I was in denial. About a lot of things.
I was good at that.
My grandma. The house. The funeral. My life back in Chicago. My life here in Farmington. Canaan. It was all too much to try to process at one time, so I went to that happy place known as denial. I wasn’t eager to leave.
Since I was a few minutes early for my meeting with Grandma’s lawyer, Sid Barrington, I camped out in the parking lot and pulled out my phone to do some housekeeping I’d been avoiding—aka in denial over—the past few days.
First, I shot a quick text to my PA, Mindy, who was the only reason my business stayed semi-organized. I drew; she did the rest. I let her know I was alive, accounted for, and might be stuck in Farmington longer than I’d anticipated. Of course her response came five seconds later with a dozen follow-up questions, but I let her know I was popping into a meeting and would get back to her later. Eventually.
The next item on the check-in list I might have been tempted to do via text, but I knew better. He’d left how many voicemails, asking me to call him back, and I’d shot back a text instead? One more and he was going to accuse me of avoiding him. Okay, he might have had a point.
The other end rang and kept ringing until it clicked over to voicemail. “Hey, just giving you a shout back. Looks like we missed each other. Again. Anyway, I’ve got a crazy day of meetings and packing, so if we don’t catch each other later, I’ll check in later tonight.” I felt lost suddenly. From what I should say next, to what I was doing with my life. “Bye.”
This place. It was screwing with me. The people and the memories and the places. Last week, my whole life had made sense and I knew exactly where I was going. Seven days later, I couldn’t have felt any different.
The girl who’d left here wasn’t the woman who’d come back. Maybe that was the problem. I didn’t fit into the same spot I’d occupied before. Maybe the problem ran deeper. Maybe the only problem was the one I’d created for myself.
Maybe I needed to stop overanalyzing everything and get my butt into the meeting I was now late for, I realized with a sigh as I threw the car door open. At 11:05, the sun was already melting my skin off like it was made of candle wax. Nice of Farmington to save its heat wave for the week I made my reappearance. Reason number five thousand three I had an issue with this place.
A woman was at the desk inside the old-house-turned-legal-firm. She had coral lipstick that was just as stuck to her front teeth as it was her lips. I didn’t remember her name, but I knew she’d played Bunco with my grandma and the rest of the older women who used it as an excuse to complain about their husbands or gossip about their neighbors.
“Look at you!” she almost squealed. “Even more beautiful than the day you were crowned Miss Wheat Princess.”
My smile collapsed. That was what bringing up Miss Wheat Princess did to me—among other things of an unchristian nature. “That feels like forever ago.”
“What? Five years ago feels like forever?” The woman rose from her chair, motioning at a framed picture on the wall across from her. “Feels like just yesterday. And I don’t care what Mary Beth Hudson says, you were the most lovely Miss Wheat Princess in the history of Wheat Princesses. That daughter of hers might have been pretty enough on the outside, but she was one ugly biddy on the inside.”
I was already bracing myself as I turned to look, so the picture hit me with less impact. There I was, Miss Wheat Princess with her “court,” all of us escorted by whoever our boyfriend or closest boy friend had been at the time. Canaan was beside me, fitting both of those roles back then.
It really was forever ago.
“I’ll always be grateful my grandma coerced—I mean convinced—me to run. Nothing like listing Miss Wheat Princess on a resume to further a woman’s position in life.”
My sarcasm was lost on Coral Lipstick as we stared another moment at the portrait. Her with a smile; me with a frown.
“Just look at that dress.” She clucked her tongue. “And that date of yours . . .” She made another sound with her mouth, this one all kinds of inappropriate given she was referring to an at-the-time eighteen-year-old boy she had an easy four decades on. Not to mention he was, by the law’s view, my husband.
“Is Mr. Barrington ready for me?” I spun around, trying to erase the image of that photo from my memory.
I’d always been more tomboy that princess, but Grandma had been a Wheat Princess in her day. Having only one son, she lived somewhat vicariously through her granddaughter. Truth be told, she hadn’t really coerced me into running, but she certainly hadn’t held back her excitement when she found out I’d turned in my application.
Of course I hadn’t planned on winning. Who would have guessed the artsy, hippie chick would take the title in a backward’ish town like this? Parade waves, tiaras, and crossed ankles still haunted me to this day.
“He’s ready whenever you are.”
She was still silently gushing over the portrait, so I excused myself with a quick thanks and headed down the hallway. It was the same small office I’d visited a few times as a kid, after my parents had died.
Mr. Barrington’s door was open, and he stood as soon as he saw me lingering outside. “Maggie, come in, come in.” He came around his desk to shake my hand. “It’s good to see you again. I wish it could be under happier circumstances.”
After shaking his hand, I took a seat and tried to get comfortable. No such luck. “Yeah, me too.”
“Betty was one hell of a woman.” Mr. Barrington waited for me to settle into my seat before taking his again.
“That and more.” My hands fidgeted in my lap as I checked the time on the wall clock.
“Since I’m going to assume you want to cut right to the chase and save the small talk”—he gave me a moment to object before continuing—“I’ll get right to it. As you know, your grandma left you most everything. Save for a few old photos she set aside for the Historical Society, most everything else she left in your name.”
