“So?” I hear him say, my head resting on his broad chest. “You want to quit your day job and be an orange farmer, don’t you.”
I smile, stretching my legs out around a crate by my feet. There are fifteen of them taking up space on the wagon we pulled out here behind the tractor, which we’re now lying on. “Depends. Is the tractor ride a daily perk?” As sore as I am from last night and this morning, the second Ben had my pants off, I couldn’t climb onto his lap fast enough. Anyone who might be hiding out here just got one hell of show.
He chuckles but doesn’t answer.
“Do you?” I finally ask.
“Sometimes. It’s relaxing out here. I have so many great memories, with my brothers and sister. But . . .” His voice fades. I lift my head to catch that far-off look in his eyes, Ben losing himself in a thought. “I didn’t work my ass off through law school for nothing. And then I’d be dealing with that mess,” he says, throwing a lazy hand toward the house. “It would cost a fortune to renovate that place, and what the hell am I going to do with it?”
“Is it just because of that?” Something tells me it has more to do with the mess in the barn.
He opens one eye and peers down at me. “What? You think just because I let you pick my oranges, you get to ask all kinds of personal questions now?”
I’m not sure if he’s bothered by my question but, judging by the proud grin on his face, I’m pretty sure his “pick my oranges” reference has nothing to do with fruit. I reach up to flick his ear. “I thought they were tangerines.”
“Ow!” he whines, but it’s followed up by a smile as he grabs my hand and pulls it down to rest beneath his on his chest. I wait quietly, staring at him until he finally speaks. “I remember noticing the whiskey on my dad’s breath when I was around ten. Mama says he wasn’t always this bad. Apparently he barely drank when they got married. He was a different man back then, she says. Maybe that’s true. All I know is it kept getting worse, until I was embarrassed when anyone came over.”
I feel for him. At least Annabelle could usually hold her liquor well. But on those nights when she didn’t, I went to Lina’s house instead of having her come over. Lina’s parents don’t even touch alcohol.
“He liked to go out on Friday nights. When I was about sixteen, he started going out and not coming home until the next morning. He never said where he was, and when I asked him, he’d just tell me to mind my own damn business. It drove me nuts, because I knew what it was doing to Mama. She’d come down from her room, her eyes all puffy and with dark circles from lack of sleep. Sometimes I’d walk past her door and hear her crying.
“Turns out Mama knew where he was, what he was doing—or who he was doing—all along.”
“So your dad had an affair?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it an affair. More like he’d get drunk and fuck anyone who gave him an opening. Pretty much anything he could pick up at the bar. He’d been doing it for years. He was a good-looking man. He got a lot of attention.”
Poor Wilma. “Does he still do it?”
Ben snorts. “Doubt the guy can even get it up anymore. He’s got more whiskey than blood running through his veins nowadays. But he went into a deep depression after the accident and hasn’t had much interest in . . . anything, really. I don’t know that he’s even left the property in the last few years. He can’t drive himself anywhere with only the one arm. Orders his booze by the case, delivered right to the barn.”
“Wow.” I turn my head to rest against Ben’s chest once again, listening to his heart hammer against its confines. “I can’t believe she stayed with him.”
“Yeah, well, marriage makes people do stupid things, I guess.” There’s a pause. “Like wasting time on guys who cheat and then marry their mistresses.”
I roll my eyes. I knew that was coming. “Well, have no fear. I don’t think I’ll be hearing from him again, thanks to you.” Ben handed me my phone back this morning and there was no follow-up text.
I never responded to Jared, either. I don’t know what to say, and I’m taking my new lawyer’s advice and not putting anything incriminating in writing.
“I hope not.” Suddenly my body is turning and I find myself on my back with Ben’s face hovering above me and his big arms on either side of my head. Clear blue skies stretch out beyond.
This. Right here. Right now. I think I could be an orange farmer if it meant relaxed days, peace and quiet, Ben.
Shit.
“You look like you’re about to scream,” Ben muses, his knuckles finding their way to my cheek to softly graze it.
I think I am. At myself.
Did last night just mess everything up between Ben and me?
Do I want more now?
I peer up to find an odd expression on his face as he studies me. “What is that look for?”
“Not sure yet,” he answers cryptically, dipping down to lay a quick peck on my neck. “Come on—dinner’s going to be ready soon.” As if on cue, Ben’s phone chirps.