Page 28 of Marrying the Gardener (The Bachelor Brothers #3)

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Devour me, darling. I’m yours.

Kaleb

“How did you know I liked horses?” Crimson asks after a mostly silent ride back from the ranch. We’re just hitting downtown Sunset now and heading toward a Thai place I’ve chosen for dinner.

Sitting beside me in tawny knee high boots, tight cream pants, and a sleek long-sleeve tan shirt that hugs every last one of her curves, Crimson has never looked like she likes horses more.

I murmur, “I dunno. Maybe it was the way you launched toward your closet and put together the most elite horse girl outfit I have ever seen in a matter of three minutes after I told you where we were going this morning.”

Eyeing me, she loosens her low ponytail and fits the scrunchy on her wrist. “I didn’t think I was anything but casual.”

“Your eyes erupted like fireworks at the mere prospect. Then, when we arrived, you bee-lined for the nearest horse, touching your forehead to its like you were in a movie. I’ve never seen you so happy. So I think it’s safe to say that it’s fairly obvious you like horses.”

“But you knew to take me to the horses,” she all but accuses. “How did you know that I liked horses before you saw me with the horses?”

“Oh.” I turn down an avenue. “On our first date when you were teasing me about going elsewhere, the first thing you said was horseback riding, then an aquarium. I made an educated guess that if your second thought was of a favorite of Crisis’s, your first was probably a favorite of yours.”

I’m not entirely sure how to decode the way Crimson is looking at me when I pull into a space in front of Khun Thai, turn off the car, and face her.

Her eyes dart toward the restaurant, then back to me. “How did you know I like Thai food?”

“You do like Thai food?” I ask. “I like Thai food, so I figured I’d bring you to one of my favorite places. I didn’t know you did until just now.”

Swallowing, she wets her lips and lowers her gaze. “I…like Thai food. It’s my favorite.”

“That’s…good? We both like Thai food.” I smile warmly at my beautiful horse girl wife. “We’re a match made in heaven.”

She combs her fingers through her hair, letting the strands soak in the setting sun. The picture is a painting, leaving strokes upon the walls of my heart.

“Is everything all right, Crimson?” I ask, as gently as possible.

She startles anyway, flicking her gaze toward me, away again. Absently, she nods. “Yes…I… Everything’s fine. Why?”

“You’re acting a little off.”

She tenses. “I am?”

A fragile breath slips through her body. I watch how it shakes her chest. “Somewhat, yes.”

“Oh.” Adopting regal airs, she lifts her chin and plants both hands in her lap, folding them together like an aristocrat. “You must be mistaken.”

I don’t think I am. She’s been subtly off ever since I mentioned going horseback riding. What started as open enthusiasm slipped steadily into skepticism. And now she’s practically guarded.

Reaching for her hand, I ignore the way she flinches when I grasp her cool fingers. “You can talk to me.” Wait. No. She won’t talk to me if this is about her. I remember. It needs to be about me since she is very bad about taking any considerations for herself. “I’m worried.”

“About me?” she asks, solidifying as she cups her other hand over mine. “Don’t be. Everything’s fine, Kaleb. Let’s have dinner. I love the spring rolls here. And their crispy spinach appetizer? It’s amazing. Who would ever think to bread and fry spinach?”

Popeye, surely. But also I’m fairly certain that America’s single goal is to bread and fry everything. Keeping myself in the focus, I say, “Have I done something wrong?”

Her eyes widen, and her head shakes. “No. No, Kaleb. You haven’t.”

“You’d tell me if I have, right?”

“Immediately.”

That’s for sure. I know as much. It’s happened many times in the past few weeks. Carefully, I say, “Would you be similarly inclined to disclose the information if I’ve done something right?”

Warm shades that match the deep hues of the sunset sky behind her ignite in her cheeks, plunging red through her face to the roots of her hair. “Can you…tell?”

“Can I tell what?”

“Is this one of those stupid parenting mistakes where you see the chocolate all over my face, but you’re still giving me the opportunity to lie and say, no, I didn’t eat the cupcake , even though it’s so obvious I did?

” She rakes in a breath at the end of her ramble and states, “Don’t thrust the facts in my face and punish me. If you know something, just say so.”

That sounds an awful lot like something worth unpacking in therapy. “I can pretty much promise that I have no intention of punishing you unless you ask for it.”

Shivering, she whispers, “No…thank you.”

“All right then. Now. Are you lying to me about something?”

