Page 15 of I’m Not Yours

I recognized him immediately.

Jace was clad in a bike helmet and dark glasses hunched over his racing bike, making the bike look small. We were about to pass each other in the middle of a quiet, winding road, a vineyard to one side, a farm on the other, the morning sun warm, a bunch of birds peeping.

I kept biking. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize me. I was pedaling slowly because my ankle and leg were still tender, but I crossed to the other side of the street and turned my head away to hide my face. I, too, had on a helmet and dark glasses.

We passed. I exhaled with deep relief, before the choking sadness that has chased me around since I lost Jace years ago came roaring back, like grief on wheels.

I put my head down and pedaled as hard as I could without splitting my leg open, as I’d always done to outride what I didn’t want to think about.

“Good to see you on your bike, Allie.”

I turned my head. He was right next to me, smiling.

Handsome. Overpoweringly manly and muscled and huge. “I can’t believe this,” I muttered.

“Where are you riding to?”

“I think I’m riding away from you. You go that way, I’ll go this way.” I tugged on the strap of my helmet as we pedaled beside each other.

“I was just thinking that I wanted to backtrack.”

“You never backtrack.”

“I can think of a lot of backtracking I’d like to do.”

“Then think of it while you’re pedaling north.”

“Will you bike with me?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Can I bike with you?”

“No, same thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . .” I struggled to find the right words, finally settling on honesty. “I don’t want to get wrapped up in you again because then I can’t think like a normal person.” And yet . . . I so wanted to do that. I trusted Jace enough to lose my mind around him, I did.

“I cannot understand why.”

I did not miss the sharp edge in his tone. Jace was no sap.

“If you’ll let this work between us, Allie, it could have a different ending than it did before.”

“I’ll be leaving soon, so what’s the point? I’m going back to the city. I was invited for interviews in Boston, Seattle, and Houston.”

He was quiet for a second. “And when you get a job, that’s it. You’ll be gone?”

“Yes.” My voice was soft. I ignored the way that traitorous heart of mine screamed in protest.

“Why? Why would you leave so soon?”

“Why? Because I need a job. And why would I stay?” He shook his head a little and I knew I’d hurt him.

“Stay for us. Or stay because we’re living in the country with a stream running through our properties and apple orchards. Stay because you have a home here and a bunch of animals who like you. Stay because you can find a job here.”

“The jobs I applied for start immediately.” And if I stay here longer, it will kill me to leave you, Jace. You deserve more. More than me. I kept pedaling. “I am not used to not working. I need to work. It fills up the time.”

“Other things can fill up time, too.”

“Not in my life, Jace. Working is part of me. I’ve worked since I was sixteen, and from that moment on, the independence it brought me, the financial security . . . I can’t not work.”

“I’ll pay you to stay here.”

I laughed; he didn’t. He was serious, I knew that. Jace was the most generous, protective person I knew. Yellowstone showed me that. “No. I would never accept money from you.”

His jaw tightened and I could tell my quick rejection hurt him.

“You’re running from here as fast as you can. I can see that. You like to run, don’t you? When things get to a place that you don’t like, you shut down and you cut out.”

“That’s not true.” I bit my lip to keep a flood of emotions under control. “Maybe I am running. Okay, I think you’re right. I am running.”

“Why? Why are you running again ?”

“My dad’s house is a reminder of him. We didn’t get along, so I need to move.

I hardly know anything about horses or how to take care of an apple orchard or all that property.

” I stopped my bike because my eyes were filling up behind my sunglasses and I couldn’t see.

We were up on a hill, the land stretching out in front of us like a quilt, sections here and there for fields, farms, orchards, vineyards.

“You’re here and you’re kind and fun and interesting, like before, and I feel us falling into us again, and I can’t have that. ”

He stopped next to me. “For God’s sakes,” he swore, his voice raised. “Why do you keep pulling away? Why won’t you give us a chance?”

I could only give him a partial truth. “I can’t do relationships, Jace. I can’t get that close to anyone. I don’t trust men; I hardly trust women. You were the first person, outside of my mother, that I trusted.”

“Doesn’t that say something about us, then?” He pulled off his sunglasses with a little too much force. “About the quality of our relationship, our future?”

“We don’t have a future. You are looking for a wife, we both know that. I don’t want to be a wife, and I’m not presuming that you would want me to be your wife, but I don’t want to . . . to . . .” I waved my hand in the air.

“You don’t even want to try to be together? Get naked in my hot tub or wake up every Saturday morning and have French toast? Bike? Travel?” He moved his bike so our legs were touching. “Work on puzzles? Hike? Study the stars on our backs? Talk?”

“Right. No. I don’t want to do that.” Oh yes, I do!

“No commitment then?”

“No.” Yes!

