11. 2
“Thanks, Owen—they’re beautiful.” She looked up the stairs after he handed over the bouquet and before she could think about having to navigate those stairs—again—Owen had them back in his arms and was bounding up the stairs two at a time. “The vase is on top of the fridge,” she called out. She could hear the glass drag across the plastic and then the sound of the sink. In seconds, Owen was back next to her, planting his lips on hers.
When she’d met him at the welcome home party, she’d thought he was shy and frankly, a brooding country boy not unlike the ones she grew up with.
Now though, as they drove through the small downtown of Banberry, he waved at Mitch, the hardware store owner while they waited at the one stoplight in town. He chatted away about how much he appreciated the small-town feel, with neighbors—he winked at her, then—and shop owners he could trust.
“What makes a small-town shop owner more trustworthy than a city one?” she wanted to know.
“Well,” he said, putting a hand on her knee, “a shop owner in a small town can’t cheat you. He has to look you in the eye at the one supermarket within twenty miles of his shop, he has to see you every time you come back to give him your business, because you will, if you live in a small town. That’s how they, and we, survive. Sure, we could all go online and get what we need, but sometimes it’s worth paying a few more dollars to know what you’re getting and who you’re getting it from. Cities have too much cutthroat, too much turnover. You can’t rely on anyone to be there when you start with a problem and still be the one you can get stuff from when you’re wrapping up the project. Too impersonal for me to trust. To them, I’m just a number. To Mitch, I’m a neighbor.”
Well, damn.
“You’ve thought about this,” she said, the town now visible through his eyes. She saw Mitch wave back as they moved on, saw Connie Hamshire walk in Simerly’s with her husband, Roy, neither looking very pleased. Less than a block later, her fourth-grade teacher and Julia’s mom, Betsy, walked out of the salon.
It was her town, and the greatest flaw she’d always found was that it would never change. Now, though, she delighted in seeing some familiar—albeit not altogether friendly—faces.
“I have. Been thinking a lot about things the past three weeks.”
“Do, um, any of your neighbors ever cross your mind?”
“Well, yeah, actually. I saw your dad out sun tanning in his tighty-whities the other day and I haven’t thought about much since,” he teased. She balked and slapped his shoulder playfully.
“Gross. And a lie.” She laughed, though.
“Scouts honor. You can ask him. He started with a matching white T-shirt but thought better of it and stripped down to his undies. Read half the afternoon away like that.”
“Oh no, he didn’t!” Paige squealed, bending over her knees in fits of embarrassed laughter.
“Trust me, no one wishes he didn’t more than me, but unfortunately, it’s the God’s honest truth. Except for the part about me thinking nonstop about him. If I’m sticking with honesty, it’s his daughter I’m interested in.”
Paige looked down, unable to keep his gaze without completely disarming herself. She needed her wits about her for this doctor’s visit.
Owen turned left on the main drag at the edge of town, following signs to Helena. She had completely forgotten to tell him where to head. That didn’t seem to stop him from figuring it out, though.
“How did you know?” she asked. He shrugged, a light smile on his lips, sadness pulling at the corners of his eyes.
“I assumed. You asked me, and not your folks, who were sitting on lawn chairs without a worry about blackberry or raspberry bushes, and it came up suddenly. I was pretty sure you didn’t need me to take you to Simerly’s for ice cream.”
He glanced at her again and smiled.
“Well, then you don’t know me that well,” she said. “I was craving some rocky road.”
“So, am I heading in the right way?” he asked.
She nodded, looking down again.
“Well, no matter what happens today, I think I’ll need some ice cream if you want to join me after your appointment.”
Her smile returned and she nodded.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. Owen understood so much without her having to tell him anything. It was easy being with him—they had a comfortable and worn rhythm, but not boring. Her nerve endings still frayed when he was close, and she wanted to jump him twenty-four-seven. But she could also sit beside him, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand, quiet and thoughtful without it being awkward.
In the parking lot she asked him to wait in the truck, and he didn’t try to convince her to let him come up. He nodded, leaned the seat back, the brim of his hat lowered over his eyes. She got out to the sound of pop country blaring from his speakers, the tune carrying her across the parking lot, giving her something to come back to.
