Page 52 of Falling For Temptation

“Yes, we have horticulture together. He’s been helping me study,” she says, her voice strained as she continues to wear a smile.

My mother looks up at me, and the smile I know so well is finally on her face. She reaches out to rub my arm with her hand. “My Adam, always such a giver, almost to a fault. He’d help any soul in need. We taught him that.”

She grabs a paper plate with a bun and a cold hot dog. Her mouth in a line, she focuses on Harley. “Here, have a hot dog. There are sticks to heat it over the fire. We’ve got plenty.” She gestures to the group of children with suspended sticks over the flames.

Then, she turns away, walking toward the RV.

This is the first time I’ve ever thought of my mother as ugly.

23

Harley

Somehow, the fact that being around Kenna’s family made me uncomfortable at first makes me want to laugh now. I would give anything to be with them laughing over mimosas while her little brother stared at me, making kissy faces when her mother wasn’t looking. Kenna and her dad thought it was hysterical.

“Hey, Harley. I’m James.” Adam’s dad approaches me with a grin as I wait my turn to roast a hot dog.

The source of Adam's good looks is also becoming clear as I glance through a time machine twenty-five years. Brad Pitt is this man’s twin. His faded plaid shirt is almost identical to the green one Adam had on the first time we met.

I wanted to jump at the chance to leave with Adam to get firewood, but there are only three seats in his truck. The young blonde kids, whose names I will never get down, were overjoyed to get alone time with their big brother. It’s painfully obvious he’s the favorite of the group, especially among the children and his mother.

“Hi, I’m Harley, Adam’s friend,” I say quietly, reaching out to grab the hand he’s holding toward me.

“Well, I heard that. You two just doing homework together?” he says casually, but I sense it’s an interrogation.

All I do is nod. I’m not playing a game with him. If he wants an explanation, he can talk to his oldest son—or the second one for all I care.

He smiles at me, no teeth, while spearing my hot dog on a stick and handing it back to me. He gets another one for himself.

“We sure do trust Adam. He’s always been a good boy. He’s one of those who will do anything for you, no questions.” He’s smiling into the fire, the light reflecting in his eyes. “He’s also a leader. I know when he takes over the farm, he’ll run it well. That’s why he wanted to go to Ole Tex. Get a degree that’ll help him in the new world of business, ya see.”

He rotates his stick, and I do the same.

It’s enrapturing to listen to a proud parent droning on about the child they believe so strongly in. Unconditional love is a concept that fascinates me. As uncomfortable as I am here, I’m glad Adam has a family that loves him.

A little boy runs up, dirt smudged on his cute face. He’ll probably grow up to be a heartbreaking farmer like his older brother.

“Hey, Noah. This is Adam’s friend from college,” James says, smiling as Noah stands near him, hand on his knee.

He stares up at me with big blue eyes.

He looks back at his dad. “Dad, what’s a harlot?”

James looks completely taken aback. Noah appears to be maybe five years old.

“Uh, well, son, you’re a bit too young to understand what that means. When you get older, I’ll tell you.” He smiles reassuringly, bringing his stick in to pull the hot dog into a bun with a stream of mustard inside it.

Noah contemplates this answer, his little forehead scrunched up.

“What’s a Harley?” he asks.

James laughs. “Well, this here is a Harley, this young lady. But it can also be a motorcycle—a dangerous vehicle some people drive.” He looks over at me, a twinkle in his eye.

My stomach is cramped, a sinking feeling forming inside it. My skin feels itchy. I pull my hot dog back and follow James’s lead with the bun.

Noah blows out a breath, wheels still churning in his mind. “Well then, why did Mom tell Eden that we have to pray because Harley is Adam’s harlot?” he says, picking at a little scab on his knuckle.

The air in my lungs disappears, my entire body turning to ice. I don’t need my limbs—they’ll never move again.

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