Last First Kiss (7 page)

“Well, he’s pretty famous, and oh, very handsome. If you like blond men with a bit of young Paul Newman in the face. And a lot of money. We’re talking a guy who could take Scrooge McDuck money baths.”

A muscle ticked in Sawyer’s jaw. “Sounds like every woman’s dream.”

“Yes. He really does, doesn’t he? Plus he was raised in England, so there’s that accent.”

The pop can Sawyer held audibly dented.

Time to relent.

“There is one slight problem. At least for me.”

“What’s that?” Sawyer rumbled. Whoa, that was actually more of a growl.

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “He’d never be into me in a million years.”

Sawyer’s gaze shot to her face. “What guy in his right mind wouldn’t be . . . ” He broke off, realizing what he almost said.

Annie tried to play it off like she hadn’t noticed the slip up, but his words were still there, rising between them like a big cartoon bubble.

“He’s openly gay,” she said quickly. “An outspoken GLBTQ activist as well.”

“Oh, well, I mean, good. Good for him.” Sawyer’s shoulders dropped. “And yes, you should meet with him. You like to write, or blog, or whatever it is you do.”

“Whatever it is I do?” She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be a little offended.

“I use a computer for work, when I have to. But I don’t spend time on it. For fun. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” He looked genuinely rattled, the effect was actually making her teeth ache with from the sweetness.

“Not at all. You don’t have to read my blog. You aren’t exactly my target audience.”

“When are the fireworks going to start?” Atticus crawled onto Annie’s lap.

“When it’s dark,” she said, giving him a kiss on the top of his head.

“Can we get our spot now?” Her son stared up with an apprehensive look. Fiery reds and pinks spread across the blue sky.

“Yes,” she said, fingering the plaid wool blanket she’d found in the chest in the living room. The one she used to use for making blanket forts on rainy days. “Sorry, we’re going to have to rain check on the meteor shower.”

“Is there a spot on your blanket for one more?” Sawyer asked. “Whoa there, champ.” Atticus leapt into his arms without warning. Sawyer held him a little stiffly but didn’t seem to mind.

“You’ll watch with us?” Atticus said.

“Sure, if your mom says it’s okay.”

Annie crossed one leg and then the other. Sitting in the dark and watching explosions overhead while trying not to catch fire from the sparks bursting between them? That sounded dangerous. But then, fireworks lasted only a few minutes. A lot of razzle dazzle and noise, and then poof! Everything returned to the way it was. Things had fizzled between her and Sawyer before.

The old Annie stirred inside her, the braver Annie.
Maybe after the fireworks the sky would return to a quiet, black calm. But then there were always the stars.

“Yes,” she said softly, clearing her throat and repeating the word, for him, but also for her. “Yes. That does sound good.”

Chapter Eight

“S
HOULD
WE
WAKE
him up?” Sawyer asked Annie, staring down at Atticus’s sleeping face. The kid’s mouth was open slightly, and faint snores emanated from his skinny frame. Sawyer liked the way she stroked her child’s hair back from his forehead. He liked most everything about Annie, but seeing her as a mother was a whole new side, something he’d never imagined and yet indescribably completed her.

“Not yet,” Annie murmured, rolling back on her elbows and crossing her ankles. Her skirt was short, cut above the knee, and despite the fact she was a wisp of a woman, those were pretty legs stretching down to her sandals. “We’re way past his bedtime already. He’ll wake up when the show starts.”

Across the rodeo grounds, Neil Diamond’s “Coming to America” blared from the speakers. The quiet spreading between them wasn’t strained, but companionable. This was another thing he liked about Annie. They didn’t have to fill every second with conversation. Not that he minded talking to her, he never did. But sometimes it was nice to just sit with another person. Sit and simply be.

Finally, he knew it was time. “Hey, so I have to say something,” he said. Something that had been burning a hole in his chest since he saw her step away from him by the Five Diamonds chicken coop. Something that had been burning in his chest for ten long years.

Her baby blues locked on his, not flickering away as they usually did, but holding fast. The twilight had transformed to darkness. Perhaps she felt safer in the shadows. He rolled to his side, took off his hat and set it on the grass.

“That night, the party—”

“Oh, please. Let’s not talk about that.”

“We don’t have to talk about it. But I do owe you an apology.”

She fidgeted with the blanket’s edge. “It was a long time ago.”

“It was, but I need you to know one thing.”

“Okay.” She didn’t actually say the word, but her mouth moved silently.

