TWENTY-ONE
“Have I told you yet how nice you look tonight?” Nash asked again, his blue eyes roving over Vivian’s body-hugging jeans and a tight black tank top. She’d even worn her cowgirl boots. The outfit was rather simple by her standards, but for Nash, it might as well be catnip.
“Only for the hundredth time,” she said with a laugh.
“Oh,” he said, frowning as he ran a hand through his hair. “Well, it warrants repeatin’.”
“Well, thank you again, but if you keep saying it, I’m going to start forming a complex.”
“Right. We don’t want you gettin’ an even bigger head.”
“Righ— wait, what? Did you just say I have a big head?”
Nash was all innocence. “Did you hear me say that?”
She scowled. “No.”
“Then nope.”
“Ms. Gretta is right, you are trouble.”
He shrugged and reached out to take her hand. Vivian accepted it, lacing her fingers with his as they strolled through the makeshift parking lot outside the field where the event was already in full swing.
“So, where to first?” he asked. “If you’re hungry, we can grab a bite to eat. If you’re thirsty, a drink. Or we can go find a place up front to watch the pull. Unless you’d rather check out the other stuff first?”
Vivian’s gaze darted around, unsure where to start first, as she’d never attended a tractor anything before. “Um…food sounds good I guess.”
“You guess? Darlin’, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried Samuel Hardin’s barbeque ribs.”
“Really? I thought that was Betsy Jean who did the best barbeque ribs.”
Shocked, he said, “I see you’ve been talkin’ to Maryanne.”
Vivian shrugged.
“Come on then. See for yourself.” He pulled her along without hesitation, weaving them through the crowds until they reached a stretch of booths serving all kinds of food, from what she could tell.
There was a dessert stand, a beer stand, a falafel stand, a fried everything stand, hot dogs, and so much more. And right in the center of it all was the barbeque stand that Nash was dragging her toward.
“Hey there, Nashy-boy,” a short and stout man with a big, round belly that distended past his belt and a shiny, bald head bellowed as they reached the front of the line. “I was wonderin’ if we’d see ya out tonight.”
“You know you can’t keep me away from a tractor pull,” Nash returned.
Brown eyes drifted past Nash’s right shoulder to where Vivian stood. “Ah, yes, I do recall some stories—”
“We’ll take a half-rack, Sam,” Nash interrupted, “and a couple of those beers you got hiding back there.”
“Hiding!” Samuel shouted, duly distracted, which Vivian suspected had been Nash’s intent. “Boy, I’ve almost sold out and the night’s barely started.”
Nash turned to Vivian as Samuel put together a to-go plate. “Sam makes his own special brew. Only does it a couple of times a year and mostly for this event, so people go nuts over it when he brings it out.” He leaned in and put a hand to the side of his mouth as if to whisper something private to her. Only, his voice was purposefully loud and carried straight to the man in question’s ears. “He keeps most of it to himself, like the greedy bastard he is.”
“Hey! This bastard puts in all the work, so he should rightfully reap the bulk of the rewards. Don’t you think so?” he asked, dragging Vivian into the argument.
Like a deer caught in the headlights, she floundered for a quick response, and ended up saying, “Yeah, I guess so.”
Nash feigned offense. “You take his side?” Reaching for their order, he held up the two already sweating cups of beer. “Maybe I’ll just keep these babies for myself then.”
“No worries, darlin’,” Sam said. “If Nash here gets stingy with ya, you just let old Sam know, and I’ll take care of ya.”
Vivian lifted her chin in triumph. “It appears I have my own supplier anyway.”
Nash huffed, pretending to be miffed. “I swear, you come along, and suddenly the whole town is against me.”
“I guess they like me better,” Vivian teased.
“I guess so.” His eyes met hers, twinkling with humor, and he hitched his elbow out.
Vivian slipped her hand into the crook and allowed him to guide the way once again, stopping at a few stands to collect a couple of cookies for dessert and bottles of water to offset the effects of the beer, which Nash informed her were stronger than she was probably used to.
She’d bet it was since she’d never really had beer before. Her family had always been a wine and champagne type, which she’d never particularly enjoyed either.
A group of picnic tables had been set up just beyond the food area and within sight of the ongoing tractor pull. They got lucky when a couple left as they were approaching, and Nash hurried over to claim the spots before anyone else could.
Vivian sat down next to a young woman with a baby in a pack on her back and a kid in her lap, trying to feed him what looked like some kind of lemon cream pie. Nash sat across from her and beside a lumberjack looking man in a red-and-black plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off, little threads still dangling around arms that finally gave Vivian a definition for a “farmer tan.” He had a beard down to his chest and a mustache that hid his lips completely, but somehow when he shoveled his food in, he didn’t get a speck of it on himself.
