19. Darcy
NINETEEN
DARCY
My head is killing me, and if that knocking noise doesn’t stop, I’ll throw up.
“Darcy? Hey, it’s just me. I’m coming in to check on you.”
It’s a Herculean task to pry my eyes open, and once I do, the room spins.
“I got worried when you didn’t show up to put the horses out. You okay?”
My hazy eyes focus on Jake as he cautiously approaches my bed. I glance at the bedside clock. 7:30. Farm chores are well underway at this point. I mumble out a “shit” and spring out of bed. The room tilts and I fall to my knees, then immediately start dry heaving.
Jake races for the trash can by my dresser, plopping it in front of me. He sits on the floor next to me, his big hands swooping my messy hair out of my face. I usually sleep with it in a high ponytail, but that’s come loose at some point. Tension pulls at the back of my head as he takes out my hair band and reties it.
“I’m here. I’ve got you.”
I want to tell him to go away, to let me be sick in peace. Just yesterday, he was picking on me and trying to boss me around. All that attitude’s gone now, looking into my eyes more like he’s examining them than gazing into my soul. The back of his hand meets my forehead, then his fingers grip my wrist.
“I’m fine,” I cough out between gags. Jake doesn’t respond, eyes on his watch with his fingers still at my pulse point.
“Did you drink anything at the market?” he asks.
I think back, not really sure. The market had been even hotter than working on the farm, with the sun blazing down on a black parking lot. We were under a tent, but the pavement heated us from below. “I think I finished my bottle . . . maybe.”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “Next time you’re giving me shit for trying to take care of you, remember this moment.”
“Huh?” I close my eyes and lean back against the bed behind me.
“I tried to get you to drink something other than water yesterday and you wouldn’t. And you barely even drank water. I think you got overheated.”
Like I could forget him barking at me. Still, I know he’s right. I nod, glancing up at the untouched water glass on my nightstand. “Every time I drank something, my stomach hurt.”
Jake’s warm hand caresses my back, making soothing circles. When he speaks, his voice is stern. “Darlin’, that’s your body telling you something’s wrong. It was screaming for help and you were too stubborn to do anything.”
I know he’s right and I feel like a fool for putting myself—and the farm—in this position. “Don’t be mean to me,” I whimper. “You were mean yesterday.”
He slackens next to me, but keeps his gentle hand moving on my back. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be. I’m trying to help you.”
This can’t happen today. There are peaches to pick and we need to get the farm ready for the barbecue.
“I just need a shower and some coffee—” I move to get up and stumble again. That sets off another gag, this time producing something yellow and foul. Jake peers into the trash can and bobs his head, like looking at my puke is reading tea leaves for him.
His arm comes to rest around my shoulder and his lips press to my hair. My mind is spinning anyway, but this is the most affectionate he’s been with me, ever. And yet, he acts like it’s natural. He speaks in the low, calm voice he uses with Cane when he’s being a shit. “You’re not going anywhere today. First, I’m going to help you get back in bed, okay?”
My eyes well and I chance a look at him. “You can’t see me like this.”
He doesn’t laugh, or crack a joke, or do any of his normal Jake-isms. His thumb moves over my shoulder where his arm’s still around me. “Why not?”
“Because if I’m weak, you can control me.”
He freezes, eyes fixed on the carpet next to the trash can. “I would never do that to you.” He lifts his gaze to meet mine and his hand rests where my knee is folded. “You feel like you’re done getting sick?”
I nod, and he gives me a wary smile. “Will you let me put you back in bed?”
“Okay,” I eke out.
Jake helps me shift so he can get one arm behind my back and one under my knees. With a quiet “one, two,” I’m lifted to sit on my bed again. He makes it seem like I weigh nothing, and I definitely don’t weigh nothing. Jake turns me, carefully sliding my legs under the sheets. He tucks me in and shifts my pillow lower. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
* * *
I wake to a damp washcloth on my forehead and Jake sitting on the edge of my bed. “Small sips, Darcy. Then you can take a nap. We’re going to get through three small sips before I leave.”
I groan and he grumbles, “Ohhh, Jake’s so mean,” in a high-pitched voice. A tiny smile curves my lips and he lets out a dry laugh. “There you go. Jokes will get you up.”
His arms hook behind me and he helps me sit up, fluffing a pillow behind me to make it more comfortable. He holds out the bottle and steadies the straw with his fingers so I can drink. My stomach is none too happy as the first sip hits it.
“So I’m just dehydrated?” I ask.
“So dehydrated I think you gave yourself heat exhaustion, boss.”