“Why are you so averse to commitment?” He put his palms up, those muscles flexing in his arms. “What could possibly be wrong with being committed to someone you love for the rest of your life? What could be better than that?”

Nothing. Nothing would be better. “I’m better on my own. I didn’t have a good example of a marriage growing up.” That was minimizing it. “You almost have it all, Jace. Everything you wanted. You have the house in the country, you’re a doctor—”

“I don’t have it all. I have the job, I have the house in the country, but I don’t have a wife or kids.”

“Then go find her, Jace. It’s not going to be me. And I don’t want children.” That wasn’t true. I choked back tears. I did want kids. I wanted kids so much I ached. But that wasn’t going to happen because of a tragedy on an inky-black night.

His face registered shock. “Why? Why would you not want children? We talked about kids before. I thought you wanted four, at least. Remember we joked and said we were going to name our kids Grizzly Bear, Waterfall, Fishing Stream, and Geyser because of Yellowstone.” He shook his head. “What changed your mind?”

“Life did.”

“What do you mean by that? You would make a great mother, Allie. An outstanding mother.”

I didn’t know about that. “I have no desire to get involved with you, to get close to you, only to walk away. What’s the point? We’d both get hurt.”

“Maybe you won’t walk away.”

“I will walk away, Jace. I can assure you of that.” I would walk.

I would save him from me, as utterly and ridiculously melodramatic as that sounded.

I didn’t want to hurt him by telling him the truth and I didn’t want him to feel obligated toward me in any way.

But he would not want a life with me once he knew.

I knew him, and I knew what he most wanted.

He studied me for a minute and I could tell that his fast, capable brain was working at a zillion miles an hour. Jace was a keenly intelligent, perceptive man, who listened carefully. I tried not to think about how much I loved that brain.

All around us the country danced, birds chirped, a cow mooed, wind puffed up the tree leaves, and the country quilt in front of us shifted square to square in a plethora of colors.

“Around the corner is the most amazing view of Mt. Hood,” Jace said finally, his voice kind.

“Let’s go look at it. Then we can bike back and I’ll take you to lunch at Abigail’s Café.

It used to be a house of ill repute, then a saloon, then a gas station.

Now it’s a café, and they serve soup and sandwiches. I know you love soup.”

“Did you not hear me, Jace?”

He leaned in close, inches from my face.

I wanted to cup his head with my hands and kiss him until we both dropped into that familiar, out-of-control passion.

He smelled like pine and the woods and man and musk.

I liked his razor stubble and knew how it would feel.

My gaze dropped to those lips that were truly creative in terms of turning me to mush, to say nothing of what those talented hands had done to me each and every time we’d gotten naked.

“I heard every word. So, here are my words to you. I don’t want you to go to Boston. I don’t want you to go to Houston or to Seattle. I want you to stay here. I want you to reach up and kiss me.”

“I’m not going to reach up and kiss you.” Oh, but I wanted to.

He studied me, and I raised my eyebrows in challenge. He was a strong-willed man, and I was a strong-willed woman. Those characteristics sometimes clashed.

“Okay, Allie. We have no choice but to base our relationship on our mutual lust and attraction and go from there.”

“You don’t get it. There’s no going from there .” But that sounded delicious.

He grinned. “Then I’ll take the mutual lust and attraction part.”

He leaned in, looped an arm around my waist, tilted his head so our bike helmets didn’t smack together, and kissed me. I automatically closed my eyes and savored that kiss. He pulled away after long, yummy seconds, but only by an inch. “Kiss me, Allie,” he murmured. “One kiss.”

I tingled up one side and down the other. My body heat notched up a hundred degrees. I could not resist. I put my hand on his shoulder, drawing him closer, and he kissed me again, and again, and again, both arms around me, holding me as close as he could with our bikes between us.

When I was good and steamed up, almost panting, totally not thinking anymore, and sunk way down deep in that erotic passion he engendered in me, he pulled away, smiled at me in a friendly and sexy way, and climbed on his bike.

He put out his hand to pull me along.

I swore again that he was trouble in the first degree and that this would lead to nothing but searing heartache for me, and him, but I put out my hand, he grabbed it, I climbed on my bike, and we pedaled up the hill to see a stunning view of Mt. Hood. We held hands halfway up.

At the top, we stood and stared at each other. He smiled at me again, our legs touching, and I could feel his happiness: his happiness that we were together, that I’d kissed him, that I’d agreed to bike with him.

I felt him , as I always had. I felt his friendship and kindness, his deep attraction to me, his sadness that I kept scrambling away from him.

In my head—not out loud—at the top of that hill, the serenity of the sweet countryside all around, I heard the words I’d said thousands of times before. I love you, Jace. I love you, I love you. I will always love you.

He kissed me again, hugging me close, and I kissed him back, sinking right on in.