What Might Have Been (16 page)

Without waiting for his response, she pushed past him, tearing down the hallway, knocking into the door frame of the kitchen before finally finding her way outside.

 

G
RAN WATCHED
A
INSLEY
run past. Shooting from her chair she was at the door in record time, especially for her. Luke's footsteps sounded behind her. She turned to look.

“What's going on? What's happened to Ainsley?”

The expression on his face mirrored the bone-deep betrayal and pain that had been stamped all over the dear child's.

When he didn't answer her, instead simply standing in the center of the hallway and staring at the closed door Ainsley had disappeared behind, she asked again, “What's wrong?”

She hated to see either of them—both of them—in this much pain.

He finally looked down at her, shaking away the emotions on his face as he did. In their place was a blank mask, nothing of the boy he'd been or the man she was so proud of.

“Nothing, Gran. A misunderstanding. I have to leave for a few days. The paperwork's finally in but the closing won't be until Friday. I'm going to take a few days at the office but I'll be back.”

Gran nodded. Disappointment bubbled up inside. She would be sad to leave this place but she'd done what she could. In the end, it would either work out or it wouldn't.

Luke looked across at her, his eyes blank as he asked, “Let Ainsley know?”

“You aren't going to tell her yourself?”

Again, he glanced at the door, the turmoil returning to his face for the briefest moment. “No.”

He was packed and out the door within thirty minutes. The drive home to Atlanta was a blur. Before he realized it, he was standing in the middle of the living room in his high-rise penthouse. He didn't even remember the trip.

He hadn't bothered to flip on the lights as he'd come in the door. Instead, he stood in darkness, surrounded by the gloom of dusk and his stark chrome-and-glass furniture. Until this very moment he hadn't realized how sterile and impersonal his decor was. He hadn't cared.

He'd hired a decorator; his only stipulation was that nothing resembling country could enter through the front doors. Ironically, he was sorely missing the warmth of the farm's kitchen, the well-worn boards of the hardwood floors and the scent of Ainsley as she curled next to him in the old-fashioned sleigh bed.

He stalked over to the sofa, leaving his suitcase un packed by the door, and slumped onto the uncomfortable surface.

It took less than five minutes staring out the blank windows before he was consumed with nervous energy.

A run. He'd go for a run.

As his legs pumped beneath him eating up the pavement of the track around the park, his mind raced over his argument with Ainsley. He played her words over
again and again in his mind. And paired them with the hurt and bewildered expression on her face.

She certainly hadn't appeared like someone who'd been caught in a deception.

If he was honest, he'd admit that he'd already been angry with her, upset at the way she'd simply dismissed his offer out of hand the night before. He'd been hurt that she hadn't at least thought longer about what he was offering her—a second chance for their relationship.

Was she right, though? Did he really expect her to make all the sacrifices? Or was he simply being practical? He was the one with an established career, with a company that employed hundreds of people who depended on him for their livelihood.

He was willing to sacrifice. Wasn't he?

His feet pounded in time with the churning of his brain as he attempted to think of one sacrifice that he'd made—back then or now—for their relationship.

He couldn't come up with a single example.

He couldn't even come up with one he'd made for another relationship. He'd had girlfriends in the past eight years. None more important than his work or his company. They'd all fizzled, something that hadn't bothered him. By the time the relationships were over he was finished with them, as well. He hadn't felt this urge to hang on to anything or anyone ever before.

He pushed his body until his lungs strained with the effort. The one thought running through his brain was that he'd rather be at home.

With Ainsley.

“G
RAN, HE'S BACK.”

This time Ainsley didn't need to see the trail of dust coming down the driveway; the loud hum of his car warned her.

“Of course he is, dear. He said he would be.”

It had been three days since their fight. Three days since she'd seen or heard from him. Three days since he'd left without another word between them.

It was proof positive that she'd made the right decision in refusing his offer to come to Atlanta.

And she had no desire to see him now. No desire and no reason. Getting up from the table, she left the breakfast dishes sitting where they were and slipped out the back door. They rarely had reason to use it, but today she'd found one.

He'd be here long enough to drop off his overnight bag—because that's all he'd need for this stay—before heading back into town to sign the sale papers. It should
be easy enough to avoid him for the next twenty-four hours.

She'd already begun packing her things; most of what she had left was odds and ends.

Luke had hired movers who would be here in the next week to box and ship everything of Gran's to Atlanta. She'd helped Gran pack what she'd need until her things arrived. Tonight would be their last night in the old house. Tomorrow they'd all be leaving, going their separate ways.

And if the thought of that made her heart ache enough to have her pressing her palm to her chest, at least she knew she'd be able to make a fresh start.

She'd be able to leave all of this behind, the memories, the sadness and the pain. She'd never forget Alex, Logan and Pops—they'd always be with her, in her heart and mind.

She found herself in front of Alex's grave. She supposed it was inevitable that one of the final places she'd want to visit was here.

