You're Still The One Page 5

  If my dad had any loud and obnoxious friends over, I used to go to the orchard and carve the skins off apples to see how long a train I could make. I would hide in the apple trees if he was in a bad mood—cursing, lashing out at me—or if I needed to cry for my mother. I would carve faces into the apples—or boats, or dogs and cats. Apples entertained me.

  I should have hated apples because of what they reminded me of, but I didn’t. They saved me. I ate them, I juggled them, and used them for throwing away my rage.

  I reached up a hand and brushed the leaves of an apple tree on my dad’s property. The apples were beautiful—red, golden, light green.

  I would miss them when I left.

  My letter would have arrived.

  She was a viper. She took advantage of her position. Seduction should not be a part of promotions.

  The you-know-what would be hitting the fan.

  It almost made me laugh.

  “No, I will not go out to dinner with you tonight.”

  Jace stood on my porch wearing a white shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. He could not have looked hotter if he set himself on fire.

  “Why not, Allie?” He smiled. If it were possible, I would have melted into goo.

  “Because I don’t want to and I want to and I won’t go.” I slammed my teeth together. “That didn’t make sense.”

  “Not much. Come out to dinner with me tonight and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I’m your patient. Aren’t you supposed to keep a professional distance?”

  “You’re my ex-girlfriend, and that overrides the patient-doctor relationship. Besides, our relationship, professionally speaking, is over because I’ve already sewn you up, plucked splinters out of your skin, and wrapped your ankle.”

  His ex-girlfriend. That I was. Even the word girlfriend gave my heart a wallop.

  It was about eleven in the morning. I had hobbled around to feed and take care of the horses. Bob chased his enemies, the squirrels, barking, and Margaret followed him as usual, tongue hanging out. Spot the Cat, came up and meowed at me and I meowed back like a fool. Spunky Joy’s head hung over Leroy’s neck and they were both happy to see their servant, me.

  I had not gotten hit by a horse’s hoof. I had not fallen through a ladder. The day was young, but so far, so good. I had not showered yet, so had not gotten to the makeup point, and was wearing old jeans and a flannel shirt, my usual chic and glamorous attire, so different from who and what I used to be. Then Jace arrived at my door.

  “Why can’t you show up in my life when I’m wearing something other than raggedy clothes and have brushed my hair?”

  He smiled, rocking back on his heels. He was huge and huggable, darn him. “You look good to me.”

  “I don’t look good to me. I think I smell like a horse. I need to check the lovely colors of various bruises on my body. Bruising adds a special shade of beauty.”

  “I’ll take a look at your bruising.”

  “You will not.”

  I remembered Jace’s hands on both of my legs at the hospital. He was completely professional, but I thought I was going to burst into a ball of desire. His hands could still do that to me, after all these years. Still.

  He smiled. “Ma’am, I think I should check out your legs.”

  “Very funny, Jace.”

  “Drop your pants.”

  I laughed, despite my rebellious hair, despite my bruises and my stitches. “Don’t make me laugh. For some reason it makes my legs hurt.”

  “If not dinner, how about breakfast?”

  “No.” I grinned.

  “We could sit at separate tables in a café.”

  “No, again.” Oh, he was lovely.

  “We could sit at separate ends of the café, and I won’t look at you.”

  “No, a third time.” He reminded me of one of those he-man warriors in movies. “I’m going to read a Jane Austen book.”

  “Bring it with you.”

  “ No.”

  “Okay, then we’ll do it the other way.”

  “What other way?” He smelled luscious, too.

  “We’ll have breakfast at my house.”

  He took a few steps forward, then lifted me up into his arms and started walking out to his truck. “Just keep still, ma’am, and I’ll have you fed and watered in no time.”

  “You can’t do this!” I laughed, my arm looped around his neck, our faces inches apart.

  “Looks like I am, darlin’.”

  I kicked my legs but it hurt. “Shoot. I can’t even kick you or my stitches will bust and my bruises will turn more purple or yucky green.”

