Jules
“Sure thing.” The sun hadn’t been up long, and my coffee had yet to kick in, but I wasn’t going to let that slow me down. MJ was counting on us to get everything set up for the upcoming Pioneer Days, so I grabbed my gloves from the counter and asked, “Is he still out at the barn?”
“He is.” MJ stopped and inhaled a dramatic breath, then added, “And when you’re done, do you mind helping me sort through the baskets? Some of them are just falling apart and need to be tossed out.”
“Not a problem.” I knew how important the festival was to her and that she wouldn’t rest until everything was perfect, so I offered, “I’ll be sure to check in with Katie to make sure she’s restocked the gift shop.”
“That would be great.” A warm smile crossed her face as she asked, “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you are here?”
“I’m glad I’m here, too.”
I’d started working at the orchard back in the early spring—exactly three years after I’d left James.
I was completely broke, with no prospects of a job or a place to live, when I came across a help-wanted ad in the Clallam County Times.
They needed someone to help out with the harvest and even offered to lodge those who agreed to stay on full-time.
I knew it was a long shot.
I had absolutely no experience in farming and had no references—at least none that I was brave enough to use.
I couldn’t take the chance on James finding me.
I knew he would threaten me or try to talk me out of leaving him, so I left without saying a word.
While he was at the bar, I packed a bag and just bolted, with no clear plan on where I was going or what I was going to do.
I’d like to say that I left there and never looked back, but in truth, I looked back all the time. I knew what would happen if he found me—he’d finish the job he’d started so long ago.
It was one of the many reasons why I kept my head down and tried not to draw any attention to myself.
I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to talk about me.
Talk was never good, but I must say, seeing that smile on MJ’s face felt good.
Feeling as if I was finally doing something right with my life, I couldn’t help but smile as I told her, “The festival is going to be great.”
“I really hope so.” A worried look crossed her face as she said, “We had such a big crowd last year. I just hope they come back for more.”
“They will.” I started toward the barn as I shouted, “Just wait and see.”
When I got to the barn, Beau had already unloaded most of the tables from the back of his truck and was busy setting them up along the back wall.
He was just about to open the legs on one of the tables when I rushed over and gave him a hand.
He wiped the sweat from his brow as he smiled and said, “Appreciate the hand, doll, but I’ve got it.
Why don’t you go help Katie with inventory? ”
“I’ll help Katie when I finish helping you.”
“She could use your help more.”
Beau was in his late fifties, and like me, he was a little thick in the middle.
Also like me, he didn’t want to admit that he needed help, but it was clear from the pained look on his face and the hand on his back that he did.
I chuckled under my breath as I told him, “Yeah, says the guy who’s already wrenched his back. ”
“It’s just a little stiff.” He stood a little straighter. “Besides, this work is the only thing keeping me going.”
“Um-hmm.” I took the table from his hands and quickly unfolded the legs. “Just don’t overdo it.”
“Overdo is my middle name.”
I knew there was no point in arguing, so I simply shook my head and continued to help him with the tables.
As soon as we were done, I went back out front to help MJ with the baskets.
We’d just started going through them all when Smokey came over to check in with MJ.
My chest tightened as I watched him walk over to her, and with love-filled eyes, he leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the temple.
He was always like that with her—soft and tender.
Nothing like James.
Or my father.
Like my husband, my father had an unruly temper. It seemed the man could find just about any excuse to get angry at my mother. He would start yelling and throwing things, and it wouldn’t be long before he was tossing her around like a rag doll.
The beatings would go on for hours, and all I could do was sit there and listen to my mother screaming and pleading with my father to stop. Eventually, his rage would fade, and the torment would finally end.
The next day, my dad would see the bruises he’d left on my mother, and he would be devastated.
His fear and guilt would have him bending over backward to make it up to her.
He’d buy her flowers and beg for her forgiveness.
The second he saw that she was starting to give in, he’d wrap his arms around her and whisper, “I really am sorry, baby.”
