Chapter 7 #2
“The fact that you realize that makes me think you’re not a lost cause after all, Graham.” She sniffed dramatically and dabbed at her eyes. “It makes my old heart happy to . . .”
“Go on,” Sarge said, nudging her toward the other end of the porch where his sons were bickering with their cousins. “Those boys are going to stab each other with their peelers and make a mess of your clean jars.”
“Damn kids,” Ma muttered, hurrying in that direction. “I can’t leave them alone for a minute.”
“It might not seem like it, but she does love them.” Sarge winced when Ma started yelling again. “Well, maybe not all the time.”
◆◆◆
After I showered, I climbed into bed, fully expecting to be out in seconds.
But after what felt like an hour of tossing and turning, I sat up and admitted defeat.
No matter how exhausted my body felt, my mind refused to cooperate.
It didn’t seem to grasp that we’d be up before dawn again tomorrow and every day after that, and it wouldn’t let me sleep.
There was no sense in wasting time lying there if sleep wasn’t happening.
I’d battled insomnia since my first stint in prison, probably because of the fear and uncertainty that came with being surrounded by people I knew I couldn’t trust. It eased up after my release but came back with a vengeance during my second incarceration.
Now it only hits me when I’m stressed, worried, or facing something new.
Quitting my job and moving to a different state definitely qualified as a new situation, and the added pressure of a role that affected so many lives could keep anyone awake.
The usual doubts and worries that come with a new job showed up, but they hit me tenfold.
This wasn’t a major corporation that could absorb a hit if I made an error.
This family depended on the land and lived at the mercy of the weather, plant and animal diseases, and insect pressure.
The last thing they needed to worry about was whether someone filed their finances, permits, and business licenses correctly and on time.
Those worries and responsibilities belonged to me alone, and that terrified me.
I pulled on an oversized T-shirt I found at a thrift store and a pair of sweatpants that hung off me but felt so soft I couldn’t resist buying them.
Once dressed, I slipped into the hall and headed downstairs, stopping in the kitchen for something to drink before stepping out the back door into the outdoor kitchen.
I remembered working out here with Ma and the rest of the family when I was a child.
The enclosed porch looked much the same, though the equipment Ma had collected over the years was shinier and more efficient.
This morning, while I helped her set up the burners and canners, she explained that she’d had no choice but to upgrade as the family’s farm market grew more popular.
Apparently, every part of the farm had gone through quite a few changes to keep up with demand.
We had so much to do today that I never got the chance to explore.
Not that I could see much on foot, given how spread out the property is, but Ma promised that once we finished the canning chores, I could take one of the Gators out and roam as long as I wanted.
I felt almost as excited to see what had changed as I did to revisit the livestock and poultry areas that still make up so much of the operation.
When I lived with Ma and Pa as a kid, one of my daily chores was taking care of the chickens.
I handled their food and water and gathered eggs from the nesting boxes every morning.
Before coming to the farm, I’d never lived outside the city, so everything felt foreign at first, but I adapted quickly.
It helped that so many caring adults were willing to explain things, along with a handful of kids my age who already knew how to do every chore because they’d grown up doing them.
Those kids were all boys, which didn’t bother me, but even then I knew how strange it was that none of Ma’s children were girls–and so far, none of her grandchildren were either.
Paxton and Parker, along with Jesse and Tavey, were the grandsons closest to my age.
Parker was the oldest grandchild on the farm, and I had spent countless hours running around with the others.
I couldn’t wait to reconnect with them after hearing so much about their lives during my calls with Ma over the last few months.
It didn’t surprise me that some of the older grandsons had married, divorced, or started families of their own.
What did surprise me was that Graham had never remarried after his release.
In my opinion, he was quite a catch, but I also knew I had a very different outlook on ex-cons than most women my age.
But Graham . . . no. I needed to call him Sarge, and I understood exactly why. It wasn’t just because he’d asked me to. After thinking about it last night, I realized he didn’t want to think of me as family–and he didn’t want me thinking of him that way either.
I could be wrong, but Graham Brick was interested in me, and he wanted to keep that interest separate from my relationship with his family.
What I wasn’t sure of was his intentions.
As outdated as that word felt, it still meant something to me.
I’ve had plenty of relationships–short, long, meaningful, and forgettable–but I’ve never had one that made me yearn for a future.
As hard as it was to admit, no one had tripped my trigger quite like Graham since our reunion a few months ago.
No other man had ever made my heart race with just a look or a few words. That told me everything.
Yes, he embodied the hardworking man with rough hands, work boots, and a farmer’s tan from hours in the sun, but it went deeper than that.
I didn’t know what crime he had committed, but I knew that if he’d crossed into the unforgivable, Ma would never let him stay, even though he’s her own flesh and blood.
She wouldn’t have considered letting me come back if I had done something like that either.
As an ex-con myself, one who had met everyone from petty criminals to murderers, I understood that good people sometimes did bad things; that didn’t automatically make them bad people.
Yes, I had been a thief, and I wouldn’t deny that was wrong.
But I didn’t feel like a horrible person then or now.
Some might disagree, but things could have been much worse, and I took that into account when I judged myself.
