Four
The wind roared, rattling the windows.
Closer, fire crackled and popped over wood, pulling Jen from sleep. She blinked into the darkened room, comforted by the mingling scents of hay and wood smoke. The hearth warmed her back, but she gathered the blanket to her chest as she pushed herself to her feet, trying to remember where she was.
The empty coffee cup discarded on the mantle brought her back to her senses. Dark stacks of hay loomed around her. Moonlight drifted through heavy snow clouds, penetrating the thin curtains to highlight the whorls of ice forming fractals on the window pane.
"Shane?"
In the distance, he cleared his throat. "I'm in here."
She followed the jingle of an 8-bit melody into a back room. His bedroom, she realized with a faint flush of awareness, noting the dark rumpled sheets of the full-size bed centered under the window. An entertainment center sat caddy-corner to the bed, the television's light bleeding onto Shane where he sat cross-legged on a shabby couch, game controller nestled in his hand. Jen grinned at the fanfare of the classic adventure-style video game before he paused it and got awkwardly to his feet.
She leaned against the door frame, wishing she could melt into it and disappear. The embarrassment of falling asleep practically mid-conversation was so consuming she felt like a forge fire was roasting her alive. She'd napped too long, spurring a headache that slowed her thoughts. Still, she couldn't suppress her smile as she said,
"I feel the need to point out that I don't normally fall asleep on people's living room floors."
He shrugged, tossing the game controller onto the couch cushions. "You looked pretty wiped. I didn't want to wake you up. I mean—shit."
"I'll take it as a reminder," she said, laughing, "to work smarter and not harder next harvest, or I'll never survive."
"It's a lot of work for one person."
"One person and a dog," she corrected, and he grinned.
"Right." He played with the zipper on his dark jacket, the movement drawing Jen's eye to his tidier-than-normal appearance. Not only had he showered and shaved, but he'd changed into clean jeans and jacket… making her all too aware that she looked and smelled like she'd just been rolling around in a barn.
She ran her hands back through her hair, doing her best to straighten the tangled waves before twisting them up and out of the way into a bun. "I feel a little underdressed for the festival, to be honest," she said abruptly. "I'd meant to go home and wash up beforehand."
"You still can, it doesn't start til 10 pm. It's barely past 9 now."
"Walk with me?"
Jen blamed her fuzzy brain for the way the question came out: with far too much suggestion. It was just that he'd been so lighthearted out in the barn, like when he was busy working with his hands or dealing with the animals, he forgot to be nervous. And damn he'd looked sexy kneeling down before the fireplace earlier, spurring its embers into flame. She felt herself blushing again, and busied herself with shaking out the blanket and neatly folding it so she wouldn't have to watch him weighing her words, possibly over-analyzing her tone the way she was now.
"Sure," he said gruffly, holding his hand out for the blanket, his gaze fixed on its stripes. "I'll help cart up the hay you bought, and see if I can figure out what's wrong with the feeder."
"Technically," she said with mock-seriousness, "I haven't bought the hay yet."
His eyes flashed up to hers, stubborn humor burning in them as he demanded, "Do you want my help or not?"
She shrugged, outwardly nonchalant as that fire burned her up from the inside. "Of course I do."
The wagon groaned under the weight of the hay, accented by the rhythmic squeaking from the back right wheel that Jen kept forgetting to oil. It serenaded the light silence between them as they lugged the wagon up the bumpy path to the coop, each with a grip on the rusty handle.
"Let's park it by the coop door," Jen said, angling off the path to the darkened coop. "The feeder's just inside."
"I'll get it," he said, steering the wagon to a rest beside the still-not-painted coop wall. He straightened, swiping a hand through his wind-blown hair as he contemplated the problem he seemed dead determined to fix. "The feeder's connected to the silo?"
Jen crossed her arms, hugging herself against the night. "No silo yet, that's coming with the barn. For now I've just got a small hopper."
