Page 36 of I'm Not Yours
Jace wrapped his arms around me. On instinct, I hugged him back, our temples together. That big bazooka then started to dance me around my family room, past the magical apple tree painting, singing a country song. I got that giddy, breathless, smiley feeling and gave in, my feet following his. What else could I do?
I rode the first wave of desire, starting from my brain and heading toward the nether regions.
I sucked in my breath and pulled away before I stripped and handed him a toothbrush.
“Okay, Jace.” I laughed. “Yes to the barn dance.”
He shook his head mockingly. “Shoot. I was thinking it would be better if we stayed home and worked on that embroidery pattern.”
“No, oh, whew. No.” My whole body was now throbbing, all drummed up. “Can’t do that.” I turned and grabbed my keys. “Let’s go, cowboy.”
He chuckled, deep and sweet, but I didn’t stop to catch that inviting gaze again. I couldn’t.
I might turn around and head for the bedroom.
The red barn was decked out in white twinkly lights, hay bales, and a few chickens who wandered in and out. An amazingly good honky-tonk band belted out one country song after another on a stage. The barn was jammed with people in jeans, cowboy hats, and boots, and rows of tables holding traditional American barn-dance types of food— fried chicken, baked beans, chili, cornbread, corn, and salads. In typical American fashion, there was also Asian, Mexican, and Italian thrown in.
Jace brought ribs in huge tin pans. “I’m the rib man,” he joked.
“I’m the pie woman.” I’d baked three apple pies. Not because I’d been planning on going to the barn dance with Jace, oh no.
Later I took tiny slices of different pies: apple, pecan, lemon meringue; then bites of pies called Coconut Devil, Explode Your Taste Buds Chocolate Pie, Bite Me (raspberry-rhubarb), and Sexy As Hell.
Sexy as Hell was my favorite—it was a butterscotch pie.
The pie competition was fierce here, I thought, then laughed.
I met a lot of people. A number of them knew my dad. I was shocked to find that they liked him.
I asked Pearl about this as we shared a slice of pie called Wake Up Your Romantic Life, a three-layer slice of chocolate heaven topped with chocolate chips and whipped cream.
“ ‘Pearl,’ he told me once, ‘I hate myself for what I did to Allie and MaeLynn. I hate myself. Hate myself.Hate myself.’ He said it three times. I told him to stop making life gruesome for everyone else and get out there and be friendly and helpful to atone a little bit for his past.”
“Did he do it?”
“He sure did, sugar. That’s why these people liked him.”
I watched a chicken strut by. Did I still hate my dad? If so, how long was I going to hate him for? How long was I going to let myself be angry at him and the past? The hate was hurting me, not him. How much more of my life was I going to allow him to negatively affect?
“He said he bought the house and apple orchard to make amends to you, Allie.”
“I think he bought it to make fun of me and how many apples I used to eat.” I heard the bitterness in my voice. “He called me apple-core face. One time he broke my mother’s purple-flowered china plates, which I used to cut apples on. I still have the pieces.”
“I’m sorry, sweets, about the plates, but he did buy the apple orchard for you as a gift and as an apology.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. He wanted you to have all the apples you could ever want. He told me that.”
All the apples I could ever want. I could hardly wrap my mind around that one. My father had wanted to give me a gift.
“He did love you, Allie, and your mom. He was simply too demented with alcohol to show it.”
I sniffled and Pearl squeezed my hand. I saw Jace laughing with some other cowboys. One of the cowboys was the police chief, the other was a lieutenant with the fire department, the third owned property in Hawaii.
Man, he was better-looking now than he was when we were younger.
He was a whole heck of a lot of man.Real man.
