Page 78 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 1

TRUMAN

I’d heard it all. It had been easy to put together his mother’s words with the little bits I’d picked up from both Sam and Mikey about Sam’s past. She’d blatantly attempted to manipulate him, and it had made me want to spit fire in her general direction.

I’d felt so helpless. So I’d done what he’d done to me a few times already. I simply hugged him as hard as I could.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” I said. “Sorry you’re trying to handle this from afar.”

“I’m trying not to handle it, though. That’s just it. And it makes me feel like a horrible person,” Sam said roughly, tightening his arms around me.

“Sometimes protecting yourself means you can’t keep protecting everyone else,” I said, as if I’d ever taken my own advice.

“Easier said than done,” he said with a soft laugh against my hair. I could have stayed like that all night in Sam’s arms out here on the patio, but I had to admit to wanting more. Lots more.

But then he threw a reality check at me like a dousing of cold water. “I’ll be back in Houston soon enough. I can deal with it then.”

“Yes. Right. Um, we should make dinner,” I said, pulling back. “Because I’m going to die of embarrassment when my stomach starts growling in front of you.”

Sam’s easy smile gave me an overwhelming feeling of relief. I knew he wasn’t going to be able to drop the stress of that phone call as easily as that, but maybe I could at least distract him for a while.

He stood up and let me slide down the firm front of his body until I stood on my own feet again. Then he leaned down and pressed a long kiss against the edge of my lips. “I’m definitely hungry, Truman,” he murmured.

My entire body shuddered because it was obvious he wasn’t only referring to the food.

“Yes,” I squeaked before clearing my throat. “Yes, well, then. Ha. Hoo-boy. Let’s cook, then. Dinner. Chicken. Dinner chicken. Chicken for dinner.”

Well, then.

Sam’s smile took away some of my nervous fluttering, and when I felt the solid warmth of his hand on my lower back, I forgot all about being a bumbling idiot.

I was a horny idiot.

While he continued to make dinner, I asked about his business back in Houston, what he liked about working in construction, and what his dream job would be if he could do anything.

“I actually love what I do. Building things. Fixing things. Working with my hands and spending the day with other hardworking people. It’s good.

I think if I could change anything…” His voice trailed off while he focused on the food for a moment.

“I guess I’d want to do those same things in a place I liked better than Houston.

You know, it never occurred to me to ever leave, but now I see Mikey and Tiller and I see this place… ”

“It’s very different from Houston,” I prompted.

He chuckled. “Yeah. Something about it…”

“Now you know why I came back.” I watched Sam’s face for his reaction.

Sam blinked up at me. “Yeah. I guess I do. It’s beautiful. Peaceful. I almost feel like Aster Valley is set outside of real life.”

I nodded because I knew exactly what he meant.

“When I’m here on the farm, I feel like I can do anything I want.

I’m close to the earth, and it’s a bit… timeless.

Sometimes I can almost imagine what it would have been like to be a pioneer or one of the original tribes who made their home here.

That connection to the land and the weather, to helping others…

that’s what I inherited from Aunt Berry even if I hadn’t inherited the farm, too.

It lives inside of me, and I’m so grateful for it. ”

It was the most I’d ever admitted out loud to another person in regards to my true heart. Maybe it was because Sam was safe. He was a “dead end” as Chaya called it—someone who wouldn’t or couldn’t repeat the information in a way that would hurt me.

It felt good to share those thoughts, even if an urban construction worker couldn’t understand what I meant about a connection to the earth. But I suspected he could. Not because he had experience bonding with nature or anything “woo-woo” like that, but because he seemed empathetic in general.

Sam’s eyes met mine. “I’m grateful to your aunt for giving you a place to feel yourself.”

I nodded again and looked away, fussing with the candles I’d laid out on the kitchen table so I didn’t have to look at Sam’s intense face and feel the laser-focused attention he gave me.

“So maybe you should leave Houston,” I suggested. “Find a place that makes you feel yourself.”

The silence was thick enough to cause me to glance back up at him. His green eyes pinned me in place. “Maybe it’s not a place,” he finally said. The low words slid between us like somnolent temptation. Did I dare wonder what he meant by that? Did I dare hope he was implying home was a person?

