Chance of Rain (15 page)

Accidents could happen anywhere, to anyone. Hearing about the passing of Joe’s wife had put a damper on any lingering animosity he felt toward his old friend. But being a SEAL was quite literally throwing himself into harm’s way. It was hard training and even harder fighting. It was being gone more than being with her.

He wasn’t afraid of the work. His cut-up hands could attest to that. But he wanted to come to her every night. He wanted her to kiss the pain away and then return the favor until she begged him to stop.

“We’ll make it work.” Worry shone in her eyes. “You don’t have to make any decisions now. Let’s wait and hear what the board says.”

He knew what they’d say. Mrs. Cooper had laid it all out for him that day at the library. Speaking of which, he needed to get those books returned.

“Come to bed,” Natalie said, with that look in her eyes that he always, always followed.

Except today.

“I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

There was that sadness again.
For him
. It made him ache to fix it, to wave a magic wand and make the land fertile and rich. Instead they’d live in a dirt pile. Or they’d move to someplace that wasn’t his “family home.” All because he’d failed her. He’d come too late. The years stretched ahead of him, her quiet disappointment. Just because she’d accept the burden didn’t mean he had to give it to her.

He nuzzled into her neck, trying to ease her mind. “Go get ready. Because when I get up there, you won’t have a break for hours.”

She giggled. “Promises, promises.”

“I promise you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, how about that?”

“I don’t know,” she mused. “That doesn’t sound like something I should want.”

“But you do. And don’t touch yourself without me.”

“You won’t know,” she taunted.

“Try me.” He’d lick her fingers and find out. He hoped she
did
disobey him. It would make the game fun. But then, she knew that. She let him be in charge, but she directed the game as much as he did. More, because he was helpless in pursuit of her pleasure. He tried every goddamn thing he could think of, carefully noting the things she liked—and then doing them over and over and over again. He was a simple man.

She backed up, the wicked smile on her face almost making him chase after her. Almost.

He watched her skip up the stairs, admiring her—her body, her mind. Her sweetness, something he hadn’t known how much he wanted. Not needed, not really. He’d proven quite nicely he could survive without her, and he’d almost lost what was most important in the process. He wanted more than existence now. Happiness meant giving Natalie the life she wanted.

A knock came at the door, a little tapped-out rhythm that warned Sawyer who it was before he opened the door. Sure enough, Joe stood there, thumbs in his jean pockets.

Sawyer had been pretty stiff with the guy when he showed up to take Natalie away, even if he’d only been acting like a good friend and sheriff. Since he and Natalie had gotten together, Joe had come around a few times. He’d always been polite to Sawyer, but a fog of caution colored the air between them.

“Sorry to bother you so late. Came to pick up Lucy’s needles.”

“Her what?”

“Knitting,” Joe clarified. “She mentioned something about a potted plant.”

“Ah.” Natalie had hosted the quilting circle the night before.

They combed the living room together until he found a plastic case tucked into the soil of a leafy green plant Natalie had installed when she moved in. He held up the case.

“Thanks.” Joe took it from him. “I don’t even want to know how that got there.”

“No, you don’t.” A man didn’t soon forget something like that.

Sawyer followed Joe to the door, a little frustrated at the stiltedness between them. He had ceased being angry some time ago, but it would be stranger to say so. Still, they had to find some sort of peace. Now that they were practically neighbors, it wouldn’t be a bad thing for them to find some of their old camaraderie. In these past years, he’d had teammates—it would be nice to have his old friend again.

Joe paused on the porch, looking out. “Can’t even see the town over the hills.”

“Yup. Like we’re alone out here.”

Joe’s eyes narrowed. “But you’re not. You know that, right? Luce and I are just a couple miles away. You can call if you need anything. Anytime.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” But Sawyer didn’t read too much into it. The Dearling way was to lend a helping hand, even to a mortal enemy. “Same goes to you.”

A small smile as he opened the door to leave. “Well, I’ll head out now. Lucy’ll be after me for this for these needles. She’s trying to get some present done before your wedding. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Wait.”

Joe turned back. His silhouette sliced through the dwindling sunset. “Yeah?”

“About the wedding.” He hesitated. “I’m gonna need a best man.”

His voice was cautious. “I heard you had navy buddies flying in.”

“Yeah, and they could serve, all right. But I just thought...I’ve known you longer. I figured you might have my back.”

In a way Joe hadn’t done before, but they were kids then. Stupid, prideful kids, the both of them. Time had carried them down different paths than either could have expected. What really mattered was whether Joe would stand up for him now, as men.

