Chapter 19

Ash

Jackson pulls the utility vehicle to a stop near the base of the mountains. Personally, I think coming out this far is overkill, but what do I know about raccoons and their travel habits?

The raccoon blinks big, black eyes as Jackson pulls the blanket off its cage. It's backed into the corner, and my chest aches for it.

"You stay here," Jackson says, pulling on thick gloves before hefting the cage.

"What? Why?"

"I don't want you in its path when I open the door," he answers, already walking away.

I shake my head, unable to decide if his concern is sweet or plain ridiculous. Either way, I stay put, watching as Jackson heads a little further down the trail. He stops before long, aiming the cage toward the trees and standing at the furthest end from the door as he raises the latch. The raccoon doesn't move, not until Jackson backs away. Then it skitters out through the narrow gap, disappearing into the woods with not so much as a backwards glance.

Jackson picks up the empty cage, heading my way. "Happy?" he calls out.

As I watch this man approach, his jeans dirty and the heavy stubble on his jaw reminding me of the roughness of Jackson's kiss, I decide that, "Yeah. I'm very happy."

He makes his usual gruff, one-note reply.

"Do I get to drive now?" I ask, holding out my hand and curling my fingers.

Jackson reaches into his pocket, slapping the keys into my palm on his way past. With a grin, I hop into the driver's seat and start up the vehicle. I wait for Jackson to join me, although it would have been a whole lot of fun to watch his face as I drove off. Maybe next time.

"What are you doing today?" I ask, getting us turned around and heading back the way we came.

"Well, I was doing a perimeter check, but somebody convinced me to take time outta my day to release a rabid, grain-stealing pest into the wild."

I give his leg a slap. "Guilting me won't work. And it wasn't rabid."

He grunts. "You decide what to do about your car?"

I let out a sigh, slowing to take a sharp curve. "I stopped by Ratchet's earlier. Said my goodbyes to Edna."

Jackson's brow is drawn when I glance over at him.

"What?" I ask.

"I could've come," he says, voice so low I nearly miss it over the rumbly purr of the engine.

"For what?"

"Support?" he says.

Oh, Jesus . Needing to distract myself from the heart palpitations I'm currently experiencing, I say, "You have zero sympathy for a cute little animal, but you would've come to pay respects to a hunk of metal?"

"You obviously liked that car," Jackson says. "You named it. So, yeah. I would've come."

I blow out a breath, but apparently Jackson isn't done annihilating me.

"I don't like seeing your face go all sad," he says, sounding grumpy about it. "It ain't right."

"When have you seen me sad?" I ask.

He doesn't answer for a long moment. "You were on the deck," he finally replies. "Last week. You had your eyes closed while you were, you know, doing your stretches. And you looked… pained . Was it physical? Or emotional?"

Fuck . For a man who says so little, he sure knows how to hit.

"A bit of both," I admit. "I, uh… It was a bad pain day. And sometimes, that doesn't bother me. I'm used to it. But other times…"

It takes me a minute to figure out how to explain it. I wouldn't even have known how before it all started because I never would've understood the way chronic pain can overwhelm you. How it can become incessant, like the buzzing of bees, so quiet at first but then, all of a sudden, loud and impossible to ignore. How you can deal with it day in and day out without issue, but then, for no discernable reason, the next day it's at the forefront of your mind and won't be shoved back again. How, at times, it can feel hopeless. How it can occupy your every waking thought, making it hard to concentrate, hard to focus on anything else.

"Sometimes I forget it's even there," I tell Jackson. "But that day, I was feeling really down on myself. Because it wouldn't let me forget, and I couldn't help but wonder why me ? I want to remember what it feels like to stand up without wincing and to not have to put conscious thought into the way I move my upper body just so the pain doesn't flare. I'm thirty-five, Jackson, but sometimes I feel seventy. And it doesn't matter that it's not fair because what is? It's life. And I'm not going to let it stop me. But it still knocks me down every now and again."

"Pull over," Jackson says.

"What?" I ask, startled. "Where? We're on a dirt path in the middle of—"

"Just stop the damn vehicle, Ash."

I pull us to a stop and turn to face Jackson. "There. Stopped. What is it?"

I'm not expecting Jackson to take my face in his hands. Nor the seriousness is his eyes as he forces me to hold his gaze. "When you get knocked down," he says firmly, "you give me your hand, and I will pull you back up again."

