“I know.”

Gard slid an arm around Jenna’s waist and when they walked into Oscar’s, someone called, “Whoo-ee!” Jenna smiled.

Gard demolished her eggs, biscuits, and sausage automatically, much more interested in drinking Jenna in than what was on her plate. Making easy small talk—catching up on Jenna’s progress with her book, answering her excited questions about the foal’s future, telling her about the farmers market set up outside of town every Saturday morning—made the stone she’d been carrying around in the pit of her stomach disappear. Beneath the pleasure, though, she was always aware of time passing.

“Sun’s coming up,” Gard said as she and Jenna strolled back to the truck. “Tired?”

“Pleasantly.” Jenna flopped into the seat and dropped her head back against the seat. She looked relaxed, happy.

Gard had a hard time believing she was sitting across from Jenna at five o’clock in the morning when twenty-four hours before she’d pretty much convinced herself she was never going to see her again. Not the way they’d been together up on the mountainside. Not when Jenna had pulled back the minute she’d had a chance to think about what they’d done.

She was certain Jenna hadn’t been running from the sex—the sex had been incredible and they’d both pretty much said so. But Jenna had been clear about wanting simple and no strings. Maybe to her that meant one-time sex. Or hell, maybe she just wanted to spend her last few weeks in the country writing without the distraction of an affair. Whatever had put that wall up between them, she’d resigned herself to it. Or tried to.

The idea of never seeing Jenna again had been eating holes in her insides.

Then Dan had called and she knew, she just knew, that Jenna had to see the birth. All she’d been able to show her when she’d taken her around on field calls had been the dirty end of the job—hard work and sweat and suffering animals. She’d wanted to show her the beauty of her work too. And she just plain had to see her. It was crazy. Sure. But if she was going to hurt, why not hurt because of what she wanted, instead of what she wouldn’t let herself have? A few more hours with Jenna was all she was likely to get. So yeah, the hollow ache in the center of her chest when Jenna left for good was coming. But worth it all the same.

Gard started up the truck and headed out. “It sounds like you’ll have things squared away out at Birch Hill pretty soon. I guess you’ll be happy to go home.”

“Wait.” Jenna suddenly straightened.

Gard braked at the edge of the parking lot, her left blinker on, ready to head in the direction of Jenna’s house. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything. I’m not really sure.” Jenna slid over and stroked Gard’s jaw with the backs of her fingers. “I should’ve stayed away from you in the first place, but I didn’t want to. I shouldn’t have gone out with you last night, either, but the minute I saw you on the porch, the only place I wanted to be was with you.”

Gard caught Jenna’s hand and kissed her palm. “Then we both wanted the same thing. Maybe we should just leave it at that for now.”

“And next week? Next month—whenever I go?”

“Won’t be any worse than the way things have been. I couldn’t get you off my mind.” Gard pushed a hand through her hair. “I was glad for the night work because I couldn’t sleep anyways. We’re both adults. We both know the score.”

“What are you saying?”

“I feel good when I’m with you.”

“Oh God,” Jenna whispered. “So do I.”

Gard relaxed and pressed Jenna’s hand to her thigh. “So what do you say to a date Friday night?”

“A date.” Jenna laughed. “That sounds so old-fashioned. In a really nice way.”

“I guess it is. The Simpsons are having a barn-raising on Friday afternoon, followed by a barbecue and a barn dance. I got roped into going because Ida Simpson is my tech’s sister, and I promised Rob I’d go if he covered my hours this morning.”

“A barn dance. Is there actual dancing?”

Gard laughed. “There might be.”

Jenna stroked Gard’s leg, enjoying the way she laughed, the pleasure in her eyes. “And if we danced? Would there be a riot?”

“They survived us at Oscar’s just now. You’ll just need to behave.”

“Me? What about you?”

Gard gave her an innocent look. “I’m always the picture of decorum.”

“I don’t remember that being the case up on the mountain.”

“I had to have you or die.” Gard’s gaze raked down Jenna’s body.

Instantly breathless, Jenna quickened. “And now that you’ve had me, you’re not hungry anymore?”

“No,” Gard said, her voice low and rough. “Now I’m starving.”