She folded her limbs beneath her and collapsed onto the soft grass covering her son's grave. With a hand pressed to the sun-warmed granite, she began talking to him. It wasn't something she did often, as she'd never really had the chance to speak to him in person, to build that kind of relationship between them. It felt sort of like the one-sided conversations they'd had when she'd carried him inside her body.

“I think leaving you is the hardest. Somehow, having you close all these years helped. At least I think it did.”

She patted the stone as if she were patting her son's head. “Don't blame your daddy, though, Alex. He just… He has reasons for what he does even if we don't always understand.”

Over the past few days she'd thought long and hard about what had happened between them, then and now. It had taken her a while to really understand that Luke's inability to keep this place, his inability to share himself or commit to her was a result of fear. Fear of losing someone else. Better not to let them matter.

It made her sad to think of how lonely he'd be. “I worry about him. One day he's going to wake up alone and realize it's too late.”

It had taken her just as long to understand that she couldn't change him. Or the circumstances. It sucked that she'd fallen in love with a man who refused to open himself up to anyone. But somewhere during one long and lonely night she'd decided that he was the one missing out. On her and on life.

But she couldn't make him embrace life, or her, if he didn't want to.

She could only control her own actions.

“Keep an eye on him for me, my beautiful baby boy.”

 

L
UKE STOPPED
. H
E COULD
see Ainsley's head just above the rise of the hill. He moved closer, using the trees as cover. He didn't want to disturb her but he was also drawn to her presence, as if by some magnetic force he couldn't avoid.

He should have known she'd be here.

Her soft words were flung back to him on the wind. “I worry about him…”

He listened as she asked their son to watch over and protect him. Part of him wanted to go to her, to gather her in his arms and promise her that everything would be okay.

As he watched she pushed up from the ground and brushed off the seat of her shorts. She placed a kiss to her palm and pressed it to the top of the headstone. Then she turned around and walked away.

She headed in the opposite direction from where he stood, out toward the orchard and the workers picking there. He'd come up from the house, driven by the need to say his last goodbye to his parents, brother, grandfather and the son he'd never met.

Unlike Ainsley, he had no idea what to say. Instead, he stopped a few moments by each grave, simply placing his hand on the stone and remembering. By the time he walked away, his mind was filled with childhood moments he'd shared with his brother and a smile was on his face. A piece of comfort he hadn't expected today.

He returned to the house, walking into the kitchen to find his grandmother sitting at the table, her favorite mug cradled in her hands.

He hadn't done more than kiss her cheek and tell her hello when he'd walked in a little while ago. Now she looked up at him, her eyes bright and full of life like he hadn't seen them in weeks.

“Sit down.”

The words were definitely a command from the sergeant who'd run most of his life. He sat.

“Ainsley finally told me what you two fought about on that last day. I want you to know that she wasn't the one who did all those things. I was.”

“I know.” Luke looked across at his grandmother, at the fierce purpose that glowed in her eyes, a purpose that had been missing for longer than he probably knew. It had taken him a little while to figure out what had happened. Once he'd admitted to himself that he really believed Ainsley and began searching for a different answer, it hadn't taken him long.

Gran was the only other person with access to everything she'd needed to sabotage the sale. The fact that he hadn't thought she had the capacity to devise such a plan and carry it out was his fault. He'd underestimated her, something he should have known better than to do.

“I did it. I tore up your phone messages, threw away Ainsley's paperwork, changed the broker's appointment and hid the letter in the pile of junk mail. I did those things. Ainsley doesn't have a devious bone in her body and if you don't already know that then you're a bigger imbecile than I thought.”

It was the longest speech he'd heard from his grandmother in over eight years. He'd gotten used to her simple sentence answers and single-word requests. At the moment part of him wished that frail woman back.

“Why? If you didn't want to leave that much you should have said something.”

“Like that would have made a difference. But this has
nothing to do with leaving the orchard. Your grandfather and I knew that was a likelihood if he gave the orchard to you. You think he would have made that kind of decision without talking to me about it? This was about you and Ainsley.”

That puzzled him. He'd expected to hear her say something about not wanting to leave the home she'd known for most of her life. “How was sabotaging the sale of the orchard for me and Ainsley?”

“You belong together. At least I thought you did until three days ago. But it looks like I was wrong.” She raised her eyes, filled with sadness and disappointment, to his. “The two of you just can't seem to get things right. I'm all for fighting for what you want but love shouldn't be that difficult. It should be something that fills your soul not causes the kind of pain I saw you both going through.”

He should probably be angry. Part of him was, but not enough to do anything about what she was saying. “You did all this to meddle in my love life?”

She shrugged. Honest to God, shrugged and said, “I was wrong.”

For that he really did want to stomp around and shout at her. But he also wanted to lean over and smack a kiss to her cheek. No matter what he'd done, as a boy, teenager, or headstrong man, she'd been there for him and loved him. Unconditionally. And she'd always welcomed him home with open arms and not a single word of recrimination.

