Searching for Sunshine Page 13

  “But I need to know where this is headed,” Breanna protested. “I can’t just stumble around blindly, hoping for the best.”

  “That’s what we all do, Bree,” Gen said. “That’s dating and, hell, even marriage in a nutshell.”

  “Do we have any of that good cheese left?” Ryan asked, his head in the refrigerator and his backside pointing toward them.

  “Upper left corner, top shelf,” Gen told him.

  “That can’t be how it works,” Breanna said. “There’s got to be some sense to it all. Some … order.”

  Gen looked at her thoughtfully. “Have you ever thought that you’re a little bit controlling?”

  “I am not.” She turned to her brother to defend her. “Ry? Tell her I’m not controlling.”

  “I just came for cheese,” he said, holding up the item he’d just located in the depths of the refrigerator. “Now I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  * * *

  As Monday night approached, Breanna had to admit that Gen might have a point about her. If she weren’t controlling, would she be obsessing like this about where they might go, what they might do, what they might say to each other?

  Or, she had to admit, whether he might kiss her or even do quite a bit more than that?

  She needed to find her sense of inner calm. She needed to learn to let go of her anxieties and just let things be.

  Though she probably wasn’t going to learn all of that today.

  She hadn’t wanted Jake to pick her up at the ranch because she still didn’t want to bring her dating life to her sons’ attention. So they’d agreed to meet at Neptune.

  Breanna wore a dress—something she didn’t do all that often, living on a cattle ranch—and Jake looked almost impossibly handsome in dress slacks and a jacket, his button-down shirt open at the throat.

  As she followed him to their table, she caught a whiff of some spicy, musky cologne.

  “You look beautiful,” he told her, his hand resting on the small of her back as he pulled out her chair for her.

  Those words being murmured into her ear and the feel of his hand on her back electrified her, as though a current of desire were running through her veins where her blood should have been.

  She already knew she was in trouble.

  * * *

  Take it slow, Jake told himself as he walked Breanna to the table behind their hostess. That’s what she wants. Just take it one step at a time, slow and easy.

  But the way she looked in that dress caused all rational thought to dash from his mind like small woodland creatures fleeing a forest fire.

  The dress: black, short but not too short, body-skimming but tasteful, its neckline showing just enough creamy cleavage to make him forget where he was, what he was doing, even his own name. Her hair fell around her shoulders in dark, silky waves. Her eyes, deep and unfathomable, inviting a man to dive in and never emerge.

  Get hold of yourself, Travis.

  He willed himself to be a gentleman even while all of his instincts were screaming otherwise. They sat together like civilized people did, and he offered her the wine menu.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been to Neptune,” she told him. Candlelight danced on her skin, making it look warm and flawless.

  The dinner was interminable.

  The food was good, he supposed, but he barely noticed it. The wine, which he did notice, relaxed him just enough that he didn’t crawl out of his skin wanting her.

  He’d told himself to play it cool, but he knew he was going to have trouble with that before they’d even finished their dessert, before the check even arrived.

  You’re a civilized man with advanced brain function, he reminded himself. You are not going to fall on her like a lion on a gazelle.

  He would control himself if he had to; he knew he would. If she didn’t want him, he would say goodnight with grace and courtesy and admirable self-control. But if she did want him …

  Well, he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t be the lion and the gazelle.

  “Come back to my place?” he asked as they stood outside the restaurant, on the sidewalk on Main Street. “Please?”

  “Jake. I don’t know …”

  And here was the part where he had to be a better man than he wanted to be.

  “All right.” He nodded. “I had a lovely time. I’ll just walk you to your car.”

  But when they got to her car, she was the one who turned and, in one swift motion, threw herself into his arms and kissed him. She was the one on fire with need.

  She was the lion.

  He damn sure didn’t mind being the gazelle.

  * * *

  Breanna could not have said what flipped the switch, what happened between I don’t know and the moment she launched herself at him. She just wanted him, that was all. She wanted him in a way she’d rarely wanted anything. So many years now, she’d set aside her wants in favor of her children’s needs. She’d set aside her wants until they’d built up into a mountain so high she could barely see the top of it from where she stood.

  There were a thousand reasons to wait, to say no—or at least not yet. A thousand shoulds and shouldn’ts, a thousand fears. But her rational brain couldn’t do everything. It couldn’t control everything.

  It just wasn’t powerful enough to control this.

  If they’d been all over each other in a heat of unbridled need, she could have used that as an excuse, a reason she’d ignored her more rational nature. It might have been good to have an excuse. But they arrived at his house knowing exactly what they were doing, and exactly why.

  “Are you sure?” Jake asked as he led her through the front door, turning on lights and taking off his coat.

  “No,” she said. “And, yes.”

  “Look, I can take you home. This doesn’t have to happen today. I can just …”

  His words trailed off because she was sliding his jacket off his shoulders. It fell to the floor with a muffled whump.

