Chapter 20

The next morning, Quinn stretched her arms over her head, her back already aching, and it was only lunchtime.

Her morning had been spent making and cleaning up breakfast, sewing a button back on one of Max’s shirts, calling to make a vet appointment for their new addition, and listening to Max go through a million names as he tried to come up with the perfect one for the new puppy.

Plus, it took close to an hour to figure out a way for Max to take a shower without getting his cast or his chin wet, which meant she, and the puppy, both ended up soaking wet as well by the time he’d finished.

This was all making memories, she’d reminded herself. Every moment of chaos and laughter were building blocks in the images of Max’s childhood.

She’d finally found time to take her own shower and get out of her pajamas. After dressing in a pair of khaki shorts and a simple white T-shirt, she’d twisted her damp hair into a braid. Figuring it would be an on-the-run kind of day, she’d stuffed her feet into a pair of comfortable sneakers.

On a whim, or so she told herself, she’d pulled on the heart and key necklace that Rock had given her as a teenager and dropped it inside the V-neck of her shirt. She’d been wearing it every day for the last week, trying not to think too much about it when she put it on, but maybe subconsciously hoping that Rock would notice and know she was still thinking about him.

She absently fingered the necklace now as she listened to her dad and Max debate another round of names for the puppy.

Max had already thrown out the more common names, like Fido and Buddy. He wanted something special and unique for his dog. He was taking the picking of its name very seriously.

“You want to give him a good name that he can live up to. Something smart or tough, like Einstein or Rocky,” Ham was saying. “Or how about a strong, presidential name? You could call him Ford or Reagan.”

“Or George Washington,” Max offered with a giggle. They were sitting at the kitchen table, and he had the puppy cuddled in his lap.

Ham chuckled. “That’s kind of a long name to call when you want him to come to you.”

“Yeah, good point.” Max wrinkled his nose. “Who was your favorite president, Grandpa?”

“Well, I don’t know that I was partial to any particular one over another, but my dad was always a big fan of Harry Truman. He’d always admired the way he’d stepped in to the role of president after the real president passed on—always thought of the guy as a real hero. So that would be a fine choice. You could call him Harry or Truman.”

“Truman’s a cute name,” Quinn weighed in as she finished stacking grilled cheese sandwiches on a platter.

Max held the puppy up and stared into its small face. “Is your name Truman?” The puppy licked his nose, and Max let out a giggle. “I think he likes it.”

“Well, there you have it,” Ham declared.

“Yep. There you have it. His name is Truman.” Max peered over at his mom. “Mom, we need to get Truman some puppy food and a collar and a leash so I can take him for a walk.”

She pointed to a sheet of paper on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, I’ve been working on a list of all the things he’ll need. I made him an appointment to get checked out at the vet clinic tomorrow morning. But I was hoping I could talk your grandpa into running you into town to pick up this stuff after lunch.”

“I could probably do that. I’ve got a couple of things to do in town anyway.”

Quinn nodded at Max as she set the sandwiches on the table. “Put the dog down for now and come over here and let me help you wash your hands. Dad, you want to pour him some milk and grab those carrots out of the fridge?”

Max relented to her assistance in washing his hands, then sped through his lunch, anxious to get to the store.

Ham told him he had a few chores to finish up in the barn before they could leave, but he and Truman could come outside and keep him company while he worked.

It took Quinn only a few minutes to wash the noon dishes and put the kitchen back together. Vivienne had dropped off a pan of brownies a few days earlier, and she nibbled on the corner of the last one as she added another item to the list.

Washing up the pan, she figured she might as well run it back over to Vivi. She could use the walk and the fresh air to clear her head.

And if she happened to run into Rock while she was over there, then so be it. Maybe she could finally ask him what the hell was going and why he was avoiding her.

She scribbled a quick note to her dad, then grabbed the pan and headed for the far side of the barn to the path that connected the two ranches.

Just because she’d stuffed a piece of gum into her mouth and swiped on a little lip gloss didn’t necessarily mean she was hoping to see Rock. She could have just wanted fresh breath and glossy lips while she walked.

Walking briskly along the path, she imagined all the ways she might “accidentally” run into Rock, but her gait slowed as she drew closer to the James’s house.

What if he didn’t want to see her? What if he wouldn’t talk to her at all?

Forget that. She’d spent the last eight years avoiding this man, and she was through with that route. He’d made it clear that he wanted to be in her life again, so why the sudden one-eighty? Why was he now avoiding her?

Besides the obvious fact that her son’s biological father had suddenly come back into the picture. But they could work through that.

