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“What?” she asked.
“You give hungry a new meaning.” He still didn’t smile, and only gave her that enigmatic, distant look that she’d always assumed to be arrogance.
She grinned, hoping to crack the wall of ice he kept around him. “I’d like to blame the jet lag, but the truth is...I eat like this too often. Definitely not healthy.”
“Why?”
“Because I work for six, maybe eight hours nonstop. I’m so immersed in my designs that I forget to eat. Or sleep.”
“It’s that way for you, too?”
She lowered her fork and wiped her mouth. She kept her eyes on his. “Uh-huh.”
“I thought it was just me. I thought it was depression from the accident.”
“Tell me how it’s been, Mica.”
She’d barely uttered the words and he started talking without taking a breath.
“It’s not the accident—the pain or even this bothersome rehab that’s so hard. It’s like every aspect of my life is withering away. One day I was the hero on the farm, able to fix every piece of equipment. I have more tools in the mechanical shed than they have at Home Depot. Whatever Rafe could do, I could do as well and faster. Once Gabe left, Mom was sure we’d have to cut back on production. But we didn’t. We simply went on.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. Everything changed. Rafe and Mom want to replace me—”
“You can’t mean that.”
“They do.”
“But you’re Mica. You’re...”
“As insignificant as humanly possible,” he interjected, lowering his gaze.
Grace pushed her chair back and rose slowly. She placed her hands on either side of his face. “Look at me.”
“Grace, you don’t have to say anything. I...thank you for listening.”
“Shut up.”
She kissed him. It was more electric than she’d planned. She didn’t pity Mica. She didn’t think he was looking for a savior. She just wanted to know if what she was feeling right now was more than the vestiges of a teenage crush.
And it was.
If she were smart she’d leave. Walk away from him the way she had all those years ago. Except apparently she’d kept her emotions hidden back then. Even from herself.
She had to face it. She’d always been a fool for Mica.
And she didn’t care about anything except making this moment last.
When she pulled back, Mica gazed into her eyes and gave her a soft smile. “Grace.”
He stood and put his arm around her. She kissed him again, not daring to let him take the lead, afraid he might let his melancholy overcome him.
Though she could sense his strength, she also felt his lost sense of purpose. He was floundering, searching, and she wanted to be the rock in the rushing stream that he held on to.
I’m still in love with him.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “You take my breath away,” he whispered.
“I could say that about you.”
“You mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“Grace, I think we have a lot of catching up to do. It could take...well, a long time.”
“Mica...”
He pulled her hand to his lips.
“I’m only here for a month. Just to help Aunt Louise.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll go back to Paris.” He moved closer and she could feel his breath on her cheek. His eyes were unwavering, pinning her, and in that moment she felt the power that was Mica Barzonni. His right arm slipped around her waist and he drew her to him.
“I have to go back...”
“We’ll see about that.”
His lips on hers were nirvana. She was whisked away from the earth. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest and thrummed at her temples. The only sound she heard was Mica’s intake of breath and the deep resonating strains of her name coming from his throat. He kissed her as if he would never kiss her again. She nearly believed he was in love with her. For years she’d daydreamed that one day Mica would love her. This excruciatingly lovely kiss was perfect. It was everything she’d dreamed of and more.
He deepened the kiss and breathed her name again. “Grace.”
“Don’t talk. Just kiss me.”
Her skin tingled as their bodies melded into each other.
Through her hand on his nape, she felt strength surging through his spine and the taut muscles in his shoulders. She sank her fingers into his thick hair and held him. She wanted him to know that she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want this dream to fade.
At this moment, Grace believed that even she might find a happily-ever-after. That for her, the fairy tale was coming true.
CHAPTER ONE (#u16093c9a-97f8-5f09-b2e5-858ed1874e7b)
Present day
MICA HEARD IT from his sister-in-law, Maddie, who heard it from Mrs. Beabots, who got it straight from Louise Railton.
Grace Railton was back in town.
He didn’t know which emotion to pick first. Anger came to mind right off the bat, but it was quickly replaced with disappointment, hurt and curiosity.
“What’s she doing here?” Grace had made it pretty clear when she left town last year that Paris was the only universe she’d inhabit on a long-term basis. Indian Lake was too small for Grace, the beauty-pageant queen.
Mica stared at the tractor engine he was fixing, then tossed the wrench onto the tool bench with enough force to make the screwdriver beside it jump. Grace.