That must take some skill, Vivian thought.
“After we eat, what do you say we go check out the pull,” Nash suggested.
Picking at the ribs in front of her in a futile attempt not to get too much sauce under her nails, Vivian said, “That’s what we came here for.”
“You’re right about that.” Nash beamed. “You gotta dig in, darlin’. Ribs are meant to make a mess out of ya.”
A crooked smile spread across her face. “Yeah, I kinda figured, but it was worth a try.” She took a little look around and saw that everyone was holding either ribs or chicken legs or something covered in sauce, and most of them had a bit of something on their face and all of them had a lot of it on their hands.
She drew in a breath and considered her next move. “When in Rome,” she said, and then she picked up the meat and dove in.
Nash wore a huge, approving smile and followed suit. By the time they were finished, Vivian was stuffed, and any cravings that might have tried to sneak up on her later had been sated.
“That was amazing,” she complimented, although the chef was nowhere nearby to hear.
“I told ya, Sam is the best barbeque slinger in the state,” Nash declared. “No one does it better. I tried once. Didn’t even come close.”
She hadn’t missed how Sam had gone from being the best in the town to the state. Next time he staked a claim, she’d bet he’d be the best in the country, maybe even the world. She shook her head.
“I bet Ms. Gretta could take him on,” Vivian told him as they got up to dump their trash and once again strode hand in hand toward the pull area where people congregated several rows deep to watch the event.
“She could, but she decided a long time ago that she had to share the glory or she’d never have any friends. Her words, not mine.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Vivian said, laughing.
The closer they got to the tractors, the louder everything became, making it nearly impossible for either of them to hold a conversation and be heard. Nash pushed his way through to the front, and Vivian followed. Since they couldn’t speak, he steered her where he wanted her, which happened to be directly in front of him and slightly to the side. His hand rested on her hip, and his body touched hers from her left shoulder all the way down to her thigh, making Vivian hyper-aware of him, to the point she wasn’t really seeing the tractors racing in front of her.
Announcers were shouting over loudspeakers, giving a play-by-play, while people shouted and hooted their excitement. Vivian was only vaguely aware of any of it.
Could Nash feel that between them, the electricity? Was he even slightly aware, or was it just her? If he could feel even half of what she was, then he was good at faking it because she felt like she was about to combust.
How could anyone have such a profound effect on her? Nash wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore, but logically, she still felt she should have spent more time with him, learning all his ins and outs, before reaching such the boiling point of desire.
His fingers moved gently against her hip as he watched the show over her shoulder, and his chest bumped against her each time he joined in shouting until Vivian was certain she would melt into a puddle right there at his feet.
Thoughts of their single kiss were still fresh in her mind, despite feeling as if it’d happened years ago instead of just days.
She needed to feel his lips against hers again. She needed more than just a friendly gesture or touch or holding hands.
Vivian needed passion and…friction. Yes, she needed good old-fashioned friction to satisfy the craving that had risen like a beast inside of her. But she knew they were far from that stage in their relationship—or whatever this was—and she closed her eyes, determined to push her desire for more back. But all she could see was Nash and those blue eyes as they held hers and he leaned in, seconds before that fated kiss that would rise up to haunt her day in and day out.
A moan bubbled up her throat unbidden.
“Are you okay?” Nash asked, those delicious lips she craved another taste of so badly just beside her ear, the deep base of his voice piercing through the din.
Startled, Vivian’s eyes snapped open, and she blinked several times to clear away the fog of the memory. It was interesting how Nash’s very presence heated her up, yet his voice in that moment was as effective as a bucketful of ice water being dumped over her head to cool her back down.
“Yes,” she croaked, then cleared her throat and repeated, “Yes. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Is the heat botherin’ you?”
She wanted to say no, but instead, she said, “A little. I think I should sit down for this next one.”
Worried, he nodded, and the hand he had on her hip turned possessive as he turned her with him and began leading the way back to the picnic area.
“You don’t have to come with me,” she insisted, once they had put enough distance between them and the crowd and racing tractors to be heard. “I don’t want to spoil your fun.”
“Nothin’ is spoiled,” he assured her, keeping her close to his side. So close, in fact, that their steps faltered every other one from their hips knocking together. “Here we are.” He settled her down on a vacant bench, his hand lingering on her shoulder as if he was afraid to leave her alone. “I’m going to go grab a coupla waters.”