I’m overwhelmed, just shy of having a complete meltdown. My breaths are shaky and my eyes sting again. The Rob programmed inside me starts up his tirade.
You were stupid and now everyone has to suffer.
You’re down a worker because you were too in your head to take care of yourself.
My breathing grows choppy and I can’t do this. I can’t do it here, in front of him. But it doesn’t feel like I have a choice. My body’s letting out everything my mind’s been holding onto.
I fall apart.
Jake wraps me up in a warm, firm embrace. “It’s alright.”
“I’m scared,” I whimper.
Those big, plush lips I’ve been admiring for the last four weeks press to my forehead, and I cry a little harder. “What are you scared of?”
“I feel so out of control.” I grow hysterical, full ugly crying.
“The farm’s fine, Darce.”
“It’s not just the farm.” I wind up to rant, and Jake holds me back so he can look me in the eye. “Everything’s a mess. I’m only here because I detonated my life and ran home. I’ve got no plans and no life and I don’t even know anyone here anymore because I’ve been gone so long and all my fears are coming true because, despite my best efforts, I’m alone. I’m alone, and I dug this hole myself because I . . . I,” I struggle to finish.
Jake rubs my leg through the sheets. “You’re not alone. You’ve got me.” He swallows hard. “You’ve got us.”
My lip does that pathetic sucking-quivering thing as I fight for air. “But what about in two months? Becca’s going to get her farm and you and Caleb are going to school and I’m just the girl who ran away from her life. I don’t have anyone to walk this road with me.”
I expect him to argue with me, to tell me I’m seeing it wrong. But he surprises me, his soft amber eyes meeting my watery ones. “I feel alone sometimes too. It’s not like Caleb and I are going to school together. I don’t have a lot of close friends here. My sisters have their own lives. My mom too. I’ll be back to my own lonely road in a couple months.”
“You’re not alone,” I rush to say because the thought of him feeling lonely breaks me a little. “You’ll have me.”
“Not if you move on to bigger and better things.” Jake smirks at using my own words against me. “Our situations aren’t that different. And . . .” He pauses. “If you need somebody to talk to about whatever you’re running from, you’ve got me.”
My eyes round again and tears pinch behind my nose. This doesn’t make sense. Sure, we lightly hit on each other and bicker, but I assume he doesn’t care to go any deeper to take me seriously. “But you treat me like I’m a panel of buttons to push for a reaction.”
Jake rubs his hand over his brow. “Darcy, I give you shit because I think you like it. But if you don’t, I’ll stop.” He steels his gaze. “You don’t let your guard down easy, and you’re more comfortable with jokes and teasing. And I’m probably guilty of the same. I need to do a better job of showing you I care.”
That silences me. This is new territory. He’s being earnest—and for more than one sentence. I twist my lips and pinch them together, then lunge forward to hug him again. “I do kind of like it. The pestering.”
“Knew it,” Jake rasps, rubbing a thumb over my cheek. “You’re pretty when you cry, you know that?”
I laugh and sniffle. “I guess I’ve got that going for me.”
He puts a reassuring hand on my thigh. “You’ve got a lot going for you.”
One thought echoes across my brain: Only because I’ve got you.
His eyes move over my face and if I hadn’t just vomited and my head weren’t absolutely pounding, I’d be trying to crawl all over him. I still don’t know whether all of this is friendship or something more, but it feels good to let my guard down with him.
I’m starting to wish it were something more, and that sets off all sorts of alarm bells. I do not need to be involved with a man. It’s not in the cards for this summer.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. So when he asks his next question, it’s so hard to not ask for what I really want.
“You need to hydrate and get some rest. Can I get you anything else?”
I’m tired of dancing around it. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want him to touch me. To tease me. That I’m not enjoying how sweet he is taking care of me. That it’s not confusing how much I crave his touch while knowing I should want nothing to do with him, or any man.
But his joke that first night rings true.
He’s not just any man. And I want him in this bed with me. I want him to hold me, to feel the security of letting someone else drive the life car for a while.
My stomach is both upset and in knots now, my eyes rounding. He cocks his head at me. “Don’t be shy. You’re sick and you need things. I’m here to do whatever.”
My laugh is watery and feeble. “It’s stupid. Caleb and Becca are probably waiting on you.”
He tosses a hand to tell me not to worry about it. Then he watches me again, those syrupy eyes concerned. The air shifts, a drifting mirage of feeling soup.
Concern.
Fear.
Longing. So much longing. Breaths held, words swallowed, silence louder than I’ve ever heard.
“Just say it,” he says.