No. I didn’t dare. Because men like Sam Rigby weren’t for me. He was a flash of bright light, here one minute and gone the next. I would bathe in its warmth for that singular shining moment and then try my hardest not to wallow in the dark when he was gone.

I put on a big smile that didn’t feel quite as comfortable as before.

“Phenology is the study of the timing of natural phenomena as relates to the environment as a whole,” I said apropos of nothing.

“In other words, studying the timing of various features of the plant growing cycle can give us indicators into the effects of climate change. Well, that’s one of the things it can tell us.

But it’s also critical to understanding how various natural phenomena interact with causative impact on other phenomena. ”

Sam stared at me. Because I was spouting ridiculous information. There was nothing to do but barge through it.

“Imagine if dandelion fluff appeared just in time for a season of no breeze. That would be nonideal timing, and it would have a great impact on the dandelion’s ability to spread its seed far and wide.

Now imagine if bears came out of hibernation after all of the fruits of the season were gone.

Terrible timing. The bears would starve.

So this timing situation is critical in nature. ”

I started to low-key panic because I really had no idea what my point was. Didn’t matter. I carried on like a good little soldier.

“Phenology is a leading indicator of climate change. Birds time the building of their nests and the laying of their eggs with the hatching of insects to feed their young. Once these factors get out of whack, the gentle organiz?—”

I hadn’t noticed Sam’s approach, but suddenly his lips were on mine, and the giant rounded muscles of his arms were wrapped around me once again.

Forget phenology. The timing of Sam’s kiss couldn’t have been better. I groaned my approval into his mouth as his lips and tongue took control. He kissed me like he did most things—confidently, assertively, silently.

Meanwhile, I was the one making all kinds of noises. Mewling sounds and rapid breathing, little whimpered pleas not to stop. It was like a quick summer storm—flashing in and throwing things around, drenching everything in reach, before leaving just as rapidly as it had come.

Sam stepped back and adjusted himself while I stood there gasping for air.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Nor should you,” I said breathlessly.

He grunted out a laugh and shot me straight through the gut with a devastating grin. “Then maybe I won’t.”

Oh please, oh please.

“Did you want to hear more about environmental science?” I teased. “Because I’m going to take that enthusiastic response as a positive indicator that I was on the right track to wooing you with my fascinating, albeit trivial, knowledge.”

Sam laughed again. “You wooed me with something, alright.”

When the meal was ready, we sat down together at the table and dug in. The food was amazing, and Sam asked more questions about the herbs and spices.

“You know a lot for someone who didn’t go to college,” he said. I wondered how he knew that about me.

“I didn’t have much of a social life growing up, but I hated being at home, too. Honestly, I hated Durango full stop. But—and you’re not going to believe this—Durango’s library has a botanical garden.”

“Heaven for sweet little baby Truman,” Sam added, nudging his empty plate away and leaning back in his chair.

“Exactly. I spent as much time as possible there. I would check out books on every topic imaginable and read outside as long as the weather permitted. I planted thousands of imaginary gardens and grew metric tons of imaginary plants. The botanic society loved volunteers, so I worked with them as much as I could.”

“Ahh, so those weren’t wasted years. You were learning, practicing, and working in preparation for following your own path.”

I’d never looked at it that way, but he was right.

Even if I hadn’t inherited this property, I most likely would have gotten a job at a nursery or garden center and saved up every penny until I could buy myself some land.

It was nice to realize I might have been okay on my own without Aunt Berry’s generous gift.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling like something tight and creaky inside of me was finally able to loosen and relax. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Are you doing well financially? Is the farm and shop income enough to make you comfortable and ease your worries?”

I was surprised by his question, not because it was a bit personal, but because of the way he’d asked. As if he wanted to make sure I wasn’t burdened.

I shrugged. “The online business is very lucrative. I love having the shop in town because I think I’d be quite isolated and lonely if I was on the farm by myself all the time, but it’s not nearly as successful financially.”

Sam shifted in his seat. “That makes sense. Overhead and whatnot.”

“Also, businesses in the town of Aster Valley have to pay a supplemental service fee to the sheriff’s department, and it seems like it keeps going up every time I turn around.”