“Friends?” he scoffs. “Yeah, I’m not believing that one.”
“Why? What did Vernon say?”
“Nothing. That’s just it. He’s very tight-lipped about you, but he’s obviously familiar. His boys know Hannah. They mentioned spending time here as kids.”
I don’t think it’s my place to mention how Vernon’s wife is a raging alcoholic. Raging in that she tries to smack around her husband who’s oversized compared to her, and who beat her boys, who were always taught never to retaliate at a woman. Vernon struggled between smacking her back and holding her off from both him and the boys.
“He’s married,” I state as if that in and of itself should explain things. Vernon Grady is married, but we once confided in one another. Howard had left me. Abigail was an abusive addict. My husband slept with his wife.
“Vernon and I were friends. And then we weren’t.” It’s all I’m going to admit to Jedd. The rest goes to the grave with me.
Jedd shakes his head, not believing me, and then returns to slamming the wrench at the tractor.
“Finally, you bastard,” he mutters as some gasket comes free. Working on the tractor reminds me Jedd mentioned making an exchange with Vernon to fix it. My brows pinch. Did he respect my wishes? Did he not make a deal after all? Is that why he’s sweating, swearing, and struggling with this old machine on his own?
“If you need Vernon’s help, you can ask him,” I say, making certain I’m louder than his mutters and the hammering of metal against metal.
“I don’t need Vernon,” he says, standing abruptly once again and then climbing onto the tractor seat. His back is to me. I’m taking his position as a dismissal, especially when he turns the key and the engine grinds to life. His hand slams on the steering wheel, and then he lifts his fist in victory. He twists in the seat.
“Come for a ride with me.” He extends his right hand down to me, wiggling his fingers as his demeanor has shifted in the success of starting the machinery.
“I…I don’t think it’s safe,” I yell over the rumble of the engine.
“Just down the path and back. I’ll even let you steer. I’ll be the legs. You be the hands. Trust me.”
I chuckle at the comment looking down at the cuffs around my arms. I remove my hands from the supports and reach for the tire to help me move forward. I’ve been working my left leg, pressing it on the floor to rock my rocker, hoping any renewed movement helps restore some muscle tone. I do find it’s getting easier to maneuver around than it’s been in the past. Tossing the crutches off to the side, out of the path of the tractor, I reach up for Jedd’s hand. With a strength that surprises me, he tugs me upward. I awkwardly struggle to shift my left side over his lap as I grip the steering wheel. With his hand on my hip, he guides my lame leg over his thick thighs. A tractor seat doesn’t really allow for two people, and he tugs me down to his lap.
His head wiggles over one shoulder and then the other.
“Hold the wheel, honey,” he yells, as his hand falls to the shift stick and his foot releases the clutch. I squeal from the jerking motion as the tractor lurches forward, but Jedd’s quick footwork steadies us, and we chug forward with me on his lap and my hands gripping the steering wheel for dear life.
Chapter Seventeen
[Jedd]
Setting Beverly on my lap might have been one of the most idiotic moves of my life. A tractor is a one-person vehicle so she isn’t wrong in that driving with someone else is not the safest, but it’s for more than one reason this position isn’t secure. Bouncing up and down on me with every rut and groove of the ancient path, I have the hard-on of all hard-ons. The ache in my balls digs deep as she starts out with screams and squeals. When she mellows into laughter, it’s worth the struggle. Her laugh is a lyric calling to me like a siren to a sailor.
Beverly is tall-ish, so sitting on my thighs sets her higher than me, and I need to rest my chin on her shoulder in order to look around her and guide us.
“Tell me more about yourself, Jedd Flemming,” she hollers over the roar of the engine. My right ear rests near her left, and I hear the vibration of her words.
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me more about those rodeo buckles.”
Unable to help myself, my nose rubs along the length of her neck, and I chuckle in her ear. “So curious.”
Beverly laughs again, and I love the sound. I’ll answer anything she wants as long as she keeps offering me that sweet trill.
“I had a falling out with my stepfather and went into the military.” It really wasn’t quite so simple, but it’s a start. “I didn’t think I’d be in for as long as I was. Once I was hurt and recovered, I didn’t have a purpose. No place to call home.” I look off in the distance to a house we can’t see from here. “Then I learned about PAFRA. Although it had been a few years, my love of horses was still strong, and I was a show-off. I might have won a few awards.” I chuckle as my chin rests on her shoulder.
Beverly screeches. “A few? That trunk is full of buckles and medals and ribbons.”
“Yeah, well.” I dismiss the accolades, almost embarrassed by them, although I’ve never been embarrassed before to claim my fame.
“What exactly is PARFA?”
“PAFRA,” I correct. “Professional Armed Forces Rodeo Association.” I pause momentarily, recalling how I found the association. “A few good men designed the organization for veterans with a love of horses and a need for stability. A purpose of sorts to those lost when they returned home, and a place to channel competitive energy.” Not to mention the anger of missing body parts or a clouded mind or a wounded heart.
“Were you lost, Jedd?” she asks, her voice softer but still loud enough over the drone of the engine. We hit a bump, and she shifts on my lap, coming down on a part that wants to get lost in her. Instead, I run my fingers up and into her hair like I did last night. I love her hair. We’re older, but I don’t crave a brunette or a blond, especially as the white tones on her locks look sexy as all get-out. Her hair is also thick, which I wouldn’t have guessed from the tight knot she kept at her nape when I first met her. The waves float through my fingers like whitecaps over tan knuckles. She lets me play while I process my thoughts.
“I guess I was. But not all who wander are lost. I had wanderlust. I’d been all over the Western states and Texas, not to mention halfway across the world. I love PAFRA for what it offered me, but I’m ready to settle down. Plant my roots in one spot.”
Beverly keeps her gaze forward, but her voice tightens. “What if the wanderlust returns? I’d think a man used to being a nomad wouldn’t care to be strapped to one place.”
“Depends on who’s doing the strapping, honey,” I tease. She isn’t wrong. I’ll always want to visit places and have adventures, but there’s nothing wrong with making a sedentary spot an adventure as well. “This right here is what I want.” I tug gently at her hair, and her brows pinch, not taking my meaning.
“So serious.” I chuckle, running my nose over the shell of her ear. She hitches her shoulder to her chin, knocking me out of my pleasure.