Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Emerson
I’ll grab the documents to save time.
Panic fills me as I race home.
No, no, no.
Once I’m out of city limits, I push the speed. The pickup roars, and God, if I wreck this on top of filing for divorce, then I don’t deserve Lane.
I don’t deserve him anyway. Hasn’t that been the issue all along? That eventually he’ll figure out how much better he can do and not want me? Why didn’t I call the lawyer and tell him, You know what? I don’t need these. I hope I never need these. I hope to never utter the d-word again.
Did Lane see them?
He’s not a snoop.
I fly into the yard and park at the edge of the lawn, the tires kicking up gravel.
I throw the pickup into park and sprint to the house.
The chickens by the grungy coop scatter, hiding against walls or diving inside.
The two turkeys I got last week, Bonnie and Clyde, watch me from their enclosure.
They’re still getting used to Lady, the cats, and the chickens, and now, because I was too much of a coward, they may have to get used to my brother’s place.
My rush is panicking them, but I don’t have time to calm the birds. I sprint inside and straight to the office.
“No.” The cry that rips from my throat sounds like it’s from someone else.
The white envelope is open and papers cover the desk.
My heart breaks in two, and I double over. “Dammit!”
And Lane’s not here. The second envelope is gone.
Why did I do that? Why didn’t I just leave them at the law office and tell them to shred the shit out of them?
I have to talk to him. I have to tell him that I don’t want this, that I thought I was being prudent.
He’s probably next door, waiting to sign off on the trust and be done with me since I’ve done nothing but push against all the love he’s trying to show. I run back through the house and outside. I throw the pickup in park and fishtail through my turn.
Lane’s going to walk. I knew it was going to happen.
I could take my time. I could walk to my brother’s and let the panic roll through me so I’m not a wild woman charging toward my husband.
I could show up calm and collected and ready to hear him tell me that the deal is done and I’m finally free to go.
A tear rolls down my cheek.
When I arrive, Lane’s pickup is there, next to my brother’s, and the same car from when I first rolled into town is parked in the same spot as last time. No one’s outside.
Gravel scatters when I stop, and once again I throw the pickup into park. I kill the engine and dive out, not bothering to straighten my linen shorts and pink blouse. I look way too summery to be told I’m unwanted again.
This time, it’s my own fault.
I take the stairs up to the porch in two bounds and ram through the door. I’m hit by a faintly familiar cedar smell smothered by new paint and pine cleaner. That should stop me in my tracks, but it’s so unimportant now that I push through.
The floor plan of this place is still imprinted in my memory, and I beeline right for the kitchen.
I skid to a stop when my gaze lands on Lane.
He’s not sitting around the table like Zack and my brother.
He’s leaning against a yellowed Formica counter that tugs at more memories.
I’ll worry about that at another time. He lifts his head to meet my gaze, and disbelief flares in his eyes, but it doesn’t hide the weight in his expression, or the heaviness around his shoulders. It stops me in my tracks.
My heart pounds against my sternum, and I’m breathing through a heavy rag.
Brooks cranes his head to look at me. Astonishment dawns across his face. “Emerson? Holy shit—everything okay?”
“I didn’t mean it,” I blurt out.
Zack clears his throat and folds his hands, his gaze darting around to each of us. Brooks scoots his chair around.
“I contacted the attorney.” I swallow hard and heat sears the back of my eyes. My pleading might come off as pathetic, but I don’t care right now. “And I paid for it, but when I went to pick them up, I wanted to tell him to keep them.” I wring my hands together. “I wanted to destroy them.”
“Let’s give ’em a moment,” Brooks says to Zack, and they both leave me and Lane alone.
“Everyone’s left me, Lane.” Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t care if I sob and hiccup through everything. “I’ve been walked on and passed over in all aspects of my life, and I thought it was inevitable.”
“Em—”
“I felt like I was getting ahead of it all, but I ruined it, didn’t I?
You saw them and now you think—” I press my fingertips to my forehead, and tears spill down my cheeks.
“But I’m tired, Lane. I’m tired of just letting it happen.