When my hands would not stop fussing, I tucked them under my legs to still them. “Most everything?”
Mr. Barrington pulled at his collar, clearing his throat. “She left you the house.”
There was just enough of an uptick in his voice over house that I knew a but was coming.
“But she left the garage and apartment to someone else.” Mr. Barrington was staring at his desk like he was reading something from it. There was nothing on it other than an At-A-Glance paper calendar.
“Who?” I asked, so surprised I didn’t have a chance to consider who she might have left it to. If I’d had another moment or two, I would have figured it out.
Mr. Barrington’s chest lifted with his inhale. “Your husband.” He caught himself at the same time my breath caught. “I mean, Canaan Ford. She left it to him.”
I wanted to say things, a whole hell of a lot of them, but no words would form. No shortage of questions was cycling through my mind. Why would she do that? Was there a mistake? Had Mr. Barrington read the wrong will? Was I having a nightmare?
“Did you just say Grandma left the garage and apartment to Canaan?” My voice sounded strained as I leaned into the desk.
Mr. Barrington grabbed the closest pen and starting clicking it. I’d never taken him as a nervous habit type of person, but I suppose the topic, and the look on my face, could make the most stalwart of individuals uneasy.
“She did,” he eventually answered.
“Any idea why she would do that?” I asked, hoping he did because I didn’t have a damn clue. She knew how I felt about Canaan. Why would she do this to me when I already had to try to wrap my head around her death?
“Is that a rhetorical question or one you actually want answered?”
Both.
“One I want answered,” I said.
Mr. Barrington clicked his pen a few more times. “Canaan has been taking care of your grandma—looking after her—ever since you left. Driving her to appointments or the store, mowing the lawn, fixing things up around the house.” Mr. Barrington twisted in his chair so he could stare out the window. “I’ve seen devoted sons spend less time with their mothers than that boy did with your grandma. That, in my opinion, is why Betty left him what she did.”
My hand rubbed my forehead. A minute ago, I’d been wanting to curse his name, and now I felt closer to wanting to praise it. I hadn’t known how close they’d stayed. How much closer they’d obviously become. He’d looked after her. When it should have been me, her blood, it had been him.
It was a lot to take in, especially when seated across from the same man who, two decades earlier, had told me my dead parents had left me in the custody of my grandmother. I felt like the same scared, unsure girl I’d been back then.
“In your opinion,” I echoed. “Are there other opinions?”
“This is a small town. There is never a shortage of opinions circling around.”
“The next most popular one,” I pressed.
Mr. Barrington shook his head. “I deal in the law here. Not speculation and rumor. You want to hear what else people are saying, all you need to do is listen.”
“And what if I’m not sure I want to hear the rumors?”
Mr. Barrington’s chest puffed when he snorted. “Then I can recommend a life-changing pair of sound-canceling headphones. Whether it’s a snoring wife or a town full of gossips, they work every time.”
Rising from my seat, I held out my hand again. “Thank you, Mr. Barrington. You were always straightforward with me when everyone else tried to make rainbows out of rainclouds. I appreciate that.”
He shoved out of his chair to take my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “In fairness to the ‘others,’ you can’t have a rainbow without the rain clouds. But you can’t rush it. Splendor comes in its own sweet time.”
After saying goodbye, I tried to escape before the receptionist caught me. But she pretty much blocked the door until I agreed to sign the photocopy of the Miss Wheat Princess portrait she’d made. When I went to sign my name over my face, she stopped me. I wound up begrudgingly penning my signature at the bottom of my matching lavender heels. If I’d known what was coming for me that following year, no way I would have been smiling like my life was dripping in win.
After the front door blockade finally moved, I hoofed it to my car as quickly as my sandals would take me. I’d been expecting an easy, no-surprises meeting with Mr. Barrington. Instead, I’d gotten Wheat Princess fan-girled and smacked with the knowledge Grandma had left part of her estate to Canaan, who’d played a pivotal role in her life the past five years.
That was the last meeting I was attending with any kind of expectations.
My phone chimed in my purse as I turned on the engine. It was a local number, but one I didn’t recognize. Instead of letting it go to voicemail, I answered. It wasn’t like I could be surprised by much else today.
“Tonight. Eight o’clock.” A female voice greeted the moment I picked up. “What are you doing?”
“Reevaluating my life?” I answered since I recognized the voice.
“Reschedule that self-reflection moment with yourself. You won’t want to miss what I have planned for you instead.”
“The last time you planned something for me, I wound up wrestling in a mud pit with some chick named Bunny.”
Rachel’s laugh echoed through the phone. “And every boy at our high school was waiting beside your locker that next Monday. At least until Canaan came along and threatened to staple their eyes closed if they so much as looked your way again.” I heard the muffled ruckus of the bowling alley in the background as Rachel seemed to be moving to a quieter spot. “That was right around the same time you two made yourselves official.”
“Ahh, the beginning of the end. Such fond memories. It’s like the good townspeople of Farmington have schemed to bring up every one of my best memories from here today,” I grumbled as I pulled out of the parking lot. The next person to bring up any off-limits memory from my past was going to wind up with the impression of my palm on their forehead.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re touchy about the topic of your ex. We get it already.” I could imagine Rachel’s face as she talked. “That’s the reason I’m calling. To get your mind off of the ex in question, not to mention all of the other drama in your life at the present time, and have a good time with us.”