For over a year, he’d gone over every detail of his relationship with Grace, if he could even call it that. No matter how many times he rehashed the events of that whirlwind October, he came up with only one assessment: they were as mismatched as a tuxedo and a pair of cowboy boots.
If he was honest with himself, he’d known that since they were teenagers.
Grace and her mother had been obsessed with beauty pageants. Crowns and dresses—that was all she’d talked about back then. Unless she was criticizing everything he wore.
He hadn’t liked the way he reacted to Grace. She’d had some kind of lightning rod stuck to her spine that just made him want to strike. She’d needled him in a way he didn’t understand, always picking at what was wrong with him. Asking why he didn’t want more for himself than his life on the farm. Meanwhile, she’d talked about New York and Paris like they were Mecca, or the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. She’d made perfectly clear her opinions about Indian Lake and the people who chose to make it their home.
Which made it even harder to understand the intense month they’d spent together a year ago October. It had been like a switch had been flipped. She was focused on her career and when she talked about her designs, her eyes lit up like fireworks. There were times he thought he could listen to her and never tire of her enthusiasm. She was the kind of person who would always be vibrant. But Mica doubted if he’d ever know whether she had truly wanted him or had simply pitied him.
He traced the gouged edges of the old pair of pliers his father had used to repair their tractors, generators and trucks. Angelo had built this farm with his hands. Hands that never stopped working, and Angelo had taught all his sons to do the same.
Yet now, Mica only had one hand. He was never going to be the kind of empire builder his father had been. He had to find a new path. Since college graduation, he’d abandoned his engineering goals in order to help on the farm. Now the farm didn’t need him or want him. He had to find a way to translate his dreams from the drafting table and his computer into a working piece of machinery for people with disabilities.
Mica slumped against the workbench and looked across at the machinery shed, where he spent a great deal of his time lately. Tinkering. That was all he’d done in the past year or so. All he’d done since Grace left town.
Grace... He ran his hand through his hair. She’d emailed him once after she landed in Paris, telling him that her design team was further behind than she’d thought. They needed her. She’d be working 24/7 to pull off their spring line. He’d told her he understood. But he hadn’t. Week after week, he’d sent emails and left messages, but she never responded.
He ground his teeth. Her silence was like a brick wall falling on him. She wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe she hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought she might have during the month they spent together.
Her departure—and rejection—still bothered him, but Mica had had more important things to focus on in the past year. With a lot of rehab—and trial and error—he’d learned his way around his new life with only one working arm. He’d had to figure out how to dress with one hand, and even change the way he did chores around the kitchen. Every sandwich bag had to have a slider so he could put the bag on the counter and slide the top closed. No more jars. Pop tops for everything. Pots and pans were simple. He used one at a time. He chopped vegetables in a food processor or used a mandolin to slice them over a bowl. The majority of the time, his mother made plenty of food for him to warm in his microwave.
He couldn’t drive the tractor or change the baler. He was of no help to Rafe, so his brother had been forced to take on another hourly worker. When their father had died, Mica and Rafe had agreed to hire extra help. Now they needed even more.
The only work Mica had now was running errands for his mother.
The reality stung every day of his life, shutting out joy and any hope for happiness.
He ran his hand down his numb and limp left arm.
He wondered if he’d ever get used to the fact that his arm would never work again.
It had been a freakish accident that should never have happened, but it had.
Gina—his mother—had wanted to take her BMW to the shop, but Mica had been bored. He loved tinkering with the farm equipment, old cars, anything with a motor. He felt at one with engines, cogs, pistons and gears. Often, when there was nothing left to do in the shop, he would stay up late messing around with mechanical designs on his computer.
Mica had graduated from Purdue University in mechanical engineering, but for years, he hadn’t done much with his degree. He’d been needed on the farm. Farming was in his blood. He adored the land that grew acres of food every year. It was miraculous to him that after a killing winter blizzard, spring always came fresh and green and full of promise.
At least it had until the accident.
Spring meant planting season and every piece of equipment had to be tuned up and ready to run smoothly.
“It’s not even New Year’s and I’m feeling pressure already,” he growled.
He pushed himself away from the workbench and went over to the pickup he’d recently given an oil change. He closed the hood, then hit the automatic garage-door opener. He got in the truck and started the engine. He’d attached a spinner knob, used by many with physical disabilities, to the steering wheel to give him more leverage when handling the pickup. He’d bought it the day he’d gone to the DMV to have a Restriction C placed on his driver’s license, though he’d forgone the handicapped parking tag he’d been offered. Yes, he’d lost his arm, but he could still walk just fine, and for that, he was grateful.
