Firefly Hollow (21 page)

Chapter Thirty

T
HE ROOM WAS DARK WHEN Owen awakened. Crickets chirped, their chorus loud in the silence of the night outside the open window. From somewhere downstairs came the sound of a radio playing quietly. He stretched carefully, not wanting to disturb Sarah, whose back was pressed up to his front. They were snuggled close together in a warm cocoon, and he buried his face in the spot where her neck met her shoulder. His hand was curved around one of her breasts, and as he realized that, his hand contracted.

“Mmmm, that’s nice,” Sarah whispered, startling him.

“I’m sorry.” Owen started to move his hand, but she brought one of hers up and kept it where it was. He closed his eyes. “Sarah, that’s torture. Your family’s downstairs. I promised your mother I wouldn’t take advantage of you.”

“You’re not taking advantage of me. If anything, I’m taking advantage of you.” She rolled over, her hip brushing his erection. The movement dislodged his hand from her breast, but he barely noticed. Facing him, Sarah threw her leg over his hip, bringing their bodies into contact from chest to pelvis. She kissed him.

“Stop,” he managed after a moment, pulling back to draw in a deep breath. “Sarah, anyone could walk in.”

“We’d hear them on the stairs. I’m not trying to seduce you, Owen. I just need to touch you a little, have you touch me.”

Even as he tried to caution her, his hands moved down her back and pulled her closer. “A little touch turns into something more, and the next thing you know, we’re standing in front of a preacher with your brother shoving a shot gun in my back.”

Sarah stilled. “Would that be the worst thing in the world?”

“Being married to you? No. Being forced to the altar like that? Yes, it would. I won’t compromise you.”

He could feel her disappointment, and he gave her waist a little squeeze. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to touch you, kiss you, make love to you,” he said, his voice going husky as he thought about what all that would entail. “But we can’t. Especially not with your mother downstairs.”

Sarah buried her face in his throat, and he felt as much as heard her swallow. “I know.”

Owen rolled onto his back, pulling her so that she was once again resting against his side. He ran a shaking hand down her hair, smoothing it back off her face, until he calmed. “This probably isn’t the best time to ask this, give our current physical circumstances, but what the hell. How do you know about
The Kama Sutra
?”

Sarah snorted, then groaned. “No, it’s not the best time. My roommate at Berea had it, and she gave it to me when I left.”

“I didn’t think Berea was that kind of school,” he teased.

Sarah pinched his side. “It isn’t. And we probably would have gotten in trouble if our house mother had found it.” She rubbed his chest, then in a hesitant voice, asked, “How do you know about it?”

“Harlan sent me a copy from Germany. I guess he found it in a brothel and thought it would be hilarious to send his freak of a brother that sort of book. It certainly wasn’t something he sent because of any affection or respect.”

Sarah rose up on her elbow. “He really was a nasty piece of work, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. He was.”

“So…”

Owen waited for her to finish, but her voice trailed off. “So, what?” Thanks to his night vision, he could see her pretty well in the dim room, and he watched her tuck her chin and look down at his chest.

“So, did you read it?”

“Did you?”

She raised her head. “I asked you first.”

Owen sat up a little, pushing her back onto her back so that he could lean over her. “I did read it, yes. Read it, studied it, wondered about it. Your turn.”

Sarah’s eyes closed. “Yes.”

Owen’s heart raced, imagining Sarah using the book, and every muscle in his body went rigid. “Damn.” He straightened and got out of bed, adjusting his erection so that it wasn’t trying to tear through his zipper. “We need to… I shouldn’t have… crap.”

“Owen? Are you angry?”

He heard Sarah move on the bed behind him, and then her soft hand touched his back. He jerked and moved across the room to stand in front of a chest of drawers.

“I’m not mad,” he assured her over his shoulder. “I’m having a hard time not laying you down on that bed and damn the consequences. You should probably head downstairs.”

“Oh.” She didn’t move, and Owen didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.

“Sarah? Now would be good.”

“It’s that bad, then?” she asked, but she started moving toward the door.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

“Okay. I’ll leave the door open.” She left the room, and Owen heard her pad down the hall to the bathroom. After a couple of minutes, she came out and went downstairs.

Owen finally felt the desire start to wind down, and he buried his face in his hands. “Too close, Owen, that was too close.” Hearing steps coming up the stairs that were too heavy to be Sarah’s, the last of his arousal faded. “Thank you, God.” He turned to leave the room just as Jack appeared in the doorway.

“I was starting to think she’d tied you to the bed or something,” Sarah’s brother drawled. He leaned against the doorjamb, blocking Owen’s exit. “I’m not sure I trust you with her.”

Owen felt his hackles rise, but he tamped down the annoyance. “She’s your sister. You aren’t supposed to trust me with her.”

Jack grunted. “True. So what happened between the two of you that had her so upset? She doesn’t cook like that unless she’s having a really hard time with something.”

“That’s between Sarah and myself, with all due respect.”

“See, that’s where we’re not going to agree.” Jack took a step inside the room, coming toe-to-toe with Owen. “I think you hurt my sister yesterday, Campbell. And I already have one brother-in-law that’s worth less than a piece of shit on the bottom of my shoe. I don’t need another.”