"Okay." He unloaded the bales of hay with an easy, practiced strength, shouldering open the coop's door to set them down inside. He definitely had muscle on that bulky frame—and, God, now she was imagining what his arms and shoulders and chest looked like beneath the concealing jacket he always wore. If he noticed her probing stares, he didn't let on as he grinned sheepishly and said, "I'm no mechanic or whatever, but if it's only jammed I might be able to fix it."
"Thanks. I'll be right back." As she retreated up toward the house, the light clicked on in the coop behind her. Faintly, she heard Shane greet the chickens with a bright, "Hey girls," that had Jen grinning stupidly as she fed Nugget, started a pot of coffee, and took the fastest shower she was capable of. Since he'd clearly made an effort to dress up for the occasion, Jen pulled on her nicest jeans and a thick cashmere sweater that brought out the color of her eyes, before twisting her damp hair into a braid and tucking it under a beanie to keep it out of the way.
All under fifteen minutes flat. Not bad.
The coop's light blinked out as she crossed the frosted lawn, Nugget on her heels. She found Shane leaning in the open door, Mama Girl nestled under his arm. The bird cooed softly as he scratched her back, not really aware he was doing it. He looked a little lost in thought, watching snow white cloud slide before the moon, but when he noticed her coming he let the chicken launch herself back into the rafters.
"I promised you coffee the next time you came by," Jen said, pressing a mug into his hands before leaning against the door frame opposite him, cradling her own warm cup. "Did you figure out what was wrong with the feeder?"
"Thanks." He took a sip before answering. "I think so. It just got clogged with a flake of hay."
She grinned in triumph. "I knew you could fix it."
"Ah, you put too much faith in me."
The dry comment fell somewhat flat, and Jen wasn't sure if it was a joke or if he really meant it. She chewed her inner lip, wondering how to respond or even whether she should—and the longer it took her to answer the more ridiculous she knew whatever she came up with would sound. In the end, Jen settled on copying Shane, sipping her coffee and watching the starlight peaking through the clouds in silence.
Behind her, the chickens shuffled in the darkness, clucking softly as they settled back down for the night. Moon shadow streaked over her barren fields, the small ice-covered lakes, and the forest she had yet to tame. Everything was so still, so silent but for the faint rustling of the bare trees. And it was so miserably cold, she could almost imagine that she heard snowfall out in the dark.
She loved it here. And it was all hers.
And she was grinning like a fool. She glanced aside to see if Shane had noticed. He had; of course he had, he'd been watching her. Blushing, she took a long drink of her now-lukewarm coffee.
"This is good stuff," he said after a moment, hefting his half-empty mug. "Did you buy it at Pierre's?"
"The coffee? No, it's a specialty type I order online." It embarrassed her to admit that, and she added, "My one luxury. I save it for weekends and special occasions. Or when I've promised a neighbor coffee and I'm trying to make a good impression."
"Well," he said, tilting his head back to drain his mug, but she could tell he was smiling. "It worked."
"Good." She gripped the mug tighter, suddenly feeling out of her depth. "So. Do you want to walk into town for the festival?"
It was the wrong thing to say. His shoulders stiffened, then slumped slightly, but he brought his chin up as he said, "If that's what you want to do."
She didn't, actually, and for once she didn't feel pressured to go along with what she thought anyone else expected of her. It was a relief to realize it, to shrug and admit, "Actually, I don't know if I want to be around all those people." He didn't say anything, just glanced at her, and she thought maybe the heavy peace, the quiet, had settled over him as well. "I do want to get us some more coffee, though." She held out a hand for his empty cup, but he raised it above her head.
"You're not a waitress. I'll come with you."
"You brought me mine earlier, back at the ranch."
He jerked it higher. "Which means we're square."