“With us? As in you and Brian?” I waved at the car I’d accidently whipped out in front of. Apparently those laws against talking with your phone to your ear while driving weren’t totally baseless. “No offense, but I’m not sure spending time with a married couple is a good way to get my mind off of the guy I married.”
“No, dum-dum. Not with Brian and me. With the girls and me.” I heard the eye roll in her voice.
“The girls . . . ?”
“Riley and Kendra and me. The whole gang from Farmington High, back together again.” The cheerleader in Rachel surfaced right then, and I could practically picture her flipping back handsprings and shaking her pom-poms.
“Impromptu backwoods mud wrestling won’t be involved?” I asked, never knowing with the likes of Rachel.
“No. And I can also guarantee that the former Mr. Maggie won’t be anywhere around either.”
This night was sounding more tempting by the word, and I still didn’t have a clue what she had in mind. “I was planning on packing tonight . . .” I said, but it was a weak attempt. The noise and distraction of those three girls would be more than enough to drown out any unpleasant emotions.
“And I was planning on giving Brian a BJ to return the favor from last night, but duty calls.”
I shuddered at the faint thought of those two together like that. “Where exactly is the address of duty calling?”
“The Barn. You remember it right?”
“Is that place still around?” I asked.
“That place will still be around when the rest of us aren’t.”
The Barn was just that—an old barn that someone had turned into a kind of community gathering place. A few nights a month, they did family nights with big barbecue dinners and bingo. A few other nights a month, they did dancing and live music for the twenty-one-and-older crowd. As Farmington went, it was the SoHo of refinement. Which, yikes.
“Eight o’clock. I’ll see you there.”
Rachel gave one of her squees before we hung up, while I caught up to the realization that I’d agreed to meet a bunch of old friends at The Barn . . . and was actually looking forward to it.
The rest of the day I spent getting some of Grandma’s things boxed up and organized. The work was a welcome distraction, though it didn’t keep me from continually sticking my head out the side window to see if Canaan’s truck had magically appeared by the garage.
I wondered if he already knew that Grandma had left it to him. If he didn’t yet, he would soon. What would he do when he found out? Stuff all his junk inside the garage and move back in? Surely he wouldn’t want to camp out again in that microscopic-sized hole that had doubled as a newlywed pad.
In reality, it hadn’t been that bad of a first place. If it hadn’t been for the constant fighting and nights I spent worrying, I probably would have had fond memories of that small apartment.
It took me an hour to get ready for the night, most of that time wasted trying on and tearing off the entire contents of my old closet, which Grandma had left intact. By some miracle, I still fit into my old clothes, although the majority of the jeans clung a bit too decisively to my hips and ass. So most of them still fit.
At the end of all that, I settled on a simple red summer dress and my favorite tan boots. I’d suspected slipping into the pieces of my past would feel awkward and unusual, like I was an adult trying on clothes in the kid’s section. Instead, I felt just as comfortable, if not more, in my dress and boots as I did in the blazers and patent-leather flats I lived in back in Chicago.
I told Rachel I’d meet them all at The Barn, mainly so I had my own mode of transportation and could escape if need be. By the time I pulled into the grass field that was the “parking lot” of The Barn, it was already overrun with jacked-up pick-up trucks and classic sports cars. A good handful of the vintage cars I recognized from having spent endless hours camped out in a certain auto body shop that specialized in restoring classic cars.
More memories flooded my mind when I thought about that old garage. Grease smears down sweaty patches of skin. Uneven breaths in the back room when the shop was closed up for the day. Watching meteorites from the backseats of cars that were worth ten times our lives back then.
My chest felt ripped open from thinking of them all. I was convinced memories were the act of hell, because why else would they hurt so badly?
The music from inside was blaring, rattling my rearview mirror it was so loud. Giving myself a quick pep talk, I left my car before I could change my mind about this whole night. Dancing, old friends, a few drinks—sounded like exactly what I needed.
Besides, if I hung around at Grandma’s, Canaan would likely make an appearance. He was already two for two nights. Wasn’t going to make it three for three.
My boots crunched through the gravel as I headed for The Barn, and I swore I was a good hundred feet back when a man paused at the door to hold it open for me, tipping his hat as I passed.
So Farmington had its merits. As long as a girl didn’t go and fall in love with the resident rebel who was hell-bent on self-destruction.
When I stepped inside, I took a minute to survey the scene before throwing myself into the mix. A live band was playing some mix of rock meets country while so many couples were working the dance floor, and staring too long made me dizzy. The bar was almost as packed at the back of the place, and just about every table was taken.
The place was hopping, Grandma would have said. Right before sashaying up to the bar and ordering a bottle of beer then getting out there and dancing some version of a line dance meets the Lindy.
“I barely recognized you dressed like the old Maggie Church I remember.” Rachel appeared from behind me, her arm ringing around my waist as she steered me through the crowd. “The girls are this way.”
She pointed her beer in the direction of a few hundred people. It wasn’t hard to pick them out though. Riley and Kendra had stood out from the crowd back in our preschool days, and twenty years later, nothing had changed. As evidenced by the army of men circled around them, waiting for their chance.
