Jennifer Greene - Wild in the Field

For three days in a row, the family had complained that Pete was as much fun to be around as a crabby porcupine. So this morning, the instant he heard sounds of life stirring upstairs, he sucked down a mug of coffee and pasted on a stupid, happy smile. By the time vigorous fighting had broken out between the twins, he had the eggs whipped to a frenzy. By the time he heard the sound of his father’s cane on the stairs, he popped down the toast.

His dad showed up in the doorway first, shooting him a wary glance. “Gonna be a hot one, they say,” Ian claimed as he ambled into the kitchen. “Pretty rare to have eighty degrees in May.”

“Uh-huh.” When Pete heard the grumpiness in his tone, he deliberately repeated, “Uh-huh,” with more boisterous enthusiasm.

His father squinted at him in surprise, then poured a mug and settled across the counter. When Pete offered no further conversation, Ian ventured, “You get some sleep last night? Seems like I heard you pacing around for three nights in a row, figured you weren’t feeling well.”

“Couldn’t be better,” Pete said heartily. “How’re doing this morning, Dad?”

That shocked Ian into complete silence. Pete never asked about Ian’s state of health-not because he didn’t love his father-but because Ian generally answered in minute detail about every ache and pain. Ian liked being coddled, where Pete didn’t believe it was good for him. This morning, though, his father didn’t answer his health question, only watched Pete serve him eggs and toast and juice.

“You’re waiting on me,” Ian said, in the same disbelieving tone he’d use to announce Elvis hunkering down at their kitchen table.

“Just thought we should all start the day with a good breakfast.”

“I’m not complaining,” Ian said hastily, and taking advantage of his son being pleasant, tried a new line of conversation. “I couldn’t help but notice the special deliveries you got yesterday. Looked like some thick envelopes. New work?”

“Yeah.” And normally, the arrival of new work would have revved his personal jets. He did all kinds of translating projects, but the scientific translating work he did for Langley was his favorite, always fascinating and different, always something new to spin his mind around. Right now, though, there was only one thing he wanted the skill to translate-and that wasn’t scientific developments, but Camille. No amount of replaying what she said seemed to help him analyze what she really meant-or what she really wanted.

The boys clattered downstairs. Eggs got shoveled onto plates. Ian punched on CNBC. Sun poured in the east windows.

When Pete looked out, though, he didn’t see the sunlit grass or the dewy glisten in his apple orchards. He saw her. His mind’s view whispered back three nights. He saw Cam’s face by moonlight, the magic in her eyes, her silky white naked skin. The way she’d come alive for him. Apart for him. Gone wild for him, with him.

For damn sure, he hadn’t been hurt that she’d ended the night with honesty. Her confession that she was still in love with her dead husband came as absolutely no surprise. She’d never given him a reason to expect anything else. A man would have to be an idiot to not realize the tragedy was still haunting her. Camille was nothing like Debbie. When Cam loved, she loved . Obviously, she’d never be having such a hard time getting over Robert’s death if she hadn’t loved him so damn much.

A glass of juice spilled. Ian babbled on about an eye doctor appointment. The boys only had a couple weeks of school left, and they had plans. “I’m not going to bug you about a horse again, Dad. I’m just saying…”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“You mean, it’s okay that I can get a horse this summer?”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the counter, looking out. He’d never made love with her because he expected any kind of return. The chemistry was explosive, so yeah, there was plenty of selfishness on his part. He wasn’t trying to claim that he’d made love for her sake. But that really wasn’t the whole picture. He hated seeing her shut herself off from life. He also didn’t want her getting her feet wet with some guy who’d hurt her-something he knew he’d never do. He wanted to be the one who helped her heal. What was wrong with that?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Making love hadn’t hurt her. Hadn’t hurt him. Her admitting she was still hung up on Robert was an honest, honorable thing to tell him.

He was happy she had.

Very happy.

A yellow school bus suddenly braked at the end of the driveway. The back door slammed once, then twice, as the boys pelted outside.

“I think Simon broke the remote control. Didn’t want to tell you, but from the looks of the situation, I believe it found its way into the bathtub.”

“Sure,” Pete said.

Ian brought the breakfast dishes to the sink. That was the closest he ever came to doing dishes directly. “I can’t believe you agreed to buy that boy a horse. Ask me, it’s proof you’ve completely lost your mind. But if you’re up for a horse, I might as well buy Simon and Sean a truck of their own. That okay with you?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe I’ll take them on a trip to Alaska next week, too.”

“Okay.”

“Are you going to be in the office this morning or out in the orchards or what? Where are you going to be?”

Pete shook himself awake, stirred from the window. “I’ll be working in the back office for at least an hour. But then I’m going to pick up a few truckloads of mulch and round up a crew.”

“Ah. For Camille’s lavender.” His dad almost choked on a guffaw, the sound so unexpected that Pete pivoted around and looked at him in surprise.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just think it’s pretty amazing. I could tell you the sun turned blue, and you’d never hear the conversation, but if I mention anything related to Camille, you’re all ears.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just because I’ve gotten old doesn’t mean I’ve lost all memory of what a young buck feels like. Tuesday was the first time you were gone all night since the divorce. I was pretty sure you weren’t playing dominoes.”

Pete opened his mouth to deny his dad’s assumption-off the cuff, he didn’t have a clear-cut lie on mind, only the intention to come through with a good one. Only his dad-the one who’d been trying to make the family believe he needed help to walk across a room-skedaddled from sight. In fact, he trundled in the other room so fast that Pete had no chance to think up any kind of good lie. For his dad.

Or for himself.

Camille saw the cars parked outside the Herb Haven, but she still trounced inside. For three days, she’d let herself stew and fester instead of confronting her sister. Naturally, she wouldn’t say anything directly in front of customers, but it was time to corner Violet and have it out.

She spotted Violet right away and motioned to let her know she was there, then just wandered up and down aisles, staying out of the way. Her sister was waiting on a guy. Camille could hear the man talking-he was apparently looking for a present for his wife. A girl present. Something that cost around fifty bucks and smelled good and that his wife would like-those factors seemed to sum up his entire descriptive criteria.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Jacob. I’ll fix you up.” Violet was wearing another one of her big, sappy hats-heaven knew why. She was also wearing lace-up shoes with heels, a vintage lace blouse, and earrings that hung to her shoulders.

Camille wouldn’t have worn the outfit in a coffin, but for a brief moment she felt like something a cat dragged in from the rain. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d loved her sassy business suits and spent a shameless fortune on shoes and jewelry. She’d always tended toward tailored pieces, sterling collars and single bangles, none of the froufrou and beads that Vi loved, but she’d never been unkempt or uncaring about her appearance, the way she was now. She caught a glimpse of her wind-burned cheeks and wildly tossed hair in a mirror and unconsciously touched her face, thinking of Pete-before swiftly turning away.