JD
I could murder my sister right now.
I have more than a strong suspicion she didn’t just decide to spill the beans.
I’m pissed, she should’ve given me a heads-up she was going to do it, but I bet she realized I’d never have agreed to invite Janey into what is now sure to be a major family drama. Hell, the whole Rachel and getting married thing is as new to me as it is to my parents.
“I’m sorry?” Ma looks confused as she slowly sinks back down in her chair.
Una darts a glance at our father, who is keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his plate. He’s not giving her anything to go by. No sign as to how he’s receiving the news.
Ma, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back her reaction if she tried, as is evident from the range of emotions playing out on her face. She usually has a pretty decent poker face, but there’s no hint of one now.
“Rachel asked me to marry her and I said yes.”
“Rachel?” Ma echoes, her eyebrows raised. “Marriage?”
“Yes, I’m gay, Ma, and I’m marrying a woman who is amazing. She owns an apple orchard near San Luis Obispo, which has the most amazing views of Prefumo Canyon, and—”
“Stop.” Our mother claps her hands to her ears. “I need a minute.”
It’s funny, for years I’ve tried to convince Una to speak up about her sexual orientation, told her she wasn’t giving our parents enough credit. She always held back, waiting for the right time to let them know. Well, I’m pretty sure telling them when you’re about to get married is not exactly the prime moment.
“Congratulations,” Janey says in a soft voice, shooting my sister a tentative smile.
She courageously chooses sisterhood over strategic silence and, although I appreciate her kindness and her courage, I’m not sure Ma will agree. Her eyes snap to Janey before coming to me, narrowing to slits.
“You knew?”
It’s more of an accusation than an actual question, which is why I feel it doesn’t need a response. She already knows.
“I expected this kind of betrayal from her…” She indicates Una. “But never from you,” she directs at me.
“Ama…”
Pa reaches out a hand to put on Ma’s arm, but it’s too late, she’s already on her feet, reaching for her plate, and slamming it down so hard it breaks apart in pieces and sends shards of china flying.
“Ma!” I yell, trying to pull Janey out of the way.
Ma has a temper that doesn’t show itself often. Silence is her tell when she’s angry, but when she’s hurt, her temper flares.
“Enough!”
My father’s bark has Ma spinning on her heel and taking off for the back door. Then he turns his eyes on Una, who looks like she’s about to cry. He slowly shakes his head.
“There are better ways, baby girl, and you know it,” he scolds her gently. “Could’a been a happy occasion for everyone.”
Una looks like she’s been slapped. Then she turns to look at me, and I know she’s remembering all the times I tried to convince her our parents would be accepting. But the silent apology in her tearful eyes feels a little thin after the stunt she pulled tonight.
I grab Janey’s hand and pull her up with me.
“We’re leaving.”
“I’m sorry, Janey,” my sister mumbles.
“Not cool, Una. Not cool,” I manage to grind out before leading Janey to the door.
“Son…” my father calls after me and I stop to look over my shoulder. “Best let her cool down for a bit.”
I nod and walk outside, Janey beside me.
We’re silent the entire drive back to her place. It’s not until I turn off the engine and blow out a big breath that I break the silence, my eyes fixed on the reflection of the truck’s grill in her front window.
“I would never have put you in that situation, had I known. That was fucked up. I’m sorry.”
She chuckles softly beside me and reaches for my left hand, resting on the steering wheel.
“Hey, that’s family for ya,” she returns easily. “Trust me, my family has had our own share of scenes like that. Usually with me at the center of the drama.”
I turn to look at her. “I sincerely doubt that.”
It only makes her laugh harder.
“You have no idea,” she assures me. “When I was a teenager, my mother used to say I could get on Mother Theresa’s last nerve. She had to walk out of a room plenty of times.”
“Una is thirty,” I point out.
“Yeah, I know. But sometimes you get stuck in a family dynamic that is hard to get out of. People have certain expectations of you, you have expectations of them, and even though we all change over time, it can be easy to fall back into those old patterns.”
I have to think about that for a moment. It’s forcing me to look at myself with a critical eye, as much as I look at others in my family. I always kept my mouth shut, even growing up. Not that I was an angel by any stretch; I rebelled on my own time, got into trouble plenty, but I was quiet at home. Una provided all the drama we could handle. I still rarely speak up, and choose to wait for shit to blow over.