Their chance to get their hearts turned into cardiac tar-tar if Kendra and Riley were anything like they used to be. I’d been the artsy, hippie chick in high school who somehow made friends with the cheerleaders. Stranger things happened—like the same artsy girl winding up married to the town badass.
“Maggie fucking Church!” Riley cupped her hand around her mouth and shouted, raising her beer in the air. “My baby girl’s come home!”
Before I could brace myself, Riley and Kendra descended upon me, a tangle of arms and boobs mobbing me.
“The big city girl decided to come back to her country roots.” Kendra was so tall that as she hug/shook me, I felt like I was getting motorboated by her breasts.
“If not my roots, at least my boots,” I said once the overeager duo let me come up for air.
They tipped their beers at my tan boots and took a drink.
“So Chicago. What in the hell is there to do in Chicago?” Riley’s sterling silver and turquoise earrings jingled when she shook her head.
“Um, pretty much anything you want,” I answered, nudging Rachel in thanks when she whispered that she was going to get me a drink STAT.
“Yeah, but the guys. What are they like?” She gave me a look like I better give her the truth or else.
“Varied?”
“Manly men? Or just a bunch of those metro, hipster boys who get facials and highlights and all the rest of that girly shit?” Kendra adjusted her halter top as she inspected the line-up of men inching closer.
Growing up in the country, where boys started helping their families around the farm or business from the time they could tie their shoes, there wasn’t a shortage of high school boys who looked like damn gladiators. A girl got spoiled in this corner of the world.
“Like I said, the selection is varied. You can pretty much take your pick of whatever type you’re into.”
She blinked at me before ringing her arm around some random guy’s neck and pulling him into our circle for a minute. When she punched him in the stomach, it made a hard smack instead of a subtle thud. Then she took it upon herself to tug his plaid shirt from his pants to display his just-as-hard-looking-as-sounding stomach.
“This is everybody’s type,” she announced, waving her hand across his abs, game-show style.
“You two have not changed one bit.” I gave the random ab man a look when he shot me a wink.
The guys here were forward too, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I didn’t like the dating guessing game of Are You Into Me? It was a huge waste of time in my opinion.
“You haven’t changed much yourself either.” Riley pinched the ends of my dark hair and gave a wink. “You’re still our innocent-looking Wheat Princess, who’s got a total devious side behind those doe eyes.”
I swatted her hand away when she gave my hair a few pulls with a certain glint in her eye. “I think you’re describing Kendra.”
“Except this tramp stopped being innocent looking in second grade.”
Kendra gave a curtsy then sent the ab man back to his clan of other hard bodies.
“Rachel says you’re some big-time artist in Chicago.” Riley bumped her shoulder against mine. “I know a famous person now.”
“In the scheme of Chicago, I’m not big time and I’m definitely not famous. Sorry to disappoint you.”
That was the moment Rachel reappeared with my drink. She’d gone with a bottle of beer, just like everyone else in the place was holding. Despite my aversion to it, I actually found myself enjoying it. A glass of red wine or a heavy, dark beer would have clashed with the whole vibe.
“So you girls know what I’ve been up to. What have you two been doing? Besides tearing through men like it’s a contest?” I clinked my beer against all of theirs and we took a drink together.
“I’m managing my parents’ diner now,” Kendra said, stabbing her thumb in Riley’s direction. “And this chick is a bona fide entrepreneur.”
Riley waved. “It’s just a little beauty salon. Nothing major or anything.”
“The best beauty salon this side of the county line.” Rachel nudged Riley, giving the ends of her hair a flick.
“Well, shit. Look at you all.” I motioned at the trio of them. “We’ve got a business owner, a manager, and an entrepreneur. All women from a small conservative town. You all are my heroes.”
“Yeah, and you’re just a famous artist in Chicago.” Kendra lifted her eyebrow at me.
“Scratch the famous part. But Chicago is way easier for a women to make it in than Farmington, Missouri.” Lifting my half-empty beer, I felt the urge to make a toast. “To us. The most empowered, badass bunch of women I’ve ever known.”
Three more bottles stabbed into the air before clinking together. Then the four of us drained what was left of our beers before letting out a whoop.
“Hold that thought. I’m getting us another round.” Riley lifted her index finger and turned. She didn’t move, but instead she set her hand on the closest guy’s shoulder, whispered something in his ear that had him grinning ear to ear, and lifted four fingers at him.
He tipped his hat and started straight for the bar.
When I gave her a look, Riley shrugged. “Part of being so empowered includes knowing how to work the male species. I’m a pro.”
“A veteran pro,” Rachel added, roping her arm around mine as she surveyed the room the way a surgeon might appraise a patient on the operating table. It was calculating in nature. “We need to find you a man.” The protest was on my lips when she pinched them closed. “Not one for life, but one for the night.”
“A one-night stand is definitely not what I’m looking for.”
Rachel’s head shook. “Who said anything about a one-night stand? Why can’t you just dance and share a few drinks and laughs? Men aren’t only good for sex, you know.”
Riley and Kendra both choked on a laugh.
“Whatever you say, Rachel,” Kendra huffed.