Dr. Metcalf was at least efficient. True to his word, he had her in an office, paperwork laid out before him, in less than eight minutes. Twenty sheets of paper filled with medical jargon spread in front of her and if she got a little closer, she could read the results herself. She wasn’t quite sure she was ready for that, though, so she let Dr. Metcalf take the lead.
His office and all, she argued with herself.
“Paige,” he started, then stopped and shook his head. “Dr. Connors.”
She was completely defenseless. He’d taken her one unforgivable gripe—his lack of respect for her as a colleague—off the table. She had nothing. She closed her eyes and hoped that wasn’t what he brought her there to tell her—that she had nothing left. The treatments hadn’t worked and she would be a cancer statistic before she turned thirty-five.
She’d healed near her surgery site at least, but was well aware that wasn’t always a good thing for cancer patients. Many of the kids she’d treated in the islands for stage four cancers grew stronger, more energetic, before they passed away. It was one of the cruelest parts of the disease, the way it gave just enough back so families could see what they would lose. Medicine was a modern marvel, but it wasn’t enough to save every child, every person.
The question remained: was it enough to save Paige?
“Dr. Connors?” Dr. Metcalf asked again. She shook her head loose from the barrage of horrific daydreams pelting the back of her eyelids and opened them. “Are you feeling okay?”
She nodded. “Why? What do the tests show? Just tell me. I’m a doctor—I can handle it.” She sat taller, hoping she didn’t look like the basket case she felt like.
“You’re fine. Better than fine, actually. You’re in the clear.”
Paige’s head tilted like Penske’s did when he was confused.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Metcalf,” she started, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“Call me Peter.” He smiled. He was actually an attractive man when he relaxed the scowl. “Here, look. The treatments worked. We’ll just need to see you back here twice a year for follow-ups, make sure you’re still in remission.”
Paige’s hands shook as she gathered the papers and tried to make sense of them. On any other day, it would be as easy as reading the alphabet for her. But today she could barely see through the tears that built up, threatening to fall and ruin the light makeup she’d applied. She blinked and the stinging in her eyes subsided, but a rogue trail of salt water flowed down each cheek.
He was right, she realized as her vision focused. The surgery, more painful in idea than in actuality, and the radiation that followed, was successful. Stage one, her stromal tumor put her in the majority who survived this type of cancer when they caught it early enough.
No evidence of cancer. The words leaped off the page and pelted her in the sore ribs, reminding her that without her injury a few weeks prior on the horse, she might not have been as lucky. The odds went down in 25 percent increments from where she found her cancer, or rather where they found it for her, in each stage after that. A matter of months would have made the difference between life and death for her.
“Now, you know we aren’t completely in the clear until you’ve gone five years in remission, right?”
She lowered her gaze and looked down her nose at him. Of course, she knew that. Did she need to remind him at every turn that she was a goddamn physician, too?
“I think I’m pretty aware of that.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, um, I know. Of course, you are. Sorry, Paige, I don’t mean to keep offending you. I just don’t get many, you know, colleagues in here.” He fumbled for words. The cattier part of her soaked this in, but letting him do his job was probably the kinder route.
After all, she was free of cancer because of him and his team.
“So, what happens now?” she asked, finally playing the role of dutiful patient. Dr. Metcalf’s shoulders relaxed and his smile returned.
“Well, we schedule a follow-up in a month to triple check your stats, then book you each six months for scans and blood work and bring you in if there’s any irregularities.”
“You make it sound like a prison sentence,” she teased.
“It’s better than a death sentence,” he told her, deadpan. She wondered if he’d ever have the nerve to tell his other patients that. It was true, though. She’d rather be beholden to Banberry every few months than not be around at all.
“So, that’s it, then?” she asked, standing up. She wanted to run and jump and, well, do other things now that she had the all clear. Dr. Metcalf rose as well, gathering the discharge papers for Paige.