  Her fingers were on his shirt, unhurried, sliding buttons through buttonholes slowly, one at a time.

  “Breanna.” The word was a plea and a promise.

  She took her time. Because she wanted to remember, she wanted every moment to be clear and vivid. Because she didn’t want, later, to blame anything on the heat of the moment. Because she wanted to be fully present and fully responsible for this, for everything.

  She was still as he turned her around, gently, and unzipped her dress. He matched her pace, slow and leisurely, easy and deliberate. But she knew it was anything but easy for him; she could hear the catch in his breath.

  The dress slipped down off of her shoulders, past her hips, and the fabric pooled at her feet.

  She turned to him, and he took in the beauty of her, the simple fact of her.

  She wasn’t perfect, she wasn’t some unattainable dream. Her face carried the marks of too much experience, too much life, for that. Her body showed the evidence of childbirth, of maturity and hard work.

  But looking at her like this, seeing her near bare and vulnerable in her bra and panties, he knew her. This wasn’t about perfection; it was about what was real. He wanted nothing more than to hold her and touch her and learn everything, all of the secrets of her heart.

  He put his hand on her cheek, then ran it slowly, slowly, down to her neck, her shoulder, her arm.

  She didn’t speak, but a sigh escaped her lips, a gentle breath of longing.

  They undressed each other the rest of the way with care and deliberation, then their bodies came together tentatively, that first touch of skin on skin like a whispered prayer.

  On the bed, they lay together with his body covering hers, and the feel of him, the way he looked at her, was everything. It was the past and the future, it was hope and ruin. It was a look back and the way forward.

  It would have been impossible not to think of Brian for just an instant, just a flash. Grief and pleasure, mixed as one. Because nothing real was ever one thing. It was eve
rything at once, everything good weighted with all that had happened before.

  Moments, impressions: a condom. A scar on his bicep from some long-ago wound. The rumple of sheets, the smell of him. The thrum of a car passing outside his window.

  And then he eased into her, and her body sighed.

  “Are you okay?” His voice a low murmur.

  A tear fell from her eye, and he brushed it away with his fingers.

  “Yes,” she said.

  21

  Afterward, Jake lay with Breanna in his arms, sated and warm.

  He had the sense that she’d gone somewhere, though. Somewhere unknowable, where he couldn’t follow.

  “Breanna? What are you thinking?” He ran a hand down her side, over the curve of her hip.

  She didn’t answer. Maybe she didn’t know. Or maybe she didn’t want him to know.

  “You’re not sorry we did this, are you?” he asked. “Because I really don’t want you to be sorry.”

  “I’m not.” She turned in his arms and looked at him, her face so open—the softness of her skin and the gentle curve of her lips. “It’s just complicated.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  She pulled away from him, drawing the sheet up around her to cover her breasts.

  This moment, right here, was going to be important, he sensed. This was where it could go wrong.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and got up, slipping out of the sheet and gathering up her clothes from the floor.

  “Don’t go,” he said.

  “I have to.”

  “Okay, then … not yet.”

  She didn’t turn around. “If I don’t go home, the boys …” She left the thought unfinished. Carrying her clothes in a bundle clutched to her chest, she walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

  He recognized what he’d heard in her voice, what he’d seen in her body language. It was shame.

  There was no way in hell he could let that stand. She would not be ashamed of what they’d done. Of him.

  * * *

  Breanna stood behind the bathroom door with her clothes in her arms, her eyes closed, trying to quiet her mind.

  A jumble of feelings was roiling around inside her, and they were coming at her so fast she didn’t know what to do with all of them.

  Jake had made her feel things—good and powerful things she’d thought were lost to her. But an irrational, undeniable part of her felt like an unfaithful wife. Because she’d never stopped being a wife, had she? Not when Brian had died. Not ever.

  She’d had sex since he’d died, of course. But that was just sex, and it could be dismissed as the very occasional release of a physical need.

  This was different. This hadn’t been just sex. She and Jake had made love, and that was something she hadn’t done since Brian.

  She needed time to process it, that was all.

  She got dressed, put herself back together the best she could, took a few deep breaths, and then came back out into the bedroom. Jake was standing there in a pair of jeans, his chest bare, his hair tousled.

  The hurt on his face shot straight to her heart.

  “So, you’re going, then.”

  “I have to be home for the boys.”

  “That’s not all this is.” His eyes were on her so intently that she had to look away.

  “No,” she admitted. “It’s not. I just have to think.”

  He nodded, his jaw tight. “All right. Think. Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  * * *

  Breanna was a mature woman, but she felt like a naïve girl. She felt like a fool.

  She’d considered what would happen if she slept with Jake. She just hadn’t considered what would happen if it meant so much.

  Sex was one thing. If she wanted to give her body to someone for a bit of mutual pleasure, what was wrong with that? But this hadn’t been just her body. This had been her heart.

  She’d succumbed to the bane of every sixteen-year-old girl who lost her virginity on prom night: She’d become too emotionally involved.