They just needed a chance to talk.

Without distractions.

Crossing through the pasture, she could hear music and banging coming from the barn, and she walked across the drive and peered through the barn doors.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Rock, bare chested, wearing only jeans and boots. His back was to her, and the muscles across his broad shoulders bunched and flexed as he swung a hammer to pound a nail into the side of a two-by-four.

His deep voice rose through the barn rafters as he sang along to the country song booming through the speakers of the radio. He belted out the lyrics, matching not just his baritone to the singers, but his emotions as well.

The song was one of her favorites and spoke of missed chances and lost love, and her heart broke as she stood in the doorway of the barn, listening to him sing.

His voice was as familiar to her as her own. Memories coursed through her like water trickling down the creek. Memories of being with Rock, his arm around her shoulder as they cruised down a dirt road, not going anywhere in particular, just driving and singing along to the radio.

The images in her mind were as clear as if they’d happened yesterday.

They might be older, and their bodies might look a little different, but their hearts were the same. And she still loved him. Had always loved him. Would always love him.

He reached for another board and saw her standing there. The hammer fell from his hands, and he reached to turn down the radio.

“Q. What are you doing here?”

She held up the brownie pan. “I was just returning this pan to your mom. Then I heard the music.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you giving that country star a run for his money.” She offered him a timid smile and took a tentative step forward. Then another, until she’d closed the gap between them. “Actually, returning the pan was just an excuse. I really came to see you.”

A thin sheen of sweat covered his chest, and more images of them together filled her head. But these weren’t from the distant past, they were from several nights ago when they’d been in her bed, tangled together, both of their bodies heated and sweaty from passion.

Rock held up his hand. “Don’t.” His T-shirt lay across the side of the workbench, and he grabbed it and pulled it on over his head.

Her mouth went dry at his warning and at the way he’d backed away. As if he didn’t even want her near him.

A scowl formed on his lips, and his eyes were downcast, his expression reminding her of someone who had lost their only friend. But she was his friend, and he hadn’t lost her.

Not yet.

“Rock. What is going on?” She implored him with her tone, beseeching him with her eyes. “Just talk to me.”

“How’s Max?”

She shook her head, as if trying to clear the sudden topic change. “He’s fine. I mean, he broke his arm, and he has a couple of stitches, but he’ll be fine. He’s already bragging about how cool his cast is.”

He’d cringed when she said he broke his arm, and now his mouth was set in a tight line. “It won’t be so cool a few weeks from now. Then it will just be itchy and smelly and a pain in the ass.” He leaned back against the workbench, his shoulders slumped. “I’m awful sorry, Quinn. I never should have skated away from him like that. I should have been there.”

She closed the distance between them, clenching one hand into a fist and gripping the brownie pan in another as she resisted the impulse to reach out and touch him.

He looked so sad, so broken. This wasn’t the same guy she’d been hanging out with the last week.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

He pounded his fist on the workbench, making both her and the tools jump. “It was my fault. I was the one on the ice with him. I should have been watching him. Instead, I was being an idiot, careless, only thinking of myself and my ludicrous attempts to impress a girl.” He glanced sideways at her. “Sorry. Woman.”

A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “It was just an accident, and accidents happen. You broke your arm as a kid, and you survived.”

They’d been about twelve years old and had gone down to the pond after school. It was a cold day in the middle of winter, and Rock had wanted to shoot some pucks. He’d broken his arm when he’d skated over a stone and fallen into the net. He’d been skating too fast and had been too focused on the shot to stop in time.

“Yeah, I did. And if I remember correctly, that happened because I was showing off for a girl too. The same girl.”

She did reach out now and laid a hand gently on his arm. “He’ll be okay. And no one is blaming you.”

“Except me,” he said, shaking off her hand.

“Then stop it.” She picked up his hand, held it tightly in hers. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? Why you’re avoiding me and not answering my calls or texts.”

He stared at the floor. But he didn’t pull his hand away. “Because I can’t. I can’t do this.” His voice shook as if holding back his pain.

“Why the hell not?” Her voice rose with the temper building inside her, and she threw the brownie pan against the workbench and planted her fist on her hip. “Huh? Answer me, Rockford James. Why the hell not? You didn’t seem to have any trouble doing this the last week. You didn’t seem to have any trouble doing this when you were sneaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night and sending me all of those texts.”

He winced and slowly shook his head, his gaze still trained on the floor.

This was not the Rock she knew. The one whose temper often got him in trouble on and off the ice. The one who could easily pick a fight with a reporter or egg on an opponent into throwing a punch.

