Page 89 of The Dominator

“When I sorted through my things in your basement, I found a photograph of my mother with your father from when they were like teenagers in one of my albums. They looked like they might’ve been together.”

His expression was unreadable to me for a moment, then he said, “Anything else?”

I shook my head.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I didn’t know what the connection was, what the truth was, and I… didn’t trust you.”

“No more secrets,” he said and then he put the SUV into drive and merged back in with traffic.

“But you get to have secrets,” I mumbled.

He didn’t answer me. I didn’t push it. I didn’t feel strong enough to argue with him. He didn’t say anything until we stopped at a grocery store.

He grabbed a shopping cart. “Whatever you want for later and tomorrow morning before we head back,” he motioned to the empty cart and I nodded and he followed me up and down the aisles while I grabbed tea bags, instant coffee, sugar, milk, marshmallows, graham crackers, Hershey bars. Then I asked, “What’ll we do for dinner? Microwave food?” I made a face.

“I have a grill in the barn. I’ll bring it out,” he mumbled, clearly still in a foul mood.

“What’s with the farmhouse? Is there a usable kitchen?” I asked, thinking there may be appliances in it.

“Gutted,” he answered and picked up a bag of charcoal, putting it in the space under the basket of the shopping cart.

“Steak? Chicken?” I asked him when we got to the meat section.

He shrugged, “Whatever.”

I shook my head in frustration at these one-word answers I’d been getting, and tossed one of each in the cart and then stormed off to the vegetable section and left him behind.

When we got back to the Jeep and loaded the bags into the trunk I said, “Listen, you’re obviously not in the mood for this so if you’d rather just go back to the city, why don’t we just do that?”

He didn’t answer me. He got into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. I got into the passenger seat and folded my arms across my chest. He leaned over and blazed a dirty look at me and fastened my seatbelt for me.

I didn’t want to be pissy with her. I was so relieved she was okay after that allergic reaction, and I felt like garbage because I let that happen to her. I brought her up here for safety and this shit happens. I wanted to pamper her, spoil her, make love to her non-stop for the next twenty-four hours before we had to go back to real life.

Everything was just getting on top of me right now. Seeing the Crenshaws and getting attitude from them, seeing O’Connor, and then talking to him and listening to the shit that came out of his mouth just pissed me off. I was tired and stiff from a long night trying to sleep in a chair. I wanted her away from all of them, all to myself. So, why couldn’t I let everything go so I could just enjoy the next twenty-four hours with her?

When we got back to the farm, she put the groceries away, so I got some grass cut out back with the old manual push mower to make an area for the barbeque and campfire. I looked up at the second story doors and decided it might be a good idea to build a deck up there. Maybe we’d come back before summer was over and spend a few days so I could work on that. Because I’d started off at fourteen working for my father’s construction company, I could build just about anything.

In a year or two maybe I’d start working on building a cradle. I couldn’t believe where my mind was going, imagining having babies with her when we’d only been together not even a few weeks and when she’d only agreed to try with me not forty-eight hours ago.

I took my frustrations out with my axe as I chopped enough firewood for more than a few campfires.

I put all the groceries away and then made a marinade for the steak and another one for the chicken. Then I chopped potatoes, mushrooms and onions and put them in a tin foil packet along with some butter and spices. I also spiced and wrapped corn cobs in foil. I made the bed and tidied up and then watched him out at the back busying himself. His muscled skin glistened in the sunlight as he chopped wood wearing just his jeans and his motorcycle boots was quite a sight.

After a little while of watching him chop wood, lost in thought – thoughts about him, about my life, about my dad, about my future, about the muscles on his body flexing (who knew how sexy a guy chopping wood could be to watch?), I decided to take my container of worms and my pink fishing pole and head down there. As I passed him, I put a bottle of beer on the log beside him, he looked sweaty, dirty, and thirsty. He mumbled thanks to me, but kept chopping wood.

I sat down on a huge, flattened rock to fish from, but when I opened the lid of the worms and saw them squirm in dirt …ugh. I couldn’t imagine touching one let alone poking it with a hook, so I put the lid back on and just sat and stared out at the pond.

When I glanced in his direction, I thought he still looked pretty pissed off, broody, grouchy, and then I caught him stealing glances at me here and there, his expression softening. Finally, he stared at me as he drank from the bottle of beer and then he walked over and without saying anything to me he put the worm on my hook and passed the rod to me.

“Thank you,” I said and then cast out.

He walked back to the now massive wood pile, grabbed the neck of the beer bottle, downed the rest while watching me, then resumed chopping until the sun started to set when he started fiddling with the barbeque, so I headed back to the loft and washed my hands, tossed the salad, set the table, and started grabbing the steaks and the vegetables to bring down.

“That needs to heat a little still,” he said, “I’m grabbing a shower. Join me?” He pulled me against him and even though he was sweaty, he still gave me the tingles.

I squirmed against him, “You’re all sweaty and manly.” I guess his foul mood was over?

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