  She drove home to the ranch berating herself for her stupidity.

  Was it wrong to have sex with someone you had feelings for? No. Of course not. The problem was, the sex could make you feel things you weren’t ready to feel.

  Breanna was definitely not ready to have these feelings that were swirling around inside her.

  Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  She parked in front of the house and got ready to do the walk of shame. Was it still the walk of shame when you were home at a reasonable hour with your hair tidied up and all of your undergarments accounted for? It didn’t matter. It felt like the walk of shame, and she willed her family to take no notice of her as she slipped into the house and headed toward the stairs.

  Breanna’s father, Orin, was just coming out of the kitchen, his slippers on his feet and a mug of tea in his hand.

  “Oh. Hey there, hun.” He seemed surprised to see her—though Orin seemed surprised by any number of things that someone else might take for granted: rain, running out of toothpaste, meatloaf for dinner.

  “Hi, Dad. I’m just gonna …” She pointed up the stairs to indicate her intentions.

  “Have a good time?” In the overhead light, his scalp shone through a layer of hair so thin it was mostly symbolic.

  “Yeah. I did. I’d better get upstairs.”

  “You okay?” He squinted at her.

  “Yes. Fine. Why?”

  “You look kinda … flushed.” He gestured vaguely toward her with the mug, the tag from the teabag swinging.

  If even her father, the least observant of her family members, could see that something was up, she had no hope at all if she ran into her mother.

  “It’s just … hot, that’s all.”

  He looked at her in puzzlement. “It’s about, what, fifty degrees outside? And it can’t be more than sixty-eight in here. Why, with your mother and the power bill …”

  “In the car,” she said, scrambling. “I meant, it was hot in the car. I had the heater on high. I’m just going to … go now.” She turned and hurried up the stairs and into the safety of her room.

  * * *

  The next day, she made the decision to play it as though the date were no big thing. She should have predicted that Gen would see through that as though Breanna were wearing a sign that said, CONFUSED AND TROUBLED AFTER GREAT SEX. Now that she thought about it, a sign would have eliminated a great deal of bothersome talking.

  Breanna went through her usual Tuesday morning routine—helping to make breakfast, getting the boys ready for school, putting a load of laundry into the washing machine—feeling hopeful that maybe she could avoid the topic altogether.

  But those hopes were dashed when Gen stopped by the house on her way to work, clicking across the kitchen floor on her high heels, one of her black gallery dresses on, her curly red hair piled on top of her head.

  “So? How was it? Spill!” Gen demanded, scooting up onto a barstool at the kitchen island.

  “Where’s J.R.?” Breanna attempted to change the subject. “I thought Sandra was watching him today.”

  “Ryan’s taking the morning off to have a little father-son bonding time. And speaking of people spending time together …” She batted her eyelashes at Breanna meaningfully.

  “That’s sweet,” Breanna said. “Ryan and J.R., I mean. What are they going to do together? I’ll bet J.R. would like the park down in Morro Bay. Even though he’s too little to do anything, he could watch the other kids, and maybe—”

  “You’re stalling,” Gen said.

  Exasperated, Breanna tossed her hands into the air. “It was fine. The date was fine. It was … a date!”

  “Uh oh,” Gen said.

  “Why? What is the ‘uh oh’ for? I said it was fine, and it was.”

  “Ah, jeez. What happened?” Gen looked at her in sympathy.

  “You know what? I kind of don’t want to talk about it
.”

  “Oh, Bree. I really had hopes for you and Jake. Was it awful? Did he—I don’t know—talk about his ex the entire time? Or pick his teeth at the table?”

  “No.”

  “No to which one?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “Then what—”

  Breanna could feel herself on the verge of tears, and she turned to Gen with a pleading look. “Thank you for caring. Really. I mean it. But … I’m not ready to talk about it. About any of it.”

  Gen plunked down off of the barstool, then went over to Breanna and pulled her into a hug. “Okay. But I’m here if you want to talk. All right?”

  Breanna nodded.

  “I have to go to work,” Gen said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Go on, you’ll be late.”

  Gen left, shooting a concerned look at Breanna as she went.

  Breanna was sure this wasn’t going to be the end of it.

  22

  Jake slept in a little that morning—he’d told the crew not to show up at the work site until ten—then took Sam out for a stroll around the neighborhood, showered, and headed into town for coffee. Of course, he could have made some himself, but he was feeling out of sorts, and he needed to be around people and activity.

  He was at Jitters on Main Street, waiting in line to place his order, when he saw Gen Porter walking past on the sidewalk outside the big front window, heading in the direction of her gallery.

  Gen glanced into the coffeehouse, did a double-take when she saw him, came skidding to a stop, and reversed course and came into the shop.

  “Jake!” She headed straight for him, balancing on heels so skinny and high that he wondered how she didn’t turn an ankle on a daily basis.

  He was about to make small talk—he had no idea about what—when she grabbed his arm and pulled him out of line and toward a quiet corner of the room.