"Jack…"

"I understand why you feel like you have to do it all on your own. I do. I get it. But you said you're in this, remember? So if you can't learn to rely on me, at least a little, then what are we even doing here, Ash?"

My breath puffs out of me. "Not fair. You're using logic against me."

"Is it working?"

"Unfortunately," I reply, grabbing Jackson's wrists. My heart is pounding. My throat tight. "It's not going to be easy for me, Jack. My last relationship felt centered around that part of my life, and I don't want that again. To feel like I'm just a list of undiagnosed medical problems."

"I don't see you that way."

"That's all well and good, but I'd still rather pretend I'm normal ."

"Ashley, I'm pretty sure your mother ensured that'd never happen the day she named you."

It takes me a beat, but then I'm laughing. Hard . "Jackass," I mutter.

Jackson looks proud of himself, the corner of his mouth hitching into the tiniest smile. It evens out when he says, "Ignoring something doesn't make it go away."

"I'm well aware," I reply pointedly.

He winces, letting go of my face. "I'm sorry. All I'm asking is that you don't expect me to look away every time you're hurting. 'Cause I don't think I can do that."

"Fuck, Jack," I groan, knocking my head back against the seat. "Why do you have to be so sweet? It makes it impossible to be mad at you."

"I'm not—"

"Sweet. Yeah, I know."

Except he is. But for whatever reason, Jackson doesn't want to show that to the world. He wears his gruffness like a shield. Protection, maybe. Innate or learned, he does his very best to hide his soft underbelly.

He's let me see it, though.

"I won't ask you to ignore if I'm hurting," I tell him. "And I'll try to speak up when I'm having a hard time. But don't push it. Don't start treating me like I'm—"

"Weak," he fills in. "Yeah, I know."

Smartass.

"And I won't," he says, the words sincere enough that I have no choice but to believe him.

I nod, let out a breath, and restart the vehicle.

When Jackson and I get back to the ranch, it's midafternoon. I pull the UTV into the same spot we left from just as my phone rings.

"Joy," I mutter, looking at the display. My ex . "Hello?"

"Ashley," Nicholas greets. "I was hoping we could talk."

I close my eyes, keeping my exhale quiet. His next words make me feel marginally better.

"Before I go."

"Give me a sec," I tell him. Muting the call, I turn to Jackson. "Any objections to me seeing my ex before he heads home?"

Jackson's brow furrows slightly. "Are you asking me if I trust you? Because the answer is yes."

Well, Christ on a cracker. "I'll make it quick."

"Up to you," he says, pulling me in by the back of the neck. His eyes hold mine for a moment before he kisses me. Soundly . I feel faint by the time he pulls back. "See you at dinner."

"Mhm," I manage.

Jackson hops out of the vehicle, grabbing the blanket and cage from the back and then heading off toward the milking barn.

"Fuck," I mutter, unmuting my phone. "Nicholas?"

"I'm here."

"I'll meet you, but I have an hour tops before I'll need to be back to cook dinner for the ranch."

He's quiet for a couple seconds. "You're cooking for them?"

"Yes?" I say slowly. "It's my job."

"Oh."

"You know I love cooking," I point out, wondering why he seems so surprised.

"Yeah, sure," he says hastily. "I just… I didn't expect it, is all. That's a lot different than…"

"Sports PR?" I fill in.

"Well, yeah."

"I wanted a change," I remind him. "I told you that."

There's another pause. "Should I come to you? If you're short on time."

"If you wouldn't mind, that'd be great," I admit.

"Where are you at?"

I rattle off the address and start making my way back toward the ranch house on foot. Nicholas says he'll leave right away, so I head around the house to the front porch to wait, watching as Marigold tends to her garden. Not fifteen minutes later, a vehicle pulls down the drive, and I stand.

Nicholas parks in front of the house before stepping out of what I assume is a rental. He's wearing a button-down and his nice wing-tip shoes, looking the same as I remember.

I head down the porch stairs to meet him. "Want to sit outside?"

"Sure," he answers, looking me over quickly.

I lead Nicholas to the wraparound porch at the back of the house. We take seats on rockers, both of us quiet for a moment.

"You're different," he finally says.