“I—you—I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you in that closet. It wasn’t a joke to me. You have never been a joke to me. “I didn’t want our first kiss to happen with a group of idiots outside, snickering. You’re no game, you never were. I wanted it real between us, you and me and no one else’s damn business.”

“I waited,” she whispered. “People stood outside, laughing, making fun of me, and all I could think was that it would be worth it. Once you came.”

“People were drunk. They got out of hand. I couldn’t get to you. I tried, but I couldn’t. I failed. I failed us.”

“Us.” She ducked her head. “There has never been an us.”

“There has to me,” he said. “I know you want to leave and think moving to the city will give you—”

Boom!

Atticus bolted upright as the first fireworks exploded in gold and purple. The crowd oohed and ahhed. Another followed, and another.

“Look,” Atticus said, pointing. “And look at that one, that’s my favorite. And that one, that’s my favorite too. And—”

Sawyer looked. But the beauty in the sky had nothing on the beauty of the woman on the opposite end of the blanket, face tilted up, bright lights reflected in her wide eyes.

She glanced over. “Aren’t you going to enjoy the show?”

“I am,” he replied.

She licked her lips and there went that damn muscle in his jaw twitching again.

The show could have lasted fifteen seconds, fifteen minutes, or fifteen hours. Sawyer lost all track of time. Last week, he’d have considered himself to be a happy man, or at least not unhappy. Now he realized that he’d been living around a hole, a hole that a small woman with a huge heart could fill. As good as this felt, as right and perfect, it was also scary as shit, because she’d made it clear Brightwater was a stopover on her journey, not the final destination.

This could end badly for him. Hope was dangerous. But time to know, at last, what the writing said on their wall. God hated a coward.

After the grand finale, the crowd rose in one collective motion, gathering blankets and lawn chairs and streaming for the exit.

“Think it’ll be a busy law enforcement night?” Annie asked, cradling Atticus, who was already drifting back to sleep.

“Could be. Kit and Leroy are on duty tonight. There are always one or two dumb shits who drink too much and think it’s a good idea to drive.”

“I’ll be extra careful.”

“Let me walk you out.”

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“Maybe not, but I’d like to. Pass that little champ over here.” He reached out and gathered her son. “He’s heavier than he looks.”

“Don’t I know it,” she said with a grin. “Carrying him is what passes for my workout these days.”

He waited while she folded up the blanket and gathered her pie plate.

“You know, I had fun tonight.” A hint of wonder tinged her voice.

Hope set down another root in his stomach. “Brightwater has plenty of good things going for it.”

“Hmm” was all she said, suddenly very busy with her sandal’s buckle.

They walked slowly, on the fringes. A few people waved to him, did double takes at Annie, recognizing her after a moment. Asking where’d she’d been, about her plans.

Sawyer tried not to listen to her responses, all the talk about San Francisco. It had been a long time since he’d played ball, but one reason he could throw a pitch was because he had a knack for filtering out the crowd noise. The opposite team could yell taunts and jeers but he could zero in on the batter with single-minded focus, quieting the din.

A useful trick still.

At the purple car, Annie popped the locks and opened the back door. “I can get Atticus into his seat.”

“Nah, I’ve brought him this far.” Sawyer leaned in and settled Atticus into the high-backed booster. Incredibly, he barely stirred. Imagine sleeping that soundly. He’d wake every morning feeling like a million bucks. As Sawyer clipped the chest strap, the little boy reached out, eyes still closed, and gave him a hug. Every doubt he had about not knowing what to do around kids faded under a rush of affection. Maybe he didn’t know how to act around kids plural, but kids single? Atticus in particular? Yeah, he could probably figure that out fine.

He shut the door quietly and Annie was back by the trunk, putting away the blanket.

“It’s nice, spending time with you again,” she said, keeping her gaze averted. Her earlier contented stillness was gone, replaced by busy hands and words that couldn’t come fast enough. “It’s nice to be back on the farm too, actually. Dad always kept pestering me to come for a visit, but I always convinced him to fly to Portland instead. Or meet up with Claire in San Francisco. But I—”

“Annie.” She stilled. Those busy hands halting, reaching up to grip the trunk door instead. The parking lot had cleared out.

“Yes?”

“Look at me.”

“Um, hang on. I want to check and see if my sister keeps a spare tire in here. Some of these back roads are atrocious. It’s only a matter of time until I get a flat. Maybe we should contact the local representative and—”

“Annie, look at me.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because this.” He stepped behind her and placed a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck. She smelled sweet, pretty, a little like coconut, a little like flowers and a lot like woman.