The world was hers again to do with it what she pleased. Strangely, though, she didn’t feel the normal barrage of ideas and passions and plans combatting for her attention. She only thought of Owen, of the promise he’d made her to jump back in the proverbial saddle with her once she healed. Except she hadn’t asked about that part of her healing. She flipped through the discharge papers but didn’t see anything.
It was her turn to clear her throat.
“Um, does this clear me for, uh, sexual activity? You know, and other kinds of activities, too?”
Normally she discussed this with her young teens, eliciting a few giggles until she told them it was a serious topic. This was serious in more than one way for her, but Paige couldn’t help feeling very much like those horny and irresponsible teenagers she used to scold. And would again now that she had a clean bill of health.
He coughed, betraying the professionalism he normally exuded in exasperating waves.
“Yes, it does.” He fumbled with the papers on his desk, shuffling and reshuffling them. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was nervous. “I’d steer clear of anything as jarring as running or riding horses until your ribs are healed completely—another couple weeks—but, uh, the rest should be good to go.” He barely got those last words out under the guise of a cough.
Paige thought of another question she’d been too afraid to ask at her last visit. It was now or never though.
“Will I be able to have children?”
Dr. Metcalf visibly relaxed at this question, for what crazy reason she couldn’t fathom.
“You should be, though I will warn you, missing an ovary makes it twice as hard as other women to get pregnant. Carrying a child to term once you are pregnant, though, will come with the same risks as the rest of the population.”
“Thanks, Doc,” she said. She’d figured as much but it relieved her to hear it from her doctor.
“Of course, Dr. Connors. Now I suspect there’s a man who pretended to be your husband who might be interested in this news.”
Paige smiled warmly and nodded. In her hands she held everything she needed to make her life be whatever she wanted—she just needed to decide what that looked like. She calmly walked out the door, closed it behind her, and when she rounded the corner, she sped up to as close to a run as she could manage with her ribs. She had the rest of her life ahead of her, and she intended to start living it immediately.
When Paige got to the truck, her papers tucked under her arm, Owen jumped down from his truck and ran to her side. He forced a smile, tried to soften his brow to no avail. He was worried.
“Hi, beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as he wrapped her in a tight bear hug.
Her knees trembled as the heat from his breath snaked around her neck, enveloping her. She had absolutely no control over her faculties when she was around him. Not especially when he was pressed up against her. Paige squeezed back as tight as she could manage, never wanting to let him go.
“How are you?” he asked.
He pulled away, his previous attempts at putting on a brave face gone. His brow was furrowed to the point that he looked more angry than concerned. It was the same look he wore when she was first admitted for her fall—when he’d heard her worst news and she hadn’t yet.
“Can we talk in the truck?” she asked him. He nodded weakly. A twinge of guilt plagued her for putting him through another minute of wondering, especially when she wanted to run screaming from the hospital that she was healthy, that she would live, and live well. But she wanted their moment to be private, without the onlookers undoubtedly heading to their own appointments, many of which wouldn’t be as optimistic as hers had been.
He helped her in the passenger side, shut the door behind her, and he walked to his side, shaking his head.
It’s okay , she wanted to scream through the glass. I’m okay.
Owen hopped up, started the truck in the same movement that he shut his door, hard. He turned to face her, water brimming along the edges of his eyes.
Dammit. She hadn’t meant to do this to him.
“Owen—” she started, but he shook his head.
“Me first,” he said, biting back tears.
“But—”
“Paige, please.” He closed his eyes and a small stream fell on his chiseled cheekbones. He reached for her hands. “Whatever news you got up there, you have to know I’ll be there for you. Please don’t try to push me away like you did last time. I honestly don’t think I—or my fence—can take it.” The corners of his mouth turned up, but his eyes still looked sad.
“Owen, I’m not going anywhere. Okay? I mean not for a long, long time. Look.” Paige handed him the papers that said in near incomprehensible medical jargon that she was all clear.
He wiped at his eyes, drying them. Shuffling through the papers, his face contorted in plain-as-day confusion. She laughed and pulled out the page that listed her results in simple English.
“Are you serious?” Her stomach flipped at the way he looked at her. A mix of lust and something more passionate played on his features. She gulped and nodded.
