the best coffee on the lake.”

  Mom allowed a grudging smile. “Well, we aren’t technically open this morning, but I suppose we could offer you a cup.”

  “Have a seat, young fellow,” Aunt Ellen invited, and he grabbed a chair from an adjacent table and joined us, plunking down between Camille and Aunt Ellen, which put him almost directly across the table from me. He smelled rather strongly of aftershave, not pleasantly so, settling his sunglasses so they fit like a headband. He was probably in his late twenties, with close-cropped hair, a lean face and those odd eyes that gave him an impression of something vaguely reptilian, even as he smiled at me with apparent friendliness. Maybe it was the mascot image of the curling, fire-breathing dragon on his Moorhead State t-shirt that put the thought in my head.

  Camille rose and poured him a cup of coffee; he accepted it with a polite thanks.

  “Zack Dixon,” he said by way of introduction.

  “Joan Davis,” Mom said, shaking his hand and then indicating the rest of us. “This is my sister, Ellen Davis, my daughter, Jillian Miller, and my granddaughter, Camille Gordon.”

  “And you guys run this cafe?” he asked Mom, taking a sip of his coffee.

  “It’s been in our family for decades,” Aunt Ellen explained.

  “That’s great.” He leaned back and tipped the chair on its hind legs. “Ed Sorenson spoke highly of you guys. He said you’re one tough family.”

  Mom and Aunt Ellen laughed at this, rolling their eyes. Mom replied, “We prefer ‘wise’ to ‘tough,’ don’t we, Ell?”

  “Eddie’s been on the receiving end of your temper a time or two,” Aunt Ellen reminded Mom, who laughed a little in agreement. “It’s a fair statement.”

  “Are you staying long in town?” Mom asked Zack.

  “I drove over yesterday from Moorhead and got a room at the Angler’s Inn,” he explained. “I plan to hit Itasca and Tamarac on the way back.”

  “Do you teach at the university?” Aunt Ellen asked.

  “No, I’m doing grad studies.” His eyes again flashed over to me though I sat silently, not contributing to the conversation at all. He kept his gaze steady as he added, as though speaking just to me, “I have a month or so to do some research around here. I plan to fish and do a little hiking in these parts. It’s great here. You guys are lucky to live here year-round.”

  I poured myself a second cup of coffee.

  “Winters aren’t easy in these parts,” Mom said. “But you’r
e right, it is beautiful here. Summer makes it all worth it.”

  “I’m from St. Louis, originally. I moved up here to go to college and haven’t left yet,” he said.

  “Well, feel free to stop out for coffee a time or two while you’re in town,” Aunt Ellen said. “Ours is the best on the lake.”

  “I will, thanks. Do you care if I leave my car out here when I put my boat in?”

  “That’s fine,” Mom said. “Just park farther out in the lot when we’re open, if you don’t mind.” And then to Ellen, “Here comes the truck.”

  “You live around here, too?” Zack asked me as Mom and Ellen were distracted by the rumbling arrival of a supply trailer. He braced forward on his elbows, abruptly enough that I leaned just slightly away. His eyes were a pale silvery-blue, with pupils that appeared smaller than normal, hardly pinpricks.

  Emphasizing my words more than necessary, I replied, “Yes, my husband and I live near here.”

  He nodded at this information, studying me without letup.

  Mom said, “Excuse us.”

  Zack said immediately, “Thanks for the hospitality. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too,” Mom said, distracted as she and Aunt Ellen stood to go and meet the truck driver at the back entrance, around behind the kitchen and the stock pantry.

  “Come on, Millie Jo-Jo,” Camille called to her daughter, also planning to head out for the day.

  Left virtually alone with Zack Dixon at table three, I opened my mouth to take my own leave when he indicated Rae and Millie. “So, are those your kids?”

  “One of them,” I said, a little stunned at the clipped hostility in my tone. I wanted him out of here, it was that simple.

  He replied with, “You seem to be a pretty fertile family,” directing a nod at my belly. I wore an old green maternity tank top that Jo had lent me, and was further stunned that he let his eyes linger on the rounded curve of my breasts; pregnancy gave me a considerable boost in the chest department, but still. It was undeniably suggestive and outright rude for him to be so obvious.

  “Walk me to my car?” he asked when I didn’t respond, setting his cup on the table and offering me a smile. I was reminded at once of a shark.