I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t think Jethro was finished. I remained quiet, watching him, wishing he would let me hug him or something.
“But when Ben died,” Jethro’s voice deepened, rough with emotion, “I took a step back and realized it wasn’t the Iron Wraiths that I loved, or my father. It was the loyalty, the family, the belonging to something important, to someone important. That’s what I’d wanted. And I’d already had that, with my real brothers. And Ben.” He sounded so tortured, so remorseful, I felt tears sting my eyes, but I couldn’t look away. “That’s what I had with my momma and my sister, but I’d thrown it away.” Jethro shook his head, his grin held unmistakable self-loathing.
“You changed,” I pointed out, hating how his features were twisted with bitter anger, all directed inward. “You changed and look at you now.”
“I didn’t change, not the way you mean. What I did was become someone new. What I did was decide to live the life Ben never got a chance to live. I’ve tried to live his wishes and dreams. I want to be the person he never got a chance to be.”
This statement hurt my heart. I gripped both of my hands at my chest to keep from reaching out again. “But what about the life you want to live? What about Jethro’s wishes and dreams?”
Jethro shook his head again, his smile wry and tired. “Those dreams died with Ben McClure in Afghanistan. And good riddance.”
I breathed out a pained exhale. “I’m not talking about the dreams and wishes of becoming a motorcycle gang member. I’m referring to new wishes, new dreams, good ones. What do you want to do? If you could do anything, what would it be?”
Jethro shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Not hurt people.”
“Okay, so we can take axe murderer off the list.”
This drew a light laugh from him. The tightness around my chest lessened as a semblance of his easy smile returned.
“I’m serious, though. What do you want?
Once again, I found myself being the subject of Jethro’s gaze upon. And once again, I held my breath.
As he’d done Friday, Jethro took a step toward me, nearly closing the distance, and slid his fingers into my hair. Goosebumps raced over my skin, sensitive to his touch. I tilted my chin, wanting his mouth, because the man was truly a gifted kisser.
Also, my stomach and heart were engaged in synchronized gymnastics.
Also, I just really freaking liked him a lot.
Instead of kissing my lips, he tugged me forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. My breath came out in a confused whoosh.
“Jethro—”
“Hush,” he said, his lips still hovering against my hairline.
Jethro dipped his chin and pressed our foreheads together, breathing me in. I gripped his wrists and gave my head a small shake, not wanting to break the contact, but I was a mess of confusion. I didn’t know what we were doing. I wanted more contact, not less.
“What are we doing?” I asked, feeling restless.
“Taking comfort.”
That made me smile, so I peered up at him. “You’re taking comfort in me?”
“Yes.”
My smile grew and I closed my eyes, giving myself over to the moment.
Gradually, I heard a symphony of sounds rise around us. Wind played through the grass, rustled the small but plentiful leaves of a nearby lonely oak. Crickets and other insects chirped and hummed. I felt the beat of Jethro’s heart in his fingertips and where I gripped his wrists. My heart slowed until it matched the rhythm of his.
My restlessness eased until it faded away, eclipsed by the stillness, the comfort of being close, yet barely touching. And I took comfort in him.
CHAPTER 17
“People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they’re not on your road doesn’t mean they’ve gotten lost.”
― Dalai Lama XIV
~Sienna~
I thought Jethro and I were moving forward, moving toward each other.
Yet after “sharing comfort on the prairie”—which I realize totally sounds like a sexy euphemism—Jethro started avoiding me again. He, Cletus, and I drove to the set every morning and that was it. He was friendly enough during the chaperoned truck ride, with Cletus in the back seat, then always painfully polite and distant when we arrived on set.
Which was why, ten days later, when I caught sight of the two of them leaving the dining tent, I moved to block Jethro’s path. I was intent on strongly suggesting he come to my trailer so we could clear the air.
And by clear the air I meant find out what in Godzilla’s name was going on between us.
However, before I could speak, Cletus intercepted me and announced loudly, “Ah, Ms. Diaz, I wonder if you’d be interested in coming over to the Winston homestead for dinner tomorrow. It’s Jethro’s turn to cook, and he makes a mean turkey pot pie.”