Uncommon Passion (32 page)

Truck Garden pulled in behind her. “I’ll just be a minute,” she said when she parked on the street. A tall

woman with pale brown hair holding hands with a long-haired blond man gave them a wave as they

walked a dachshund down the sidewalk past Sam’s house. She hurried up the front walk lined with

flowering pots and knocked on the front door.

Ben answered. Cartoon noises drifted quietly from the television and Jonathan was asleep on the sofa,

Bear clutched tight to his chest. The location of a Ben-sized dent in the cushions told Rachel Jonathan had

fallen asleep on Ben’s lap. Lines tightened Ben’s eyes; he looked like he hadn’t slept at all, but no

expression showed on his face.

“Any news?” she said, keeping her voice low.

His gaze flicked over her shoulder to the Truck Garden, idling in the street. “Cracked his skull in three

places, broke his collarbone. No spinal trauma. Until he regains consciousness they won’t know for sure if

he’s got brain damage.”

A lump formed in her throat at the even, unemotional recitation. She studied his face. On the surface he

looked much the same as he always did, skin and muscles revealing nothing, but as she watched, something

flared in his eyes only to be tamped down again.
Fear
. Gone.
Anguish
. Gone.
Bewilderment so similar to

Jonathan’s her heart broke.
Gone. “I’m so sorry, Ben,” she said, then glanced past his shoulder to the boy

sleeping on the sofa. “How is he?”

“Slept for a few hours. Woke up crying. Now he’s sleeping again. I took today off. My sister’s booking

a flight back from Florida to help.”

He was tense and tired, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. Ben’s typically sky-high energy level

was stilled, like the odd silence when power lines went dead. “Ben,” she started.

“What’s that?”

She offered him the foil-covered casserole dish. “Macaroni and cheese,” she said. “Just bake it at three-

fifty for forty-five minutes or so. Fresh beans, peas, and a few tomatoes just off the vines.”

He stared at the Pyrex dish before accepting it, as if he couldn’t comprehend basic information about

food. “Thanks,” he said. “They’re waiting for you.”

She looked over her shoulder at the A&M boys, eyeing her and Ben with undisguised interest. “Ben,

what can I do���”

He cut her off. “Thanks for the food,” he said and stepped back inside.

• • •

Worn out from the season’s busiest week yet at the farm stand, Rachel dragged herself down the path

from the farm stand to the bunkhouse. Two envelopes were tucked between the red silo salt and pepper

shakers on the farmhouse table. Rachel picked them up. One was addressed in her handwriting to Ronald

Hill, once again marked PLEASE RETURN, SENDER UNKNOWN. The other was a plain business

envelope with the vet tech school’s stylized puppy-and-kitten logo and mailing address in the upper left-

hand corner. Her heart pounding, Rachel looked around the empty house, then opened the envelope.

Dear Ms. Hill,

Thank you for your application. Unfortunately, we are unable to offer you a position in our fall

class. . . .

Disappointment forced a soft noise from her throat. One hand pressed to her stomach, she pulled out a

chair and sat down to finish reading.
Largest pool of applications in the school’s history . . . excellent

grades in science and math characterized the admitted class . . . all best in your future endeavors.

She found her phone in her jeans pocket and called the admissions counselor. “It’s Rachel Hill,” she

said. “I just got the letter.”

“I’m so sorry,” the counselor said gently. “Your personal essay touched the committee’s heart, and no

one doubts your commitment to animals’ health and well-being, or your determination. But several

instructors were concerned that your transcripts lacked the biology and chemistry necessary to ensure your

success in the program.”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand,” she said. “What can I do?”

“Take a couple of classes in the fall at a community college. Get your GED. I know you have a

homeschool certificate, but shore up your transcripts and I feel very confident you’ll win a spot in the next

class.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Thank you.”

Rachel hung up after the counselor’s gentle good-bye and stared blankly at her phone. Okay. She could

do this. It was a simple setback, easy to remedy. Take the classes and reapply. When the farm closed down

for the season she’d get a job in Galveston, take the classes, find somewhere to live, someone to live with.

She’d do exactly what she planned, except she wouldn’t be in vet tech school. That goal was only

postponed, not completely out of her reach.

Nonetheless, rejection stung. To her surprise it stung worse than never having tried at all. It was a

completely different feeling from straining against the repressive role Elysian Fields forced her into. For the

first time in her life she’d “put herself out there,” as the career counselor at the shelter put it, been assessed

and found wanting.

She gave a shaky sigh, then smoothed her hands over her hair, checking her pins, securing a few loose

strands. She had the house to herself tonight. Jess and the current A&M boys were going into Houston to

see a comedian. She’d take a hot shower to steam away the day’s grime, make something easy for dinner,

and sit in the meadow to watch the sunset. But when she got out of the shower a text from Ben was waiting

on her phone.

Come into town tonight.

This was his first contact in a week. She considered texting back, but decided to call him instead.

“Harris,” he answered.

“It’s Rachel. Why do you want me to come into town?”

“Do you have other plans?”

He didn’t like why, so she didn’t ask. “I was going to sit in the meadow and watch the sunset,” she said.

To mourn the setback. “Why don’t you come out here?”

“Because I want to get drunk and have sex, not watch a sunset.”

She may not know why, but she surely knew what he was thinking. “And what’s in this for me?”

“Music. Dancing. Drinking. Me. Inside you.”

Bold and brash, with a flat edge to the words. This wasn’t the Ben she knew, but heat wicked through

her. He was promising oblivion, and being with him certainly reset her emotional frame of mind. “Where?”