“Serious as cancer.” She giggled, covering her mouth, but was met with a frown from Owen. “Too soon?”
She couldn’t control her giggling now. It was like a dam had cracked, letting out the pressure building within her since she’d arrived home. The giggles turned to laughter, then erupted into full-body shaking.
Owen’s strong, rough hands enveloped hers and he pulled her over the middle seat of the cab to him. Paige’s chest calmed as she looked up at him, his proximity to her always enough to shake whatever silliness swirled inside her.
“Much too soon,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “But I think I have a way of taking care of those giggles.”
He closed the last few inches of space between them and cupped Paige’s cheeks in his hands, pressed his lips to hers, teased them open with his tongue. His kiss was laced with a new ferocity, a desire that made everything she felt seem calm, subdued. His hands sat snug on her hips, his thumbs sliding along the edge of her jeans. He nibbled on her bottom lip, eliciting a purr from deep within her belly.
Using all of the strength she had, Paige pulled away. The heat in Owen’s cheeks left them flushed, and his eyes raked over her, wild. Something in her cracked, the dam breaking further.
“Take me home,” she said. “Now,” she added, her voice thick. She put her hand against the bulge in his pants to emphasize what she meant.
Owen picked her up with ease despite the cramped cab and deposited her in the passenger seat, then put the truck in reverse. He whipped out of the parking spot, narrowly and expertly missing the other vehicles around them, and pulled his seat belt on as he roared out of the lot.
“I’m going to call my family,” Paige said, her voice quiet. Her hand moved to the crest of his thigh and he groaned. She was thrown against the back of the seat as the truck picked up speed.
Paige dialed her mother first, left a voicemail when she didn’t pick up, did the same for her father’s phone. They must still be out on the deck. Still, she needed to tell someone other than Owen.
Finally, after three rings, her brother picked up.
“Hey, little sis. Behaving yourself?” he asked.
“Never. Brad, are you alone?”
It was silent for a beat on the other end before an answer came. “Yes. Why? Is everything okay? When I missed your call earlier, I worried…”
She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. She knew what he worried. Her voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed back tears.
“I am,” she finally got out. “I’m okay, Brad. I just came from the doctor’s. He cleared me.” She could hear muffled sobs on the other end and almost lost it all together then.
“Paige,” her brother whispered. “This is the best news ever. Are you almost home? I’m coming over.”
Paige smiled, her hand now less-than-discreetly on top of Owen’s pants, her thumb rubbing the place that rose beneath his jeans.
“Not right now. I’m heading home to rest,” she eked out through a grin as wide as the road stretched before them.
“Did Mom and Dad take you?” he asked.
“Um, no. I called you but you didn’t answer, and I didn’t want to put Mom through it if it didn’t work out the way it did.”
“Did you drive yourself then? Paige, you know you aren’t supposed to. It isn’t safe—”
“I didn’t. I know better. Especially after our fight,” she told him, half-teasing.
She and Brad had “gone to the mattresses” as her father called it, over Julia per usual. This time the fight had spun out of control when Paige said she’d seen Brad’s girlfriend out with his best friend in a decidedly not-friendly way.
Then Brad had topped off the row with him telling her she wasn’t well enough to travel—and maybe never would be again. It was a doozy of an argument, but she’d put it from her mind when she got the phone call from Dr. Metcalf. Now that she was healthy, it was ancient history as far as she was concerned.
“Owen took me,” she added finally, her attempt at keeping her voice even at this last admission failing. She slid his zipper down and inserted her hand between his boxer briefs and the soft skin beneath it. There was no sound, but Paige felt Owen’s breath hitch in his chest.
“Oh. I see.” Paige’s cheeks grew hot. Brad fully understood why he couldn’t come over. “I’ll keep trying Mom and Dad, then. And Paige, I’m sorry. For everything before. I’ll ask Julia when she gets home,” he said.
She nodded again, unable to get the words she wanted to say to him past her chest.
“Enjoy your rest , little sis. But be prepared for family dinner tomorrow night.” She could practically hear his smile through the phone.
