What Might Have Been (3 page)

She finally looked at him. Not the sideways glances she'd been giving him since he'd sat down and invaded her space but a full-on stare that set the acid in his stomach to roiling. He didn't like the expression in her eyes, yet he couldn't look away.

“With any luck you can be home by Friday night.”
And out of my life
was left unspoken but hung between them anyway.

“Actually, I expect I'll be here for a couple weeks, at least. Until I can get everything in order to sell. I might have to come back and forth until it's all final but—”

“So you're selling.” Something about the inevitability in her tone of voice bothered him. It was the logical choice. Of course she'd have expected it. Right?

“Obviously. I can't stay here, Ainsley.”

“Of course not. You've moved heaven and earth not to be tied to this place. Why would anything change that now?”

Ainsley turned to stare once more at the book open in front of her, hiding her face and her eyes from him.

“I wanted to ask…what are your plans?”

“Plans?”

“After I sell the farm. I mean you've been here for a long time. I just didn't know…” His words trailed off. He wasn't exactly sure how to finish the statement his brain had started without thinking.

Ainsley laughed, a broken, scraping sound that was so unlike the pleasant tinkle of laughter he remembered that it seemed to burrow beneath his skin and itch. Relentless and uncomfortable, like chiggers.

“It's a little late for you to start worrying about me now, Luke. I'll be fine.”

“It's not that…” Again, he let his words trail off, realizing that this time they'd come out completely wrong. He hadn't meant them the way she was sure to take them. Of course he had worried about her. Not that she'd want to hear that. “I just didn't know when you were planning on leaving. I was hoping I could convince you to stay on until after the sale.”

He could see the emotions swirling behind her light blue eyes as she finally turned toward him again, a jumbled mess he couldn't decipher.

“I'll pay you, of course. More than enough to make up for any inconvenience.”

And then suddenly fury leaped away from the rest, filling her eyes with a glowing blue flame. Scraping back her chair, Ainsley snapped the ledger closed on the desk and walked around him. All the while her eyes burned, eating away at him inch by inch.

At the doorway she turned, one hand resting on the jamb. His eyes were drawn there by the subtle glitter
of a ring in the splash of sunlight. He recognized the ring immediately. His mother's wedding ring, the family heirloom his father had given her.

The fact that it was on her right hand instead of her left meant little. He knew where it had come from. Logan. And all over again he was reminded of a past he'd much rather forget.

And then her voice, low and sad pulled his attention back to her face.

Gone was the anger from moments before, replaced with a disappointment that was even worse. Anger he could deal with. Anger he could understand and recognize as an emotion he fought off and on himself in her presence. But he couldn't understand the disappointment, because she was everything he'd always known she would be when they'd been young and in love. Beautiful. Elegant. Confident. Sexy. Perfect.

Yet somehow, he wasn't what she'd wanted. Or expected.

But then, he never had been, had he?

“When did you become such an asshole?”

Her question rocked him back on his heels, almost literally. So unlike her. Maybe she wasn't exactly what he'd imagined, after all.

Before he could respond she was gone.

 

A
INSLEY WAS SO MAD
. With him and with herself for the awareness she didn't want and couldn't seem to shake. Even as the emotion rolled through her body she realized her reaction was off. She was responding to something
above and beyond what Luke had said and was about to do.

But that was only part of it. Some of the anger was real and deserved. How could he uproot his grandmother from the life she'd always known? How could he ignore the memory of his family—his father, mother and brother—who were all buried on the hill overlooking the house? How could he simply walk away from everything?

How could he not feel a tie to the people who had mattered in his life? It bothered her. And she realized even as the reactions settled in that she was partly projecting her own emotions onto him. She'd have moved heaven and earth to have the kind of family he'd grown up with, people who'd loved him and supported him unconditionally…even as he'd disappointed them.

She'd never had that and couldn't understand how he could just throw it all away.

