3. Lacy
3
LACY
“ M om, I'm home,” I yell out as I walk into the house. I try not to notice the screen door frame starting to crumble at the bottom due to water damage or old age—which one, I can’t be sure anymore. Instead, my stress peaked the minute I pulled up and saw a strange truck out front. It’s new, one of the latest models, polished to a high shine, but it’s unfamiliar, so my body is already in fight-or-flight mode.
“In here,” she says, and I take a breath. She sounds okay, but I quickly look around the kitchen to ensure everything looks as it should. The house is clean, kitchen tidy. I drop my bag onto the kitchen counter and walk swiftly into the living room before I come to an abrupt stop as my heart stutters. Dr. Hudson Hamilton is in my living room, sharing a coffee with my mother.
“Hey,” I choke out, startled, my eyes widening as my throat immediately dries up at the unexpected sight.
“Hi, Lacy. Good to see you,” he says, jumping up from the sofa where he was sitting to greet me. It’s been months since I last saw him, and I wish I could say I almost forgot what he looked like, but that would be a lie. His face is one I remember vividly. Seeing him brings the memories back to me full force as I take a deep breath to try to calm my heart that is now thumping madly, reminding me that I am, in fact, a red-blooded woman.
He looks good. In a suit that matches his professionalism, the jacket filled out, covering his broad shoulders. His shoes are high shine and his watch glistens on his wrist. A Rolex, it’s hard to miss. He’s distinguished, expensive, and against our ratty old sofa, totally out of place. My stomach flip-flops, before I look down at myself. Sure, I have my work clothes on, but my hair is a mess, and I was running late this morning so my makeup is not at all on point.
Looking back at him, my eyes don’t move from his as memories flash through my mind so rapidly I can’t grasp them. A few months ago, he was my savior. I don’t remember a lot from that night, but I do remember him seeing me tied up in that shed, untying the ropes that held me, picking me up, and running us away from danger. I had never been more grateful to see someone before in my life, and my grip on him was tight. I never wanted him to let me go. I also remember him taking care of me in the hospital, until one morning, he wasn’t there anymore. Now as I stare at him standing in my living room, I clear my throat, trying to find words.
“Is everything alright?” I ask, looking at my mom with a frown. I have no idea why he is here, but he has his doctor's bag at his feet, so my eyes do a quick assessment of her to ensure she is okay.
“Everything is fine, honey. Hudson just came to do a house call and to tell us he is back,” Mom explains, her smile wide as she glances between Hudson and me almost expectantly.
“For good,” Hudson says quickly, and my gaze darts back to him to see he’s watching me. I feel my cheeks heat under his attention. A house call is unusual here in Whispers unless it’s an emergency. The only time a doctor has been here is when Mom is too sick to go to them, and clearly that’s not the case today.
“Great.” I mentally scold myself for my lack of vocabulary right now. My smile is forced from the surprise that filters around my body, because I wasn’t expecting to see him in my home, on my sofa, having a cup of coffee with my mom.
“Honey, we were just finishing up. Why don’t you walk Hudson out,” Mom says, and I spread my smile wider for her and push through these feelings of shock taking over me. Hudson looks too good. Better than good. Tall. Dark. Handsome. I shake my head because these thoughts suddenly resurfacing are ridiculous, and I have absolutely no time or reason to start entertaining them. But if I was a normal young woman, without all my worries and responsibilities, then maybe I could daydream.
“Sure, Mom.” I subtly wipe my palms on my pants because they are sweaty. The lethargy I felt only five minutes ago after a long day at work while mentally preparing for a long night at home has been replaced by anxious energy. I feel fidgety and need to do something with my hands. I lean over to grab his bag to carry it for him, at the same time he does, and our hands collide. My body jolts on impact, humming like I have been electrocuted.
“Sorry,” I rush out, pulling back immediately. As I do, I gasp in some air and smell his woodsy aroma. The familiarity of his cologne quickly encases me, making me almost stumble as it both soothes me and feels like a protective shield.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice almost like a tonic to my soul as he watches me closely. His gaze burns into me and he steps forward a little as if he is going to take my hand before pausing. I look to my mom who is in prime position, watching it all unravel, and I shake my head a little, like it will get my brain back into focus mode.
I’ve never had a man in this house before and neither has mom. A product of a one-night stand, I’ve never had a father figure, and it’s always been just Mom and me. My therapist says that’s why I take on so much. Because now that Mom is sick, I don’t feel that I have anyone else I can rely on, so I do everything myself. My trust issues have only amplified since the fire in the shed, one started by the very person I thought was a friend.
With that thought, I straighten my spine and turn on my heel to create some space and pace out the door toward his truck. I can handle this. It’s just the new town doctor. He isn’t here to see me. He isn’t anyone I need to concern myself with. He is a billionaire, a dad, albeit a very good-looking, panty-dropping dapper man, but one who isn’t for a small-town girl like me.
It’s only when I’m outside that I finally pull in a breath of fresh air. Seeing him again after all this time brings that night back to the surface. The night when I thought I was going to die, only to be saved by him. The way he grabbed me and held me tight. How I buried my head in his chest, the smell of his cologne. The way he spoke to me, promised me that he would always protect me. All that, coupled with the fact that he is just as good-looking as I remember, has me on edge. I try to remember the techniques my therapist taught me. The breathing that helps relax my mind when I feel panicked or flustered. Usually only reserved for when I have nightmares. Breathe in two, three, four and out two, three, four.
I hear him say goodbye to Mom inside, and I open my eyes as I hear the screen door of my house and his steps on the gravel behind me.
