Chapter 8 #2
Looking down, Lawson took a bite. Her voice was quiet when she said, “I did.”
“Oh,” Sky said, “Where did you go to school?”
Lawson fidgeted. “Oh, that’s such boring information. How goes the wedding preparations?”
Lawson’s attempt at deflecting the conversation away from her and back at the two women worked like a charm.
It was obvious to me that women loved talking about wedding planning.
I just kept my mouth closed and let the conversation between them flow over me.
Lawson was sitting close, her thigh pressed to mine as she skillfully pumped them for information.
The more they were talking about themselves, the less attention was focused on her and her past.
I couldn’t really blame her. If her past was as rocky as I guessed it was, it stood to reason that she didn’t want to talk about it in detail. It was the same with me and my tours of duty. War stories didn’t seem to have a place in idyllic Suttontowne. The blood, fear, and desperation a world away.
“Let me ask you this question, Ethan, since you’re a man,” Sky said.
“Is that all there is to recommend me?”
“In this instance, yes.”
“All right, shoot, sugar.”
“Would you feel as if your manhood was in question if after your wedding you were to ride to the reception in a horse-drawn carriage?”
I set down my fork and met Sky’s eyes. “If I was lucky enough to snag the woman of my dreams, I would ride in a garbage truck to please her. So, no, I wouldn’t feel emasculated if I had to ride in a frilly vehicle as long as I was seated next to my beautiful wife, anticipating life with her.
I’d be thinking more along the lines of grabbing the reins and getting us to the wedding night, getting her alone so that I could show her how much I loved her. Jake will feel the same way.”
“He’s a big pushover,” Sam said nudging Sky with a soft look towards me and a breathless little laugh. “Ask him. He’ll probably be just fine with it.”
I glanced at Lawson, and she was looking at me with this…
dazed and bruised look in her eyes. A thick feeling making my heart turn over, I couldn’t look away, caught up in this sensual vortex between us.
It was all I could do not to reach out and touch her as her eyes warmed me intimately, something intangible and honeyed passing between us.
For a moment, my breath held as that sweetness seemed to spiral into something more intense, something beyond either of our control, making my pulse run.
She was addictive, kissing her a much more physical act than this…
feeling of temptation for things I only allowed myself to think about in private so I wouldn’t get a hard-on, curiosity at how good it would feel to be inside her, pumping hard, having her, and anticipation of her skin, her mouth, and other parts of her anatomy I wanted to lick, taste and suck that made everything in me tighten up.
Before I realized it, our lips were so close to each other, as if there was a magnetic pull towards her, as if we shared the same body and needed to fuse it back together.
Someone cleared their throat, and Lawson blinked, then blinked again and pulled back. She gave the women staring at us a winsome smile. “It’s very romantic,” she whispered and I was sure she was talking about what I had said instead of the horse-drawn carriage.
“It is,” Sky said, her gaze going between us. “I’ll ask Jake.” Her words came out on a little puff of air. I wondered if they had been affected by our interaction, too.
“That leaves only one detail left,” Sam said as she got up and dropped her empty plate into the trash. “The cake.”
“Brax has made wedding cakes in the past,” I offered.
“What?” Lawson said. “After tasting your cooking and hearing about your skill at baking, why don’t you make the cake, Sam?”
She looked startled for a moment, then smiled. “By God, she’s right, Sky. I can make your cake. What do you think?”
“I would absolutely love that!” She clapped her hands. “Are you sure?”
“I am. I’ve got to get back to the booth, but we can talk about it.”
“Me, too,” Sky said, clearing away her own trash. “Stop by my booth before you go back to yours, Lawson. I have something for you.”
“All right” she said as the two women walked away chatting enthusiastically.
“Don’t tell me you have to get back yet,” I said. “It’s only been half an hour.”
“I should. I feel guilty leaving Martha with a really busy booth.”
“All right, but let’s take our time and browse the booths first. Can you agree that you deserve at least another half an hour off for today?”
She gave me a winsome smile. I rose and offered her my hand. For a moment she looked up at me, the sun making her hair look like spun gold, her blue eyes incandescent. “You have this way of reminding me that there’s a life beyond work. I used to know that, but the last year has sucked me dry.”
