2
Stripping the soiled gardening gloves from my hands as I walk between the main greenhouse and the house, I’m lost in thought and also sweat. Man, it’s hot today. I glance up from the barren path to see a swirl of dust out on the county road. It doesn’t get too much traffic, but today someone is in a hurry to get somewhere. I glance back down at my legs, now lightly tanned from being outside so much. It makes me happy in a way that feels a little foreign, even if my heart is still itching for Nick. I think I’m a country girl at heart and that’s helped deal with the loneliness of setting up a new life on my own.
It’s been six weeks since I left New York and I hadn’t realized how much I’d miss even our stilted Sunday dinners. At least it was a chance to see him, and know that he hadn’t worked himself sick or something. Not that I’m going back for more of that, but not seeing him at all is… difficult. I drag my thoughts back to the developing seedlings in the greenhouse. It won’t be long before they start blooming, and I’ll be able to begin my hybridizing experiments. I’ve made lots of notes of what I’m going to try first but it’s all just hypothetical until I can actually move pollen from one plant to another. I’m excited to get started and put my new degree in botany to use. Not to mention that if I manage to pull off the development of a tomato plant that can thrive in an apartment while still providing fruit rich in lycopene, I’ll feel like I’ve actually contributed something of value to the world.
When I enter the cool dim interior of the house via the back door, I relax and breath deep. The main house isn’t air conditioned the traditional way. The eccentric millionaire invested in geothermal innovations, so this is coolness drawn from deep within the earth. It feels primal and delicious.
My phone buzzes from the kitchen counter where I left it before heading out and I stare at it guiltily. I should keep it with me. Probably. Maybe. But the longer I’m here, the more I’m enjoying living in the moment — living in Kansas — and my phone is less and less attached to my body. Kathy’s checked in a few times but she’s settling in well to the retirement social scene in Florida and apparently having a blast. I was always too shy to make close friends in the hectic pace of college, so I’m mostly on my own, which doesn’t really bother me that much. It makes me feel free to leave my phone on the counter for hours at a time because usually it remains silent.
With a sigh, I straighten and pick my phone up. There are twenty missed text messages and five missed calls. What the hell? Something in my stomach clenches and I’m not that shocked to see they are all from Nick. He’s checked in on me briefly twice. Still apparently believing I was on some shopping rampage across Europe, and only seemed mildly annoyed when I told him I couldn’t make it back at the end of the month due to a rail strike. But oh, fuck. He knows I’m not in Europe and he’s on his way here? To rescue me? I glance down at my cutoff jean overalls and pink plastic clogs. Um, this will be interesting.
I don’t have long to wait. A car pulls up in the long driveway almost immediately. That dust cloud must have belonged to Nick, somehow fitting if you think about it. Wasn’t Nick one of the old names for the devil? Although I know he’s not evil, plenty of people have called him a beast. Partly that’s his looks. He’s huge and his resting expression is fierce. But it’s also because of his ruthless way with financial management. He’s not long on sentiment when it comes to money, which means his decisions are cold, calculating, and based on facts — and very, very successful.
Then again… my memory strays to a conversation I overheard several years ago between two society women speculating on whether he was a beast in bed. They seemed pretty confident that was the case. I was far too shy of a teenager to ask them what they meant by that. And it’s not like I’ll ever find out for myself, even though I desperately wanted to. I roll my eyes at my own self-pity and hurriedly scrub the residual dirt from my hands in the kitchen sink (even gloves don’t keep it from migrating under my fingernails) before heading out to the driveway to face down my angry husband.
I swear Nick emerges from behind the wheel in a panic before the big black car even stops rolling. He’s smooth grace under pressure, but there’s no denying the wild look in his eye.
“Candace?” His shocked voice says he can’t believe it’s me. “Get in the car,” he barks like a military drill sergeant.
I shake my head no mutely.
He reaches for me, his voice gentling just a touch. “Now, Candace. I’ll deal with whoever brought you here. I’m taking you home.”
Finally, I find my voice. “No, Nick. I live here now. This is my home. You’re welcome to visit anytime.” I don’t know why I can manage to call him Nick now, but his eyes narrow ever so slightly, telling me he noticed. And I do mean the invitation, sort of. I can’t imagine he would ever seriously take me up on it. I’m not sure he can even breathe air that’s not got a significant smog component. Nick belongs in the big city and I… don’t.
“You live where I live. Remember? Those were the terms you agreed to and there’s no way in hell I’d ever live in North Dakota. Get in the car. Now.”
I cross my arms under my generous breasts, not to get his attention but to hold my nerve. “No. And this is Kansas. You can keep the money. I knew what I was giving up when I left New York and I’m fine with it.” Mostly. Sort of. It’s not the money that I miss, but I’m not even sure he’s capable of understanding that.
My eyes drink him in while my fingers itch to soothe the pulsing vein on the side of his head. To make those clenched fists relax. I know he would never hurt me, but I can’t say the same for the car door. He looks ready to pound something. Hard.
My one and only neighbor, Mrs. Sanderson, steps out onto her porch. “Everything okay, dear? Should I call Timmy?”
I grimace. Timmy is otherwise known as Sheriff Sanderson and rolls his eyes every time his mother whips out the childish nickname. He’s about the same age as Nick and his mother is not above a little matchmaking even though her son is clearly old enough to make those kinds of decisions on his own. And while I suspect I could encourage some interest on his part, I think my ‘no thanks, better things to do’ vibe has conveyed what’s necessary.
“No, I’m good Mrs. S. Nick is a friend of the family. He’s fine. He just gets scared when he’s outside. PTSD, you know? No need to call the sheriff.” I wave one hand cheerfully at her while tugging Nick with the other. Reluctantly, he follows me into the house.
“Why didn’t you tell her I’m your husband?” he practically growls at me when we’re inside. I glance back towards him, surprised, from where I’m filling two glasses at the sink. Maybe water will cool him down a little.
“Uh… maybe because that seems like a useless formality at this point?” I try to hand him a glass, but he takes it from me and sets it on the granite counter before grabbing my left hand.
“Where’s your ring?” he demands accusingly.
“In the nightstand by my bed in New York. Top drawer, you can retrieve it whenever you like.” I shrug and he looks even fiercer.
“What the fuck, Candace? Are you shacking up with some randy farm hand?”
I laugh at that one, but sober when I see he’s actually serious. He looks angry and hurt.
“How did you even know I was here?” I finally ask, still bewildered as to how he tracked me down so quickly.
“Your credit card alerts come to me, Candace, remember? And after several months of inactivity, all of a sudden there’s a flurry of shopping in Kansas. Not a single purchase in France or any other part of Europe. Didn’t really fit the profile of a stolen credit card.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that, but I wouldn’t have worried about it, even so. “I thought we’d be having this argument by phone,” I confess.
“What argument?” he sounds as baffled as I feel. “And why did you lie to me, Candace? If you didn’t follow a man, what the hell is going on here?”