Shoving the two of them aside, Rachel moved behind me and dropped her hands on my shoulders. “Close your eyes. I’m going to give you a spin, and whoever you wind up facing when you stop is the lucky guy for the night.”
When she went to spin me, I braced myself so she couldn’t budge me. “There are hundreds of guys in here. Any direction I stop, I’m going to wind up facing a few dozen.”
“Fine. Then the first one your eyes land on.”
“I’m not playing this adult version of Spin the Bottle. No thank you.” I held my ground once more when she went to spin me.
“Protest one more time and we’re going to start wondering why you’re so against flirting the night away with some cute stranger.” Rachel’s head tucked around my shoulder. “You might have us start believing that the whole reason you don’t want to meet some other guy is because you’re still hung up on the guy.”
“The guy?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Maggie May Church. I will expose your true feelings so quickly you won’t even feel the slice.”
The strapping young man who was the latest victim in Kendra’s web returned, four bottles of beer balanced in his hands. I was the first to take one.
“Yeah, come on, Maggie. You used to be game for anything. Let loose a little.” Kendra roped her arm around the cowboy’s neck, keeping him from leaving. Not that it looked like he was in a hurry to go. “Where’s the Maggie Church who used to take any dare without blinking?”
Half of my face pulled up. “Still licking her wounds.”
“Come on. Canaan was five years ago. Paleolithic history.” Riley clinked the neck of her bottle to mine and waited.
“You can’t move on from him when every decision you make takes him into consideration.” Rachel waited, giving me a chance to reply.
I wanted to argue that Canaan had nothing to do with my decisions anymore, but she was right. He had a lot to do with most of them, whether it was avoiding guys like him or ordering Pepsi instead of Coke just because I knew it would have pissed him off. For someone who’d supposedly left him in the past, he was sure taking up a lot of space in my present.
Closing my eyes, I gave in with a grumble.
Rachel started to spin me; she wasn’t in a hurry to stop spinning either. “Okay, when I let go, you can keep spinning or stop or whatever you want. But the first guy you lock eyes on is the one you’re shimmying that juicy ass up to right after.”
Like that was her cue, one of them took a whack at my juicy, also known as chunky, butt.
“If you don’t stop soon, I’m going to be puking my guts up on said guy instead.”
“Oh. Right.” Rachel’s hands let me go.
It took a few more spins for me to stop myself. I had to reach out for someone to steady myself to keep from toppling over. It happened to be Kendra’s boob I got hold of.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not that kind of girl.” Kendra’s voice mocked appall, even as she gave her chest a shake.
“Says no guy ever,” Rachel muttered, her hands going back to my shoulders to steady me.
Opening my eyes, they took a moment to clear from seeing stripes of colors from all of the spinning. As soon as I could make out someone right in front of me, my eyes were still straining to focus. The moment they did, my heart sputtered.
It wasn’t just my eyes that had landed on him—his were aimed straight at me.
Rachel’s chin tucked over my shoulder, not missing who I was staring at. Her tongue clucked. “Well how’s that for irony?”
“How is it ironic that I just locked eyes with my ex in a roomful of hundreds of other men?” I hissed, trying to look away but not having much success. The longer I stared at him, the higher one side of his mouth crept. “And I thought you said he never came here?”
“He never came here before tonight,” Rachel’s head tipped. “Which is also pretty damn ironic.”
“Would you stop with the ironic? You’re mistaking it for tragic.”
Rachel gave a little wave in Canaan’s direction, who shot a wave back, before she twisted me around. “Or you’re mistaking it for destiny.”
Even with my back to him, I could feel the heat of his stare. “Destiny? Canaan and me?” I huffed. “I thought you and I were friends.”
“So did I,” Rachel replied. “Then you bailed for five years without so much as a word.”
“You know why I did that. Why I had to.”
“Of course I do. Canaan.” Her arm swept over my shoulder to where he was probably still staring at me with that smirky look. “Everything you’ve done has been because of him. Leaving. Staying away. Cutting ties with everyone here. You left him, but you didn’t have to ditch everything else at the same time.”
Kendra and Riley were a rare quiet, rolling their polished nails over their fresh bottles.
I hated that Rachel had a point, but she had a huge one. A valid one. In my quest to erase Canaan from my life, I’d given him the steering wheel.
“You’re right. God, you’re so right. I’m sorry.” I shifted. “I was young and foolish and thought I was in love. I’m a terrible person.”
Rachel’s eyebrows lifted. “Not a terrible person. Just a terrible friend.” When my gaze met hers, I saw something flashing in her eyes. Right before a smile broke. “I kid. I kid.” She laughed. “God knows we were all young and foolish and made some dumbass mistakes in the name of love.”
When she reattached her hands to my shoulders, I thought I heard her whisper something about bracing myself before I received a solid shove into the sea of people. For some reason, the first thing I noticed was a certain someone in a dark grey shirt and worn jeans shove away from the wall he was leaning on, almost like he was going to try to catch me. Instead, it was someone else’s arms I fell into.
Although it was more of a trip-collapse. All grace.
“Whoa. Are you okay?” A solid set of hands roped around my arms to keep me upright.