Joe looked somber. “I’d be honored.”

Sawyer nodded, his throat a little tight for comfort. The other man turned to leave, and Sawyer went back inside. He found the library books tucked against a cabinet. Natalie must have straightened them up. As he flipped through the papers, a loose page fluttered to the floor.

The McClellan land survey again. How the hell had that gotten in a library book, anyway? He supposed one of the McClellan men had been doing the same thing he’d done. Only they’d kept their rights.

His father had been unable to accept help or deviate from his stated path in any way. And look how miserable he had been. Sawyer had spent quite a bit of time and energy trying to be different from Wilson Nolan, only to discover he’d become the same person. Insisting on doing everything himself—and succeeding in being completely alone.

It wasn’t about where he lived or what he did every day, it was trading in a small bit of pride for a larger portion of joy. It was placing someone else above him and thereby finding peace for himself. He wanted to be a farmer, to give that life to Natalie, and he wanted to do that here. But he couldn’t have that, so now he had to do something else. Something new. Something mildly terrifying. Compromise.

He wondered if the McClellans would be open to selling.

Chapter Eleven

Sawyer spent the next week making sure the outside of the house looked in good shape, repainting and wrangling back some mutant weeds. They borrowed chairs and tables from the church and set them up the morning of the wedding.

Lucy put herself in charge of the affair, ordering Sawyer to stay in his bedroom until it was time. He swore at the cummerbund that refused to stay in place. How had he gotten roped into wearing a tux? Oh, right. Natalie had asked him to. He found it increasingly difficult to tell her no, to anything.

Mostly it was because he liked making her happy. Yes, the quilting club can hold their bi-weekly meetings at our house. Yes, the poufy bedspread in a color called
merlot
would be great. And yes, we probably should break it in with some extra-dirty sex.

He hoped his wedding gift would make her happy, as well.

It would have taken too long to complete the purchase of the McClellan farm. Besides, he wanted her with them when they signed the title. To purchase it in her name as well as his.

He’d inquired about the land and learned that though the family lived in Dallas, they had continued to use up their water allotment each year. Much like the address on a driver’s license or a child’s library card, no one bothered to challenge the status quo unless it came to their attention.

Now he had an offer on the table and the real estate agent said acceptance would likely come within the week. They could live there, farm there, just like they would have here. Without the threat of revocation, he could spend the next year prepping the land and be ready for next year’s planting.

It wouldn’t be the same, but that was his fault. His loss. He would give her the life she always wanted, even if it stung his pride to buy it instead of using the one he’d been born to. So he pushed his disappointment aside and focused on what made him happy. Namely, Natalie.

“Hey. How you holding up?”

He turned at the sound of Joe’s voice. His old friend had been roped into wearing a tux, as well. Apparently best man duties included babysitting the groom.

“I’m good,” Sawyer said. “Time to go?”

“Almost.” Joe shut the door behind him and settled onto the chair in the corner. “They’ll come get us.”

“They making bets about one of us getting cold feet?” Sawyer had been to a few weddings as a kid around here.

Joe’s expression blanked. “What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, I can still read your poker face.”

“Aw, it’s nothing personal. You know Dearling.”

“Yeah, I know Dearling.” Even to Sawyer’s ears it sounded fond.

Joe whistled softly. “So you really are going to stay. Huh.”

Sawyer slanted him a look. “Why, you need to go change a bet?”

“No, no.” Joe put his hands up. “I’m glad. I was going to have a talk with you about southern hospitality, but I see that’s not necessary.”

Sawyer snorted, still tugging at his cummerbund. “I’d like to see you try. Here, make yourself useful and help me with this thing.”

“I get no respect,” Joe said, coming over to help. “But you should know I don’t put out without getting dinner first.”

“Kiss my ass,” Sawyer said without heat.

“Not that either, dickwad.”

“You’re pretty focused on my dick.”

And so it went as they worked to make Sawyer look presentable. While it wasn’t a complete resolution between them, the casual swipes were an olive branch that he accepted, and with that acceptance, something eased inside him. Lucy came to get them, and they stood outside beneath the makeshift arbor. He nodded to people he knew while they waited, surprised to realize he recognized almost everyone except the kids.

It hadn’t been that way when he first came to town. He had used his father’s reclusive habits as an excuse to hold everyone at arm’s length. Even growing up here, he’d been too angry to pay much attention. But Natalie was connected to this town, and since he couldn’t deal with parting from her, that meant he was too. To his surprise, everyone had accepted him with easy smiles. He wasn’t an outsider, had never been considered one. So he pitched in to build the bandstand for the town fair and no one even complained that it slanted to one side a little.