“You’re right.”
I turn my hand, palm up, lace my fingers with hers, and lift her hand to kiss her knuckles.
“I don’t think I can match your father’s poyha, but I can whip us up an omelet?” she suggests, changing the subject.
My intent had been to apologize for the disastrous family dinner and then make myself scarce, sure she would’ve had enough of the Watike clan for tonight. But maybe not.
“I only had two bites of my damn dinner,” I grumble, still pissed at my sister.
“Me too.” She grins. “I’m starving.”
Without waiting for my answer, she retrieves her hand and gets out of the truck.
I catch up with her by the door.
Her dog doesn’t growl at me this time but is still a little tentative when she greets me.
“Does she need to go out?” I ask.
Janey, who is already pulling stuff from her fridge, shoots me a glance over her shoulder.
“Shoot. Yeah, probably. Sorry, girl.”
“I can take her.”
“Make sure you grab the leash, it’s on the hook by the door. I don’t want her to try and go after some critter. I don’t take her too far yet, usually just out on the side of the house.”
I find the leash and clip it on the dog’s collar.
“I should probably fence in part of the yard for her. I’ll add it to the other million-and-one items on my to-do list for this house.”
She mutters the last, but I catch it.
“Show me that list when I get back. I can help,” I offer as I walk Ginger out the door.
I’ve got tools, am pretty good with my hands, and enjoy the work. I helped Dan when he was building his house, and worked on Jackson’s bathroom renovation a few months ago. I wouldn’t mind another project to keep me busy, with as an added benefit that I’d get to hang around Janey more. I could get started on her list this week; I already have a few extra days off.
Plus, I could do with the distraction.
Janey
“Oh, that’s Logan.”
JD wanted to know whose vehicle he’d seen pulling out from behind the clinic, which is where Logan usually parks his car.
“Who’s Logan?” JD asks, still standing by the front window, peering out.
He insisted on doing the dishes after dinner, but I then shooed him out of the kitchen. I’m just putting away the dishes.
“He’s my assistant,” I explain. “We’ve got a sick potbelly pig who needs regular injections, so Logan is staying with him in the barn. There’s a small bedroom, with a bar-sized fridge and a microwave in the barn for situations like this, but no real place to cook. He’s probably just gone to grab something to eat in town.”
I should probably check in with him when he gets back, to see how our patient is holding up.
“Do you want tea or coffee?”
JD turns away from the window and heads back to the kitchen. “Coffee would be good.”
I load a coffee pod in my Nespresso and slide a mug underneath the spout, before plugging in the kettle for tea for myself. If I drink coffee, I’ll be up half the night. I lean against the counter, listening to the machine gurgle while I let my thoughts drift.
It’s nice both JD and I are quite comfortable sharing silences. It allows me to be myself and not constantly worry about making awkward small talk.
After our brief conversation in the truck, his family hasn’t come up again, and I’m not about to be the one to broach that sensitive subject. I feel it’s safe to assume communication is a bit of a challenge, which is really no different in my family.
There is love, but that doesn’t mean we necessarily understand each other. The fact I live less than seventy miles from my parents but have seen them maybe four or five times in the past sixteen months should tell you enough. Sure, I have a very busy clinic, but a lot of that is my own doing as well. I like working hard, but it’s a convenient shield at times as well.
Much—if not all—of my identity is rolled into the work I do and being good at it. There isn’t a whole lot to me when you strip away the vet. It’s what gives me substance, otherwise I’d fade into the background.
“So where is that list of yours?” JD reminds me when I hand him his coffee.
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll get to it eventually,” I tell him, a little embarrassed I haven’t even made a start on all the things that need attention.
He raises one dark eyebrow. “Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to help.”
“Fair enough.”
I’d be an idiot to argue the help he offers. I gave him a chance to back out and he didn’t take it. If he doesn’t mean what he’s saying, he’s going to regret saying anything when he sees all the stuff that needs doing.
I grab the pad from my kitchen junk drawer, where I keep it for ready access when I think of something else that needs to be added, and slide it in front of him.
“It’s already three pages long,” I warn him, adding, “Also, the list isn’t particularly organized since I simply add things as they occur to me.”
He immediately tears a couple of blank pages from the pad.
“Got a pen?”