Throwing a quick glare over my shoulder at the trio of women with their beers raised at me, I looked at the stranger I’d been sacrificed in the name of “fun.” The hard lines fell from my expression when I noticed his face. It was a nice one. The kind of nice that made a woman feel like a girl again, all tingly stomached and unsteady.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I answered when I realized he’d asked me a question and was waiting. “I tripped.” Also known as my friend tossed me out as a sacrificial lamb.
“Lucky me,” he replied with one damn fine version of a smile.
Even after he’d righted me, his hands stayed around my arms. He was attractive in all the right ways, and nothing in his eyes read “danger” or “stay away,” like I’d seen in a certain pair of gold eyes. He was dressed sharp in clothes that cut just close enough to hint at a body he took care of. His breath was minty instead of steeped in alcohol. He was everything taken at face value a girl should have been intrigued by—of course that certainty escaped this girl.
He let go of my arms and stepped back a moment later. “How have you been, Maggie?”
I was in the middle of adjusting my dress when I stopped. Giving him another look, I attempted to place the cute stranger who apparently wasn’t a stranger.
After another moment, he saved me. “Caleb Thomas. I graduated a few years ahead of you.” He waited another second, but nothing was registering. “Your grandma and my grandma used to carpool to Kansas City to watch an Indians game every summer?”
That was when it registered. “Oh my god, Caleb, no way!”
I gave him a quick hug like we’d been old friends, but the truth was, I couldn’t remember much about him other than him being Mrs. Thomas’s grandson. He’d been too old for us to hang out back in school. I remembered the name, not the face. After tonight, I guessed I’d remember the face too. It would be hard to forget it.
“Do you still live here?” I asked after leaning back.
“Just moved back a year ago after finishing school.” His smile was legit the thing of fairy tales, right down to the cleft in his chin.
“What did you go to school for?”
“Veterinary medicine.”
My eyes widened. “You’re a veterinarian?”
“So I’m told.” He checked my beer like he was trying to decipher if I needed a fresh one. “And you’re an artist in Chicago.”
“Good to know the gossip circle is still alive and well in Farmington.”
He chuckled, giving me one of those quick, all-encompassing kinds of looks. “So what brings you back into the heart of the gossip circle?”
I held my breath. “My grandma just passed.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” He gave half a grimace. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. It’s actually kind of refreshing to know the gossip circle isn’t perfect.”
Caleb’s smile widened, his eyes giving him away right before he started to point at the dance floor. Before my pulse could spike, someone came up beside us. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. His presence—the feeling that came with it—gave him away.
“I’ve got to talk to you. It’s important,” was Canaan’s greeting, his hand finding my wrist before he led me away from Caleb. “You won’t mind if I steal Maggie away, would you, Caleb?”
He didn’t wait for Caleb’s answer. From the sound of his voice, he didn’t care what that answer would be. Caleb looked like he was considering following but changed his mind when Canaan shot a look over his shoulder that didn’t need any translation to understand its meaning—back the fuck off.
“Canaan.” I pulled against him, but it was like trying to break through a steel cuff. “You can’t do this anymore. I’m not some piece of property you can just lay your claim over whenever you want to.”
He kept cutting through the crowd like a blade through water. “I’ve got something important I need to tell you.”
“So you said back there, but that does not mean you can manhandle me like I’m some goddamn calf you’re trying to brand.”
He came to a sudden halt, his eyes flashing when he spun on me. His mouth opened. God, I was already anticipating the sting of his words when he surprised us both by sealing his mouth shut.
I didn’t miss my trio of friends, off to the side, watching us and sipping their beers. For a night that was supposed to be Canaan-free, it was sure working out to be the opposite.
“Fine.” This time when I yanked my wrist, he released it. “Then just say whatever it is that’s so important you had to wrestle me away from a nice guy and a nice conversation.”
Canaan’s nostrils flared over the nice guy part, and damn if the way his jaw clenched when he appraised me like I was his and his alone didn’t make my knees misbehave.
“Well? What is it? Hit me with this matter of importance. You made sure you’ve got my attention.”
Canaan’s eyes swept down my dress, his throat moving. “Caleb Thomas is a tool.”
Anger flushed into my veins. “That was what was so important you had to make a fool of me in front of everyone to say?”
“Yeah, it was. Didn’t seem like you were figuring it out on your own, so I thought I’d save you the time.” He watched me finish the contents of my beer.
I lifted my empty bottle at Rachel, hoping she’d take the hint or have Kendra find another unsuspecting victim to fetch a few more from. “Caleb Thomas is a veterinarian,” I said, like I’d been aware of that fact for more than the past three minutes. “You know, one of those ‘tools’ that saves animals’ lives?”
Canaan’s gold eyes raised. “People only become vets when they can’t hack it in med school.”
My teeth went to bite down too late. “Good to know,” I fired back, putting some distance between us. “Since my boyfriend’s a doctor. The kind that apparently can ‘hack it.’”
Regret flooded me the moment it was out. I’d had no intention of telling Canaan anything about that part of my life in Chicago, knowing it would make him that much more against signing the divorce papers. Also knowing that maybe, in some way, it might wound him a little.
“Your boyfriend?” His throat moved, but the rest of his expression was unreadable. “He’s a doctor? How old is he then? Fifty?”
