“It’s fine. It is. I guess . . . people have to make their own choices. Even if it’s not what I want for my brother, I can’t force him to be something else. He has to be true to himself.”
Jethro gave my forearm a squeeze. “If he does change his mind, I’ll be happy to talk to him. If you want.”
“Thank you. That’s kind of you.” I studied his profile, seeing he was being sincere. “You could talk to him about being a park ranger and what that’s like.”
He released my arm and shrugged. “Sure, I could. But I just let Drew know I’m giving my notice next spring.”
“What? Why? What happened?”
“The baby happened. When the baby comes, I’m staying home.” His grin returned and this time it was massive. “I’m going to be a stay-at-home dad,” he announced proudly.
My mouth fell open in surprise, but also excitement for him and Sienna. “That’s so awesome. I’m really happy for you, Jethro.”
“Thank you, Jennifer.” He split his attention between the road and me. “I’m really happy for you, too.”
“You’re happy for me?”
“Yep. Look at you. You don’t look a thing like a Banana Cake Queen.”
I glanced at what I was wearing—Roscoe’s old slippers, my jeans that I’d slept in, Sienna’s Harvard sweatshirt—I’m sure I looked a mess. And that made me laugh.
“No. I guess I don’t look like the Banana Cake Queen.”
“And the world didn’t end.”
“No. It didn’t.” I lifted my chin proudly and turned my attention to the passing scenery while I considered what that meant.
I wasn’t the Banana Cake Queen. I didn’t live with my parents—though technically I didn’t live anywhere—and I had enough money to rent my own place. Life was happening and I was making it happen.
Well, technically the Winstons and Sienna Diaz were making it happen. But soon I’d pay them back.
My attention snagged on a farmhouse set off the road, white with navy shutters and well-maintained window boxes, and I grabbed Jethro’s arm.
“Wait, turn in there.” I pointed to the driveway.
He pressed on the brake. “Here? Claire’s house?”
“That’s right. Claire’s house.” I pulled out my phone and searched for her name.
“Sure, but . . . why are we stopping here?”
“Because,” I selected her contact information and brought the cell to my ear, “I’m going to rent her house.”
He frowned at me, lifting an eyebrow. “I thought Cletus was going to rent it.”
I shook my head, resolve setting my jaw. “Not if I rent it first.”
CHAPTER 29
“Love brings to light a lover's noble and hidden qualities-his rare and exceptional traits: it is thus liable to be deceptive of his normal qualities.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
Jennifer
An amended plan took shape. And based on Ashley’s advice, it involved blackmail.
After the quick stop at Claire’s—and an even quicker phone call to the woman herself—Jethro was nice enough to swing by the Donner Bakery so I could retrieve an item from the gluten-free flour container. Then he took us back to the Winston house.
I wasn’t nervous. I was anxious.
Oh, heck. I was also nervous.
But I was determined.
Jethro insisted on carrying me into the house and I knew I looked a mess, but I didn’t have the energy to think about that. More important matters required my attention.
He opened the front door and we found a pacing Cletus by the fireplace. He lifted his eyes. His eyes weren’t blue today. They were greenish gray and they looked tired. He was suffering. When his gaze collided with mine, I felt the contact at the base of my throat and beneath my ribs. I ached for him.
Instinct had me wanting to reassure him, to tell him all was forgiven, to hold him close and kiss away his hurt.
But reason told me to hold my damn horses.
First, things needed discussing.
Then kissing.
Then more kissing.
“Hello, Cletus,” Jethro said, his tone impressively prosaic. “How are you?”
Cletus narrowed his eyes on his brother, then crossed the room to stand in front of us.
Ignoring his brother’s smirk—which was a remarkable achievement as Jethro’s smirk was extraordinary—Cletus addressed me. “Jennifer, may I carry you upstairs so we can discuss what has occurred?”
I hesitated.
I didn’t know if it was a good idea to be alone with him, not yet.
But then his eyes moved over my face, haunted and tortured and cherishing.
I said, “Yes, please.”
The anxiety drawing tension lines on his features eased, leaving his gaze still tortured, but mostly cherishing.
My heart fluttered in anticipation. Even though I was still holding on to my damn horses, I also still craved my man’s touch. I craved the feel of him, his warmth, his hands, and his mouth. I craved it all. I craved him.