The music signaled the audience to rise. He turned to look as Natalie walked outside—and was caught speechless by the sight of her. Her hair was split into thick curls with white flowers tucked into it. Her white dress flowed to the ground, making her look ethereal, untouchable. And really hot.

“Christ,” he said, kind of choked up and without attic dust to blame.

“Don’t faint,” Joe muttered beside him. “I don’t want to have to hold you in front of all these people.”

“Still flirting?” Sawyer murmured back, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Natalie. There wasn’t any excuse for the way he stared, or for his hard-on, but he no longer needed any. He loved this woman, he wanted this woman, and she liked it.

When she reached the end, he stepped to her side. Her pretty eyes were clear, free of any nervousness, and he suddenly realized he was the same. Of all the things he worried over—the farm, the nightmares—having Natalie by his side made everything brighter, made him stronger.

When she took his hand, he said, “We’ve got this.”

Her answering smile was soft. “You have no idea.”

His puff of laughter startled the reverend, but he continued and then they were married.

In the receiving line, Mr. Winterman grabbed his hand and pulled until Sawyer’s ear was at his level. “Elaine Bouchard was the strongest, sharpest woman ever to grace this earth, and if you make her granddaughter cry, I’ll turn you into a gelding. Do you understand me?”

During Sawyer’s pause of surprise, Mr. Winterman’s hand began to shake in his clasp, whether from overexertion at the fierce sentiment or nervousness at his reaction, Sawyer didn’t know.

“Yes, sir. I understand you.”

Mr. Winterman’s rheumy eyes widened, searching his face. Probably for signs of sarcasm, because the frail old man didn’t pose a physical threat whatsoever. He might snap right in half if Sawyer sneezed in his direction. But Sawyer found himself pleased by the motive behind the warning, if not the delivery. Pleased that others in this town had been keeping an eye out for his girl. He would watch out for her now.

He gave Mr. Winterman a small smile. “Thank you for coming, sir. You take care now.”

The man harrumphed and then proceeded to glare at Natalie, enduring a peck on a cheek and a hug from her before he escaped, muttering about upstart brides.

He next found himself enveloped in a gardenia-scented stranglehold.

Julie Cooper released him with a pat on his cheek. He almost didn’t recognize her in a flowery dress instead of her usual jeans and denim jacket. She smiled at him, almost proudly. “I always knew you would settle down with our Natalie.”

Then she knew more than he did, but he was getting used to that. “Luckily for me, she was willing to take me back after I had my head up my ass for so long.”

At his side, Natalie blushed. He probably needed to watch his language better.

“No place in the world that don’t have storms,” Liam Cooper said. “Smart man prepares for it, then accepts what comes.”

Natalie glanced at him uncertainly. Sawyer understood what Liam meant, though. He could never outrun what tormented him—his own inadequacies. The goal wasn’t a place free of fear, but finding peace within the storm. With her.

“I think he means you need new storm windows, dear,” Julie explained.

Yeah, that was a good idea too.

His commander and one of his teammates were staying at the house. Another had flown in for just the afternoon. All three of them were already smitten with Natalie. Now they thumped him on the back—a little too hard—and gave her a kiss on the cheek each.

All through the receiving line procession and the reception lunch that the diner’s chef, Barry, had made, he kept his hand at the curve of her waist, mulling it over and taking it in.

The institution of marriage. What a brilliant fucking idea. He got to see her smile every day, hear her laugh every day, have sex with her every day—and those numbers were minimums, really. All he had to do in return was protect and provide for her. For
Natalie
, whom he was crazy about, had always been crazy about. Truth be told, he would have done those things for her without the whole marriage bit, but there was no need to tell her that. She looked happy, glowing with contentment, which was probably just the damnable fresh air around here, but he was taking credit for that part too.

When supper was over, they went to stand by the cake. That had been Mrs. Fenworth’s contribution and, considering he vaguely remembered some sort of Halloween prank with Joe, he figured he’d be lucky to get a few layers of box cake and white frosting. But once again Natalie’s charm had won her over, resulting in a tall and intricate confection. Seriously, Mrs. Fenworth’s talents were wasted in Dearling. She was the Michelangelo of confections.

Beside the traditional wedding cake was the true masterpiece. The groom’s cake, as Natalie had called it, was her signature cherry pie—
finally
. He’d had several other varieties of pie at the diner, but they weren’t the same.