“You can’t keep doing this, Rodger.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I just get so out of my head.” He’d reach over and place his hand on her swollen cheek. “You know I love you. You know I didn’t mean it.”
“I know.”
“Please tell me you forgive me.” When she didn’t immediately answer, he’d plead, “Please, baby. I won’t do it again. I swear it.”
Mom would inhale a deep breath, then sigh, “It’s okay, honey. I know you didn’t mean it.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, Dad would pull her closer and hug her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
The days that followed were always the best. Dad was a regular Prince Charming, and not just with Mom.
He would dote on us both, making sure we had everything we could possibly want or need.
Sadly, it wouldn’t last long.
After a few weeks had gone by, Dad would find another reason to become upset, and the vicious cycle would start all over again. As a child, it was gut-wrenching to witness such a violent exchange between my parents. It was even more gut-wrenching when my father decided to bring me into the mix.
I’d barely reached my teens when he first slapped me.
I thought it was just a one-time thing, but it quickly grew into the kind of beatings my mother had endured for years.
While I kept waiting for my mother to come to my rescue and demand that my father stop hurting me, that never happened.
Instead, she found a way to make the whole thing my fault or tried to convince me that Dad didn’t mean it—that he was a good man who just couldn’t control his emotions.
Smokey, on the other hand, had no problem controlling his emotions.
In fact, he always seemed to be in absolute control, not only with the way he interacted with MJ, but in all facets of his life, including the farm.
While he took care of maintaining the orchard, MJ ran the gift shop, hosted weddings, and handled all the other activities.
She had her hands full, but Smokey was always there to help out when she needed it.
A soft smile crossed MJ's face as she looked up at him and said, “Hey there, handsome. We’re finally getting these baskets sorted.”
“I see that.” He ran his hand over his thick, salt-and-pepper beard as he said, “Looks like you’ve got quite a job on your hands.”
“I know.” MJ glanced over at the trailer full of baskets and groaned. “I should’ve done this and the planters last month when we weren’t so busy. Now, we have even more to do. I don’t know if we’ll have time to get it all together.”
“Sure, we will. The brothers will be here in an hour or so. They’ll help us get things ready.”
My stomach turned at the mention of Smokey’s brothers.
I could still remember the first time I saw the Satan’s Fury MC insignia embroidered on the back of his leather jacket.
I couldn’t believe it. Smokey was so kind and easy going, and from what I’d heard, these men were anything but kind and easy going.
In fact, they were one of the most notorious MCs in the state.
They were dangerous criminals, but they were Smokey’s brothers. He considered them family. That didn’t mean I was looking forward to being around them. In all actuality, I intended to avoid them at all costs. I knew it wasn’t fair, but I had no choice. I was clearly a terrible judge of character.
When I finally managed to move away from home, I promised myself I would steer clear of dangerous assholes like my father.
I was determined to find someone who would not only love and respect me but would also be good to me.
I thought I’d found that with James, but as luck would have it, I was wrong.
It seemed I’d inherited my mother’s dysfunctional mindset. I saw all the red flags. In fact, I’d seen them from the very beginning, especially his extreme jealousy:
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I was at the movies.”
His nostril would flare with anger as he spat, “With who?”
“Kayleigh. I told you I was going. Remember?”
“You never told me shit.”
“That’s not true, James. I told you about...”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” he interrupted.
“Because it was on silent.”
“That’s bullshit. You were with some guy and...”
“I was with Kayleigh.”
“I certainly hope so because I don’t know what I’d do if...”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” In hopes of calming him down, I stepped over to him and placed the palms of my hands on his chest. “You’re the only guy I want to be with. I love you.”
His expression softened, and it wasn’t long before the tension in his shoulders started to fade. In a blink, James was back to the smiling, doting boyfriend that I’d always known and loved.
But over the next few months, he became more and more possessive, and he made a huge fuss any time I mentioned spending time with my friends or even my family. At first, I pushed back, insisting that I needed that time with them, but eventually, it became too hard, and I simply stopped trying.
It was like that with so many things.