6. Carter
Chapter six
Carter
Silence spread through the large vestibule, and Carter breathed it in.
For a few precious minutes each morning, no one called his name.
It was his favorite time of day—early enough before the hustle and bustle of the household took over and he was tasked with extinguishing fires left and right.
He grabbed his coat off the hook and slipped his arms into it.
This morning, he was heading out early in hopes of knocking some errands off his list before the house awoke.
He wrapped his scarf around his neck and reached for the doorknob when the sound of heels caught his attention. He knew he should just walk out the damn door, but curiosity got the better of him. Before he could even turn, that familiar voice greeted him.
“Where are you off to?” Ash demanded more than asked.
“If you must know…” He faced her, his words died on his tongue as she stared at him from a few stairs above.
A red ribbed turtleneck clung to her like a second skin, highlighting all her small yet sexy curves, and was tucked into a black skirt that hit just above her knees.
Black boots stopped just below her knees, revealing a sliver of tights that were molded to her body.
He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat and directed his attention to her face. “I’m going to order the trees.”
“Order? You mean pick them out?” Ash’s dark eyes narrowed, arms crossing over her chest—a damn travesty—and her perfectly shaped eyebrow arched.
“No, I mean tell Glen I need two ten-foot trees delivered this afternoon, pay the man, and go on my way.”
“You’re going to allow some guy to pick out Winterridge’s Christmas trees?”
“Glen is not ‘some guy.’ He has been selling trees since he was seven.”
“And that makes him an expert?”
“Considering it’s his family’s business that was passed down from his grandfather to his father to him, and his entire life has been Christmas trees, I’d say yes.”
“Grandma Lily would never let anyone else pick out her trees.”
“Unfortunately, she’s not here, so I am putting my trust in the expert.”
Ash descended the stairs and went straight to the coat rack.
“What are you doing?” he asked as she thrust her arm into her expensive-looking coat.
“If Grandma Lily isn’t here to do it, then I’m going to.”
Carter glared at her, feet frozen to the floor. Only Ashley could turn his quiet morning into a headache. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.” There was no way in hell he could handle her in his truck, her scent filling the cab, her warmth clinging to his seat, those tights-covered knees sitting dangerously close to him.
Nope. No. Not happening. He could not spend an hour trapped beside the woman he had spent years trying, and failing, to stop loving.
Ashley swung the door open, the early morning air biting through his coat. “You coming or what?”
Fuck him. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed the door and followed her out into the blistering cold.
The sun hadn’t finished its ascent, streaking the sky with gray and pink hues.
His boots crunched over the thin sheet of ice coating the walkway, each step echoing in the silence between them.
She didn’t glance back, her shoulders squared, her stride clipped as she gracefully but determinedly made her way toward the driveway.
Once there, she stopped and glanced around. He had already started toward the garage, tucked at the far end of the gravel path. She had been heading toward the guest lot, reserved for family and visitors. The help parked out of sight.
He slowed just enough to see her pivot, confusion pulling tight at the skin above her nose. “Wrong way,” he called out, his voice carrying across the quiet morning.
Her head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing. She hesitated for a moment before going in his direction.
Slipping his hands into his pockets, he retrieved his gloves and tugged them on as he kept walking, leaving her to follow his lead.
He opened the garage and stepped inside, going straight for his truck.
It had been the first thing he bought when he got promoted.
Not that he couldn’t afford it before, but he finally felt like he deserved it.
His dad was gone, no longer able to put a good word in for him, yet Mr. Wetherby still gave him the estate manager position.
After all these years, he knew he had earned his place the right way, the respectful way.
Some might say Mr. Wetherby felt obligated to give him the position after his father died, but that just told Carter they didn’t know Mr. Wetherby at all.
That man’s loyalty only extended so far.
Ashley trudged in, her fingers running through her bangs in an attempt to tame what the wind had done to them. Her hand fell to her side, and she glanced at the large red truck.
“Trying to compensate for something?” she asked as she walked to the passenger side.
She stopped in front of the door, forcing him to step in beside her to reach the handle. She drew in a quick breath, the sound carrying through the otherwise quiet space.
