Return to Glory. Sara Arden
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“I’m going to miss Lula’s cooking.”
You could have it every day if you stay. Of course, Betsy didn’t say that. This was the life he’d chosen, the one he wanted. Either she could behave like an adult and support him, or she could be a selfish child worried only about her own feelings. She was trying very hard to be the kind of woman he needed.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. “Come on, then.” She grabbed his hand and led him out to the parking lot.
Betsy was so nervous her knees shook and she considered herself lucky she was able to walk upright and didn’t fall on her face. Not only did Betsy plan on telling Jack she loved him; she planned on showing him, too. It would be perfect. Moonlight and stars, the smells of the grass and his cologne would be indelibly marked into her memory. The taste of the homemade blackberry cordial she’d smuggled out of the pantry on their lips.
Or so she’d read in the books her mother kept under her bed. Of course she’d heard things from friends, but Betsy preferred to think it would be like the books rather than sweaty grunting and strange faces with a gearshift digging into her back.
Whatever it was, she decided it would be perfect because it was with Jack.
The community center overlooked the Missouri River, but there were still too many people around for what she intended. Betsy drove to a small campsite close to the riverbanks and parked. They walked a short trail to a secluded spot where she spread out the red-and-white-checkered blanket.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve been here. I thought you forgot.”
When she was younger, after he’d saved her from drowning, Jack had brought her here to show her the river wasn’t something to fear. It was powerful and should be respected, marveled at, but never feared. She always felt so safe with him, which was why this was the perfect spot. Something else new to experience with him.
A small voice niggled at the back of her brain asking what if he said no? What if he didn’t want her? Betsy refused to think about that. Fate was never wrong, and she knew with a certainty as deep as her bones that Jack McConnell was her fate.
“How could I forget, Jack?”
She pulled out the cordial and offered him the bottle.
“Does your mother know you have that?” he asked.
“I told you that she packed the basket.” A teensy, tiny lie. Infinitesimal, really.
Of course he could see straight through it. “You’re a horrible liar.”
“What she won’t know won’t hurt her. It’s just a little bit and it’s just tonight.”
“Only one sip if you plan on driving me to the bus station,” Jack admonished.
A four-letter word clanged in her brain like a gong. She hadn’t thought of that. “Like I said, just a little bit. My grandmother calls it her tonic, so it must be good for us.” Betsy grinned.
“So, what did you need to tell me that was so important?”
No! Not yet. She had to let him relax into the moment before she pounced. “In a minute. Right now I want to lie back and be still with you. We’ll make our own constellations in the stars like we used to when my brother was playing Ghost in the Graveyard and wouldn’t let me play. How was it you always got stuck with little sister duty?” Betsy laughed and reclined on the blanket, close enough to touch him.
“I volunteered.”
More sparks burst in her stomach and Betsy swore her fingers were numb. Simply being this close to him and knowing he wanted to spend time with her, too, it short-circuited something vital.
“That one, over there.” Betsy pointed, leaning so her head was almost on his chest. “It looks like a lollipop.”
“You see sweets everywhere. In clouds, stars, and probably when you sleep.”
“I do,” Betsy admitted. “I dreamt about spring cake last night.”
“What’s spring cake? Or do I dare ask?”
“You’d love it. It’s going to be yellow cake with lemon. Just enough for a bit of tart, but otherwise sweet with key lime frosting, I think.”
“You’re going to make some man very lucky someday, sweet thing.”
Her heart thudded so loud for a second, she couldn’t hear anything else. It was now or never. “What about you, Jack?” she asked quietly.
“No, I doubt I’ll make any man happy.”
Was he being purposefully obtuse? The night was suddenly still, a calm before the storm, but Betsy wanted the storm. She needed it more than her next breath. “Would I make you happy?”
“Jesus, Bets.”
That was not the response she’d been looking for, but she forged ahead. “What I wanted to tell you is that I’m in love with you.”
He propped himself up on his elbow and he studied her a moment before he spoke. “I know you think you feel these things, but it’s only because I’m going away. You’re scared because things are changing, and that’s okay. I may be leaving here, but I’m not leaving you.”
“Things have already changed, Jack. I will admit that I’m scared, but it made me realize I want to spend every day with you. Every night.”
His face was unreadable. “You don’t know what you’re saying, what you’re asking for.”
He was determined to be the good guy. She’d known this part would be difficult, but that was part of why she loved him. Even if she had to work harder to get what she wanted—happily ever after with Jack McConnell. “Don’t I?”
Being bold was easier now that she’d already said she loved him. Betsy looped her arm around his neck and pulled him down to her. She tilted her mouth up to kiss him, and as soon as their lips met, lightning coursed through her veins and she swore that for the briefest millisecond, the spark between them stopped her heart.
His kiss was everything she’d hoped it would be. Strong and sure, but passionate and tender. She knew the stars burned brighter and hotter because she could see supernovas behind her eyes.
He became the aggressor, shifting his hard body on top of hers, his fingers tangled in her hair. Betsy loved that he was touching her, but she wanted him to touch her everywhere. Not just her hair. The fire of her need burned her from the inside out.
This was sheer bliss and just as she’d imagined, she committed every sensation to memory. The exploding stars, the scent of him, the texture of his shirt under her palms and the taste of the cordial on his mouth, which was more potent than she could’ve imagined. They’d drink this at their wedding.
His hands wandered down to her hips and slid beneath her dress and up her thigh. Betsy couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think; she could only feel. He broke the kiss, his mouth trailing down the column of her throat.
This was actually happening. “Yes, Jack. Please,” she urged.
He stopped all the delicious things he was doing and stared at her as if she’d morphed into a two-headed dog.
“Betsy! I’m so sorry.” He scrambled away from her, his breathing ragged.
“Don’t you dare be sorry!” Betsy straightened herself. “I have my own brain, which works just fine, and a mouth to say what I do and do not want.”
“You’re only sixteen.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Jack. I may be a young woman, but I am a woman.”
“I’m not talking about your body. I’m talking about your life. Your experiences.”
“So give me some,” she blurted.
He