Rebel Love Read online

  I hadn't been to the cemetery since the Christmas after the accident. Then, when Michelle, Dad and I drove through, the hills were a little less green from the winter frost and the rows of graves were decorated with poinsettias and evergreen wreaths. Some people had even decorated tiny trees to place on their loved one's gravesite. Michelle had brought white roses and she'd lamented not having thought to bring a tree. But she didn't know. Cemetery visits were still new to her back then.

  Joshua knew exactly which tree lined road to turn down. The green bench that sat adjacent to Emily's grave had a row of sparrows sitting across it twittering a song for the sleeping guests.

  I looked over at Joshua. His mouth was pulled into a grim line, and it seemed he was hardly taking any breaths.

  "Have you been here lately?" I asked.

  He shook his head and pulled the car over. He was still gripping the steering wheel hard, almost as if he was reliving those awful moments when his car had spun out of control.

  "I did so many things wrong that day," he said quietly.

  "If only there was a way to pluck certain days right up and out of your life, like pulling weeds out of the flower garden," I said. "Pick them and toss them away so that they never happened. Then they couldn't ruin the rest of the garden." I leaned back and stared out at the rows of headstones. Two elderly women were having a glass of wine on a grave across the way. Two sisters, possibly, having a toast with a departed loved one.

  I reached over and touched Joshua's arm. It startled him out of his thoughts.

  "You don't have to come out, Joshua. I just need to have a few words with her." He didn't answer, so I climbed out of the car. I walked carefully between the stones to Emily's. There were a few pink roses sitting in the vase in front of it. Michelle had, no doubt, left them there.

  It was always surreal seeing her name etched in the stone and the dates below, that seemed all wrong. I fingered the letters of her name. "Hey, Em, I'm leaving town, and I just wanted to say thank you for being my sister. Thank you for helping me dye my hair weird colors, even when it left your fingers blue. Thank you for teaching me how to put on makeup and how to make scrambled eggs. Thanks for not getting mad when I wore your favorite jeans and ripped them on Peggy's sprinkler. I know you wanted to yell at me but you didn't. You were the prettiest, smartest most wonderful sister a girl could have, and I'll never forget you."

  I stared down at the pink roses. The petals were fluttering in the breeze. I watched until the loosest one broke free and jumped and rolled across the grass, before settling on the neighboring headstone of Mildred Hamptom, who had lived to the ripe old age of ninety, a proper age for dying.

  I looked back at the wilting flowers because it was hard to look at Emily's name. It always made the whole thing too damn real.

  "Emily, the kiss was just a split second decision. I was upset, and, as always, Joshua was there to keep me safe. He was standing there, looking every bit the trusted friend I knew him to be, so I kissed him." I rubbed my nose with the back of my hand. "Not that I didn't have a major crush on him. Because I did. Can you blame me? But I never, ever would have done anything to come between you. Because as much as I loved Joshua, I would have died of a broken heart before doing anything to hurt you. I'm sorry about the kiss." I heard Joshua’s steps behind me. "Bye, Em."

  I pushed to my feet and walked past Joshua and got in the car. He stood over her headstone for a long time. He discretely wiped his eyes. I could see his mouth move, but it was hard to know what he said.

  He turned and walked back to the car with his long hair, black jeans and pale blue eyes. The accident had left him crushed with guilt and heartbreak, and it had stolen any chance of him fulfilling his dream as a bass guitarist in a band.

  But to me, Joshua was always going to be a mega rock star.

  Chapter 36

  Joshua

  Four months later

  "Hey, Jeremy, it's me. Just wanted to let you know the house closes tomorrow, and I'll wire you the money after that. Hope everyone is well there. I'm just packing up the last of Dad's things. I'm going to donate it all to Goodwill. Let me know if there was anything of his you wanted, and I'll mail it to you. Talk to you later."

  I put the phone in my pocket and grabbed another empty box. The sale of the bar had closed just the week before, and now my childhood home was being packed up so that the new owners could move in with their two little kids and dog. Camden Beach was a good place to raise a family, but I no longer had any ties to the town. Most of my friends had married and moved away or started families.