Owen met the other man’s eyes. All he saw was genuine concern for Sarah, and he gave an internal sigh. “We didn’t have a fight; I didn’t harm her. We discussed some things from my past, and it was a hard thing for both of us to go through.” Jack started to speak, and Owen held up a hand. “No, it wasn’t about another woman. It was about my parents. And that’s all I’m saying. The rest is between her and me.”

“You’re sure? That’s all it was? Sarah was pretty damned upset.”

“It was a pretty damned difficult discussion. We were both torn up afterwards.”

Jack was clearly having a hard time believing Owen’s explanation, but he stood down. “You know, if you weren’t dating my sister, I’d probably like you.” He stepped back into the hall.

Owen picked up his boots and followed. “But I am dating your sister. So where does that leave us?”

“It leaves us in a holding pattern until I have more information.”

“Then I guess that’ll have to do for now.”

Owen left not long after he came downstairs, and Sarah, eager to see what was in the book he’d given her, rushed upstairs to retrieve it. She closed and locked the door to her room, and after changing into a short nightgown, curled up on the bed under the blanket she’d shared with Owen.

The book’s cover was plain, the title and author’s name embossed in gold foil. When she opened it, a thick envelope fell out with her name written across the front. She recognized Owen’s bold handwriting.

Laying the letter in her lap, she read the inscription he’d written inside the cover. “
To Sarah, with much devotion. H.O. McLemore.”
At the end of his signature, he’d sketched a single red rose. Closing her eyes, Sarah brought the book to her chest and held it close.

After a minute, she laid the book aside and picked up the envelope. The paper was heavy, a thick, cream stationary that reminded her of the paper her high school teacher had given them to use in art class. She broke the seal and pulled out a folded letter.

Dearest Sarah,

For someone who makes his living with his words, this letter is incredibly difficult to write. There are so many emotions coursing through me right now, I hardly know where to begin. I’ve started this letter a dozen times. Even as I write, I don’t know that I’ll find the courage to give it to you. And I don’t know if you’ll accept it, even if I do.

This isn’t the first letter I’ve written you. Far, far from it. There have been others, and maybe someday I’ll share them with you. Once it won’t shock you too much to read them.

I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me right now. I didn’t tell you a very important truth about myself, and it hurt you when you found out. I never intended that. Please believe me, if you believe nothing else.

Well, believe one more thing. I care about you, deeply. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. And I am terrified by how much you mean to me. At the same time, I keep coming back to you, knowing that you could crush me if you wished. I can’t stay away. I don’t want to stay away.

That day by the pool, when you found me there and I told you to leave, all I wanted was to pull you closer. I wanted to take your hand, touch your face, smell your hair. (Did I ever tell you how much I love the smell of your hair?)

I wanted to find out how you saw the world, know what made you happy or sad. I wanted to make you smile and make you mine. So I sent you away. I couldn’t do anything else then; I was too afraid.

When I received your letter, apologizing even though I’d been an ass to you, it took everything in me to not rush to the library and beg your forgiveness. I spent some time with my uncle after that, and he managed to knock some sense into me. Hard work will do that sometimes.

I thank God every day that he did.

Someday, I’d like to take you to meet him and my aunt, and all their brood. They’re a noisy bunch, but they are good people. I think you’d like them.

I have other secrets, dear Sarah. I worry every day and every night that when I finally unearth the courage to tell you about them, you’ll hate me. You’ll turn your back and walk away, perhaps rightly so, and you’ll take my heart with you. I don’t know if I’ll survive that. But I won’t stop seeing you to protect myself. It’s too late for that. I think it has been since the first moment I laid eyes on you.

I’ll close now and leave you with this. Even if we part tomorrow, I’ll never regret the time we’ve had. You’ve brought a light into my world that I didn’t know existed, not for me, anyhow. I love you, Sarah Jane Browning. I’m not saying that to make you feel obligated to return the sentiment. It’s a pure statement of fact. I love you.

Yours, in body, mind, and spirit,

Owen

By the time she finished reading, Sarah was crying so hard she could barely see the words. Alongside his signature, Owen had sketched a small deer. It had ears that were a little too big for its body, and the way it stood, it reminded her of the deer she’d seen at the pool. She wondered if Owen had seen the same deer and committed it to memory.

She kept swiping at the tears with one hand and held on to the letter with the other. Laying it down on her nightstand so she wouldn’t get it wet and smear the ink, she fought to regain control of her emotions. He loved her. He actually loved her. She’d seen hints of the strong emotion in him, but the depth of his feelings surprised her.

Shaking, she started laughing, quietly at first, but then louder. Not wanting her mother or Jack to hear, she buried her face in one of her pillows. Owen’s cologne was on the pillowcase, and she nearly suffocated herself trying to inhale his scent.

Even through her joy, Sarah realized that whatever secrets he still held, they caused him tremendous pain. Owen seemed so certain that when he revealed them to her, she’d abandon him. Sarah wondered if that was what had happened with his father, but it didn’t make sense, based on what she knew. She couldn’t imagine what kind of secret Owen could possibly have had at that young age that would have caused the separation.

She got up, ready to go downstairs and call him to let him know how she felt, but changed her mind. Given that they were on a party line and anyone in the holler could be listening in, a phone call was definitely not the appropriate way to deliver her message. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she picked up the letter and read it again.