Jennifer Greene - Wild in the Field

He loved dogs, all dogs, any dogs. But just then, he probably couldn’t tell a poodle from a pony.

The only thing on his mind was her, and his gaze honed on her face as if irrevocably glued there. He just couldn’t look away. She’d changed so much-and changed exactly in the ways he’d hoped. She was visibly on the other side of pain now. Healing, if not fully healed. Spirited again. Full of hell again. Ready for life again.

That’s what he wanted for her.

“Pete?” She came closer and peered up at him, as if to make sure she’d gotten his attention. “I realize that Hortense was a bit of a surprise.”

It was hard to understand why his heart hurt so much. It was just…when she’d been a waif, she’d needed him. And then by accident he glanced past her. Past the open door, through the kitchen, where her back door opened onto her shady back lawn. He couldn’t see that much, but pretty clearly there were candles lit on a table out there. A tablecloth. Fancy silver. He looked at her in confusion.

“What’s going on?”

“Dinner. In fact, let’s get started, and then I’ll explain about the dog.” She ushered him through the house, then out to the table, where she motioned to the chair across from her. She poured the wine and started serving, but her vulnerable eyes kept darting to him. Her hands definitely weren’t as steady as the sassy dress and makeup implied-and neither was her voice.

“I was walking in the lavender yesterday. It was a real turning point for me. Every time I went out there before, there was a ton of work to do. But not now. Now there’s nothing else to do but let it grow. The field’s still a long way from perfect, but the mulch, the pruning, brought it back to life. The buds are almost ready to burst. The scent and the color-it’s not there yet, but it’s so close. My sister’s going to have her hands full with the harvest.”

He saw the food. The delicate salad. The roast with a scent to die for. And he wanted to gulp down the wine, but at her last comment, he could barely remember how to breathe. “You’re not planning on being here for the harvest yourself?”

“No. Really, the lavender is Violet’s project. It’s not mine to make decisions about. And I think, finally, that it’s way past time I started making decisions about my own life again. It took forever, I know. I’ve been lollygagging here like a bag lady.”

“Shut up, Cam. You were never like that.”

“Close.” Maybe he wasn’t eating, but she was shoveling it in. “What I kept thinking, though, while I was walking through the field was how different lavender is than roses. Roses have to be pampered, tended, fed, cared for. All we had to do with the lavender was give it some lousy soil, trim it up, mulch it a little, and it zoomed back from the dead. When it comes down to it, lavender only thrives on tough love. But you know all about that, didn’t you, MacDougal?”

This chitchat was real nice, but Pete had had all he could take. “Where exactly do you plan on being after this?” he asked sharply.

She lifted a finger, indicating that she needed a second to finish chewing, then gulped a bit of wine. “With you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She frowned, noticing that he’d barely touched her food. “You don’t like my French stew?”

“Yes, yes-”

“Then eat, Pete.”

“What did you just say?”

“Oh. About being with you?” Her eyebrows rose impishly. “I thought you guessed my intentions…when I gave you the bloodhound. When I asked you to dinner.”

Okay. He figured out the obvious-that he couldn’t rush her; she needed to say things in her own way, on her own time. But he couldn’t eat, now that she’d brought up leaving. It didn’t matter how many times he’d mentally told himself that she’d only come home to heal and would leave after that. There was still a lump in his throat the size of a mountain. So he just folded his arms on the table and tried to listen.

“Of course, I wasn’t sure if you’d come for dinner,” she said softly, putting down her own fork and knife now. “I know I’ve come very close to blowing it with you. All this spring, I thought I was the one who had trouble with grief, MacDougal.”

“You did.”

“Yes. I was grieving. For Robert. And for the injustice of a life lost. I didn’t know how to cope…but then you came along, with your bullying and your tough love. Everybody coddled me but you.” She cocked her head. “I guess I’m like the lavender, Pete. Pamper me too much and I just get soft. But if you give me a chance to be strong, that’s who I am, who I want to be. Strong.”

“Could we go back to what you said about being with me-”

“We’re getting to that,” she assured him, and handed him a buttered roll.

He put it down on his plate.

“You pushed me back into life. But I was selfish. I didn’t realize that you were suffering from grief, too. That you had just as big a loss to recover from as I did. But you had to be strong for your boys, strong for your father, so you never had a chance to deal with it.”