When a sharp exhale came from him, I couldn’t resist. “Thirty-five.”
One corner of his mouth pulled, but everything else remained emotionless. “That makes him twelve years older than you. You were in kindergarten when he was a senior in high school.”
I’d never thought of it that way. Not that I was going to give Canaan the credit of knowing it. “Yeah. What’s your point?”
His hand stabbed in the direction of where he’d just pulled me from. “Caleb Thomas might be a tool, but your boyfriend’s a pervert.”
“Yeah,” I snapped. “Because you know all about what decency does and doesn’t look like in a guy.”
Canaan’s teeth worked at his cheek as his arms crossed. We stood in silence for a minute as music and dancing circled us in every direction. I wanted to walk away and not give him another thought for the rest of the night, but I knew that would be impossible. So instead I stood my ground, silently hoping he’d be the one to walk away.
Of course I should have known better. Canaan had never walked away. Not once.
“I met with Sid Barrington today,” I started, not sure why I was striking up a new conversation when I should have been halfway to the door by now. “I’m guessing you’ve already heard the news?”
“Define ‘news.’ There’s never any shortage of it wandering around this town.” Canaan rubbed at the scar running through his left brow. The one he’d split open and had stitched shut so many times I’d lost count.
“The news having to do with Grandma leaving you the garage apartment.” I backed away some, pulling at the hem of my dress his gaze was lingering on.
“Oh. That news. Yeah. Your grandma told me about that years ago.” His hands stuffed deep into his pockets and he shrugged.
His casual response grated at me. “Why would she leave that to you? It’s not like it was a place ripe with fond memories.”
He made a face, looking like he was about to argue something before catching himself. Leaning back, he went with another half-hearted shrug. “Maybe she left it to me because it’s my home.”
I snorted. “Your home. Of course it is.”
His expression flattened, his gold eyes blinking at me.
My chest seized when I realized he was serious. “You are not still living in that place. Tell me you’re not.”
The toe of his scuffed leather boot touched my sandal when he moved closer. My skin rose from the sensation of it. The unpleasant sensation of it, I reminded myself.
“Fine,” he said. “I’m not living there.”
My arms folded. “You’re lying.”
“And you’re the one who told me to tell you I wasn’t. Make up your mind.”
I wanted to wipe the stirrings of his smirk right from his face, but that would have meant touching him and something told me that touching Canaan Ford meant certain doom to my ex-hating agenda.
“So you’re living there.” I took a breath, catching up to this latest revelation. “When did you move back in?”
The skin between his brows creased. “I never moved out.”
My stomach twisted. He was being serious again. “You’ve been living there ever since I left? This whole time?”
The crease between those dark brows went deeper. “Isn’t that what I just said?”
My body tensed when I thought about him living in that same apartment we’d shared our first and only year of marriage. What had possessed him to stay?
“Why?” I breathed.
His gaze drifted from me into the crowd, looking without really seeing. “It’s where I belonged.”
I waited for him to expand on his explanation, but he stayed quiet. “What does that mean?” I asked, my arm lifting.
“Exactly what I said.”
Each question from me seemed to only agitate him, so I set my curiosity aside temporarily. “Okay, so you’re still living in the garage apartment.” I moved to the side to a spot that wasn’t crammed with bodies. Canaan moved with me, sliding a chair out of the way before I ran into it. “You could have mentioned that to me the two times I saw you before now.”
Canaan slid his sleeves up his forearms as we leaned into one of the long walls running down the side of The Barn. “I was a little busy protecting my nuts from being kicked or my throat from being sliced. Never know with you.”
“That’s right. You kept your mouth shut the whole time, like the perfect angel you are.” I pointed just above his head as if there were a halo there. “It was all a one-sided argument.”
His mouth moved. “Glad we understand each other.”
“How come I haven’t seen your truck parked outside?”
“I work. A lot. You’re probably asleep when I leave and asleep when I get back.” When my eyebrows elevated, his hard expression cracked. “I know, I know. The guy who seemed allergic to work is now a workaholic. Like I keep trying to tell you, I’ve changed.” He waved at himself, like all the proof I needed was written on his snug shirt and wide chest.
Surprising even him I think, I laughed. The kind that came easy and naturally, the kind from our youth.
“I need a drink for this,” I said, noting that my girl squad had not picked up on my raised beer cue a few minutes ago. “What do you want? Your usual?” I was already backing up toward the bar.
He shoved off the wall, coming toward me. “You’re not supposed to buy me a drink. I’m the one who should be buying the drinks.”
My hand lifted. “It’s an equal playing field these days. Gender roles are a thing of the past, Canaan Ford. Welcome to the twenty-first century. Give me your drink request before I surprise you with something fruity and colorful.”
His eyes narrowed, but he stayed where he was. Fighting every instinct from the look of it. “I’ll have a Coca-Cola. My recent usual,” he said when he noticed me looking at him like he’d sprouted a second head.
“Coca-Cola and . . . ?”
He gave me a funny look. “And a full body massage?”
“Good luck with that,” I called back as I cut toward the bar.
A Coke. The last time he’d wanted a Coke—by itself—was such a distant memory, I couldn’t recall it. He was screwing with me. No other explanation.