She nodded. Water sounded good. She needed to cool off, get her head together, and stop fantasizing about something that may never happen. It would only lead to disappointment.
After a moment’s hesitation, he left…and that’s when the girl across from her with the two kids decided to strike up a conversation.
“So, you and Nash, huh?” She waggled her strawberry blonde eyebrows.
“Excuse me?”
She wrinkled her freckled nose and scooped up a tiny bit of mashed sweet potatoes from a paper plate to feed to the toddler on her lap. “You’re the talk of the town. Heck, I feel like I practically know ya, ‘cept we just met.”
Vivian couldn’t say the same. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. Setting the spoon down, she wiped her hand on her loudly geometric-patterned shirt and reached across the table. “I’m Tabitha, but everyone calls me Tabby. And you are?”
“Vivian,” she returned politely and gave her hand a quick pump. So much for ‘practically’ knowing her.
“That’s an unusual name.”
“My parents are usual people.”
Tabby’s red head bobbed slowly. “Well my husband thinks Sasha here was an unusual choice for a boy, but then I reminded him of that Cohen guy in Hollywood, and he shut right up.”
“Oh yeah, I think I remember a male actor named Sasha on an old family sitcom.” She used to watch it all the time when she was a teen. One of her few guilty pleasures growing up.
“So Nash—”
A bottle of water slid in front of Vivian, cutting their conversation short. Vivian took the bottle, prepared to crack it open and drink deep, but the voice beside her stopped her in her tracks and sent a shiver of warning skating down her spine.
“You look flushed, dear.”
Andrew.
“Are you stalking me?” Vivian gritted out.
“Stalking?” he scoffed. When she felt his hand on her shoulder, Vivian cringed and jerked away. He continued on as if nothing was amiss. “It’s so hot today, and I know how you get in the heat. I must say, though, I’m surprised to see you at an event like this.”
“Would you just, like, disappear?”
Tabby’s shocked expression but inability to look away made Vivian feel even more uncomfortable. If the town was already talking, they would have a well that ran miles deep to draw from after this.
“I already told you my conditions,” Andrew replied casually.
“I already told you I’ll take care of it Monday.” She was not about to allow a potential oversight—that was quickly starting to look like a definite oversight—on her part to derail what she was trying to build now.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Tabby inserted herself.
Vivian wanted to slap her. She’d captured Andrew’s attention, and he was just the type to capitalize on it.
“I’m sorry, where are my manners.” He thrust his hand out. “I’m Andrew DeBois, Vivian’s husband.”
Tabby’s hand, caught mid-shake, stilled, and she appeared a deer in the headlights, her wide, doe-like eyes darting back and forth between them. “You’re…married?”
Vivian wanted to die. Just what she needed, a reputation to tarnish her fresh start.
“I thought you said he was lying.” A voice said from behind her, and Vivian jerked around, horror filling her. There he stood, her handsome cowboy, holding two bottles of water and wearing a stony expression that hid every emotion…unless you knew what to look for. It was the storm brewing behind those blue eyes that told her just how angry and betrayed he felt.
“Nash, it’s not what you think. I thought he was lying, but now…” His expression made it clear she wasn’t getting through to him. “I was going to explain,” she rushed out, her hands held out in front of her as if that would somehow buffer the blow of his rejection.
Gretta was right, she should have said something. She should have said it sooner. But how could she have anticipated Andrew barreling in and ruining her chance?
“Actually, this explains everything,” he said, too calm for her comfort. He set the bottles on the table and glanced at Andrew and then Vivian. “It’s all pretty clear now. Sorry to have gotten in the way. I hope you two are happy together.”
“Nash,” Vivian said weakly as he turned and walked away. She desperately wanted to call him back, to explain everything, but she knew how bad this looked, and with the way he must be feeling inside? Well, if it were her, she’d want some space and time to think.
Also, if it were her, she knew what her decision would be: never to see her again.
Nash’s dark form was swallowed by the crowd in moments, leaving Vivian staring at strangers and with an ache in her chest that left her feeling hollowed out and breathless.
She thought she’d known what heartbreak felt like when she’d walked in on Andrew in bed with another man, but it had nothing on this.
“Fine, Andrew,” she said in defeat, “you win. I’ll come back.”
The look of triumph that erupted on his weasel face vanished quickly.
“But not with you. And only so I can sign those papers and get you out of my life for good,” she sneered, then spun on her heel and marched off in the same direction Nash had gone with the knowledge that it was finally time to do what she’d been fighting not to: say goodbye.