That was the kind of acceptance you just couldn't find everywhere.

She shuffled over to him, laying her palm across the ridge of his cheek. “You do what you need to, Luke. Whatever you decide is fine with me.”

Gran left him alone, standing in the heart of the house that he'd grown up in. The quiet pressed in against his chest and suddenly what he wanted more than anything was to get out.

Snatching the keys from the counter, he headed to the drive, dropped into the waiting leather seat and pushed his Jag to the limits of its motor as he raced into town.

He arrived for the closing early, but it didn't seem to matter. The lawyer, his Realtor and the Kincaids all arrived within five minutes of him. They were as eager as he was to get this over with.

They all took their seats around the flashy boardroom table in the conference room at the lawyer's office. A stack of papers sat in front of him, waiting for his signature.

He'd been through this before. Well, not this precise moment but many like it. Ready to sign his life away on the dotted line so to speak. He signed off on multimillion-dollar contracts every week. This was nothing.

So why did his pen hover above the page, refusing to move any closer?

He stared down at the black letters on the crisp white page as the lawyer droned in his ear about what they meant. He didn't actually hear the words, just the slow, smooth cadence of the man's voice as he detailed what went into selling his childhood home.

Never in a million years did Luke expect to be sitting
here, palms sweating, a weight centered in the middle of his chest, unable to actually sign the damn things.

Visions flashed through his mind, his brother, his grandfather, even a memory he'd forgotten until that very moment. A trip that he and Logan had taken to visit Gran and Pops with their parents after they'd just turned three.

He remembered the smile on his mother's face as she linked arms with his father and walked down the path beneath the trees. He and Logan had skipped ahead, playing hide-and-seek between the trunks.

Was it a real memory or one his subconscious had just made up? Did it matter?

He could see his family there, happy. He could see Ainsley there, the first time he'd noticed her, running through the trees in the moonlight. The way she'd looked this afternoon, her hand pressed to the top of Alex's grave.

“Mr. Collier?”

The lawyer leaned across the table, placing his hand against the sleeve of Luke's suit. He'd worn it today because he felt comfortable in it. It was what he was used to. But while he'd been at the farm, he'd gotten used to other things. Like having Ainsley in his life. Like the slower pace of farm living.

Like the happiness he'd found here with her.

He'd been back in Atlanta for three days. Three miserable and lonely days. He'd finally come to an agreement with Miyazaki, a better deal than he'd expected, actually.
He'd been very pleased. And the first person he'd wanted to tell was Ainsley. Ainsley, who wasn't there.

At first he'd been angry. Angry with her and with himself. She'd turned him down without even considering what moving to Atlanta could mean for them. But she'd been right. Not once had he considered her plans before he'd made the request.

How could he become so addicted to someone in such a short amount of time? He honestly couldn't envision his life without Ainsley in it. Fighting with her. Loving her. Sharing his days with her. When he looked at his future she was there. She always had been.

The one woman he couldn't live without no matter how hard he'd tried.

He couldn't do it. He simply couldn't sign the papers and give it all up.

Ainsley and the orchard were tied together so tightly he couldn't have one without the other. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted Ainsley. And if that meant keeping this place for her, then that's what he'd do.

Looking across the table to the couple waiting there, he set down his pen and apologized. “I'm sorry. I don't think I can sell after all.”

Mrs. Kincaid looked flabbergasted. Mr. Kincaid just looked angry. Luke quickly headed off the argument he could see coming.

“I'll be happy to double your earnest money. And if we ever do decide to sell I'll give you first right of refusal.”

Pushing away from the table, Luke signaled the end to the conversation. It was his decision to make and he'd made it.

“If you'll excuse me, there's a woman I need to go find.”

 

A
INSLEY LIFTED A SUITCASE
into the trunk of her car. It was the same beat-up Civic she'd had for ten years now. She hardly ever drove it…hardly had a reason to. Tomorrow she'd drive away from this place for good. She hoped she would never look back but realized it was probably too much to expect.

There were a couple of boxes and another suitcase sitting by the far left tire, waiting their turn to be loaded.

She reached for the second suitcase, but slowed halfway there. Bent as she was, she could see straight down the driveway. This time, she saw the tail of dust before she heard the racing engine that signaled Luke's return.

Clenching her teeth tight together, she purposely turned her head so she could no longer watch his approach and continued putting everything she owned into the trunk.

His tires spun on the gravel as he skidded to a stop several feet away. The sharp ping and protesting sound of the small stones being thrown made her frown. What was wrong with him?

The car door slammed with enough force to make her cringe.

She ignored that, too.

He walked over to her, the sound of his feet heavy
on the ground between them. She could see the tips of his shoes, polished and perfect. She'd bet they were real handmade leather and cost more than all of her possessions combined.

“What are you doing?”

She bent for the last box, looking up at him from her prone position as she tried to get a good grip on the uncooperative surface. The box was big and unwieldy and if they'd been in a happier place she would have asked him to lift it for her.