After paying for his Coke and my beer, I made my way back. He was exactly where I’d left him, in the exact same position from the looks of it. His eyes trained on me like they hadn’t blinked since I’d wandered off.
“Your drink.” I held out the frosty bottle for him.
He took it with a thanks, clinking it against my beer. “To you.”
Perplexed, I watched him take a drink. I found myself studying his eyes, which were clear and focused, and the way his movements were sharp instead of sloppy.
“What?” he asked, lowering his Coke when he caught me staring at him. “What?”
“Just checking.”
His eyes ran down himself. “Checking what?”
“That you’re Canaan Ford.”
Lifting his Coke, he took another drink. “The latest version.”
Leaning my shoulder into the wall, I took a couple sips of my beer, realizing I was now on my third. I couldn’t feel anything yet, but alcohol had a way of sneaking up on me, and I needed all of my wits when it came to being around Canaan.
Especially with the way he was looking tonight . . . and remembering the nights we’d spent together. For being a screw-up in the husband department, he knew his way around a woman’s body. If a marriage consisted of nothing but sex, we could have been the married couple of the century. But yeah, there was a lot more to marriage than physical intimacy, and we’d both flunked out in those areas.
Damn. I could feel the blood rising in my cheeks from the images floating to the surface of my memory. Thankfully, it was dark enough inside The Barn that there was no way for him to notice.
“Canaan . . .” I bit at my lip, searching for the right words. “About what you did for Grandma.” More biting as I searched. “Thank you.”
Ahh, there they were. The right words to show one’s gratitude. They’d been difficult to utter in his direction for a while.
“Betty did more for me than I ever came close to giving back to her,” he said. “But I wasn’t looking for anything in return, hoping there’d be something in it for me like the apartment if that’s what you’re thinking.”
My fingers tightened around my beer. “That’s not what I’m thinking.”
“Good to know.” He leaned into the wall beside me, so close I could count the old scars marking his eyebrows and cheekbones. No new ones seemed to have been carved. All of the ones I studied were ones I’d tended to—scars I’d cried for. “I’ll add that to my offer. I’ll sign over the garage, and sign the divorce papers, for one month.”
For a few minutes, I’d forgotten all about his insane proposal. One month to prove he’d changed—four weeks to fall back in love with a man I’d given so much of myself to. Even if he had changed as he’d claimed, that didn’t mean I’d automatically fall into his arms and bed again. The only way Canaan and I would ever wind up back together was a damn miracle. A miracle of the world peace variety.
“One month. That’s nothing in the scope of a person’s life.” He slid a bit closer.
“One month is everything when it comes to opening myself back up to you.”
He didn’t argue that. He let silence speak for him instead.
“What exactly are you expecting during this one month?” I might have winced when I heard myself say those words.
He rubbed his mouth, trying to hide whatever was trying to form. “For you to give me another chance. For you to be my wife.”
The term made me nauseated. “Your wife? As in your indentured servant? No way.”
It was a smile he was trying to hide. Not very successfully. It made me thankful I’d slipped into these old boots so I could give him a solid kick in the ass if necessary.
“Like be willing to spend time with me. That’s it. That’s all,” he added when he correctly interpreted the question in my eyes. The question.
“What will we be doing during that time we’re spending together?” I pulled at the chest of my dress when I noticed the way his gaze had lingered there a moment too long.
His shoulder rose. “Got any ideas?” There was an unmistakable glint in his eyes.
“No,” I answered instantly.
“You used to have plenty of ideas for filling the time.” He took a swig of his Coke.
“And then I learned how to use my brain.”
He studied my fake smile, almost like he was contemplating what it would feel like against his mouth. “Dinners. Dates. Simple stuff like that.”
I held my best poker face, considering his offer. I didn’t want to stay married to him. If one more month was what it took to be free of Canaan Ford, I could suck it up. I’d already made it five years. “No expectations of anything of a physical nature?”
“If I remember right”—his eyes narrowed as he rubbed the back of his head—“it was generally you who instigated all of that back then.”
I shoved his chest. Bad idea. Solid. Firm. Home.
My jaw ground as I worked to erase that word from my conscious where he was concerned. “And you were just the perfect gentleman.”
Canaan snatched my hand before I could pull it away. Holding onto it, he dragged me closer. Not so close that our bodies touched, but close enough the separation was painful.
“Exactly,” he said in that low voice of his. The one he’d whispered my name in so many times as he moved inside me. “A gentleman gives his woman exactly what she needs. As many times as she need it. Just doing my part.”
“How noble.”
“That’s right. So if you want to make any changes to this one month agreement, consider me your humble servant.” When his hand dropped to my waist, his touch hesitant at the same time it was insistent, I didn’t flinch out of instinct the way I should have.
Instead, I had to remind myself to pull away from him; to flinch at his touch. “I have a boyfriend, Canaan.” Even to my ears, it sounded like a weak protest.
His hand didn’t fall away when I stepped back. “You’re a married woman, Maggie.”
“My husband forfeited his rights years ago.” My eyes found his, expecting them to shoot away once mine made contact.
They didn’t. His gold eyes held to mine. “He’s here to reclaim them.”