“Deal,” she answered, this time hanging up first. At a stoplight, she gazed into Owen’s dark gold eyes. He looked like he might devour her on the spot, and the pool of moisture in her panties said she would let him, and enjoy it.
As they neared her parents’ house, Paige’s pulse spiked. It wasn’t the first time she’d taken part in this particular rodeo, nor was it the first time she’d ridden this particular bronco, but she couldn’t help the nerves bubbling inside her. They were held back only by the remains of the dam that threatened to dissolve in a pile of rubble at her feet. It couldn’t break apart yet, though. It was all that held her upright.
“I need a minute at my house before you come over.”
Owen took his eyes off the road for just long enough to undress her with his gaze. “You have enough time for me to drop my truck off at home and sprint to your door. Not a second more.”
Paige giggled. “Perfect.”
They pulled up to her door, Owen put the truck in park, and with a terse smile on his lips, zipped up his jeans. Paige bit her lip, marveling at the hard-on he was able to conceal. That was no small feat.
Owen came around to Paige’s door, helped her to her apartment, and pulled her in for a kiss before she could say a word. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, exploring her as his mouth moved over hers. His hand slid up her T-shirt, his fingers pinching her now-hard bud, cupping her unadorned breast with a soft squeeze.
She’d not worn a bra since she’d been home, a liability and gift since she’d met Owen.
“You have about seventy-five seconds,” he growled in her ear. A flood of moisture pooled in her panties and she nodded, again rendered speechless. Unlocking her door, she all but ran up the stairs.
Once inside, she turned on the shower and stepped in before the water was even hot, relishing as the frigid drops cooled her flushed skin. She let the water run over her body and, putting a small amount of soap in her hands, she rubbed clean the parts she wanted Owen’s mouth on.
She thought she heard the door, but it had only been half a minute, so she had to be hearing things.
Putting her head back in the water, the now-warm water slid over her breasts where Owen’s hands had just been. The shower door opened just as she went to shut off the water. Her eyes shot open to a naked Owen stepping in to join her, eyes trailing her body like a lion locked in on its prey. She shivered despite the heat.
“You’re making this too easy,” he told her. “I should have to work for this.”
She took in the way his chest muscles formed a “W,” then the rock-hard abs that sat just above the deep V that led to his shaft—a perfect, hard specimen. It made her mouth water imagining putting her lips on it, taking all of him in her mouth. God, this man was perfectly built. She could keep traveling the world and never find another so suited for her.
He knelt at her feet, his hands around her ankles, pulling them apart until a foot wedged against each wall. Paige’s breath hitched in her chest. She braced herself against the walls of the too-small shower, grateful now for the way it forced Owen close to her.
“I guess I’ll have to find another way to pay my dues,” he whispered, sliding his tongue along her opening until he found the part of her that pulsed, craving him and his eager mouth. She gasped as he swirled his tongue along her slit, coming back again and again to her jewel, sucking and nibbling at her until she worried she might pass out.
Just before she cried out for him to stop, that she was already close to coming, he moved up her stomach, kissing her body every place the water touched, drinking it off her skin.
She moaned with pleasure as he rose and found her collarbone, trailing his teeth and tongue along it until he reached the base of her neck. There, he sucked and kissed and used his hands to cup her butt, pulling her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around him as he buried himself in her neck. Paige marveled at his strength—one arm holding her in place and the other turning off the water and opening the shower door.
Owen carried her, dripping wet, to the bed where he laid her down on the comforter. Paige didn’t even care that she made a moisture-lined imprint of herself on the bed. She only wanted to add his figure on top of it.
She watched with muted pleasure as Owen walked back to the bathroom, his taut, tan skin beaded with moisture, covering muscles that seemed poised to ripple right off his body. He came back to her in less than three strides, again making her feel like the hunted. That is, until he delicately ran a towel over her body, taking his time and caressing each square inch of her skin with the soft fabric.