“About what would I be lying, Kaleb?”

I haven’t the faintest clue.

Maybe it’s best to let this go…at least until she’s ready to tell me more about whatever’s going on.

With that in mind, I lift her fingers to my lips, kiss, and say, “I care about you. I’m here if you ever need to tell me anything. I like feeling useful. I want to help, however I can, as often as I can. So please don’t withhold any opportunities.”

“I…won’t.” She bolsters, pulling her hand from mine and opening the car door. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat?”

Stepping out with her, I try to shake the sensation that something has changed, but I can’t.

I can’t figure anything out during our meal, and I can’t figure anything out on the trip home.

An entire week goes by with her walking on eggshells around me, dodging me, avoiding touching me, even begging me with her eyes not to touch her when I try to keep up appearances in front of her staff.

Gutted, I drift slowly closer to an existential crisis every time she pushes me farther and farther away.

When date day comes and goes without her planning anything, I can’t stop myself from wallowing in every last one of my actions that led us to this moment.

I mentioned horseback riding. I took her horseback riding. She was so happy to go horseback riding. I took her to her favorite restaurant. She was tense. And then everything fell apart.

And I don’t know what I did, or how to go back.

I just know that the longer this rift lasts, the more sanity I lose.

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Monday.

It’s raining.

On top of Crimson ignoring her week to plan our date, Crimson’s grandfather also didn’t summon us this Saturday.

Since he had to leave the bar early, I’ve been checking in with him each day, wishing him well as he works to feel better.

Our calls aren’t very long, but they’re better than nothing to keep me in his mind while we haven’t been interacting much in person at least.

Apart from the raging chauvinism, Mr. Nightingale isn’t the worst guy. He plays sudoku in his down time and apparently keeps a little book of puzzles by his bed.

People who play sudoku can’t be all bad.

That’s my belief, anyway.

I do hate how he treats Crimson. I can’t stand it, honestly.

But even I can recognize when a smug man has too many regrets to speak of.

He’s dying. Right now, he is at home with a private nurse staff and no visitors.

Even with a will hanging in the balance, no one else in his family has called. Only me.

Being separated from family hurts. For some reason, I think it hurts even more when you know—somewhere in your tainted soul—that the separation is your own fault. The loneliness that creeps up on you makes it hard to breathe. And it’s nearly impossible to know how to regain what you’ve lost.

Closing my eyes after saying goodbye to Crimson’s grandfather, I toss my phone on my pillow, stretch my limbs, and rise from the corner of my bed.

A rumble of thunder takes over the gray beyond the sliding glass door in front of me.

Droplets beat into the window and race down the glass.

I follow them with my eyes, picking favorites like I know how to be a normal kid.

Being a child held little for me.

Living in that large, cold, dark house held little for me.

Childhood was terrifyingly bleak, devoid of innocence and imagination. Suffused with pain and fear.

Maybe that’s why, in adulthood, I gravitate toward things that remind me of sunlight and fire. I am, still, desperate for the kind of warmth I’ve been starved of since youth.

A knock sounds on the closet door behind me, so I turn—heart racing—and call, “Yes?”

Uncharacteristically timid, Crimson cracks the door and peeks in at me.

Eyes lowered, she steps inside and rests back against the door to close it behind her.

Her hands clasp together in front of her white dress.

The fabric plunges low between her breasts, bearing so very many freckles upon the soft, pale curves of her, and I… am weak. So terribly weak.

It feels like ages since she’s sought me out.

Rigid, I force myself to stay put. Waiting.

“Kaleb?” she whispers.

My lungs constrict around the sound of my name on her lips. “Yes?”

Her gaze fixes on me, and her shoulders rise with a fragile intake of breath. “It hasn’t gone away.”

“What hasn’t?” Careful, I make my way to her, as though she’ll bolt at any moment, leaving me cold and alone in this dreary world again.

Far too much hope rides on the way she pushes off the door to meet me in the center of the room. Eyes sharp and steady on mine, she lifts her hand, cups my cheek, drags her touch to the back of my neck, and pulls me down. There’s an instance of her breath grazing my lips, then her mouth owns mine.

I command my hands not to grab for her, but I lose all sense of self control as the frozen wasteland I’ve been lost amidst breaks to reveal heat and sunlight.

Suddenly, there is warmth. And I can’t stop the way I latch onto it, beg it to consume me.

Rain pours beyond the glass of my windows; lightning cracks; but the flames rage on, scathing my flesh, branding my soul.