"I don't mind. Besides, my house is a mess." She reached for the mug, jumping to hook a finger over its rim. She forced his arm down with a laugh that was cut short as he pitched forward in the doorway, off balance. Then somehow, both mugs were in the dirt and her hands were on his chest and arm to stabilize him, and the only thoughts winking through her brain were how close and sturdy and warm he was—
His arms hung loosely at his sides as though he wasn't sure what to do with his hands, but he didn't step back, and she didn't push away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to knock you over," she said, following his gaze down to the mugs she'd dropped.
"Just my weak knee," he said softly. "It's fine. But I guess that's a no-go on those refills."
Standing so close to him boosted her heart rate and mind into overdrive, and she blurted, "I don't think I want coffee anymore."
He looked at her for so long, her stomach swooped, then tightened with an intimate heat that washed up her spine and out to her fingertips, lifting goosebumps on her skin. He settled his hands on her waist, and she shivered as his fingertips pressed into her back. For all it felt like they were holding each other at bay, Jen wished she was bold enough to take the one step closer to him. Nervousness and adrenaline raged through her, feeding off of each other as he asked,
"What do you want?"
And—God—how long had it been since anyone had asked her that? She wasn't one for one-night stands, hadn't dated casually in ages—but if there was one thing her mistake of a marriage had taught her, it was to be honest with what she was feeling and thinking. She'd learned the lesson years too late, but now...
She drew in a trembling breath full of the eucalyptus scent of his shaving soap. Start slowly. Simply. "I'm thinking that I want to kiss you."
His cheeks reddened again, but the heated look in his eyes let Jen know they were on the same page. "Okay."
She stepped closer, letting her hand slide up his arm to his shoulder. Vaguely, she noted the firm muscle beneath her fingertips, but the heat of his body against hers was utterly distracting as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He met her halfway, ducking his head so that his lips came down hard on hers in a feverish kiss that was far from gentle. It tasted of coffee and that undefinable him.
Heart racing, she opened herself to it, deepening the kiss. She pulled him toward her, wanting more, and as though his shyness had vanished with their restraint, he pressed her up against the door jamb, pinning her body gently beneath his.
So close, there was no hiding his attraction to her. She ground against it, swallowing his groan of pleasure as a jolt of pure desire shot up her spine. She ground against him again, focusing the tension on that apex of her nerves, relishing the way she could make him shudder at her touch.
Damn it, she wanted him, right there in the doorway as a sweep of snow began to fall—but then a gust of wind blasted against the door so hard it rebounded off the wall and nearly came off its hinges. The chickens screeched, flinging feathers, and Jen and Shane jumped apart as icy snowflakes cascaded down between them, guilty like a pair of teenagers that had just gotten caught fondling each other on the basement couch.
"We, um." His swiftly-stifled smile made Jen lean into him again, and run her hands up his back so that his voice rumbled through her as he said, "We should get the coop closed up. We're letting all the heat out."
Jen buried her face against his chest to smother her laughter. Of course they were. Of course they should. But nothing made sense except for the fact that she wanted to kiss him again, and damn the cold.
She never moved this fast, with anyone. Maybe it felt good with him simply because they weren't bogged down by years of history; it was fresh and exciting, and utterly wrapped up in this new life she was trying so hard to build for herself. Despite all the things he hadn't said, the things she didn't know—yet—there was something steady and sure about him, buried under his own uncertainty. He might not be able to see it, but she could, and it pulled at her.
And, there wasn't any need to rush, aside from her own impatience. Her experience on the farm had taught her that when she tried to rush things, she usually ended up ruining them. She could nurture a seed, give it fertilizer and sunlight and everything else it needed, but it would only grow as fast as nature let it.
She forced herself to release his shirt, damning reason as she stepped out of the circle of his arms. He frowned as as he let her go. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No." Honesty, openness. That was the key. "I'm just a little… overwhelmed. A little scared, you know? I don't mean that I'm scared of you," she added quickly as he raised his eyebrows. "Just… it's been a long time since I did anything like this."
"Me too," he said, blushing, and Jen wasn't sure if he meant the timing or the nervousness, or both. "I don't think it's a bad thing."