"You like the boots?" I ask, giving him a grin as I cross one foot over the other.

He shakes his head slowly. "It's not just the boots, Ashley. You look different."

I lean back in my chair, watching the dairy girls graze in the shade. "How so?"

"There's…less strain on your face. Is your pain improving?"

"It's the same," I tell him. "Minimal most days. Not gone."

He makes a soft sound. "Would you like me to do an adjustment before I—"

"Nick."

He falls silent. "I think I get it. I didn't at first. When you left, I thought… I don't know what I thought. That you were running, maybe?"

"And you don't think that now?"

"I think, maybe, it wasn't so much running away as running to ."

I nod because that's exactly it. When I was young, I would watch the seagulls come and go as the seasons changed. I'd watch them fly away. And I'd wonder why they always returned.

I never fit in Maine, not really. I never felt settled there. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to fly away. I wanted to let my wings carry me on the wind and see where I'd land.

I don't know why it took me so long to do it. To just go .

"As much as I wouldn't have believed it," Nicholas continues, his voice pulling me back to the present—to the mountains and the fresh, saltless air, "this place does suit you. Honestly, I'm not sure why I'm even surprised considering all the country music you used to listen to."

I make a short sound in the back of my throat. "Neil Young isn't… You know what? It's not important. I do like it here. You're right about that. Darling feels like home in a way Maine never did."

He nods slowly, sadly , almost. "I think I was jealous, Ashley."

That pulls me up short. "Why?"

"Because you left? Because you left me? I felt…"

"Like you were missing out?" I ask.

"Well, yeah. Here you were, being brave, and I was sitting at home feeling sorry for myself. It took me over a week to stop making coffee for two people, and when I finally brewed that single pot and saw how small my life had become, I panicked."

"Your life isn't small, Nicholas," I say as gently as I can. "You have family and friends and a job you love. And I know you'll be able to find someone to enjoy it with if that's what you want."

He nods, smoothing a hand over his face. "Virginia never liked me."

I hold back my laugh. "She didn't like you for me. There's a difference."

He looks out over the pastures to the west. There are a few cattle far off in front of the mountains, small black dots beneath stormy peaks and a cloudy blue sky. Most of the herd is too far away to even see.

"What now?" I ask.

"I'm heading back tonight," he answers, meeting my eye. "I'll tell my mom you look good. She'll spread the news."

I huff a laugh. "Take care, Nicholas."

He nods, pushing out of his seat. "Bye, Ashley."

As Nicholas rounds the house out of view, I can't help but wonder if this is the last time I'll see him. It doesn't make me sad, not exactly. But there is an ache there. Nostalgia, perhaps, for the good times we shared. Even if Nicholas and I weren't right for each other in the end, I don't regret the part he played in my past.

I just know he's not my future.

I settle back into my seat, waving at one of the ranchers as they pass. They wave back just as a soft voice chimes from beside me.

"Are you in the mood for some company?"

I smile Marigold's way. "If the company is you? Always."

Her lips twist in amusement as she takes a seat beside me. Her hair is in a braid today, the end held in place with what looks like a piece of twine. "You're far too charming for these parts, Ashley. I bet my son hardly knows what to do with you."

Oh, he knows just fine.

I keep the thought to myself. "He's charming in his way," I tell her.

She snorts a laugh. "Mm. You're kind, too. Don't get me wrong; I love each and every one of my sons. But we're all flawed."

I can't argue that. Isn't everyone?

"Are you here to meddle?" I ask.

Marigold gives me a wide smile. "As if I would ever."

I chuckle. I might not have known Marigold for long, but I know a meddlesome mother when I see one.

"Did you know our town has a fall festival?" she asks, tone even.

I raise a brow. "Does it?"

She hums. "The Darling Autumnfest. Jackson hasn't been in years. He used to love it, you know. The distillery sells whiskey cider. One time a year only. It's his favorite."

"Uh-huh," I say slowly.

"They do moonlight carriage rides, too. For the adults. Pretty romantic, if you ask me."

"You're not subtle. You know that, right?"

"Never said I was trying to be," she counters, standing up. "Have a good rest of your afternoon, Ashley."

"Marigold."

As Mrs. Darling walks out of sight, I kick my rocker into motion.

"Trouble," I mutter, smiling to myself. "All of 'em."