“Sawyer,” she gasped. When his hands bracketed her waist she leaned back against him.

“And this.” He kissed her neck, right over her pulse, deeper, more open-mouthed, adding a hint of tongue. She arched, her sweet ass driving him to the edge. Hell if he could be this close and not savor her. He couldn’t help the groan. She tasted gorgeous.

“Don’t forget this,” he whispered, sucking the lobe of her ear into his mouth, grazing her soft skin with his teeth until she trembled. “Good night, Annie.” He whispered. “Happy Fourth of July.”

Her ragged exhalation served as response.

Slowly, he turned and strode to his truck, glancing back to make sure she got inside her car okay. He waited until finally she started the engine, reversed and then left the parking lot, her rear lights disappearing into the dark. She wasn’t a woman to rush and that was fine, nothing good ever came easy. But he’d made his first move and was still hard from the way she’d responded, rocking against him, those soft, hitching breaths as he sucked her sweet skin.

It wasn’t until he set his head back against the cab that he spotted it, by the horizon, a single meteor.

The light wasn’t showy, it didn’t make any noise, but the pure, simple beauty tightened his throat.

Chapter Nine

[draft]

Musings of a Mighty Mama

Getting in the Groove

older posts>>

Dear Readers,

Day ten of the “Mighty Mama Thirty Days of Thankfulness.” Today, I want to give thanks for my body. It’s not perfect but it’s healthy, and strong. The more I work on the farm, the more new muscles make themselves known (for better and worse). Each night, I massage in my own homemade muscle rub of jojoba infused with lavender, ginger and peppermint essential oils. Click
here
for the recipe. Everything hurts, but it’s nice to feel in my body, you know?

Being a mama is hard work. Sometimes it’s oh-so-easy to feel like you are losing yourself. Here are a few tips on how to find your missing mojo:

1. EAT ALL THE DARK CHOCOLATE WHILE CONTEMPLATING MASTURBATING TO THE GORGEOUS COWBOY? SHERIFF? COWBOY SHERIFF NEXT DOOR WHO KISSED YOU, BUT DIDN’T, BUT KIND OF DID.

Was it a kiss?

What’s a kiss, technically?

WHAT IS LIFE?

Ah forget it. Who needs kisses when there’s a sale at Save-U-More on Ben & Jerry’s Funky Monkey?

Draft Saved by
Mighty Mama 08:35am
in
mama mojo
,
gratitude challenge
, |
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D
URING
T
HE
NEXT
two weeks, tiny miracles kept occurring around Five Diamonds. First, the screen door lost its irritating squeak, then the porch’s wonky step quit wobbling. The neglected boxwood hedges along the front walkway were pruned to something approaching order and the garbage can had a funny habit of wheeling itself to the end of the driveway on trash days. Annie realized she wasn’t going quietly nuts after discovering the hole in the barn floor—the one Atticus had stumbled into when he broke his arm—magically repaired. From that moment on there wasn’t much point refusing the facts.

No fairy godmother bibbity-bobbity-boo’d her way around the farm. She was in the debt of a hot—and sneaky—cowboy.

How the heck did Sawyer covertly pull off these chores? She rarely left the farm and hadn’t woken at dawn to any new hammer banging. And why didn’t he stop by for a visit? Knowing he was around but not around drove her crazy. She hadn’t felt empty since the fireworks. No, she had the opposite problem. She was too full, had to walk around carefully so as not to spill over and make a mess.

You had one job, Annie, one job.

Get Five Diamonds ready for sale. Not kiss the sexy neighbor, or whatever that was. Kissing but not lip kissing. Dear Lord, that was the hottest not lip kissing to ever go down this side of the Rockies.

Gah
. High time she quit twisting her brain like a pretzel and take up an easier hobby, like studying quantum physics or the basics of thermodynamics.

For the moment, plopping down at the kitchen table for a quick check of the
Mighty Mama
blog analytics had to serve as sufficient Sawyer distraction. She opened her laptop, letting her fingers run quick and efficiently over the keyboard. Her shoulders dropped as promising stats filled the screen.
Yes, good.
The daily gratitude posts were proving popular, and all the charming shots of Brightwater’s quaint Main Street and the surrounding mountains racked up page views. She’d gained three new sponsors in as many weeks and a shout out on
Huffington Post
pushed her readership to record highs.

She scrolled through the comments, past validation after validation. Strange to think so many strangers believed she had it all together, thrived in this rural adventure.

How do you do it all?

You are such an inspiration!

I could never do what you do.

Are you for real? I smell bulls and shit.