  I stopped and looked at the stacks of boxes sitting in the center of an empty room that was heavily populated with dust bunnies. It really hadn't been a home since Dad died. He made it a place to come home to, a place to feel happy and secure. The house itself meant little to me without my dad sitting in his easy chair doling out tidbits of knowledge and life theories.

  Rebecca and I had spoken mostly through text messages. Although those weren't always successful. Technology still had its limits when you were standing out on a century old vineyard. She said it all depended on where she was standing in the yard and if the sun and the trees and all the various elements of nature were lined up perfectly. I was happy to tell her that Trent’s place got shut down by the health department. I doubted it was the cockroach she planted but it was good to know he hadn’t succeeded. She was having a blast, and at the end of every text conversation, she always let me know that there was plenty of work on the vineyard for me. I'd had so much business to take care of with the house and selling the bar, I hadn't had time to think about a job. Dylan and I had only exchanged words that dealt with dissolving the business. I was glad he was out of my life for good.

  I'd left Dad's books for last. Something about them made me miss him more. Maybe because I knew he'd held each one in his hands a long time. Some even had the lingering smell of his aftershave and stale cigar smoke from the few times a month he'd splurge and buy himself an expensive cigar. He would suck on the thing with his eyes closed and his nostrils wide, breathing and tasting it as if he was eating fine chocolate.

  I pulled his signed copy of Moby Dick off the shelf. It was an old edition that he claimed was worth a lot of money, but when he had it appraised, it turned out the author's signature was a fake. But he’d still insisted it was valuable. As I lowered it into the box, a card fell out. He was always shoving pictures and cards and letters into books for safe keeping.

  I picked up the card and turned it over. It was a handmade Valentine card, complete with glittery paper hearts. I opened it up and recognized the writing immediately. It must have been old because she was still drawing little hearts and smiley faces over her letters.

  Hey Mr. Hardy,

  I thought I'd make you a Valentine's Day Card since we're both suffering from the terrible pain of unrequited love. (How do you like that big word? Learned that one in English class the other day, and I'm thrilled to have a chance to give it a test drive.) I know you read a lot of books, but just in case you don't know the word, it means not reciprocated. (Don't you love it when a word's definition is even more complicated than the actual word?) Anyhow, even though Valentine's Day is a terrible day for those of us who suffer from eternal heartbreak, try and have a good time anyway. I'm making sure to eat extra chocolate to make up for the pain.

  Love, Rebecca.

  P.S. Joshua gave Emily a little heart bracelet. Isn't he wonderful? Oh heart be still.

  Remember. Eat chocolate.

  It was probably the first time I'd smiled in months. Of course, it was Rebecca and pretty much everything about her made me smile. Even an old Valentine's card that was leaving a pile of red glitter in the dust on the floor.

  The day I took Rebecca to the airport, we had kissed and hardly said a word to each other. It was too hard. Life had separated us after the accident, but almost from the first second she'd popped back into my life with the early morning, scattered phone call about boogeymen,
she was back fully in my life. Like she had never left. It was always so natural between us, two people who had always been meant for each other but who had been kept apart by a string of circumstances. Even the timing of our births had put a chasm between us. It was hard to know just how different things would’ve been if I'd been two years younger and had met Rebecca instead of Emily on the first day of high school. But none of that mattered now. And that long string of circumstances was no longer important.

  I'd let the love of my life fly off to another continent because I was still punishing myself for loving her. I was such a jackass. I was done feeling guilty about it.

  Chapter 37

  Rebecca

  I tore a chunk of the crusty bread off and dipped it in the bowl of freshly churned butter. "Dad, I'm taking the jeep into town for some potatoes and fish," I called out the open window of the kitchen. A short rain had passed through the river valley, leaving behind tiny crystals of water on the vines, along with a rainbow arching high over the river.

  Sometimes, I opened my eyes in the morning and looked out the two French doors of my cottage and pinched myself to make sure I hadn’t woken up in a story book. Dad's vineyard was nestled amongst rolling hills, each planted in rows of grape vines that flowed along in unison with the slopes, making it almost seem as if the entire vineyard was constantly in motion.