She looked immediately away as if she’d said something she shouldn’t.
I wanted to question her in-depth, but with only a short time left between now and getting her back to Brax’s booth it wasn’t enough time.
I needed to sit down and talk to her, but again I was torn.
If I pushed her would she bolt? If I didn’t push her would I regret it, and she would leave anyway without telling me what was going on with her?
Obviously, if she wanted to confide in me, she would have.
What was holding her back? We had made a connection.
Of that, I was sure. So, what would it take to get her to open up?
I decided that it would take patience, time for her to feel secure, not only in me, but in Suttontowne.
She’d already made friends. I’d give her a little bit more time.
“Maybe you should reassess your life, Lawson. Think about what you want out of it and make new goals?” Staying neutral, I kept my hand outstretched.
She jerked her head up. With the same kind of dazed look she’d given me before, she took a breath, then looked at my hand.
Slowly, but deliberately, she placed her hand in mine. It felt like a breakthrough, a promise.
I closed my fingers around hers, anchoring her as she rose. Together we picked up our own mess and deposited everything in the trash.
My heart turned over when she grabbed my hand on her own, and with my heart beating just a bit faster, we started toward the booths. As we approached a furniture maker, I heard, “Ethan.”
I turned to find my daddy heading toward us. His face had a pleasant smile on it until he spied something, then he frowned for a moment. When he finally caught up to us, he said, “Hello, son, Lawson. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Hello, Reverend Fairchild.”
“What brings you to the craft festival?” I asked.
“Your momma’s around here somewhere. She wants to find a furniture maker with a mind to get new pews. There’s one here she’d like to connect with on a personal basis. We find it’s most effective to get the church the best price.”
“She is good at that.”
“She is.”
“What brings you here,” he asked.
“I’m manning Outlaw’s booth,” Lawson said with a smile.
When he looked at me, he frowned, and I realized it was me who had caused him to look so intent. “I volunteered to help the Sheriff’s Office with crowd control.”
“He is very good at that. He’s already subdued a guy who was drunk and disorderly and at the beginning of the week, a thief who was threatening me with a gun and demanding money.”
Instead of the obvious reaction anyone would have expected from Lawson’s blatant pride in relating my story to my parent, my daddy’s face only scrunched up tighter.
“Violence in any form is abhorrent,” he said.
“I understand there’s a need in this world for people to combat violence, but there is also, and I daresay, a bigger and more pressing need for people who guide and are an inspiration to everyone. We need more leaders like that.”
He was being subtle, reminding me that I had a bigger role to fill in preaching.
It was the age-old argument between us. I wasn’t sure it was my calling, and so far in my life, I had done everything in my power to avoid dealing with it.
My daddy’s patience was drawing to an end.
I couldn’t argue with him about my path in life.
It was meandering. I wasn’t committed either to the bait and tackle or the bartending, but surfed along doing both when it suited me.
Maybe that wasn’t fair to either Brax or Chase.
But my path had seemed to elude me until just recently.
I had thought a little about becoming a deputy sheriff, especially after I had subdued that robber in the bar, but dismissed it.
It would be a tough personal decision as my daddy just stated how much he hated violence.
When I’d gone into the Marines, he’d been livid.
Risking my life for my country took away from my duty to preach the word of the Lord.
My daddy had a narrow way of looking at my choices.
Was I butting up against that and trying to make my own?
Was it my responsibility to make him happy? Give up any dreams I might have to a larger cause? Did I feel that calling strong enough?
Questions I had been asking myself for a decade, and I wasn’t closer to any type of answer.
“Do you understand what I’m talking about, Ethan?”
“I got you loud and clear, Daddy,” I said. It was loud and clear. He didn’t want me going into law enforcement, plain and simple. At least it was for him.
For me? It was a deeper question, a deeper issue and until I figured it all out, I wouldn’t have my final answer. I wasn’t going to be pushed or shoved into the seminary like he’d tried to do in my formative years and then hardcore when I’d turned eighteen. I felt as beleaguered now as I did then.
But I was a Marine, tempered in battle and a man with my own mind and heart. I would let both lead me to the final destination. Until then, I would continue to stall him.