“Are you.” Jenna refused to think about what she was doing. She always thought about what she was doing—about what she would wear, what she would read, how she would answer questions, what she would write and why. Her life had never been spontaneous, because uncertainty equaled danger. Her only comfort had been knowing exactly what each hour would bring. Whenever she was with Gard, she was never certain what she would say or do or feel. A terrifying feeling, but strangely freeing too. Gard pushed her to say more, do more, feel more than she wanted to, but she also made her feel safe, even when she was so exposed. “What should we do about that?”

“You know what I want,” Gard muttered, her teeth clenched. “What do you want?”

Jenna rubbed her thumb in the palm of Gard’s hand, pressing into the firm flesh, running her nail over the calluses. “I really don’t want you to take me home right now.”

Gard flicked her blinker up to signal a right turn and rocketed the truck out onto the highway. “Then I won’t.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Jenna was content to let the drive pass in silence, watching the countryside awaken as Gard drove through the dawn. A herd of deer raised their heads in the midst of a field of belly-high corn, ears flickering with curiosity as they passed. A spotted fawn nestled close to its mother, heartbreakingly beautiful in its fragile innocence. The green fields glistened with dew under the bright yellow sun, so fresh and untarnished Jenna was reminded of a time long ago when she had imagined her life as a similar sea of endless possibility. When had those possibilities become defined by the next deadline, the next book launch, the next award? She’d replaced personal happiness with professional success, and wondered if they really were mutually exclusive. As the melancholy stole in around the edges of her consciousness, she concentrated on the hard heat of Gard’s thigh under her palm and rubbed her hand along the seam of Gard’s pants until Gard grasped her wrist.

“Take it easy,” Gard said, her voice deep and mellow. “I’m driving here.”

“Am I bothering you?”

Gard shot her a look, her eyes smoky. “Oh yeah.”

Jenna smiled. “Sorry.”

“Bull.”

“Okay. Not sorry.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, why?”

“You look a little sad.”

“No,” Jenna said quickly, “far from it.” She hesitated, knowing she was on dangerous ground. She’d been the one wanting their pasts to stay in the past, but the more time she spent with Gard, the more she wanted to know her. Even more terrifying, the more she wanted to be known. “Have you ever wanted to go back? Back before everything changed, back before you stopped believing in happy endings?”

“Jenna,” Gard said softly, fitting their fingers together and rubbing the back of Jenna’s hand against her middle. “Until just a little while ago, happy didn’t figure into anything I ever thought I was going to be.”

“And now?”

Gard lifted their hands and kissed Jenna’s knuckles. “Right this minute I’m very happy.”

“So am I.” Happier than she dared think about. She’d loved sitting with Gard in the diner, sharing a private moment in the midst of all the activity. She never would’ve imagined that a simple meal could be so intimate. By the time they’d left the diner she was wet.

Jenna went back to stroking Gard’s thigh.

“You’re doing the distracting thing again,” Gard said.

“I think you’re tough enough to handle it.”

Gard laughed and slowed for a tractor pulling a hay wagon across the road. A mile or two farther on, Gard turned off the highway onto the dirt lane leading to her house. An ocean of corn seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere and extended as far as Jenna could see on either side.

“Do you farm this?” Jenna asked.

“I’d like to, but I don’t have the time. I lease it.” Gard pulled up in front of the house, put the truck in neutral, and turned in her seat. Beam raced around the side of the house, barking ecstatically. “Are you sure about this?”

“Quite sure.” Jenna turned off the ignition, pulled out the keys, and dropped them in Gard’s lap. Without waiting for Gard, she jumped out of the truck, scratched Beam’s ears, and ambled up the walkway to the house. Gard caught up to her and together they climbed onto the porch. She remembered talking to Rina out here, thinking at the time she’d only be passing through. So much had changed for her since then, more than she could ever have imagined. Gard watched her with a worried expression and she took her hand. “Remember last night when you wanted me to promise that I would stand exactly where you wanted me and not move?”

“I remember,” Gard said with a note of caution.

“Turnabout is fair play. Now you promise.”

Gard’s eyebrows went up. “All right.”

“Come inside then.”

Jenna opened the screen door, turned the brass knob on the heavy walnut door, and found it unlocked. She tugged Gard’s arm and they went inside. She didn’t hesitate but headed down the hall and directly up the stairs, only pausing when she reached the top. To the left was Gard’s bedroom, to the right the guest room where she had stayed. “Right or left?”