She wasn't surprised. Not if she was entirely honest with herself. Hell, he'd done it once before. Twice if she admitted that some small corner of her mind had hoped when he'd returned for his brother's funeral eight years ago he might have stayed. For her. He hadn't.

He hadn't even come to the hospital to visit her. Weak from her own injuries and the loss of the baby, she hadn't been allowed to attend Logan's funeral.

Some part of her had always been grateful that at least Luke had returned for that one day. Even if he hadn't cared enough to stay.

But that didn't mean she couldn't be angry with him now for doing what was best for him and not what was
best for his grandmother. It was exactly what she'd expect from him…but still, it was disappointing.

Logan had done so much—taking her in, offering her a family and a future when everything had seemed so bleak. In her heart, she'd known she was taking advantage of his generosity and love. But she hadn't had anyone else to turn to.

Abandoned by Luke. Disowned and discarded by her own father. Sick and threatened with losing her child if she didn't go on total bed rest. Without a home, a job, or a way to support herself she would have ended up losing the baby.

On her worst days after the accident, she'd wondered if that would have been better. She'd lost Alexander anyway. And Logan, as well. In the end, he'd paid for her mistakes with his life.

It was a terrible repayment for the help he'd given her.

Marrying her, he'd given her a home, a family, much-needed health insurance and the support of someone who'd cared for her.

If she'd often felt bad about not being able to return his love…she'd told herself it would come in time. And maybe it would have, if they'd had a chance.

But she doubted it. Every time she'd looked at Logan, she'd seen Luke instead. She'd been a coward, but what else could she have done?

She'd been honest with Logan. He'd always known. It was the only thing that made the guilt ease even a little. She'd made her choices, but then so had he.

She had to admit that part of her felt some small measure of relief at the thought of leaving this place. Yes, she loved it. With every last fiber of her being. It had become for her the happy, bright, loving home that she'd never had growing up. No one here had ever disapproved of her, berated her, belittled her intelligence or her choices. She'd blossomed here at Collier Orchards, finding her own inner strength and purpose in life.

But there was a part of her that felt life had simply been on hold for the past eight years. She'd stayed here out of obligation and affection for Gran and Pops, knowing that she was all they had. Logan had given her so much; she couldn't abandon his family when they needed her.

Despite his heart and drive, Pops had been too worn-out to carry on with the day-to-day operations of the orchard. For a while Logan had done that. When he was gone Ainsley had taken over.

Now the world was open to her. She'd dreamed of going back to college, finishing the degree she'd abandoned upon finding out she was pregnant. She even had applications sitting on the desk in the office. She'd submitted a couple of long shots, and had meant to fill out the others so many times. But money, time and location were all obstacles she hadn't been able to overcome.

Now she could take the chance.

She could start a new life for herself and maybe forget the loss in this one.

She didn't have much. She'd saved a little money over
the years. She had no problems working. She'd find her way. And this time she'd do it on her own.

Because she could.

As long as she didn't commit murder first. A few days, a couple weeks at the most. Surely, she could survive living in the house with Luke for that long.

The memory of him standing in the doorway to the office flashed across her mind.

He was tall and lean. There was an edge to him that hadn't been there the last time she'd seen him. Hard. Lonely. And yet, she knew the softness of the dreamer he'd once been. She wondered if it was still there, beneath the polished stone surface or if the no-holds-barred world of corporate America had beaten it out of him.

Why did she care?

Unfortunately, he still intrigued her. She didn't want him to. And yet, she couldn't seem to keep her eyes off him. The moment he entered a room she was aware of him in a way that she'd never experienced with anyone else.

It was disconcerting, and she'd expected more from herself.

Her resolve would have to be stronger.

But he'd shown zero interest in her since he'd walked in the door. Well, aside from wanting to make sure she'd stay on until he sold the place.

And that didn't bother her at all. The fact that he'd thrown money in her face did. He'd assumed it would take more than her affection for Gran and common
human decency to keep her here. She wondered whether his assumption said something about him or her.

