Page 4 of I'm Not Yours
“I’ll leave, don’t worry. But don’t try to escape again, or we’ll have to track you down. You need to be sewn up.” He left and the nurses helped me get my pants off, then Jace was back in.
While he stitched me up I could not look away from him. The nurses stayed for a bit, then left to tend to other patients.
“Whose horse was it, Allie?”
“My dad’s.”
I saw his jaw tighten, his gaze sharp on mine.
“My dad died. He lived in the country.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, but it’s okay.”
“When we were in Yellowstone, you told me you didn’t get along with him, but you never told me anything else. I remember we talked about your not wanting to discuss your past.”
“It was a messy past.” I had told him few details about my dad. He had gently asked more, and I had given him, deliberately, the impression that my dad and I were temporarily not getting along. I didn’t go anywhere near the depth of our estrangement.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Heart attack.” I waved my hand. “I still don’t want to talk about him.”
“Okay.” His eyes gentled, his hand warm on my leg. He went back to stitching me up. “You live in Portland, right?”
He knew I lived in Portland! Had he checked on me, as I had him? I had followed Jace’s career online. I had felt like a stalker, but I did it anyhow. “I did. I moved recently to the country. My dad left me his house and an apple orchard.”
“I remember you loved apples. You made apple pies.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Now and then, over the years, I’ve had apple pies, but they’re never as good as yours.”
“Really?” I was so pleased, I could feel myself blushing. “I still love apples, and now, I suppose, I have all the apples I need in that orchard.”
“Sounds beautiful.”
“It is. Sort of.” That orchard was bringing back all sorts of harsh memories I didn’t want to deal with.
“I’ll take one of your apple pies.”
I instantly envisioned me bringing him an apple pie,naked.
Stop it, Allie.
“I . . . uh . . . you want one of my apple pies?”
“Sure. Anytime. How about tomorrow?”
He smiled. So many times I had smiled back. Kissed those lips, held his face in my hands, pulled him down to me . . .
“I . . . uh . . . tomorrow? For a pie?”
“Sure. It’ll be Wednesday. Wednesday is always a good time for apple pie. As are Tuesday and Friday . . . Monday isn’t bad. I’ll even take one on Sunday.”
“You forgot Saturday.”
“I’ll have one then, too.”
