Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, Jag woke up to the rich scent of brewing coffee.
He instantly craved a giant mug.
Pushing up off the bed, he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and the dream he’d had of Mercy. It'd left his body rock-hard. He had an urge to masturbate to release some tension, but he could hear Mercy down the hall, piddling around.
He pulled on clothes, stopped at the restroom, and then headed into the kitchenette.
Mercy had her back to him, and he didn’t miss an opportunity to check out the lovely view. The jeans she wore fit her heart-shaped ass nicely. She turned and spilled her coffee all over the front of that white blouse.
“Jag! What are you doing sneaking around?” She seemed agitated.
“Shit, sorry.” He felt guilty as the brown coffee stain continued to spread across the delicate material of her blouse.
He grabbed a dishrag from the drawer, wetted it under the faucet, and tried his best to clean the stain. The only reward he got was his hard-on returning full force, and the sweatpants not helping a bit in hiding the fact.
Although he should have stepped far away, he instead stared into her eyes, a lethal combination of desire and interest.
He drank in every detail of her face. Her glossy hair, the supple curve of her pouty lips. The slender slope of her lovely shoulders, down to the outline of her erect nipples pressing against the shirt.
He heard a whimper fall from her slightly parted lips, and it was almost his undoing.
Fuck .
He was losing control.
He dragged in a ragged breath, needing to fill his lungs. He was losing a battle.
He wanted to haul her up into his arms and carry her to bed. He knew that when a man lost his logic, trouble wasn’t far behind.
He tilted her chin up. Her eyes were like blue lasers penetrating his skin straight to the marrow of his bones. He clenched his hands, reminding himself—no touching her.
“It’s a wonderful morning, isn’t it?” she said and walked around him, leaving a scent of cotton candy behind her. “I made the coffee since I couldn’t handle another cup of that tar you call joe,” she said cooly.
He poured himself a large mug of coffee and took a sip. “This isn’t coffee. This is tea with a kick,” he groaned.
“Then don’t drink it,” she said over the rim of her cup.,
“It’ll serve the need,” he said, stepping closer and inhaling her scent. She awakened his every sense better than any cup of the fragrant brew ever could.
“So, I hear it’s the day off around here? I don’t have kitchen duty, so while I was in town shopping, I stopped by the hardware store and grabbed some paint and supplies.”
“Painting? For what purpose?” he inquired.
“The walls,” she replied smartly.
“Yeah, I figured that, but which walls?”
“These walls,” she indicated with a sweeping gesture of her hand. “They’re in dire need.”
“Are you aware that I don’t care about that?” he grumbled.
“Something told me you wouldn’t, but the ghastly green color reminds me of vomit.”
“Don’t hold back. Tell me exactly what you think.” He spun on his heels, surveying the wall color. She did have a very valid point.
“I hope you didn’t have plans,” she said lightly.
“I do.” He noticed a hint of disappointment. “I planned for us to go somewhere together. I thought you might like to get away from the ranch for a bit.”
“Where to?”
“You’ll see.” He liked putting a smile on her face.
*****
They pulled into the former greenhouse, now overgrown with weeds and bushes, with sections of glass missing or broken in the structure.
“That’s sad,” Mercy said.
“I’m sure the condition is sad for the owner, too. After her partner died, Isla Barnes sold off a hundred acres, which included the greenhouse. So, she has to see the tragedy every day.” He killed the engine of the truck.
“Did she run the greenhouse?”
“No, her wife, Abigail, did.” He slid out.
Mercy jumped out and caught up to him. “Why are we here exactly?”
“Have you ever been told that you’re impatient?”
“Once or twice.” She crossed her arms over her waist.
“There’s a community board located near the fountain in town. Townsfolk make a list—kind of like a wish list. You place someone’s name who needs a certain task done, such as lawn care for Isla, and someone chooses the chore. It’s like a Christmas gift exchange all year long. It helps those in the community who are facing challenges or difficulties.”
Mercy’s heart swelled. “That’s very kind. Of you, and the community.”
He shrugged. “It’s important to give back when we can. But I’m not a saint. Every time I come here, Isla has a homemade pie waiting for me. Fair trade.”
The house had a lot of character, especially the decor. It reminded her of stepping inside a time machine and going back to the 1950s. A painting occupied every space on the wall. Each room was stuffed with antique furnishings. The drapes were heavy and velvet. Isla, a vivacious, beautiful elderly lady who wore bright pink lipstick, seemed to have the energy of a woman much younger. Her bright purple muumuu gave insight into her character. After she gave Jag a hug in greeting, she turned to Mercy and beamed. “Who is this lovely young woman? Is she your wife?”
Jag smiled. “No, she’s not my wife.”
“She should be. You’re not working your magic, Jag. Look at those radiant eyes. You two would make beautiful babies.”
Mercy contained a chuckle at the deer-in-headlights look on Jag’s face.
Isla leaned in, as if she were about to reveal government top secrets. “Did Jag tell you what I do?”
“No.” Mercy was very curious.
“No, I didn’t tell her that you’re a psychic,” he said.
“Not a psychic, young man,” she chastised. “A medium. There’s a difference. You’re a skeptic, aren’t you, dear?”