“No Limits. I’ll text you the address.” Then he hung up.

He kept saying she needed to go there, so why not? She looked up the bar’s website, skimmed the

pictures, and chose her wardrobe accordingly. Tight, dark jeans, a silky halter top that tied behind her neck,

and glittery sandals. She dried her hair and brushed it to shining sleekness in a side part. It slid forward,

obscuring her face much as it had that last wild night with Ben. Then she examined her reflection in the

mirror hanging above the sink and did her best to re-create the look Jess designed for her bachelor auction

date with Ben. Weeks ago she felt like her eyes looked out from a Mardi Gras mask, but tonight she actually

recognized the woman looking back at her from the mirror, as if she’d grown into what had been a costume

that first night. But had she grown into it, or had she learned to put on a shell, like Ben did?

Pushing the question from her mind, she got in her Focus and drove into town, pulling into the No

Limits parking lot at five minutes to nine. Ben stood with the two cops stationed near the entrance but he

wasn’t in uniform. Instead he wore jeans, the ever-present western shirt, and boots. He kept talking to the

two officers but his gaze followed Rachel as she nipped into an available space close to the entrance.

Arms folded, legs braced, consciously or unconsciously Ben mirrored the cops’ stance as he watched

her cross the parking lot. Something in his gaze sent heat flickering through her body, a shock heightened

by the shift and slide of the satin halter top across her breasts. Without thinking about it, Rachel gathered

her hair and slid the whole heavy mass over one shoulder.

The other two cops stopped talking, too, until one with a hint of concern on his face leaned toward Ben

and said something. Ben ignored him, stepped off the curb, and walked to meet her.

“Hi,” she said.

Ben took her elbow and guided her around the back of the building, out of the noise and regulated

commotion at the bar’s front door. He bent his head and kissed her, his mouth lingering on hers for just a

second for a quick flick of tongue. “Very nice. Very sexy.”

“Ben, tell me about Sam,” she said.

“Still unconscious. He picked up a staph infection so he’s running a fever,” he said. His hand stroked

down her bare arm, then toyed with the thick ends of her hair before his hand fell to his side.

“Why aren’t you with him?”

“Because my parents, Chris, Katy, her husband, and her two kids are doing a round-the-clock vigil at

his beside,” Ben said, then leaned closer and murmured, “I want to be here, with you.”

Her gaze narrowed. It wasn’t true. Even an emotionally inexperienced person like Rachel could see the

agony in his eyes. What he wanted and what he was doing were two entirely different things. “Why here?”

“Because it’s time to take off the training wheels.”

Once again she was missing something crucial. “I don’t understand.”

“Pick up a guy, go home with him, and fuck him.”

Air left her in a soundless rush. It took a few seconds for her to regain the ability to speak, and those

seconds she searched his gaze for any trace of the man she’d come to know over the last few weeks. That

rakish pirate’s smile firmly fixed on his mouth, he stared back, unblinking, unflinching, all walls and armor

and step-back attitude.

The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

She tried to imagine doing what he demanded: going into No Limits and choosing the next man she’d

let into her body. It wasn’t impossible. After all, she’d chosen Ben, but the thought that he could dictate this

to her made her furious. “Is that what you want from me, Ben?” She leaned closer and whispered, “Do you

want to watch?”

He froze. Six feet and two hundred pounds of lethally trained man went utterly still against her. She felt

his heart beating, felt his breathing resume, and only then did her unintentional double entendre hit her.

She meant watch her choose another man. He thought she meant watch her
fuck
another man.

He said nothing, as if her response shocked him.

Let’s see how far he would take this. “Fine. Let’s go,” she said, then ducked under his arm, still braced

against the brick by her head.

A muscle in Ben’s jaw jumped as he guided her past the line, right up to the front door. “Don’t we need

to wait in line?”

“They do. We don’t.”

She handed the bouncer her ID and stepped into the whirling noise and flickering lights that was like

the Pleasure Pier times ten. The dance crowd bounced and sang along to a song about drunk sex. She made

her way to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine, then stood there watching Ben while he ordered a

beer for himself.

My God, he was broken. So broken, this frightening vulnerability protected only by pieces of

bulletproof vest held together with razor wire, attitude, and a smile that broke her heart every time he

flashed it. And something about the bar, the way the noise shut down all the clamor in her head, brought

clarity unfelt since she made the decision to leave Elysian Fields.

She was falling in love with him, and he was so broken, so damaged, and trying so hard to hide it.

How do people do this? How do they offer everything they have, taking the risk that it’s not enough?

“Who do you like?”

She looked around, considering and discarding possible candidates based not on looks but on

demeanor. Too cocky. Too drunk. Too preoccupied trying to get his hand up a woman’s skirt to even

notice her.

“Come on, Rachel. Which one turns you on? Which face do you want to see above you as he pushes

inside you?”

“Having you here won’t help,” she pointed out.

He tipped back the beer bottle, then flashed her the smile she was growing to actively hate. “You are still

such a virgin,” he said.

She walked away from him, making her way through the crowd, using the noise and crush of the crowd

to shut down her brain as she looked around. One possible candidate stood in a pack of men at the opposite

corner of the bar. He wasn’t tall, but he held his shoulders with a straight-backed confidence she found

intriguing. He put more attention into the conversation than into projecting attitude or scoping out women,

which didn’t bode well for her. She sipped her wine again, and when she looked up, she found him

watching her. One corner of his mouth lifted in an easy smile.

The second time it happened, she smiled back. He detached himself from his group of friends to make

his way through the crowd to her. “Hey.”