I grab him one from the drawer, and he immediately starts dividing the first page with a line lengthwise down the middle. He writes at the top of one column in clear block letters, kitchen, and bathroom at the top of the second column. On the next sheet of paper he does the same, until each section of the house has its own list. Then he starts copying my listed items in the appropriate column.
When he’s done, he tears off one more blank sheet and writes, general, at the top, before adding items I hadn’t even thought of yet. Electrical, plumbing, HVAC, roof, all with a question mark beside them. I’m feeling a little nauseated.
He chuckles softly. “Better to check those things before you start doing renovations, if you discover problems when you’ve already done work, you’ll have wasted money and time.”
I groan, thinking of the meager budget I have allocated for work on the house. It’ll be a little better once I get paid for working the Libby Roundup, but nothing that would also cover any major overhauls.
“I just hope this place won’t turn out to be a major money pit,” I grumble. “Doc Evans is an old friend of my father’s, so I trusted him when he said the house was solid and a little TLC was all it would need.”
The truth is, I didn’t even think to ask for an inspection or anything like that. I never owned my own property before I bought this.
“Don’t borrow trouble,” JD rumbles as he gets to his feet. “I’m sure Doc Evans wouldn’t have sold you a lemon, but let’s check to be sure anyway. Where is your electrical panel?”
“Laundry room.” I point at the door off the kitchen.
I walk in, flip on the light, and quickly swipe the dirty laundry I dumped on top of the dryer into a basket of clean sheets. I’ll just have to wash it all again. Something else I’m falling behind on.
“Over there.”
I indicate the little door in the wall Doc Evans pointed out to me when I moved in.
“Good,” JD mumbles when he opens it up. “He must’ve had that redone within the past ten years or so. It’s a fairly new panel and looks well organized.”
“That’s a relief.”
My knees wobble a little as he brushes past me in the confined space, the mere hint of a smile on his face, when he bends down so his mouth is right by my ear.
“Nice undies.”
My eyes flash to the laundry basket, which shows the cow print panties and bra set Frankie got me last Christmas lying on top. I quickly turn off the light and pull the door shut behind me. JD is already ducking into the cupboard underneath the kitchen sink, pulling the cleaning products I store there out. Then he goes down on his knees and the top of his body disappears into the cupboard, his shirt riding up at the back.
“Noticed any leaks anywhere? Any pipes dripping?”
My mouth goes dry and I have to swallow when my eyes get caught on the strip of exposed skin above the jeans that stretch tightly over his fine ass.
“No,” I manage, after clearing my throat.
When I see him back out, I quickly turn around and, grabbing for the first thing to busy my hands with, remove the used coffee pod from the machine and toss it in the garbage.
“I’ll bring some tools tomorrow,” he volunteers. “Probably easier to check things by daylight anyway.”
He’s standing a few feet away, leaning his hip casually against the counter and with his arms crossed in front of him. I wish I could snap a picture of him like this, just to remind myself this gorgeous man in my house isn’t just a figment of my imagination. He’s so far out of my league, it’s not even funny.
But when I catch the warm look in his eyes, I know he must see something in me that appeals to him. Who am I to question that? My body tingles under his quiet scrutiny.
“What I wouldn’t give to know what goes on in that head of yours,” he finally says.
I feel heat crawling up my face. Good thing he doesn’t know, since I was imagining lowering myself on my knees in front of him, slowly freeing his cock from his jeans, and sliding it into the heat of my mouth.
“Thinking about electricity and plumbing, that’s all.”
The grin I shoot him feels forced, and my heart hammers in my chest when he slowly pushes away from the counter and stalks toward me. I may be a bit of an Amazon in size, but JD makes me feel almost dainty when he towers over me, all big and dark and broody.
Sliding his hand along my face and into my hair, he forces my head back a little farther with a slight tug. Then he slowly lowers his mouth to mine.
Like the first time he kissed me, I am swept clear off my feet. My hands come up his chest and grab on to his shirt to steady myself. His kiss is deeper this time, hot and slick, and full of a promise that turns my nipples into peaks and sends tingles to my core.
I feel the groan rumbling from his chest under my hands, and I’m so addicted to his mouth, I try to follow when he moves his lips to my forehead.
“I should go,” he mumbles there.
I close my eyes, take a deep, shuddering breath in, and whisper, “Okay.”