The pressure is intense, the need to tell him something that, if I weren’t sick, if I were a little stronger, I would.
I want him.
But that’s a lot, so I settle for this.
“Will you lay down with me?”
Well, that probably isn’t the right choice either. Asking an employee to get in bed with me? What am I thinking?
I’m terrified to look up. He’s probably horrified. He’s going to quit. His weirdo, trainwreck of a boss just asked for cuddles.
“I mean, I haven’t showered?—”
“You know what, never mind,” I start until his hand lands on top of mine.
“But as long as you don’t mind a stinky cowboy in your bed, I’d love to snuggle with you.”
My face must go through every shade of red, but I don’t move.
Jake taps my hip. “Come on, Rossetti. Scooch.”
“Okay.” I shift to make room for him in the bed. Jake lifts the sheets and slides in, facing me on his side.
“You want me to just lay here, or do you want me to spoon you?”
“Whatever you want.”
Jake leans in to whisper, his warm breath caressing the shell of my ear. “I’m not the sick one. If you don’t choose something, I’m going straight to spooning.”
“Fine,” I say with a giggle, turning to let him get behind me.
“You can’t be doing all this giggling, though. I’m here so you can go to sleep.” He says it like it’s a command, but there’s mirth in his voice. Like everything, this is another game. Then he softens his voice to some mix of that horse-coaxing tone and something a little sweeter, more clandestine. “Close your eyes, boss. I’m in charge now. You just relax. And if you don’t like something, just say it.”
Jake’s body heat presses against my skin as he aligns his front with my back.
“Same,” I say. “This is a little ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not. Shut up. Relax,” he orders, but there’s a smile rather than harshness in his tone.
Jake’s breath tickles the nape of my neck and he’s propped up on his bottom elbow, surrounding my shape in the bed. His fingertips sink into the underside of my hair, rubbing against my scalp. His voice is soft and sweet and it makes my stomach all swoopy. “This okay?”
“Yes. It feels good.” I melt into his touch as he alternates massaging my scalp and petting over my sloppy curls. I love having my hair played with and, without meaning to, I press back into him harder. Jake’s little satisfied grunt is the kind of thing that would drench my panties if I weren’t so dehydrated. I try to change the subject. “Where’d you learn to make such good ponytails?”
His chuckle is quiet. “I used to have long hair. Part of my baseball player aesthetic.”
I peek at him over my shoulder. “Nuh uh.”
His eyes comb over my face and his lips curl up. “It’s good to see you smile again.”
My cheeks heat. “Hard not to smile at the idea of long-haired Jake. Bet you were cute.” I turn my face to the side and close my eyes.
“I’m always cute,” he objects.
“Must be nice,” I snort. “I’m sure I look ready for the ball right now.”
Jake’s fingers pause in my hair. His hand moves from my hair, coasting the pads of his fingers down my arm.“Don’t do that, Darcy. We both know you’re always cute.”
I go to swallow once, twice, my tongue suddenly too big. I cough and he lets out a sympathetic groan. “Poor thing.”
“I’ll survive,” I say.
“You will,” he says. “But it’s still no fun to be sick.”
I draw in a deep breath, enveloped in his scent of cedar and something spicy clean. “You don’t smell bad, by the way,” I yawn. “In case you were wondering.”
“Oh yeah? What do I smell like?”
I nestle closer to him, not so different from Stormy trying to get her scent on me. “Like you.”
He chuckles softly. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I surrender to his masterful snuggling, letting my body go slack. “There you go,” he coos.
“That feels nice,” I tell him as his featherlight touch continues up and down my arm. His touch is such a comfort, but it goes beyond the physical. It’s everything. Before I can think better of it, I speak. “I think I’ve been lonely. Missing tender touches like this. It’s an awful way to feel. It makes the rest of life harder. Scarier.”
Jake’s motions still for a moment, then his fingers make small circles on my upper arm. “It is awful.” There’s an audible gulp behind me. “Maybe let’s not let each other feel lonely. You’ll have me and I’ll have you. You come to me when you’re lonesome, and I’ll come to you.”
“I like that. That mean you wanna be my friend?” I say it kind of joking-like, because I’m afraid of what it means to be more than his friend. It’s too overwhelming to think about right now.
Soft lips press against my hair, just behind my ear. “I’m already your friend, Darcy.”
I let that sink in. Friend . I’m trying so hard not to get in my head about it when Jake’s fingers lace with mine. I pull our hands together so they press into my stomach and he rests his head behind mine. “Night, friend,” I hum, even though it’s still morning.
“Night, darlin’.”