I don’t want you to sign those papers. And if you do, I won’t.
” There’s probably some way he can still make it official, but he’s going to have to work for it.
He’s going to have to show me what a dick he is, such a big one that I don’t deserve him.
Because the love of my life would know that I made a stupid decision.
He straightens to his full imposing height, back to being the corporate guy running a billion-dollar corporation while dressed in jeans and cowboy boots.
“I can’t tell you what it means that you charged into this house for me.” He prowls toward me, but I don’t want to move. “You did it.”
“I had to tell you before you signed them.”
“I wasn’t going to sign a damn thing, Em,” he says it so softly it’s like a caress and gently wipes the tears from my cheeks.
“You weren’t?” That’s just too good to be true. What does he really mean?
“No. You can make a hundred copies, and I won’t sign a damn one.” He traces my jaw with his fingers. “You can get more lawyers. You can move back to Denver. I’m not signing.”
“Why?” I whisper and my vision grows watery. I messed up. I’ve done my best before, and people still leave. They don’t have this much patience. “You’ve been dedicated from the beginning. You’ve been committed. I filed.”
“You got divorce papers drawn up. You haven’t filed.”
There’s a difference? My hopelessness lightens. “But . . .”
“It’s not enough, Scrappy.” His lips curve upward. “You’ve tried to sabotage this from the beginning, and I only love you more.”
This man is everything, but he cannot be real. “What if you don’t when I’m glued to your side?”
His gaze brushes over my features, full of affection. “You’ve been that too. I fell deeper.”
“You’re too perfect,” I whisper. A hot drop rolls down my cheek. “You’re a good man and a good partner.”
His jaw clenches and he glances out the window to the driveway and the chickens darting over it. “I also lied.”
The chill is back. “You did?”
“You didn’t have to live with me. It’s not stated in the trust.”
“Excuse me?” I . . . didn’t read the trust. I assumed he was telling the truth. And maybe . . . his house was more of a refuge than this place.
“Nope. The rest was true. I tried to talk some sense into Hutch about this arrangement, but not that hard. Wasn’t going to risk him picking someone else.
Myles didn’t think we should meet with you at all, but I insisted, said I would just listen and send you on your way.
I had no plans to do that.” His smile is sad.
“Your dad interfered with that a little bit. Until he passed, I spent the rest of the week after you stood me up figuring out how I was going to see you again.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Not stalker-ish?” Worry fills his eyes. He presses a light kiss to my lips and uses his thumb to brush away the tear.
“Only if it’s unwanted, and I want your obsession for the rest of my life.” An exhale shudders out of me and I push my hands through his hair. “You did all this for me?”
“There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more than for you to be mine.”
“I really do love you.” But remnants of the ever-present fear still linger. “I want this to work. So much.”
“It will. We’ll both make sure of it.” He steps away and a flood of cold air sweeps between us. He reaches into his pocket and I hastily wipe my face. “I was going to do this later, but I’d like to now.”
When he produces a small velvet bag, I gasp. “You had that in your pocket?”
He opens the little drawstring. “A box was too hard to carry in my pocket, and I didn’t want anyone to notice a bulge.”
He withdraws a gorgeous ring with an obnoxious diamond and drops to his knees.
I slap my hands over my heart. This is really happening. He’s proposing. He doesn’t have to. I’m his and we’re married, but this extra is just like him. Just like he knows I need it.
He holds it up, and the gold band twinkles so strongly yet delicately in his big fingers. “Emerson, will you stay married to me?”
“Oh my god, Lane. Yes. A thousand yeses.” My hand trembles when he slides it on. Then he rises and is twirling me around in the kitchen I grew up in. A place where I have some happy memories and a lot of sad ones, but right now, it holds the best one.
“What’s going on?” Hillary asks. “Auntie Em, you made it inside! Was it my chicken facts?”
I grin at Lane. He’s still holding me off the floor. “Yeah, Bunny. It was the chicken facts.”
I was the chicken, and I accepted the fact that Lane loves me.