I picked up the book again and handed it to him. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to brush my teeth.”
But he slung an arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him. “I missed you today.”
I kissed the top of his head. “Back at you, cutie.” Then I wiggled out of his embrace.
After I got my turn in the bathroom, I found Zach propped up against the headboard, his nose in his book. I walked around and got into bed. There was no lamp on my side, so reading beside him wasn’t going to work. But I was tired and didn’t care.
When I settled in next to him, he closed the book, letting it rest against his chest. “I don’t want the series to end.”
“Hear you.” I snuggled up, putting a hand on his chest. “Nobody ever does.”
“I read the first two at school when I was a kid. My fifth-grade teacher kept it on a shelf for me, because she knew I couldn’t take it home.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “We didn’t have books, except for the bible. And there was a book about the founder of our, um, church. But the rest were forbidden. Harry Potter would never have been allowed, because witchcraft is the work of the devil.”
“Yikes. Really?”
He nodded, his eyes dancing. “In fact, the Harry Potter craze was one of the things that made the elders decide to pull us all from the school district. Kids came home on the bus asking for all kinds of things they disapproved of. So after sixth grade I was homeschooled.” He used air quotes around the word. “That just meant free labor for the ranch after a couple hours of bible study in the morning. So it was eight or nine years before I could pick up the series again. J.K. Rowling was kind enough to finish writing it in the meantime.”
“That’s a nice way to look at it.”
Zach ran a hand over the book’s cover. “When I was a kid I felt sorry for Harry in his cupboard under the stairs.”
“Yeah. That’s how she wants you to feel when you read it. She’s great at establishing empathy.”
“Sure. It’s funny—I thought I was better off than Harry. It took me a long time to realize that Aunt Petunia and what’s-his-name were at least honest about not wanting Harry. When I read the first book, I thought they were the height of evil. Took me a few years to realize how many of the boys I knew would be tossed away.”
“Like you,” I whispered. He shrugged, but the casual gesture didn’t fool me. “They’re idiots, Zach. Dumber than the Dursleys.”
His eyes held mine for a long moment. Then he tossed the book off his chest, smiled, rolled, and kissed me.
* * *
Oscar has brought me something. It’s in his pocket. I want it badly, but he’s nervous. His eyes keep going to the door. I know I’m dreaming, and that the thing in his pocket will be our undoing. But I want it anyway. I want to know what it is, and I want to know what happens next. I’m tired of the fear and of the not knowing.
“Por favor,” I say.
Please.
His dark eyes measure me. I can see he’s conflicted. I’m scared, as always. But I’m angry, too. I’m burning up with anger. The dream won’t let me go until we reach the end.
He reaches into his pocket, but the shouting starts immediately. Someone’s banging on the door…
* * *
I awoke on a gasp in the dark. My eyes flew open and my heart was racing. Behind me, Zach shifted in his sleep, pressing closer to me. By now he’d basically programmed his subconscious to comfort me in the night. Half the time when I finally wrestled free of my dreams and woke, he was rubbing my back in his sleep.
I took a slow breath and tried to calm down, but it wasn’t easy.
Lately there were two different Larks. One of them was lying in perfect safety beside Zach. That was the Lark who picked apples and wanted to learn glassblowing. The other one was still inexplicably trapped in Guatemala, and freaking out.
By day I pretended that Lark didn’t exist. But she did.
I lay awake now, my thoughts sifting through the awkward day I’d spent trying to convince my parents that I was fine. I’d put on a good show. They’d driven back to Boston after hugging me goodbye, and they didn’t look too worried about me.
Except they’d brought me that fucking letter.
I tried to imagine myself walking into the office two weeks from now, a latte from Starbucks in one hand, my laptop in the other. I’d given my whole self to that job. I’d took their transfer assignment with good cheer and upended my life for them. Now they wanted me to come back and pretend like it never went badly.
Or quit.
Shit.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the feel of Zach’s firm hand against my back. What did I want, anyway? Did I want that job? I liked working for a nonprofit. I liked trying to make a difference. They did some good work in the world, too. They helped Brazilian sugarcane producers become more efficient and offer their employees a better life. They helped Guatemalan coffee growers cut down fewer rainforest trees.
And working for them had almost gotten me killed.
The truth was that I didn’t need that job. If I wasn’t ready to go back to work, I didn’t have to. Money wasn’t a problem for me or my family. I had several paychecks from the Shipleys in my purse. Uncashed.
But, damn it! I’d won that job after college. I’d interviewed and impressed them. And now they were tossing me out like a used-up, environmentally sensitive, unbleached tissue.
I could get a doctor’s note and prolong the decision. I could go back to the psychiatrist in Boston and tell him exactly how bad things were when I tried to sleep.
The problem with that would be admitting the problem to my parents. I didn’t want therapy. I didn’t want to talk about my feelings or—worse—be hypnotized to try to tease out my scary memories.
It was not a problem that would be decided tonight. But I lay awake for hours anyway, worrying about it.
I must have drifted off again, eventually. Because I was sleeping when I heard Zach’s alarm go off. He turned, and I reached back to touch his sleepy body, my hand finding his chest, which I caressed.