What really bothered her, though, was that while he'd sat on the desk, his tight, suit-clad thigh practically shoved in her face, she'd been trying desperately to ignore her yawning and stretching libido. And he'd been giving her sidelong glances, not to look at her cleavage, but to eyeball the open accounts ledger.

It was humiliating that she could feel this way. Still. Over Luke.

L
UKE STARED AT THE CRACKED
ceiling. His head was pillowed on his folded arms, a single sheet draped across his naked body to the waist.

For about three seconds he'd felt weird sleeping nude with his grandmother two doors down. But this was what he preferred and with summer beginning to set in, he'd quickly remembered how bad the insulation in this old house really was. The ancient and inadequate air conditioner simply couldn't keep up with the creeping heat.

Despite the fact that he was jet-lagged beyond belief, he couldn't sleep. Certainly the temperature wasn't helping, but it was really the woman next door that was frying his brain. Each and every time he closed his eyes, memories of the past surfaced. The darkening of her eyes with passion. The breathy sound she made when she came. He'd wondered if she'd still do that.

And then he'd wondered if his brother had heard the same sound.

He'd spent the past hour vacillating between pounding arousal and rushing resentment.

And here he'd thought he'd come to terms with the situation years ago. Not as if he could do anything about it now. The past was done and his brother was dead. End of story.

But something in him said it was unfinished. They were unfinished.

He heard the creak of the floorboards outside his door. The soft and slow tread of feet against worn wood.

He knew who it was. There were only two other people in this house and Gran wasn't strong enough to walk with that quiet grace.

Maybe that's why he was here. Now. So they could finish this. So that he could truly move on.

The moan of a stair galvanized him and before he realized what he was doing he was out of bed.

He pulled on a pair of worn jeans he'd draped across the footboard, not bothering to do up the snap as he slipped into the hallway.

A single light burned from the kitchen, illuminating the stairs and the house below in a weak, watered-down light. He couldn't see her but he could hear the slap of the front door as it closed.

Curiosity and the remnants of a desire he didn't want had him following her.

As he watched, she slipped into the orchard at the edge of the deep green lawn. Even here, peach trees, the reason for their existence were always just steps away
from the front door, a reminder of the pressure of who and what he was.

A flash of the memory he'd had earlier in the day returned, overlaying the past with the present in a way that left him shaken and a bit disoriented.

This time she didn't run through the trees with happiness and abandon. Instead, she trailed her hand slowly across one trunk, the pull of the bark almost holding on to her hand, unwilling to let it go, until she was reaching for another. As if she was unable to continue walking if she wasn't touching at least one. She moved, dreamlike from tree to tree, weaving in and out of them in a figure-eight pattern that played peekaboo with his line of sight.

Time seemed to unravel, the years and the hurt and the guilt and the anger melting away as she ghosted down the path ahead of him.

He could go back again and start over. The question was, would he do things differently?

He didn't know.

For some reason he was drawn to watch her in silence, staying back several yards, moving in and out of the shadows himself to stay hidden. There was something about her, about the tilt of her shoulders and her heavy footsteps that held him back.

She didn't want company, certainly not his, and he had no idea what to say to her anyway. There'd been a time he would have understood immediately what she was thinking, what she needed. Not anymore.

Part of him missed the feeling of knowing someone almost as well as he knew himself. He'd shared it with
Logan, until they'd begun to grow apart. He'd shared it with Ainsley.

She stopped in the middle of the orchard, her hand resting lightly against the rough trunk of the tree. She looked up through the canopy above, reaching on tiptoe to pull a round orb of fruit from a limb.

He expected her to rub the dirt from it and take a huge bite. He remembered the immediate burst of juice and fruit in his mouth when he'd eaten a ripe peach straight from the tree as a child. He could almost feel the cool roll of the juices down the back of his throat, sweet and sticky on his fingers.