“I don’t have anything to deal with.”

“Pete. I’m so sorry she didn’t value you. I’m even sorry for her that she was so stupid. I can’t imagine a woman in her right mind leaving your bed or your life-not once I knew, for myself, how much love you had in you. She was obviously completely demented.”

It took him a second to figure out that “she” was his ex-wife. How the hell she’d gotten into the conversation confounded him. “Um-”

Her voice gathered strength, came out clear and true and sweet. “I loved Robert. You always seemed to accept that, and I’m grateful, because that was a wonderfully good part of my life. But knowing you, Pete, and seeing how you handled a time when I was terrible trouble…how you accepted me when I couldn’t even accept myself…that’s a deeper kind of love than I ever knew existed. It’s the kind of love I want now. It’s the kind of love I’m willing to fight for now. And it’s the kind of love that I’m strong enough to fight for.”

She sprang up and surged over to his side of the table, but then hesitated. Suddenly she didn’t seem so sure of her welcome-but that changed. Faster than the speed of sound, he tugged her on his lap and swooped her tight in his arms. She let out a long, achy sigh and nestled there, her arms hooked around his neck, the sunset dabbling jewel colors through the trees on her face. “Are you going to ever get around to kissing me, MacDougal?”

“I’m going to do more than kiss you,” he assured her. “But right now, I’m still trying to remember how to breathe. How to believe. Because I wasn’t looking to believe in love again, Cam.”

“Neither was I, so revenge is sweet. I didn’t want to love anyone. Ever again. But you made me, Pete.” Since he was being so poke slow, she blessed the touch of her lips against his. Damn, but her big strong Scots neighbor suddenly wasn’t so steady. That forehead of his was still furrowed with the shadow of a frown, his eyes still haunted.

“I love you,” he said softly, fiercely.

“I know. And I should have figured out how much you cared, from all the ways you showed me. All that yelling at me. And insulting me. And giving me that dadblamed dog-”

“The one you’re not going to keep?”

“I’m keeping him. And the cat. And the boys. And your dad. And even Hortense. But most of all, I’m keeping you, MacDougal. Forever.”

She kissed him again…or maybe he was the one who stole that one. Whoever was taking credit, the kiss started out slow and built up momentum. Who would have guessed that tenderness could be flavored with passion, that their pasts opened up everything they wanted for each other’s future?

He’d opened up her world, she thought, but she’d do her best to open up his now. The expert in tough love was about to get his comeuppance. A lifetime of the softest love she could possibly share with him.

He broke free for a moment, murmured, “Camille, I never thought you’d need me. Not once you felt stronger again.”

“I am strong. And I do need you. I’d like to think we need each other.”

“But you loved your city job.”

She touched his cheek, his brow. “Yeah. I did love it. But people change. I love the land, too. I love your sons. In fact…I’m kind of thinking about running an animal shelter.”

That made him open his eyes. “You wouldn’t do that to me,” he told her.

“Aw, MacDougal,” she whispered, “you have no idea all the terrifying, terrible, wonderful things I hope to do to you.”

But he would, she thought. Because love had given her that kind of extraordinary power and strength. And she had a lifetime to vent it all on Pete.

It used to take time to set up a transatlantic call, but these days Violet just had to dial. Sometimes the connection was a tad fuzzy, but tonight it was perfect.

Unfortunately, it was early in Provence, and Daisy didn’t take well to being wakened up at the crack of dawn.

“Darn, I’m sorry. I can never seem to remember how many hours difference it is between here and France. But I just had to call and tell you-they’re gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“Camille and Pete, of course. You wouldn’t believe how gorgeous she looked. And how happy.” Violet swung her legs on the desk, beaming herself. “She was so happy she shined like a sun ray.”

Daisy sighed right along with her. “Cut it out. You’re gonna make me cry. But man…she is so overdue for some happiness after all she’s been through. Did they tell you where they’re going?”

“No. Darn it. You’d think after all you and I went through, planning Pete being around her, matchmaking the whole thing, that they could at least have said where they were going to elope.” Violet sipped at her lavender tea. “On the other hand, she packed three bikinis and not much else.”