"It's not." She reached behind him to shut the coop door. As she inspected the lock, he tucked a flyaway lock of her hair back under her beanie. The glancing touch made her shiver, and she closed her eyes. Her head spun, so light it could have floated off her shoulders. She smiled and asked him, "Kiss me again?"
"Jen?" His fingers traced her face. "You look pale."
The feverish weakness swept over her in a hot rush that left her slumped against him. She blinked against the dark specs swarming through her vision. Shane's concerned face peered at her through the gray static of snow—a moment before she vomited nearly on his shoes, and her world went dark.
Jen loathed the common cold. She detested congestion, the runny nose and sticky eyes, the inevitable sore throat. The need to sleep upright or not at all because laying down meant she couldn't breathe. The weakness of her body and the way her head never stopped spinning.
The nausea was worse.
Usually, when she felt the sickness creeping over her, she could stave it off with a day of rest. She'd felt it coming on for days now, and had been mentally pushing it off. Just a few more days. Just need to get through harvest. And now that winter had blown in, her body, at last, had caved.
Aside from one last meeting with Robin before the carpenter began building the barn beside the chicken coop, Jen wallowed in bed. She slept through Robin's hammering and sawing, so drained that the noise reverberating within her own skull couldn't keep her awake.
But when she wasn't better by Wednesday, her vomiting hadn't subsided, and her cough had developed a painful rattle in her chest, she crawled out of bed and into Dr. Harvey's office.
Dr. Harvey pursed his lips, wrinkling his blonde mustache as he pressed the cold stethoscope to Jen's chest. He was young for the prestige of being the town's only doctor, younger than she'd expected. Mid-thirties, maybe, and fit in a way that, ironically, few doctors allowed themselves time to be. He shifted the head of the stethoscope under her thin linen gown, first over her chest then over her back, listening hard.
"I suspect," he said slowly, pushing back on his wheeled stool. "That you've developed walking pneumonia, on top of catching the flu that's sweeping through town. I want to take some thoracic rads—x-rays of your chest—to make sure."
Jen nodded. She'd guessed as much. She cleared her throat as she tightened the linen robe around her shoulders. "You can talk to me normally. I, um. I used to be married to a surgical resident. So I'm familiar with a lot of the medical terminology."
He let a flicker of surprise break the calm clinician's facade, just a slight upward twitch of his eyebrows. But all he said was, "Oh. Alright. Well, if the rads do confirm walking pneumonia, I'll prescribe you some antibiotics to help clear up your lung infection, coupled with an anti-viral pack for that flu. Probably a cough suppressant too. But mostly you'll need to rest and lots of fluids, like you said you're already doing. You're pretty dehydrated from the vomiting and GI issues; probably a good idea to boost you up with IV fluids and electrolytes after we take your rads."
"I think I just pushed myself too much. Ignored what my body was telling me. With the harvest," she attempted to explain, painfully aware she was rambling.
"Probably. But there's nothing like a small town flu." He hid a slight smile, then absentmindedly flicked his pen through his fingers before turning toward his computer. "I'm still waiting on your records from the city hospital. Any major illnesses I should know about in the meantime? Allergies to medications? Any surgeries, or current prescriptions?
Jen shrugged. "Only major surgery was a hysterectomy five years ago, and then I went on anti-depressants for a year. I'm not on anything now."
Again the flicker of surprise, and he glanced down to check her chart. She didn't blame him; she still could barely wrap her own head around the fact that she no longer had a uterus. "You're twenty-seven?"
"Twenty-seven, yep." She shrugged, the only defense she had. It was strange to talk about it out loud, to admit to this part of her life that she was trying to leave behind her. But she'd always had a thing about being overly-honest with doctors. That was probably how she wound up married to one at barely twenty years old. "It wasn't planned. Hence the antidepressants."