She’d never been so glad she splurged on the nicer towels two years ago when she’d been trying to woo and impress Paulo. In that moment, Paulo became a ghost to Paige, an idea more than a man who’d ever laid with her like this. Because he hadn’t, had he? He’d always made her feel used and unappreciated as he sprinted through each lovemaking session with more of a “get off” mentality than passion-filled romance.
Not that every time had to be the latter, but he hadn’t once made her the center of attention the way Owen did now. He’d spent not a moment looking in her eyes so she could see herself the way he saw her. Owen made her feel beautiful, even if only by proxy, herself reflected in his gaze.
Paulo’s memory evaporated as Owen finished towel-drying her body, standing before her, hard and erect.
“Come here,” she urged him. He only smiled and moved his gaze across her body so slowly she swore he used his hands because she could feel heat rise from each place he devoured with his eyes.
“In a minute,” he teased, his arms crossed over his muscled chest. She took the moment of pause to marvel at him with the same slow appreciation, her eyes moving down from his long, wavy gold-spun hair she couldn’t wait to wrap her fingers in, to his shoulders that looked like maybe he was Atlas, holding her world up. She paused at his chest, sprinkled with a finer, but similarly colored, blond hair that trailed down his stomach in a thin line she wanted to trace with her lips since it led right to his perfect shaft, standing at attention for her.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he leaned over her, caressing the barely visible bruises along her side, the physical reminder of how their last love-making session had gone.
“I’ll be gentle,” he promised her, his voice a whisper. Her breath stilled as a single fingertip moved up and over her breasts, tracing her nipples, turning them hard as diamonds for him.
“Please don’t be,” she said, pulling him on top of her. She’d waited so long for this. Her night—and life—were just getting started, so she intended to enjoy both to their fullest.
Owen growled, a noise that emanated from low in his throat and the dam finally broke open as Owen slid inside her. She was filled as much as she was drained, and for the next few hours, nothing changed.
Sometime in the late afternoon, Paige found herself awake, cocooned in Owen and the sheets to the point that she wondered if she’d have to wake him to get herself untangled. She needed water desperately, all of the moisture in her body given to Owen in some form or another. Their lovemaking had lasted most of the afternoon, Owen taking his time, making her crazy for and with him.
Not just her body, either. She’d never been so seen, inside and out, as she was with Owen, and even though she couldn’t be sure yet what her future held for work, she wanted him to be a part of it. The oddest part about that admission was that it didn’t worry her in the least to be falling for this man so unlike her typical choice in partners.
That’s what made him so appealing. That he was a man , a grown-up with his own life and his own career and interests that, though they didn’t align with hers, made him a complete person with or without her.
Paige walked gingerly to the sink. Though Owen had tried his hardest to be gentle with her, her ribs still cried out from the exertion after so long being benched and kept out of the game. It was so worth it though. Paige smiled as she headed back to bed, to Owen.
She stopped halfway there, though.
There, slid under the door like a covert operation, lay a manila envelope with her name on it. Curious, she picked it up, holding her side where it ached. Paige smiled when she saw her brother’s handwriting on the top, otherwise blank, page.
I’m sorry I doubted you. About either thing. I can’t fix the first (yet), but here’s something for the second. Go take on that wide world of yours, Paigey. It’s waiting for you. Love, Your Idiot Brother.
She laughed quietly, careful not to wake Owen who had sprawled out in her absence. Paige pulled herself back to the small stack of papers her brother had left her.
A glance told her they were applications for teaching hospitals not in the States. All of them a perfect fit for her. Where the hell had her brother found these? She looked guiltily at the bed, where Owen still lay, unmoving.
These were the jobs she’d wanted. They would let her practice, let her teach, let her travel. It looked like if she got started with any one of them, she could travel between the system of hospitals they had in various countries. She’d never have to come home again.
Now her breath struggled to regain control for a reason other than the man who lay not three feet from her.
She tucked the stack of applications under her daily calendar on her desk, hiding them for now until Owen left and she could look more closely at them.
She tiptoed back to her bed, feeling guilty that her thoughts migrated far from Owen, that even as she wrapped her arms around his warmth, she imagined boarding a plane again, the destination not as important as the leaving.