I did the same with Sarge. Yes, he’d gone to prison, and even though I didn’t know exactly why, I had an idea. He had committed a crime in a roundabout way. In fact, he had . . .
“What in the world are you doing up, Starla?”
I spun so fast my tea sloshed out of the glass, and I squealed.
“Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I should have realized you were deep in thought and didn’t hear me coming.”
“I should have. Situational awareness has saved me more than once,” I said, wiping my wet hand on my shirt. “What are you doing awake?”
“What were you thinking about just now?” he asked, ignoring my question.
I decided right then that I had to know the truth if I was going to keep entertaining these daydreams. I looked him in the eye. “Why did you go to prison?”
“Because a jury of my peers convicted me.”
“Okay, smartass, I get that,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You know what I’m asking.”
“Are you asking what crime I committed or what I did that got me arrested?”
“Both.”
Sarge frowned. “Does knowing those things matter in the long run?”
“Sort of. Yes. Maybe.”
He stepped closer. “If I were to kiss you right now, would you let me?”
“Not unless I knew the answer to my question.”
“But if you knew, and it didn’t appall you, would you then?”
“Maybe. Okay, yes–even though I’m still not sure the things I’ve been thinking about should ever happen.”
“Why shouldn’t they?”
“You don’t even know what I’ve been thinking!”
“I have a good idea,” Sarge said, taking another step. “At least I hope they’re some of the same things I’ve been thinking about.”
“Answer my question, and then I have another one for you.”
“A jury convicted me of conspiracy to commit murder and of aiding a felon in the commission of a crime.”
“But you didn’t kill anyone?”
“Is that your second question?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s a side quest from the first one.”
Sarge chuckled. “No, I didn’t kill anyone, but I paved the way for someone else to.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Are we still on a side quest or . . .?”
“Yes, we’re still on a side quest,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll let you know when we’re back on track.”
“Do I need an attorney?”
It was my turn to laugh. “No, you don’t need an attorney. Double jeopardy and all that, remember?”
“True. Okay, here’s the short version: I knowingly allowed an inmate access to another prisoner, even though it was glaringly apparent he was going to kill him the first chance he got.”
“What did the inmate do?”
“He killed the guy.” I growled in frustration, and Sarge laughed. “The dead man kidnapped, raped, and murdered a six-year-old girl. He left her broken body in a ditch less than a mile from her home.”
“Oh my God. And the other guy?”
“He was a bad seed from the get-go. No one would ever call him a hero, so let’s just say he had nothing to lose by getting another sentence tacked onto the first one.”
“I know what they do to people like that in prison,” I said, my voice low.
“So do I. I let it happen. A jury convicted me of that.”
“Bad guy or not, the dude deserves a medal for taking out the trash, and you didn’t deserve a charge for letting it happen.”
“The public might not agree with you, sweetheart.”
“Then they’re part of the problem, aren’t they?” I snapped. “Sorry. I have very firm beliefs when it comes to anyone harming children.”
“I bet you do. My guess is that growing up in the system gave you plenty of reasons.”
“I made it through, but yes, it did.”
“Are we finished with our side quest?”
I thought for a moment. “Do you regret your part in it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay.”
“Side quest?”
“It’s finished. Now I just have to work up the courage to ask you what your intentions are.” I looked down as Sarge reached out, took my glass from my hand, and set it on the windowsill. “I guess I just asked in a roundabout way, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“And?” I prodded.
“My plan is to kiss you breathless before I escort you upstairs and encourage you to get some sleep. I know you’re exhausted, and you’ve got another big day tomorrow, and even more after that.”
“That’s not what I mean by intentions, Sarge.”
“Sarge. I like hearing you call me that more than Graham.”
“Explain why, please.”
“You haven’t worked that out in your head yet?”
“Maybe, but I want to hear your version to see if I’m right.”
“I barely remember the little girl who lived in this house, even though everyone else probably does.”
“And?”
Sarge put his hand on my jaw and slid it around to cup the side of my neck.
I fought a shiver when his calloused thumb brushed back and forth across my cheek.
“When they look at you, they see the adult version of the child they knew. But when I look at you, all I see is a beautiful woman who sends sparks through every nerve ending in my body, and whose voice makes me want to close my eyes and bask in it like a cat in a patch of sun.”
“Oh, my.”
“Can I kiss you now, sweet Starla?”
“And then what?”
“Then I spend as much time as possible with you until we finally find a night to get dressed up and go into town for our first date. After that, I’ll be kissing you again.”
“And then?” I whispered.
“I’ll keep getting to know you. And I’ll keep kissing you until you’re ready for me to make you my woman in every way.”
“Every way?”
“All the ways.”
I took a shaky breath. “What happens if we do all the things and then decide we’re not the right fit?”
“Then we act like the adults we are and move on with our lives–together on this farm, but separately.”
“And what if we are the right fit?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to say that out loud any more than you’re ready to hear it.” He tilted his head and stared at my lips. “Can I have that kiss yet?”
I answered by rising onto my toes and pressing my lips to his.
I didn’t know what the future held, and I had no idea whether this was a good idea, but I was willing to take the chance.
I wasn’t sure I could survive another day on this earth without knowing what it felt like to be held in Graham Brick’s arms.
Luckily, it was even better than I’d ever imagined.