“So… how have you be—”
“Fine,” I cut him off, folding my arms across my chest as if they can protect me from getting too close with him, because falling into his embrace is feeling all too appetizing. I roll my head on my shoulders as the familiarity of his eyes makes me nervous, his gaze almost piercing. He saw me at my weakest that night, my most vulnerable, and his arms were a safe place for me. Now, as he stands right in front of me, I just want to dive back in and have him hold me tight and never let me go.
“You know, I’ve thought about you a lot.” His voice is a low rumble that sizzles on my skin as he takes a step towards me. He’s close, well within my reach, and I tense my fingers on my arms, ensuring they remain there, to the point I almost bruise my skin. The need to hug him, touch him, feel him is more intense than what I could have prepared for. I seal my lips tight, keeping the words I think about you too from coming out. Instead, I take a small step, toward him or to the side, I’m not sure where, but as I do, I trip on the gravel underfoot.
“Whoa,” I exhale, my arms flinging out to my sides to try and regain balance, just as he moves quickly, his hands coming to my waist to grab me so I don’t fall. Instinct has me putting my hands on his arms, holding on to him. He steadies us, the two of us now standing so close I can almost feel his breath on my cheek. Memories swirl, familiarity sinking into my bones. My heart is thudding out of my chest, and I can barely breathe as I look up at him.
“You never responded to my messages?” he asks softly, not accusing and not angry, and I feel slightly guilty.
“I’ve been busy.” I could tell him that I think about him all the time. That I have nightmares about that night and the only thing that soothes me is looking at those messages. But he doesn’t need to know all that.
“Too busy to text?” he asks, raising his eyebrow in question, knowing full well that I have time to text him back.
“There’s been a lot going on,” I say, only half fibbing.
His gaze on me is intense, like he is trying to see through me and my bullshit, and it’s working. I’m not sure if it was the near-death experience we had together, but it’s like we’re doing life on the same frequency. I feel his thumb move a little along my side, caressing me tenderly, the movement so small it’s hard to feel. But I do feel it and my body starts to soften against his of its own accord. I have no idea what’s happening, but I like it.
“Do I need to check your phone? Maybe teach you how to send a text message?” His lips quirk, breaking this tension we feel, and I roll my eyes and smile. He’s letting me off easy, injecting a little humor, and I’m thankful.
“Hudson…” I say, shaking my head, needing his attention off me. I’m so tired; I’m surprised he is here, happy, confused, and my inner turmoil rages, yet all the while his thumb continues to run up and down, almost in rhythm with my heartbeat, keeping me grounded.
“You alright?” he asks genuinely and full of concern, and I take a deep breath, trying to steel myself. He lifts his hand, his fingers tenderly touching my cheek. I hold my breath as we stare at each other for a beat. I could get lost in his eyes, his hands so gentle, so tender. Somewhere in the distance, a cow bleats, and I come back to myself.
“I’m fine.” I clear my throat and take a step back from him, needing the space. He drops his hands slowly and looks at me, his brow furrowed like he can sense my inner turmoil. I’m not ready to talk, not about us, not about that night.
“So… are you doing well since…” he trails off, and my breath leaves me as I look back at him sharply. It isn’t like I don’t talk about it. But I’m not ready to talk about it with him.
“I’m fine.” I say the same words so much it’s beginning to grate on me.
“That’s the third fine you have said since you got home,” he quips as he rubs his chin. Assessing me, his eyes drag across my face, down my body, and back up again, like he needs to look me over to ensure that I am actually okay. I feel myself blushing as a small smile threatens to dance on his lips. I push my own lips together as the words “I’m fine” threaten to spill. Again . I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
“How is Mom doing?” I change the subject to something other than me. He gives me a soft smile and offers me the reprieve.
“She’s good. Going to that specialist in Williamstown for her treatment these past few months is working well. All signs indicate that she’s getting better and better every week,” he says, nodding.
“Good. I’ve tried to keep on top of all her meds. Ensure she rests.”
“Well, you’re doing a great job. Make sure you call me if you ever need anything, you know, since you don’t know how to text and all. I’m not too far away from you here. I’m living back at the family ranch.” It makes sense he would live at his ranch. I haven’t been there, but from what I hear, they have a massive property at the start of Billionaires Boulevard. Where the rolling green hills meet the edge of town and the large cedar trees offer privacy and protection from the elements.
“Sure will,” I tell him, because I won’t hesitate when it comes to Mom’s health. He watches me a little before giving me a small smile.
“I need to go get Harvey.”
I finally take a small breath before I smile, remembering his adorable little boy. I love kids, although given that I don’t have a boyfriend and am unlikely to find one here in this small town, I figure maybe being a mom isn’t in my future.
“Sure. Thanks… for … seeing Mom,” I say awkwardly and internally cringe because for some reason I can’t find my voice around this man. Thanks for rescuing me. Thanks for holding me when I cried.
He moves past me slowly, his arm brushing against me as his fingers grab mine that dangle at my sides. Giving them a small squeeze, he lets go and continues to make his way to his truck. I hold my breath so I don’t breathe him in. But it’s futile because I crave the scent just as much. I watch him jump into his truck, looking right at home here in Whispers despite his professional suit. He closes his door and then looks back at me through his open window.
“I’ll see you around, Lacy,” he says, still watching me carefully and curiously.
“Sure. Thanks again.” I offer him a small smile and a wave as his engine starts and he slowly drives away. I sigh as his taillights move farther in the distance, feeling that familiar sense of emptiness settle back in my stomach before I turn and walk back inside. I have dishes to do, dinner to make, and I need to look at our budget. With medical bills and a new screen door, I may need to juggle some things.
Hudson Hamilton and his good looks and strong arms need to be pushed to the back of my mind.
He’s not a priority. Not for a girl like me.