  “Hang tight, apple-lover lady.”

  “I am an apple-lover lady. I think I’ll use it for my next ré-sum é . . .” I gave up. I wanted to give up, I knew that. I was having a hard time resisting him. The man is a force of nature. What he wants, he goes after.

  “Don’t move your legs, and close your mouth so no more refusals come out. Bacon and eggs makes everything better.”

  He put me in his truck, corralled the dogs back in the house, shut the door, and away we went.

  I knew I should have gotten out of the truck.

  I knew I should have protested.

  Getting involved with Jace would end in no place right or good or happy. It would end in tears and loss, and Jace would get hurt if he knew the truth. I did not want to hurt Jace.

  I went anyhow and I felt selfish for doing it.

  I told myself to enjoy him for one more day.

  One more day only.

  I would get a job and move and he’d never have to know anything else, anyhow.

  Chapter Six

  “You’re even more beautiful now than you were years ago, Allie.”

  Whew! “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?” Jace leaned back in his chair on the deck, watching me carefully, the picnic table between us. “I’ve missed those gold eyes of yours, all that hair, your smile . . .”

  I fixed my gaze down the hill on my dad’s run-down home, sagging and sad in the distance. In contrast, Jace’s home was an architectural delight, modern but log cabin-y, too. That’s the only way I could describe it. The great room had high ceilings, the wooden rafters exposed. There were wood floors, a two-story rock fireplace, leather furniture, and windows that invited in the expansive view of mountains, hills, vineyards, orchards, and farmland from all corners of the home.

  His deck, where we sat, wrapped around most of the house. As he said, “I can see the sun come up and the sun go down. It’s like watching the world move.”

  When we arrived at Jace’s house, I actually took a shower. It was embarrassing to ask, but I had to. I was sure I smelled Spunky Joy on me, and both dogs, dear as they were. He had jokingly said in a singsong, “Sure. I’ll be in there in a minute, honey,” and I had said, “The door is locked; don’t you dare.”

  I drummed my fingers on the arm of my chair. “Don’t say that I’m more beautiful now, because I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Why?”

  I was trying real hard not to get sucked in by him and his engaging, masculine, he-man, most alluring personality. He was danger on wheels, and I knew it. “Because I’m not ready for it.”

  He nodded, and I knew he got it. “When will you be ready for it?”

  “I don’t know, Jace.” I rubbed a hand over my forehead. “I’m still the same head case you knew before, only older.”

  “You were never a head case, Allie.”

  “Yes, I was. I hid it. I pretended things were better than they were. I pretended I had confidence, that I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t.” Childhood scars have a way of wrapping around your whole soul. They weave in and out and grip you tight.

  “You were independent—still are, I can see that. You’re outrageously intelligent. And funny. Very funny. You kissed incredibly well, I remember that most of all. Hugged well, too, and—”

  “Stop that, too. No flirting.” I tried to smother a smile. It was
hard.

  “Why?”

  “I appreciate the breakfast. I appreciate you sewing me up, bandaging me up, and taking out my splinters. I appreciate all of it, but we can’t . . . we can’t . . . see each other again.”

  Those dark eyes flashed and his face stilled. “Why not?”

  I ran my hands over my hair. I needed a haircut. I needed makeup. I needed a decent outfit on. “We were . . . in the past. And the past is over, and we’re over . . .” and I am so attracted to you still.

  “We did have a past. And now we have now.” His eyes sharpened up. He was a very bright, perceptive man.

  “What’s now, Jace? I’m not staying here. I’m moving. I have to get a job. I mentioned I’m unemployed? I don’t want to be in my dad’s house.”

  “I understand completely. What does that have to do with us not talking again?”

  “I don’t think we need to talk again, after today.” A shooting pain blasted through my heart.

  He leaned forward, broad shoulders and all. “I think we should.”

  And there it was. That tone, that intensity, that will.