“Talk to me, damn it. Tell me what’s going on. Tell me why you’re running hot and cold with me. Why one minute you want me so bad you’re crossing the pasture at midnight, and the next you won’t answer my calls and can’t stand to even look at me. Is this all just some kind of game to you?”

His head whipped up, and his eyes narrowed. “This is no game. At least, not one I have any chance of winning. I’m not running hot and cold, Quinn. I’m running pure hot, all the time. Hot with need and hunger. And anger at the situation. The problem is not that I don’t want you. I want you so bad, it hurts. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. My heart aches like an actual wound has torn open inside me, and every time I see you, it tears a little bit more, ripping through my chest and taking my breath away.”

Her body stilled, and her anger flooded away with the sincerity and pain in his words. She knew what he was feeling, had the same bone-deep ache in her own chest.

She reached out, picked up his hand, and held it to her cheek. His arm tensed, but he didn’t pull away.

She fought to control the tremor in her voice and the tremble of her lips. “But I’m right here in front of you. All you have to do is reach out and touch me. You don’t have to pull away. I’m not. I’m standing right here. I’m not going anywhere. Not this time. This time I’m not letting go. I love you, Rock.”

His brow furrowed, and he gave her a long, pained look.

Her breathing slowed, her lungs constricting.

Maybe this was what was going on. Maybe this was the real problem. Maybe he didn’t love her anymore.

Or didn’t love her at all.

He tried to speak, his mouth opened then closed.

His palm tightened against her cheek, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you too, Quinn. I always have. And I always will.”

Her breath rushed from her chest, and she reached for his shoulder, clutching the fabric of his T-shirt in her fingers.

“I have always loved you too. And I’ve been trying to show you that. That’s why I’m wearing this stupid seventeen-dollar necklace with the tarnished silver heart. To show you. Show you that my heart, my body, my soul, has always belonged to you.” She swallowed, the emotion filling her throat.

“Do you still want to be with me?” she managed to whisper.

His eyes squeezed tightly shut then opened, and he stared into hers with an intensity that had a million sparks of heat licking at her spine. “I want to be with you with every fiber of my being. I want to hold you and kiss you. Hell, I want to tear your clothes off right now and take you against the wall of this barn.”

Heat, warm and molten, surged through her veins. She wanted him too. And this time, she was going after what she wanted.

She hadn’t stood up for herself before.

All those years ago, Rock had left, but she had let him walk away. She hadn’t gone after him. She’d reacted in defense and tried to hurt him back instead of digging in her heels and fighting for him.

She pushed back her shoulders, narrowing her eyes as she stared deep into his, trying to convey the depth of her emotion. There was no tremble in her voice this time.

This time, her words came out not as a request, but as a command. “If you still want me, then take me.”

He stared at her, indecision clouding his eyes, then the hand holding her cheek skimmed down and around her neck at the same time his other hand slid around her waist. He pulled her to him, yanking her against his chest as his lips crushed hers, taking her mouth in a passionate assault.

Her arms wound around his neck, and her fingers tunneled through his hair.

The tiniest of moans escaped her lips, and she arched her back, pressing into him, giving herself to him. Giving him everything.

His one hand clutched her neck, and the other moved roughly over her back and down her hip, cupping her butt and pulling her tightly against him.

She felt his groin harden, and she pressed closer, aching for the delicious friction.

His tongue pushed between her lips, pillaging her mouth as he feasted on her, tasting her, devouring her.

And she loved it. Wanted it. Wanted him.

Her body responded to his with its own desire, her nipples tightening and her breasts swelling with need. Her legs threatened to buckle, and she melted against him, holding on as if she were drowning and he was the only thing that could save her.

He could have done anything he wanted to her—could have peeled off her clothes and taken her on the barn’s workbench or laid her down on a bed of hay in one of the empty stables.

Instead, he’d stripped her bare, laid open her soul as she’d confessed her feelings for him, then he pushed her away.

Gasping for air, he held on to her shoulder, holding her away from him as his face contorted in pain. “Stop. I can’t. We can’t. We can’t do this.”

What?

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Suddenly, a thought hit her, slammed into her like a Mack truck flying down the highway at seventy miles an hour. A terrible, awful thought.

She tried to speak but couldn’t say the words.

Pulling back, she let his hand drop from her arm. Her mouth had gone dry, her throat constricted. She swallowed, then choked out, “Is there…is there someone else?”

His shoulders fell forward, slumping in defeat as he hung his head.

His voice was barely a whisper. “Yes. There is.”