Preston's Honor(28)

Even now, sitting here, it felt like Preston was removed from me in so many ways. Not just because of the obvious differences that had always been there, but in some deeper way I couldn’t understand. And I wanted to but I didn’t know where to begin. So much time had passed, and in some ways he was a stranger; in some ways he was so familiar. He’d been my friend—one of my only friends. I hadn’t fully realized before this moment that I’d been living with a hole in my heart. A Preston-sized hole.

With some effort, I shifted my gaze away, toward the doors that led outside. “You’re going to run the farm now?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“And Cole?” I knew he had majored in business like Preston, knew he wanted to work in some big city somewhere, but I didn’t know how their father’s death might have changed those plans.

Preston shook his head. “I don’t know if he’ll want to stay or not. We haven’t even started working through any of that. It’s all been such a shock.” He stared off into the distance for a moment, sadness moving over his expression.

I reached out and laid my hand on top of his where it rested on the box he was sitting on. He looked down quickly and watched as I took his hand in mine, holding it gently. His skin was slightly rough and I felt the shivers that had always moved through me when I touched Preston. In a flash of thought, I wondered what it would feel like if our bare skin touched everywhere—not just our hands but our thighs and our bellies and my breasts pressed to his naked chest. The vision jolted through me and I sucked in a breath, letting go of his hand and rubbing my palm on my skirt as if by doing so I could rub the erotic thought from my mind.

He was looking at me curiously. “Are you all right?” His voice sounded oddly scratchy and he cleared his throat, waving his hand through the dust motes that floated lazily in a shaft of sunlight in front of him. They dispersed momentarily, dancing madly in disarray, but then drifted back together exactly as they’d been, proving that some things could be interrupted but never forced to change in any permanent way, no matter how much effort you put forth.

I swallowed and looked away on a small nod. When I looked back at Preston, he was gazing at me with an amused smile that lit his face. “What?” I asked.

“You still do that.”

“Do what?”

His smile grew. “Go away into your own head for a minute or two. I used to wonder so hard what you were thinking.”

I tilted my head, surprised. “Why didn’t you ever ask?”

He ran his hand through his hair, looking slightly confused. “I guess I didn’t think you’d tell me. Thoughts can be so . . . personal.”

I considered him for a minute. Yes, that was true and perhaps I wouldn’t have shared many of my thoughts with Preston—but mostly because they were so often about him.

We sat in silence for a moment and things felt suddenly awkward between us. It was because of me. Preston affected me so much that I hardly knew how to control my own reactions to him. The mixture of the deep attraction that had always been there on my part and the shyness I felt after not having seen him for so long was wreaking havoc on my system.

“Tell me about your life now, Lia,” he said quietly after a moment.

I played with the hem of my skirt for a second, feeling insecure. He’d done so much in four years, and though my life was improved, the improvements were basic and wouldn’t sound very impressive. “I . . . well, I graduated last year, and since then I’ve been waitressing at IHOP.” I shrugged, a flush of embarrassment filling my face. I hoped my skin was already red enough from the sweltering heat that he didn’t notice. “We moved into an apartment in town.” I cringed internally, remembering when he’d come out to our house and seen the shack we’d lived in. “I don’t have much more of an update than that.” The words faded away, the last one coming out more breath than sound.

He studied me for a moment, his face unreadable, before he said, “Have you been happy?”

I tilted my head, taking a moment to consider that. “Well, I won’t say slinging pancakes is my life’s dream, but . . . yeah, I’ve been happy.” I didn’t know if that was precisely accurate, not about slinging pancakes not being my life’s dream—it wasn’t—but about being happy. I’d never asked myself that question. At least not in such a direct way.

“What is your life’s dream? Is it still to get out of Linmoor?”

Is that what he thought my life’s dream was? I guessed Cole and I had always joked about that. Truthfully, though, my life’s dream had just been to get out of the tiny spaces I’d always occupied—not just where I lived, but the stifling nature of my life in general. I just wanted things around me to . . . open up. I didn’t know any other way to describe that than in terms of locations—long stretches of white sand beaches in Greece, or high mountains with winding ski trails in Austria. Or endless rows of strawberries under a wide-open sky right up the road. But somehow that dream seemed more impossible than those of far-off lands I had no earthly way to get to. I laughed softly. “I suppose.”

He was staring at me again in that intense way Preston did and though it was hot in the barn, a small shiver moved through me. It was dim and still, and we were both sweating. I could see the steady beat of his pulse under the tan skin of his neck and a bead of sweat moved slowly over it, my eyes following as it settled in the hollow at the base of his throat. And it was the sexiest thing I’d ever witnessed. My nipples tightened and a trickle of wet warmth pooled between my legs. This is how it would be on a hot night in a dim room if we were in bed together—both dewy from the exertions of lovemaking. Our combined scents filling the air. God, Lia, stop it! Stop this line of thought.