  Jace could be seen as an easygoing man. Watching him in action at the hospital only reinforced what a talented doctor he was, with his calm and calming bedside manner. He cared about all his patients. But Jace was no pushover. He was strong willed, like me; independent because he’d had to be, like me; and he had a tough side, like me. He was a wall of steel, a man in the fullest sense of the word, one who did not back down, and anyone who overlooked that part of him was a fool.

  “No, Jace.” I studied the scenery and wrapped my arms around my body. My brain said no to him, but my body said, Heck yeah!

  “Allie, we were together a long time ago. We broke up under really sad circumstances, which I still don’t understand.”

  “And I don’t want to talk about those circumstances.”

  “I do. And we will. Someday soon. I want to know what happened. I know what you told me, but I didn’t believe you. There was something else you weren’t telling me and then you cut off contact; so I deserve to know what happened, but I won’t push you on it yet.” He spread his hands out. “But we can be friends again, Allie.”

  “Friends?” I laughed, but it wasn’t a funny laugh; it was more bitterness running through a scoff. “Do you honestly think that it’s possible for us to be just friends?” I took in that black hair, that hard jaw, the steely personality behind it all that was born in his rocky childhood. Two people, both with troubled childhoods. One more thing in common.

  “Sure. Close friends. Best friends.” He winked at me.

  I tilted my head in challenge. He knew what I was saying. The desire between us was there and leaping.

  “For example, Allie, we can walk around my property as friends, and when you want me to kiss you, tell me and I’ll oblige.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “What?”

  “This . . .” I waved a hand between us.

  He smiled, slow, seductive, absolutely firm in his belief that we could be together. “I like this. It’s still there. Can’t deny that. When I held your thigh in my hand at the hospital, it all came back. And I like you. Still do. Always have.”

  “You don’t know me anymore.”

  “I know that you’re still brave and funny. You didn’t even cry when you came into the hospital. You downplayed your injuries. You talked about the menopausal horse and beating the battle with the ladder. I like how you’re kind to the animals at your place. You have integrity, Allie; you always have. We laugh at the same things. Our conversation is quick, you’re witty as hell, and we talk about everything. We flow. I’ll bet you’re still good at puzzles. I’ve missed your smile and your laugh. I like your lips a lot. A lot. Can I check out your lips with my lips?”

  I bent my head, trying to get control of emotions that were already on high, then rolled my eyes at him. “You are a force like a brick wall—did you know that, Jace Rios?”

  “I like brick walls. They add architectural interest.”

  “You’re like a kind and funny hurricane.”

  “I don’t like hurricanes. I’ll take the kind and funny part.” He put his palms up. “Look, Allie. I’ll try to take it slow. I’ll try not to hug you or kiss you or ask you to get into my hot tub naked. Don’t shut down on us.”

  “Jace, I don’t want to be involved with anyone. I like being on my own.” That was a lie. I had been achingly lonely for years. “I like my own company.” That was a lie, too. I preferred his company. It was my own company, my own memories, that made me nervous and angry.

  “Let’s not call it getting involved. Let’s call it . . .” He ran a hand through that thick hair. “Hanging out in the country.”

  Hanging out in the country naked.

  Hanging out in the country in bed with naked Jace.

  Hanging out in the country at night in a hot tub with Jace.

  One graphic vision after another danced in front of my eyes. He was all man. He had shoulders to grip and a chest to lie on. He had legs that were hard and strong and a back full of muscles. “You are fire on wheels and you always make me lose my head, but I can’t this time.”

  “Well, you have a very pretty head, and your gold eyes have haunted me for years, so please don’t lose it. We’re older now. We had an incredible relationship last time. I thought it would end in a different place than it did. But it doesn’t mean we can’t try again.”

  He didn’t even know what I’d done. If we were involved, I’d have to tell him. When he knew, I couldn’t imagine he’d want to be with me anymore. He would lose all respect and find me dishonest and secretive. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to deal with it. I was still steaming about my dad’s death, too, and I could feel myself coming apart. I don’t know why Jace and my dad are somehow connected, but they are.