His own mouth began to water. But she didn't eat it. Instead, she wrapped it tight in the center of her two hands, rubbing it back and forth across her palms as if to caress the soft downy skin.

The gesture was almost absent, probably something she'd done more times than she could count.

He could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest on a sigh as she stared at the dark patch of star-studded sky. After a few moments, she slipped her hand into her pocket and left the fruit there. It was a round bulge at the outside of her thigh.

She walked through to the west of the property. It took him a few minutes to realize what her destination was. He was shocked when he finally did.

The family graveyard lay this way, about halfway back.

In typical fashion, the small square of land was surrounded by a low-slung, black wrought-iron fence. There
was a small gate, big enough only for one person to pass through at a time.

The space was beginning to get crowded; he could see the march of headstones, worn and moss-covered in the back and new and shiny in the front.

His family history. He should probably feel something, standing on the edges of so much history. He didn't. Or rather, he did for his brother, whose stone would be one of the newest. He'd never actually seen it, though, as he'd left before it was placed. He didn't feel anything—not curiosity, connection or obligation—for the ones further back. For the people he'd never known.

Even his parents, who'd died when he and Logan were three, were distant memories of people who'd hardly shaped his life.

Perhaps in a few days, when Pops disappeared into the ground, he'd feel more.

At the moment, what interested him was Ainsley.

Instead of going inside as he'd expected—to visit Logan, he supposed—she stopped to the far right of the fence. Leaning her back against a tree, she let it take her weight, her body almost bowing over itself.

He wondered what she was doing here, staring out across the lonely space, until the clouds shifted across the moon and a shaft of light filtered down over her face.

Then he realized she was crying.

Silent and alone.

 

S
HE HADN'T MEANT TO COME HERE
. It had been the last place she'd wanted to visit tonight—her emotions,
jumbled up and complicated as they were, too close to the surface. But she'd been drawn here, almost against her will.

Maybe it was Luke. It was inevitable that she'd think of Alexander with him so close. And Logan, of course.

Her son and husband were both buried inside the fence in front of her. She couldn't seem to make herself enter. Not tonight.

It had taken her months to visit the first time. Months for her to forgive herself, God, Luke and the world for what had happened to her son. Months for her to realize tragedy happened.

Seeing Luke brought some of it back.

What she had missed, what she had needed, in those first few lonely days had been someone to hold her and tell her it would be all right. It might have been a lie but that hadn't mattered.

But no one had been here. It had taken her a while to finally work up the strength to tell herself what she'd needed to hear. She'd found an inner strength she hadn't known she possessed.

However, when the nightmares came as they had tonight, the visions of the crash and the hazy memories of sharp, searing pain and loss, sometimes she still wanted someone to hold her and tell her it would be okay. She wanted what she'd had with Luke before it had all gone so wrong.

She was finally ready to move on, to find that kind of kinship and connection with another human being. To share her soul and her life with someone else.

In a few weeks she'd be able to do just that. To put the past behind her and move forward.

Maybe that's what her nightmares and the tears tonight were for. A goodbye.

Inside her pocket, her fingers worried the flesh of the peach that she'd plucked. She'd planned on eating it when she'd first reached up and then at the last minute couldn't do it. Memories of picking fruit from these same trees with Luke, of him licking the juice from her chin, lips and fingers, had stolen the joy from the moment.

It was almost as if her body had been lying dormant all these years, waiting for him to return and spark her pilot light.

She resented it.

And yet, she'd take it as a sign that her life was finally starting up again, as well.

Tears rolled down her face, plopping quietly onto the ground at her feet. She cried for what they'd had, what they'd lost and the future they'd never had the opportunity to explore.

She was alone and she let them go. Better here, now, surrounded only by the orchard, than later with Gran. Or Luke.

At least she thought she was alone, until his arms came around her.

She knew immediately that it was him. Her body responded in the primitive way only he seemed to force from her.