Annie’s stomach flip-flopped at the last comment. Ms. Hootenanny, her daily heckler, appeared two weeks ago, and had made a hobby out of leaving unpleasant comments.

Are you for real?
Annie traced her tongue along the inside of her cheek, fingers itching to respond with a truthful, “I’m a scared mother who still hasn’t fixed the leak in the kitchen sink even after watching a dozen YouTube repair videos. Half my day is spent fantasizing about napping and the other half about my gorgeous neighbor.”

But did the troll want truth? Fantasy Annie paid the bills, her joyful homesteading act created the foundation needed to build a viable career.

She stood, suddenly feeling trapped, and left the kitchen, tiptoeing around the Lego piles Atticus arranged in an unfathomable system across the living room floor. The sounds of his boisterous play drifted from upstairs.

“Here comes the rocket ship, look out! Pow zoom!” He unleashed a victorious cheer, defeating imaginary foes.

She’d figure out the source of the loud boom-related crash a little later; for now her limbs were restless and chest tight. Out on the front porch, a light breeze blew, carrying the invigorating fragrance of sun-warmed pine.
Mighty Mama
was never originally intended for a wide audience. She’d been struggling with a case of stay-at-home mama boredom and found herself drafting short essays during Atticus’s naps. Who’d ever give two fat figs about her little corner of the world? But people did, lots of people, ones she’d never met in real life. The approval grew addictive. Strangers cheered her on as she took pride in and celebrated mothering, cherished the simple beauty found in otherwise mundane day-to-day rhythms. But lately, her compulsion to live online waned even as her readership numbers soared past her wildest dreams.

Social media had its place and purpose, but it had replaced an actual social life.

She glared at the weeds choking the front yard and marched out to pull a handful. A futile action when there were so many more. Still, she grabbed more, cursing under her breath when a thorn lodged beneath her thumbnail. Mounting exhaustion made it hard to find magical moments. The chore list overflowed with tasks like painting old weatherboards or scrubbing away years of grime. Maybe Sawyer’s subtle presence should be more unsettling, but at least backup existed if the roof blew off.

And this roof looked exactly like the sort of jerky roof that would do such a thing.

She braced her hands on her lower back and stretched. As much as she hated to admit it, all her hard work had hardly made a dent on the property. The farmhouse’s frame canted to the right in an awkward lean, and more than a few shingles looked in need of immediate replacement. If next winter carried strong winds or too much snow, the whole house might well crash down. Who’d ever want to buy such a dump?

Gravel crunched behind her. She turned at the unexpected footsteps and delighted shock detonated her gloom in an instant. Her older sister stood in the driveway wearing a black maxi-dress, chic leather backpack, and mirrored aviator sunglasses.

“Surprise,” Claire called, throwing her arms in a victory “v.”

“Claire? Oh my God!” Annie didn’t run, she flew into her big sister’s arms and held on tight. Only sixteen months older, Claire transcended sibling status. Her best friend was here. You couldn’t ask for better cavalry.

“You’re here. I can’t believe you’re really here,” Annie managed to gasp, ribs crushed by her sister’s grip. Claire worked out at a CrossFit gym. The result was a pair of strong arms lifting Annie as if she weighed less than a sack of flour. “Hey, put me down!”

“But you’re such a Lil’ Bit.” Claire’s nickname for her.

No one would ever pick them off the street as sisters. Annie stood five feet two inches in heels, with butterscotch blond hair and fifties-style curves. Around these parts, Claire might be called a long drink of water. Her legs went on for days, as did her dark hair, the same shade as the double shot espressos she mainlined as breakfast replacements. Still, they were heart twins, laughing at all the same jokes and often sent texts right when one was thinking about the other.

“How did you get here?”

“I flew.” Claire flapped her arms, looking around. “Where’s my favorite nephew?”

“Defending Earth from a renegade alien invasion.”

“That’s my boy.”

“Seriously though, how’d you get here?” Annie repeated, still stunned by the manifestation of her best friend and kickass protector at the moment of need.

“I am serious. I caught a plane from SFO to Mammoth then grabbed the one cab in the county to get out here. What can I say, I missed my baby sister. You’ve seemed distant on the phone.”

“Oh, Claire.” Guilt thickened her throat. “That must have cost more than a pretty penny.”

Claire waved her hand like blowing hundreds of dollars wasn’t worth the cost of words. “My financial planner isn’t worried about my bank account so why should I? Toast has been good to me.” A few years ago, she transformed an old Airstream into a retro food truck, The Daily Bread. She served five-dollar slices of toast and jam to dotcom millionaires, making a killing off the latest craze to sweep the Land of Food Snobs. Insanity, but Claire was a pirate, plundering opportunity with glee.