  “No.” I shook my head. “No. I’m going, Jace.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I can’t.” I felt the tears fill my eyes. “We were together once.” He was my best friend, my boyfriend, everything. “And it was so hard . . . so hard to have it end, and I’m not up for it again. I can’t do it.”

  “Who said it has to end? I’m not even talking about it ending; I’m talking about it starting. Allie, don’t go.”

  “Good-bye, Jace. I’m glad you’re well. You look amazing. I’m glad you’re a doctor. I know I already said this, but you’re really good at it. So incredibly talented.”

  “Please, Allie, come on.”

  He stood in front of me and I pushed by him. He gently grabbed my arm; I pulled away. He asked me to stay; I declined. He said he would drive me home, but I ignored it.

  He followed me out, telling me again he wanted to talk, that we could talk about something else, but I started hobbling down his hill.

  He climbed in his truck, pulled up beside me, and insisted I get in. I refused, and he actually got out, picked me up again, and put me in the cab. “You’ve got a bruised ankle and stitches. I am driving you home. If you want to fight with me on this, I’ll win, Allie. Stay in the truck.”

  He was angry, he was stony. He was ticked off, and I didn’t blame him. We didn’t say another word.

  When he dropped me off at home and drove away, I grabbed my keys, drove to the store, and bought a pint of chocolate chip ice cream and three romantic movies. I got in my sweats and an old yellow robe and watched TV while I cried. I read a Jane Austen novel, thought of my mother who had loved Jane, too, then I read a crime thriller. I couldn’t sleep that night.

  The lights in his house were still on.

  Chapter Seven

  I could not stand living without color in my dad’s house. It reminded me of our dull, dreary trailer, and almost made me ill. I knew I would list the house and land for sale as soon as I had a job and knew where I would live, but I couldn’t stand to live in the bleakness anymore.

  I went shopping and bought blue-
and-white flowered slipcovers for two chairs, and a blue slipcover for the sofa I had covered with my mother’s red-and-white flowered quilt. I bought throw pillows with designs in red, blue, and yellow. I also bought two pillows with apples on them, one with a hummingbird.

  I bought bright woven rugs for the family room, kitchen, and my bedroom. I bought two floor lamps and three table lamps with flowered and striped shades to bring light in. I bought two plaid tablecloths, and red cushions for the kitchen chairs. I bought a new bedspread in bright yellow with a swirling design, and four huge yellow pillows. I bought white towels and white bath mats and thick red ceramic dishes and mugs.

  I bought two pots of chrysanthemums for the deck. I bought scented candles. I bought three vases to display wildflowers in my bedroom, on the kitchen table, and in the bathroom. I hung up photos of my mom and I in Bigfork, kissed my finger and brought it to her smiling face.

  My dad’s place had been transformed.

  There was life in it.

  Cheerful, bright life.

  The clinging, dirty, dangerous trailer feel started to recede, along with that sick power my dad had had over me.

  I took the dogs for a walk.

  The squirrels taunted Bob.

  Later that evening I turned on the oven, found a cutting board, then settled down at the table to chop the apples I’d picked from the orchard to make an apple pie, my first in a long time.

  My mother and I made apple pies here in Oregon when I was younger, and later when we moved to Montana. We made one the day before she was killed in an avalanche in Montana when I was eleven years old.

  She was skiing with two friends. Ironically, it was the first time we’d ever been away from each other. One of the husbands offered to babysit the kids of all three mothers. We had so much fun until that terrible news stalked us down.

  My mother, MaeLynn, was a pretty woman with wavy, long brown hair, like mine. I inherited her golden eyes, tipped a bit in the corners. The resemblance between us was startling. After we escaped from my dad, we lived in a blue, two-story house in Bigfork, Montana, and I loved it because for the first time I wasn’t living in an unpredictable war zone.