“You and I both know I don’t need to compensate for anything,” he said against the delicate curve of her ear, then yanked the door open for her. “After you.”
Her chin lifted, head turned, and her gray eyes locked on his. “Careful. I might start to think you still know how to be a gentleman.”
His mouth curved. “Don’t confuse manners for mercy.”
Neither moved, the air thick with ghosts of the day she left Winterridge. Of the cruel words he’d forced himself to say and the feelings neither of them had ever managed to bury. She'd been back a day, and he’d already forgotten every promise he’d made himself about keeping his distance.
He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to tell her everything about that night. He couldn’t do either.
She broke eye contact and slipped into the truck, her intoxicating scent lingering in the air as she slammed the door harder than necessary.
This was going to be a long day.
He stopped at the bed of the truck and took a deep breath before hopping into the driver’s seat. He shut the door; her scent had already permeated his cab.
He gripped the wheel, fighting off the onslaught of memories he had no business reliving. Time hadn’t dulled a damn thing. If anything, wanting her had only become harder.
He still wanted her to know why he’d done what he’d done, but how the hell did he explain a lie that had destroyed the only thing he ever wanted?
It’s not something he could just blurt out. Worse yet… He still wanted the future she once offered him.
He’d forfeited that future the night he walked away.
He threw the truck in reverse and pulled out of the garage, heading through the black wrought-iron gates of the estate. Rays of sun broke free of the spotted clouds, shining brightly on the snow-covered bushes, and practically blinding him as he turned onto the road.
Ashley rubbed her hands together and held them up to the vents. “Why is the air cold?”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “The truck just started. It needs time to warm up.” She blew into her hands, and with a resigned sigh, he slipped off his gloves and handed them to her.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Gloves. I knew you were out of touch, but I didn’t think you were that out of touch.”
She snapped the gloves off his hands and thrust her fingers into the warm leather. “I am not out of touch.” She yanked the end of the glove into place and settled her hands in her lap. “I figured you’d let me freeze, is all.”
“I’m not an asshole.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“But?”
“I didn’t say but.”
“You didn’t have to. It was the way you lingered on were.”
Ashley glanced out the window, lips pressed together in that way he remembered, like she was trying not to say too much. It used to drive him crazy. Still did.
Finally, she muttered, “You’ve changed.”
“Yeah, well. Eight years’ll do that.”
She faced him, eyes narrowed. “So what’s changed, then?”
He shrugged, keeping his focus on the road as he took the curve a little faster than necessary. “I don’t keep my opinions to myself as much. I drink better whiskey. And I’ve learned not to let Wetherby women get under my skin.”
She snorted. “Cute.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
Ashley pulled her coat tighter and settled against the seat, falling into silence again. Not the comfortable kind, but the kind that was full of all the things they weren’t saying.
After a few moments, she spoke, her voice quiet. “You didn’t reach out. Not once.”
Her words were like a jab to the ribs.
“I know,” he said.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer. Not right away. He just kept his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. He’d rehearsed a hundred versions of this conversation over the years, and none of them ended with her understanding.
“Because if I did,” he said slowly, “I wouldn’t have stopped.”
Her breath caught.
“And that wasn’t the life you were building,” he added. “You were moving to New York to chase big dreams. I was just the guy who knew how to fix the plumbing.”
“You were never just anything, Carter.”
“Maybe not to you,” he said. “But to everyone else in your world, I was. And whether or not you wanted it to, that would’ve mattered, eventually..”
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. “You should’ve let me decide what mattered.”
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
The rest of the drive stretched on in silence, thick with unspoken memories and possibilities, past regrets and old sparks they’d never really extinguished.
He pulled into the Christmas tree lot and threw the truck in park. Before he got out, he turned to her, a single question on his mind. “Are you happy?”
If she were happy, then it would all have been worth it. Every night without her, every Christmas that came and went without hearing her laughter, seeing her smile, and feeling her touch.
“What’s it to you?” She slipped out of the truck and slammed the door, leaving him with her orange blossom scent and no answers.