Driving a tractor was entirely different from a pickup truck, in that it required strength and both hands. Driving over rugged farmland was complex, dodging dips, mud holes, bumps and gullies. It was difficult for him to handle the tractor, though he’d built the muscles in his right arm considerably over the past year to compensate for the loss of his left.
Often he toyed with the idea of voice-activated farm machinery. He could work the land as he had done before the accident if he could speak commands to the old Allis-Chalmers tractor.
Mica backed the truck out of the shed, pausing to look out over the snow-covered farm. New Year’s. Of course. Grace was here to be with her aunt Louise for the holiday. That made sense.
Sometimes, he was a little slow to see the obvious. Just because Grace had left him without any follow-up or follow-through was no reason to mistrust her. She’d told him that her world was Paris, fashion and her career. She’d never deviated from that. She’d been honest. He had to give her that.
Mica spotted Rafe in the flat soybean field, riding the sputtering and hitching old John Deere tractor toward the big barn. He wore a leather-and-sheepskin bomber jacket, a cowboy hat and a wide blue wool scarf around his neck. The brothers waved at each other.
Before the accident, Mica had wanted to purchase a new all-terrain truck for the farm to replace the John Deere. But now that Mica had been injured, he was glad they hadn’t spent the $300,000 on new equipment. The family had struggled through the past year, with Mica unable to pitch in. No one had wanted to hurt his feelings, and he appreciated that, but now it was nearly the new year and Rafe was talking about restructuring—and hiring new employees.
As he drove toward their Italian stucco villa, Mica realized he didn’t like change. He was still grieving his father’s death nearly three years earlier and he wasn’t quite used to the idea that Rafe was married. He and his wife, Olivia, had built their own house on the property. Olivia was a nice enough woman, Mica supposed. She and her mother owned the Indian Lake Deli and Olivia was a good cook, as good a pastry chef as his other sister-in-law, Maddie, and she was a talented photographer.
There actually wasn’t anything wrong with Olivia or Maddie, Nate’s wife, or Liz, who was married to his brother Gabe. Mica had just never been much of a people person.
Mica had always preferred his own company. Rafe had been closest to their father and that had been fine with Mica. Nate and Gabe were very close to their mother. And that was fine as well.
Mica was the loner. Even in high school, Mica had never participated in team sports. He preferred swimming...alone. Running...alone. Working...alone.
Maybe deep down he’d always been the brooding type, and the accident had simply sharpened that trait.
He pulled up to the house and parked the truck. Without thinking, he went to reach for the door handle with his left hand. Natural reflex. But nothing happened.
He smashed the truck’s door with his right hand, as if he could open it with sheer force. He kept banging until he hurt his thumb. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
How could he not have checked the jack when he raised the chassis of his mother’s BMW? Sure, it was the old jack his father had used for decades, but it had never caused any issues before.
The jack slipped. He’d heard the metal rubbing against the grooves of the jack throat. As soon as he registered the sound, he’d started to roll out from under the car, but he hadn’t been fast enough to spare his left arm and shoulder.
The chassis dropped on Mica. He’d tried to yell, but the weight of the car had crushed the air out of his lungs. The pain had caused him to pass out.
He’d woken up when the paramedics were hoisting him onto a gurney. Rafe and his mother were there, leaning over the stretcher.
Rafe, coming in from the fields, had found him unconscious under the car.
The doctor’s prognosis had been devastating.
Inoperable. Paralyzed. Those were the only words Mica had heard. The doctor had pushed rehabilitation to keep the arm from becoming fully atrophied. Mica had agreed with that, and for the first month, he’d actually believed he could will his arm to move again. He’d tried everything—even hypnosis—but nothing worked.
The second month, his depression had slid deeper into anger. He had begrudgingly and sarcastically continued with rehab, but he knew now that all the exercise in the world would never bring his arm back.
And then Grace had come into his life.
It was impossible not to think of kissing Grace and holding her each time her face flashed across his mind. That month she’d spent in Indian Lake had almost made him feel like himself again. She’d looked up at him with those intense blue eyes and he’d felt more alive and invigorated than he had since well before the accident, if he was honest.
Maybe it was a good thing she’d cut him off. He didn’t know exactly where to put all his emotions for Grace.
Mica got out of the truck and hit the remote to lock the doors. He stared at it for a moment. Why don’t they make these to open the door from the inside?