“You sleep okay?” he asked with a yawn.
“Yes,” I lied. “You?”
“Perfectly.”
A strong arm wrapped around my waist and soft lips traced the back of my neck. His kisses were slow and sleep-warmed. They trailed down into the collar of my T-shirt, while one of his work-roughened hands slid under the fabric to caress my waist. He ventured lower, his fingertips brushing the tiny scrap of fabric between my legs.
“Mmh,” I sighed. “You’re torturing both of us.”
“I know,” he said between kisses. “Wish it was Sunday.”
“How many days away is that?” I mumbled.
He counted them out with kisses. “Five.”
“Fuck.”
He chuckled. “See you at breakfast?”
“Yeah. Go before I grab you and don’t let go.”
“I like the sound of that.”
But he got up anyway.
21
Zach
Tuesday we did the Montpelier market together. Lark rode beside me in the truck with her hand on my knee. It made me crazy. I wanted to pull over on the side of the road and have my way with her. Instead, I settled for a few stolen kisses and sleeping in her bed again that night.
Something had shifted. The rules had changed, and now I could touch her whenever I wanted to. I didn’t know how that had happened, but I wasn’t arguing. When I passed behind her in our market stall, I put a palm to her lower back. And when we got back into the truck for the drive home, I kissed her before starting the engine.
Winning the lottery wouldn’t have been half as exciting to me.
The one thing I didn’t do, though, was try again to have any kind of Big Talk. I’d wanted to tell Lark how much I cared. But now there was a stopwatch ticking over us. Three weeks until she had to figure out whether to go back to work in Boston or make another plan for the
future.
So I didn’t weigh in. I didn’t want my selfish desires to get in the way of her plans. And worse—if my feelings on the matter weren’t going to count as a factor in her decision-making, I didn’t want to know.
Griff had told me just to be there, not to panic. And that sounded like good advice. If I only got three weeks, I was going to make them count.
Wednesday was our day to do the Hanover market. But as I was loading up, Griffin loaded ten cases of hard cider onto the truck, too.
“Who’re those for?”
“It’s a delivery to Woodstock. Lark has the details. Have fun.” Griffin walked away before I could ask any more questions.
“Griff wants us to drive to Woodstock after the market?” I asked Lark when she got into the truck. “We won’t get home until late.” The Hanover market was three to six p.m. And Woodstock was a half hour southwest of there. Maybe more.
“We’ll have dinner in Woodstock together,” Lark said. “I told Ruth not to expect us.” She gave me a funny little smile.
“Okay.” She had something up her sleeve, but I decided just to roll with it.
“Do me a favor?” she said. “Run into the bunkhouse and get long pants and a button-down.”
I hesitated. “Really?”
“Yeah. Go.” She made a shooing motion.
So I went.
The Hanover market went well, and we sold nearly everything.
“This is perfect,” Lark said, surveying our empty apple crates. “Not much inventory to worry about. Let’s go to Woodstock.”
“Should I change now?” I asked. “I should have thought of that while we were loading up.”
She shook her head. “No need.” She got in the truck.
At the Woodstock Inn, I parked in back, by the loading dock. It was a fairly large hotel for this area. We offloaded our ten cases. But then Lark asked the kitchen guy an odd question. “Where can we park her overnight?”
He looked around. “That corner should be fine,” he said, pointing.
“Why did you ask that?” I wondered when he disappeared.
She gave me a catlike smile. “I reserved a room. And I warned Griff that you won’t be available for the milking in the morning.”
“Really?”
“Really. He said you never took a day off in two years. So why not now?”
My gaze went to the truck. Could I really just leave it here for a night and fritter off with Lark? I supposed I could bring the cashbox inside with us. Was that safe enough?
Once in a while Griff and Audrey blew everything off for a day or two and got away together. And the earth didn’t stop turning.
“Okay,” I said slowly.
She laughed. “You sound like I’ve suggested an evening of dental work.”
“Just give me a minute to get used to the idea.” I tossed the keys in my hand. “I’ll park the truck. Then we’ll go inside and change for dinner. Was that your plan?”
Lark nodded, bouncing on her heels. “It’s the world’s shortest vacation. But I really need one.”
I gave her a quick kiss, still marveling at the fact that I was allowed to do that. “Give me three minutes.”
* * *
The hotel lobby was fancier than I’d expected. I felt out of place in my work boots and Shipley Farms sweatshirt. And I cringed when Lark handed over her credit card. “Let me pay you back,” I said when the clerk turned her back.
“Nope,” Lark said cheerfully, making me wonder how much this was costing. “But you can pay for dinner if you really want to.”
When Lark had secured our key, we walked through the rather fancy lobby and past a giant stone fireplace. A few other guests milled about, looking like they’d just stepped off the golf course. It wasn’t really my scene.
But the advantages to this outing became clearer as soon as Lark swiped the keycard through the reader outside our room. She pushed the door open to reveal a king-sized bed and a fireplace, where a fire already crackled.
Now that was more like it.
Lark set her backpack down against the wall. “This is nice.” She wandered past the fireplace and disappeared through another door into what looked like a huge bathroom.