Mercy glanced at Jag, but he wasn’t any help. He was inspecting a rain spot on the ceiling. “I wouldn’t say I’m a skeptic…”
“Or a believer?”
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s okay, honey. Not everyone is open-minded to the universe. Like that one.” She stuck her thumb in Jag’s direction. “He’s about as closed off as they come.” She winked and smoothed a hand over her perfectly coiffed hair.
“I can hear you talking about me,” he said, still gazing up at the ceiling.
“Well, darling, we weren’t exactly whispering,” Isla said. “Come, Mercy, to the kitchen and let's leave our dear sweet Jag to help an old lady. I haven’t had a girl chat in such a long time.”
Mercy sat down at the retro metal table while Isla flounced about the large, vintage-style kitchen. The muumuu floated like a cloud around her delicate frame.
“I need to take the pie out.” Once the pie was on the counter, the room was filled with a delightful scent.
“That smells delicious,” Mercy said.
“It’s my favorite. Would you like a slice, dear? Jag won’t know.” She smiled mischievously.
“I’d love a slice.”
“I was lucky to have found the love of my life,” Isla said after serving the slices of pie. “We shared fifty years of both blissful and crazy years. I’m sure you saw that pathetic-looking greenhouse out there. Abby called it her she-cave where she could work magic.”
“I’m sure you miss her.”
She shrugged a thin shoulder. “She was getting cantankerous in her old age. Don’t get me wrong. I loved the old bat. We used to have some great times together, but in the end, she’d lost the fight to Parkinson’s. My love, my sweet love, was fading so fast.” A sadness crawled across her seasoned features. “The cancer got her in the end.”
“I saw a picture hanging on the wall? Was it you and Abby? You were both wearing costumes.”
“That photo was taken twenty years ago. She and I always hosted elaborate annual Halloween parties, inviting the entire town and having a great deal of fun. Abby would always say we spent too much money for just one night of fun, but it was worth every wonderful memory. Those are the only things I have left in my old age.” She laid a knarled hand against her chest.
“And you stopped having the parties?”
“I did once Abby started getting sicker. Things just weren’t as fun anymore. I bet you didn’t know that she was the town’s first female mayor. She held the position for fifteen years and did so much for our community.” Pride was evident in her stonewashed grey eyes.
“I didn’t know, but that’s a long tenure as mayor.”
Isla dropped back into her chair, as if to examine Mercy. “I know you don’t believe, my dear, but the spirits are demanding that I tell you something.”
“They are?”
“I don’t know what it means but I’m supposed to tell you that all will be okay in the end. However, I’m seeing that someone close isn’t who they say they are. I see fire.”
Mercy narrowed her gaze. “I don’t understand,” she said.
Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know, dear. That’s all I can see. You’re very protective of yourself.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Did Isla see how Mercy struggled with trust?
“I’m sorry. This makes you a little uncomfortable. I’m surprised my bridge club keeps me around. I’m not good at reading cues, I guess. I’ve always just followed the urge when I feel it. But one last thing. Your instincts are spot on. Allow them to guide you.” Isla stood. “Care for another slice of pie?”
“It was delicious, but if I have another, I’ll burst.” She took her plate to the sink and gazed out the window overlooking the backyard. Jag was pouring gas into a tractor. Her heart filled with warmth. Isla’s words, Let your instincts guide you seemed to spiral inside Mercy’s mind.
Yet, what were her instincts telling her?
She had no clue.
“He’s such an honorable man,” Isla said. “I don’t think people value honor and respect for each other as much these days.”
Mercy pulled away from the window. “Yes, he is, but he’s also incredibly closed off.”
“He has reason to be, my darling. It was Abby who started the community-lend-a-hand efforts. Of course, she and I were younger then, but she saw ways the community could help each other. Come with me, I’d like to show you something.”
Mercy followed Isla into a small room filled with black-and-white photos. “This is what I used to love doing: taking photos of nature.”
“These are beautiful. They should be displayed at a gallery.”
“Here is my favorite one.” Isla pulled the cover off a blown-up portrait. It was of Abby from years ago, sitting at a window, staring out. The sunlight grazed her delicate features, and the photo captured all the love the photographer had for her.
Tears filled Mercy’s eyes.
She gave the photograph one last look and searched for Isla, who had opened the veranda doors and was sitting outside. Mercy stepped outside and scanned the overflowing roses that decorated the veranda. The spot was truly a small haven.
“Have a seat, my dear.”
“It’s so lovely out here.”
“Abby loved her roses. I always told her they were her first loves, and I was her second. She wasn’t my first love either.” Isla lovingly touched a yellow rose bud that climbed a trellis. “I dated Raymond Truman. He was a kind fellow, and I did care for him, but when Abby came along, I found my true love. I was eighteen and she was nineteen. It didn’t make sense to me at first, but once we started spending time together, it did. Love is delightful, but it’s also a pain in the patootie. When you find it, and you know that person’s the one, never let it go. Hold on tight. Those feelings are more precious than all the money in the world.”
“There you ladies are.” Jag came around the corner. He was sweaty, but he’d never looked better. “Thank you for bringing Mercy along today,” Isla said. “I’m afraid she’ll never come back because I bored her with my stories, but she is a delight.”
“I’d love to come back,” Mercy piped in. “I enjoyed visiting.”