He was directed to pose for the pictures: smiling beside Natalie, cutting the cake with Natalie, feeding a piece to Natalie. All the while his mouth watered at the hot scent of cooked cherries and flaky crust.

“Okay, you guys can take your seat,” the photographer said.

Two servers arrived to cart away the cake. A third picked up the pie.

“Where are you going with that?” Sawyer asked.

He looked confused. “To the kitchen. We’re going to cut it up and serve it.”

Please. That was what the Grinch had said too. Besides, the pie was maybe ten inches across. Cut it up? “I don’t think so,” he said, swiping the pie.

Natalie just smiled. Thank fuck she didn’t seem to mind. Strolling back to the head table with her on one arm and the pie held in the other, it was basically a victory lap. He did have enough manners to wait until others had been served before digging in. And there was more pie to go around. She’d made enough to share.

The pie must have distracted him, because he was caught unaware by the piece of cake Natalie lobbed at him. Ah, the Dearling wedding cake fights. It had been a while, but he was a quick study and as strong as she was supple, so his victory was swift and decisive. He felt a little bad for getting cake all over her fancy dress, but she laughed, and so did he.

He relaxed, relieved, when people started getting up from the tables, because she needed to clean all that cake off of her skin, preferably with his tongue. But the guests were behaving strangely, going into his barn and picking through the lumber he’d bought to repair the barn roof.

Joe came out of the barn riding the old tractor, which was alarming—did he know the clutch stuck? And also annoying. Just because the guy had gotten his hands on Sawyer’s cummerbund did not mean he could touch his equipment.

Natalie caught his arm as he got up from the table. “Don’t be mad,” she said, a hint of anxiety creeping into her voice. “Everyone wants to help us.”

He crossed the grass in long strides. “What the hell are you doing?”

Joe set the tractor to idle, which lessened the noise to a disgruntled rumble. “Let’s go. You can use that fancy new tractor, and I’ll still lap you.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m thinking the why is pretty obvious, but as for what, we’re going to work with you until this is done, that’s what. All of us.”

They were going to help him. Help Natalie, yes, but him too.

“There’s not enough time. You all have your own land to tend. You’re still wearing your tux.”

“Now, that’s a lot of excuses,” Joe said. “Call it a wedding present if you want, but the fact is, we look after our own around here. You would know that if you’d looked outside this here farm once or twice growing up.”

“But I left you guys.” More like abandoned everyone, and he’d been glad to do it at the time.

“Did you really think we would shun you for serving our country?”

Well...yeah. He had thought so, but when Joe put it like that, it didn’t sound bad at all.

Joe shook his head. “You’re the town hero. There’s a whole bio about you in the Dearling Visitor’s Center brochure.”

Lucy stalked up and leaned against the tractor, with a cool assessing look for Sawyer. “I’ll say what Joe won’t. Your dad was a stubborn bastard who worked himself to death. I wouldn’t interfere if you want to go the same way, but Natalie deserves better than that.”

Ian spoke up from beside him. “You want her to marry someone who doesn’t work hard?”

Sawyer didn’t need backup. “It’s a little late for objections, don’t you think?”

Lucy ignored him, narrowing her eyes at Ian, who, to his credit, didn’t waver. Like Sawyer, he wrapped his hands every morning or the callouses would bleed all over the damn tools, but Lucy would judge him by his otherwise clean-cut appearance. He looked much more like the banking professional he used to be than the farmhand he was now, back in a white dress shirt and slacks for the wedding. He hadn’t particularly wanted to attend, but Natalie had a way about her. At least she hadn’t argued when he’d offered to sleep in town for the next few nights.

Lucy snorted, apparently unimpressed with what she saw. “I want her to marry someone who gives a damn about something besides his farm.”

“Right,” Ian scoffed. “And I’m sure if Prince Charming shows up flat broke with a lame horse, you’re just going to limp off into the sunset with him.”

“Why, are you applying for the position?”

Ian gave her a once-over. “If I apply myself, you won’t have to ask.”

Sawyer wondered if he’d be the one giving backup, so he was relieved when Natalie drew him away. Having certain matters put to public debate was something he’d have to get accustomed to living in Dearling.

She spoke urgently. “They mean well. I know it’s hard for you to accept help, but this is the only way. You don’t have to decide anything now. We only want to get the water rights back, then you can decide if you want to keep it or sell it. This doesn’t lock you in. I’m not trying to tie you down to anything.”