Annie gave her another hug. “Only you could turn bread into a gold mine.”

“I’m a modern-day Midas. Hey, that’s actually a great name for a—holy hell!” Claire must have finally focused on the dismal surroundings.

“I know, I know,” Annie said with a cringe. “The place’s a disaster, right?”

“Screw the farm.” Claire pulled back and eyed Annie’s threadbare yoga pants and stretched out pink t-shirt that read
Cowabunga
in a cursive font with undisclosed dismay. “What happened to my baby sister?”

Annie’s stomach clenched. She loved Claire but sometimes could throat punch her. “You’re saying I’ve gotten too comfy with frumpy?”

“Hey now,” she gentled her tone. “You’re as adorable as always, but, girl, those are serious dark circles under your eyes. If I tucked you into bed, you’d probably sleep for a year.”

Annie slumped her shoulders. “Fixing this place up is hard work, harder than I expected.”

“So why are you doing it to yourself?” Claire glanced from the wobbly roof to the overgrown flowerbeds to the uneven front path, wrinkling her nose. “What’s the point?”

“You and Dad aren’t volunteering to get Five Diamonds ready to sell,” Annie snapped, exhaustion fraying her last nerve. Maybe the place did look like it was going to hell in a handbasket but she was doing her very best. When she’d arrived the farm was a disaster; it was at least upgraded to a hovel.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t bite my head off. I know the plan is to put the property on the market, but who ever gave you the idea to fix it up first?”

“If we’re going to command a decent price point that will allow us to move close to you, the place needs to look its best, right?”

“Oh, Annie baby.” Claire let out one of her annoyingly world-weary sighs. “Wrong, so, so wrong.

“Don’t ‘Annie baby’ me. Make your point, then let’s get inside and let Atticus know that his favorite person in the world after Margot is here.”

Claire crossed her arms. “Knock off the renovations.”

“But—”

“We want to sell to the highest bidder, right?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think cashed-up folks trolling Brightwater in their fancy SUVs dreaming of a mountain vacation home are going to want to mess around with restoring a crappy farmhouse?”

Annie examined the place.
Crappy?
Fine, it was old, mildewed, and completely devoid of a straight line, but a protective instinct rose through her chest. “Let’s show some respect for our ancestors who worked this land. We were born here. Mom . . .”
died here.

Claire wrapped her arm around Annie’s shoulders. “I know, Lil’ Bit. Brightwater’s our past and we did have some good times here. All I’m saying is that anyone who buys the place will no doubt tear it down.”

“Demolish the house?” The idea sent a chill zinging down her spine.

“And the barn,” Claire replied with a sage nod. “That will probably get knocked down first actually.”

“But, but . . . ” Annie sputtered. “Five Diamonds sold to tear down? You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack. Look around with unsentimental eyes. Whoever offers is going to replace this termite tower with a nine-thousand-square-foot estate, complete with a pool, and tennis courts, and other yuppy trappings. No way will they want to put a new roof on a rinky-dink farm.”

Annie groaned, her sore muscles suddenly ten times more aching. “How have I been such an idiot? These past few weeks I’ve been breaking my back, and for nothing.”

“You are a warrior, never apologize for that.”

“That’s not the word to best describe me.”

Claire slung her arm around her shoulders with an affectionate squeeze. “What else is new?”

Annie had put off sharing the next piece of information as long as she could. “Um, not much. Oh, Sawyer Kane and I are back on speaking terms.”

For once, she shocked her big sister into dropping her mouth open.

Annie rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing to say. Don’t look at me like that.”

“The astronauts at the space station can see your blush.”

“Stop,” she giggled. “It’s warm out and I’ve been working. Want some lemonade? I’ve got mason jars cooling in the freezer, so they’ll be all frosty and delicious—”

“Oh. My. God.” Claire followed her into the house. “You want to see, don’t you?”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Sawyer Kane. You’ve never gotten over that eighteen-year-old dumbass Casanova who treated you like dirt at that party.”

“It’s been over ten years.”

“Did his brain grow with the rest of him?”

“He’s Brightwater’s sheriff.”

Claire burst out laughing. “Priceless.”

“He wants to serve his community.” Annie bristled opening the front door. “I don’t see what’s so funny about—”

“Handcuffs?” Claire winked. “That does it for you? A little good cop, bad cop.”