“Sure is.” I set my bag down, too.
“I could use a shower,” she called.
“Go for it.” I went to the window and peered out at the well-kept grounds. It was already dark outside.
“Oh, wow,” Lark said from the bathroom. “This is giving me ideas.” The next sound I heard was running water.
I unlaced my dusty work boots and kicked them off. They looked all wrong on the ornate carpet. The room was beautiful, with a sloped ceiling and shining wood moldings. I wasn’t used to luxury of any kind. Standing there between two upholstered chairs made me feel like an imposter.
That four-poster bed covered in white bedding, though? I saw the potential.
A few minutes later the taps stopped flowing in the bathroom. “Zach,” Lark called. “Come here, please.”
I walked into the bathroom to find her chest deep in a claw-foot bathtub. The sight of water lapping over her breasts sent my blood rushing southward. “Wow.”
Her smile was sweet. “Well, don’t just stand there. Get in.”
Maybe I’d been too quick to judge this hotel.
I shucked off my sweatshirt and then the flannel shirt beneath it. Lark’s eyes followed my every movement, and it made me a little self-conscious. I toed off my socks, then popped the button on my shorts. She licked her lips.
My increasingly dirty ideas about how this might play out were made obvious by the bulge in my boxer briefs. I’d certainly never stripped for a woman before, so pushing those underwear down was a unique experience. My cock popped straight up, and there was no disguising my desire.
I’d never been so naked before now.
“God, you’re beautiful,” she said on a gusty exhale. “It’s not even fair.”
Her words hit me like a warm breeze, tightening my balls, bringing goosebumps to my flesh. Every inch of me felt alive with yearning.
“Turn around,” she whispered. “I want to see all of you.”
But I hesitated. “There are scars. It’s not the best-looking part of me.”
Her head tipped to the side, and her gaze was soft. “I know, cutie. I felt them. But there is no ugly part of you.”
Feeling a little self-conscious, I did what she asked, rotating slowly. I tried never to let anyone see the results of the beating I got on my last day at Paradise Ranch. But I showed her now, because she was going to see anyway.
I heard the sound of water sloshing, and then a wet hand skimmed over my ass cheek. “This is very ‘Outlander,’ you know. You’re almost fashionable.”
My laugh was a snort. The next thing I felt was the brush of her lips back there. She kissed my scars—actually kissed them.
You can bet nobody ever did that before.
“Now get in here,” she said.
When I’d turned around, she bent her knees to make room for me. I stepped in, then sank down slowly, the hot water embracing me. When my ass found the porcelain, I took Lark’s ankles in my hands and stretched her legs out, sinking mine below the surface. She wiggled, making room for me to unfurl, lengthening her limbs over mine.
“I have scars,” she said quietly. “Mine don’t show.”
“I know,” I whispered, stroking her foot. “I hope they heal up so you can’t feel them anymore. Mine don’t hurt now. I never think about them.”
Her beautiful face became thoughtful. “Do you ever wish you’d gone to the police? Beating you was illegal. Assault and battery.”
“Nobody ever went to the police. The boys who walk away from that place are too ashamed. They’re convinced they did something wrong.” No matter that my ass bled for days. I got a new pair of pants at a homeless shelter in Omaha, but I didn’t admit that the blood on the old ones belonged to me. “I’m so happy to be gone from there now, I just try not to th
ink about it.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Isaac and Leah have a friend—Maggie—she lives in Massachusetts now. She ran away, too. She took Isaac and Leah’s advice and gave her farm a name that’ll help people find her. Isaac and Leah say that helping others is the best kind of revenge.”
The look Lark gave me then was so heavy with love that it stopped me from breathing. “What?” I finally asked when she’d been studying me for long enough to heat my cheeks.
“I really want to crawl over there and kiss you.”
My cock pulsed underwater. “What’s stopping you?”
The next thing I knew I had a lap full of Lark. I pulled her wet, seal-like body onto mine and our mouths fused immediately. Each pull of her tongue made me moan. Each slide of her sleek skin against my cock made me crazier than the last.
My hands wandered her body unbidden. I cupped her heavy breasts in my palms and slid my fingers everywhere. When I dipped between her legs to stroke her, she moaned into my mouth.
“Need you so bad,” I panted between kisses.
“Tell me what you want,” she whispered.
“Everything.”
“No, be specific. I want to hear how your dirty mind works.” My face burned immediately, and she smiled again. “Just tell me one hot little detail.”
“All right. But then I get to hear one of yours.”
Lark laughed, and the sound broke up some of the tension in my chest. “Okay. Fair’s fair. You first.”
It wasn’t easy, though. “Never talked like this with anyone,” I admitted.
“I know.” She kissed me on the nose. “But lust isn’t shameful, no matter what they used to tell you. Now’s your chance to stick it to ’em. Name a desire. It doesn’t even have to be realistic.”
I want you for my very own.
Yikes. That would be honest, but that wasn’t what she’d meant.
Slowly, I leaned forward until my lips were just millimeters from her ear. “I want to make you come with my tongue.”
“Unnng,” Lark said, her forehead landing on my shoulder. “I’m not going to argue with that idea.”