Even as her shoulders strained toward him, she pulled her spine away.

“What are you doing?”

“Holding you.”

“I didn't ask you to.”

“You didn't have to.”

His strength was more than she could fight. Giving in, Ainsley let herself go slack in his arms. Their bodies collided, shoulders to chest, breasts to abs, knees to thigh. She let him take her weight, her arms lax at her sides.

His heat enveloped her, warmth surrounding her. It should have been uncomfortable in the oppressive air. It wasn't.

Twisting her head, she laid her cheek on the swell of his chest. She realized her tears had stopped almost as suddenly as they'd started.

His chin rested on the crown of her head. She could feel the brush of his lips against the strands of her hair. She shouldn't be able to feel such a minute sensation, but somehow everything the man did registered in her brain. On her body.

She sucked in a heavy breath. He smelled of the night. Dark. Different. More wild in a way, and yet somehow still the same.

“Tell me why you're crying.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It's private.”

He paused and shifted against her.

“There was a time when you could tell me any thing.”

“There was a time when I didn't have to. You already knew. That time is gone.”

She began to push back, leaning more heavily into the tree behind her.

And yet, he wouldn't let her go. Instead, he followed her, this time pressing his body into hers instead of the other way around.

His hold had changed, gone from comforting to wanting in the space of a few breaths. She could feel it in the tension of his muscles, the edge of leashed anticipation that coursed beneath the surface of his skin.

The same sensation surfed through her own blood now.

He reached down and wiped a single finger across the blade of her cheekbone. It came away wet with the traces of her tears.

At his touch, a shiver rocked her from her scalp to the soles of her feet, leaving lightning licking across her skin.

He didn't wait for her response; instead, he leaned in and placed his lips on the point his finger had just traced, at the edge of her hairline.

His breath was warm on her face. She could smell the bitter dregs of coffee and the sweet tinge of sugar. He'd taken a cup upstairs with him after dinner.

She sucked in a breath as the tip of his tongue darted out to trail the smallest line across her cheekbone and straight to her lips.

She could taste the salt of her tears on his tongue as he followed the line of her closed lips.

She couldn't help it. She opened for him, gasping in anticipation and denial.

He moved immediately, taking more than she'd ever thought to offer. In one fleeting moment his kiss went from gentle and soothing to hard and demanding.

His hands wrapped around the nape of her neck, bowing her up and bringing her closer to his body. She could feel all of him. The powerful, lean muscles beneath his skin. The strength he hid behind his corporate facade. The proof of his desire, long and hard between them.

He fused his mouth to hers, pushing in and taking whatever he wanted. And she was powerless to stop him. Not because she lacked the strength to pull away. Not because he would have kept her there if she hadn't wanted him to. But because she couldn't find the will to douse the fire he'd ignited deep inside her belly.

A fire that had been nonexistent for far too long.

His teeth nipped at the edge of her bottom lip, sucking it deep into his mouth. Then he let it go, trailing the heat of his kisses down the curve of her exposed neck.

She whimpered. His mouth felt so good, starting a burning ache at the center of her sex.

Her head rolled back against the tree trunk and her eyes popped open as his teeth grazed the pulse pounding at the edge of her collarbone.

And her gaze landed squarely on Alexander's grave. The small white stone with the single carved angel.

This time her sharp intake of breath had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with self-disgust. What was wrong with her?

This man had been the catalyst for every bad moment in her life. He'd abandoned her just when she had needed him most. He'd turned his back on everything they'd shared, on the life they could have had together. Six hours in his presence and she was panting for more.

Slapping her hands to his chest, she scrabbled for enough purchase to push him away.

Immediately, he stepped back.

They were both breathing hard. His eyes, the color of a new spring leaf, glittered at her in the moonlight. She could see the heat in them, knew the same desire smoldered in her own.

She held up her hands and took a few steps back from him and from her own body's betrayal.