"I see." He swiveled on the stool, turning away from the computer to give her his undivided attention. "And the surgery itself... was it for a tumor or… trauma?"
"Trauma." Jen touched a finger to the abdominal scar and blinked back the unshed tears. Her hands shook, but she prided herself for keeping her voice smooth and emotionless as she explained, "Pregnancy complications. Botched emergency C-section, actually. Long story."
"I'm sorry." He watched her for a moment before drawing in a long breath and offering a sympathetic smile. Jen hated that smile; it's all that doctors could ever think to do to try to comfort her. But nothing was truly comforting, except maybe the impossibility of forgetting. "Let's snap your rads, then you can get changed."
Pierre's was closed, but even it it hadn't been, Pierre didn't stock the drugs that Dr. Harvey prescribed for her. Even with a starter dose of cough suppressant in her system, the winter snow and cold ravaged her throat and lungs as she slogged across the river to JojaMart.
She pulled items off the shelf in an unthinking haze as she made her way to the pharmacy in the back corner of the store. All JojaMart's were identically arranged, and it was a matter of minutes to find the handful of supplies she needed while the pharmacy filled her prescription: soup, electrolytes, orange juice, tissues, crackers, cough drops. She stared at the wall of over-the-counter cold medicines, throwing some Vitamin C and multivitamins into her cart on a whim. And a pack of stick-on heat packs for sore muscles and joints, on the off-chance it could help Shane with whatever was wrong with his knee.
And… condoms. Blushing, she tipped a box into her cart and buried it beneath the mundane. Just in case, she thought, scurrying back toward the pharmacy counter. It wasn't like buying the condoms decreed something. It didn't guarantee sex or even a relationship. It was just the potential for worry-free freedom if she chose it. And why was she continuing to justify this to herself? She was a grown woman, damn it.
"Can you ring this up here?" she asked, gesturing to her cart after the pharmacy tech scanned out her prescriptions and reminded her of their potential side effects.
"Wish I could," the dark-haired woman behind the counter said with a wince. "We empty this register an hour before closing."
"Oh, right." Jen dropped the white paper bag of drugs in her cart next to her coin purse. "Thanks anyway."
She wound her way back to the front of the store. Snow piled up around the edges of the windows, blotting out whatever weak sunlight made it through the heavy snowfall. Only one register was manned, and Jen let the snow distract her as she waited for Jodi, accompanied by Vincent, to finish checking out before her.
"Do you want us to wait, Sam, and walk back with you?" Jodi asked the young blond man behind the register. "Store's about to close."
"Nah, that's alright," Sam said with a shrug, handing her receipt. "I'm going to meet Seb and Abby after work. We may go into the city for dinner."
"Alright. Drive safely in the snow." Jodi kissed her fingertips then pressed them to Sam's forehead.
"Mom," he hissed, looking around. "My boss hates PDA at work."
"Oh please, I'm your mother," she said, hiding a devious smile, then lifted Vincent from his seat in the cart. "Call if you'll be very late."
He rolled his eyes as Jen loaded her goods onto the counter's conveyer belt. "I think she forgets I'm twenty now," he muttered around a bashful smile. "Hi, farmgirl. Need anything else? Bagged ice, cigarettes?"
"Just all this, thanks," Jen said, stepping around the counter to help bag up her items.
"Nah, you don't have to do that, we're a full-service shop," Sam said, then bent down to whisper, "If my boss sees you bagging, I'll get written up."
"Your boss sounds like a tyrant," she said lightly. "Typical JojaMart, right?"
Sam flashed her a grin. "It'll pay for college, so I can't complain."
Truthfully, it was a relief to stand still, letting Sam ring her up and shove everything into sturdy canvas bags. The floor shifted beneath her feet and blackness edged her vision again, but she held out her hands for the bags with a smile on her face; it would take more than walking pneumonia, the flu, and twenty pounds of groceries to defeat her.
At least, that's what she told herself, until her body and bravado betrayed her on the bridge.