  Dad popped his head into the window. "Hey, get some olive oil too." There were no screens on the front side of the house, which allowed the cool breeze from the river valley to sweep gently through the century old kitchen. Most of the kitchen still wore, with pride, the plaster and bricks of those earlier days. There was no shiny chrome or polished granite. Just a massive cooking hearth, blackened from decades of use, and a pitted wood table that was sturdy enough to live under. Dad had made several concessions to the modern world by hooking a refrigerator and oven up to the generator. When I first arrived, I was sure I'd go mad from boredom and nuts from not having a place to plug in my flat iron. But after a few weeks, my naturally wavy hair and the lack of major technology, namely television, seemed easier and easier to tolerate. The scenery and culture and relaxed life quickly made up for it.

  And who needed friends when you had farm animals. Seymour's bell alerted me to his arrival. The goat trotted into the kitchen and lifted his muzzle to search the edges of the table for something tasty. I grabbed a garden carrot from the basket and broke off the tip for him. He gobbled it up quickly.

  Dad came back to the window. All my life, Dad had been clean shaven. He'd always worn shirts with collars and buttons. Now he'd taken to wearing his hair long, and it had grown pale gray from the sun. He almost always had a straw hat pushed down over his head, and today he was wearing his favorite overalls. The only thing about him, left behind from my childhood, was his laugh and his wonderful personality. Farm life had changed him dramatically.

  "And don't let that smelly goat in the jeep. He chewed off the edge of the seat last time you drove him into town."

  "That was my fault. He was hungry. I've already fed the herd, so he should be fine. Besides, he's my navigator. He bleats loudly when there are other animals blocking the road."

  Dad shook his head as he left the window.

  I grabbed my own straw hat off the hook and pressed it down over my wavy hair. My hair had lightened so much from the sun, and my skin was so tanned, I sometimes didn't recognize myself when I passed a mirror.

  I walked to the jeep. Seymour trotted behind, with his usual goat bell theme music. He jumped into the backseat and hung his head over the roll bar to play navigator.

  The road was narrow and especially rough after the rainstorm. The water had absorbed quickly into the brittle ground, but it had managed to carve out some deep ruts on its way down to the river.

  Seymour's bell clanged with each bump in the road. He did an impressive job of staying on all four feet as we wobbled along the path.

  The glove box in the jeep popped open, like it always did when I hit a bump just right. I reached over to slam it shut just as I circled the bend that led away from the river valley. The stupid thing flopped open again, and I reached wildly for the registration card as it flew past.

  Seymour's bell clanged and he let out a low bleat. I snatched the card, shoved it into the glove box and snapped the warped door shut. As I sat up, a tall figure stepped seemingly out of nowhere. My hat pushed back and nearly flew off as I leaned forward and smeared some of the dust off the windshield.

  An excited cry shot from my mouth, pulling Seymour's attention to the front seat. His bell clanged loudly in my ear, and I pushed his head back. The figure was still a good five hundred yards away, and I considered the possibility that I was just imagining him, like a thirsty person seeing a mirage of cool water in the desert. I'd daydreamed so often about seeing Joshua, about having him show up in Portugal, that I was sure I'd just conjured him.

  Seymour bleated again and stared ahead with his gold eyes. I was fairly certain that the goat hadn't been daydreaming about Joshua. It was him. He was in Portugal. My heart nearly leapt from my chest.

  Joshua stepped off the road to avoid the mad woman and her goat as they careened downhill in their rickety jeep. He kept his face down to avoid the dust from the road as we motored by. I stopped a few feet past him and stepped out of the jeep.

  "Hey, you look lost. Do you need a ride?"

  Joshua froze in his footsteps. His heavy backpack swung around as he turned back to me.

  "Looking for someone special?" I took off my hat and tossed it into the jeep.

  He slid the backpack off his shoulders and let it drop to the ground. "As a matter of fact I am. I think the girl I love lives somewhere in these green hills. Maybe you've seen her. She's about so high." He held up his hand. "And she has green eyes and a perfect smile." He walked closer, and everything about him melted my heart. He reached up and touched the tip of my nose. "And she has exactly twelve freckles on her nose. I know because I've counted them while she was sleeping. And she may or may not be wearing my Iron Maiden t-shirt. Oh and—" He stopped to fish something out of his pocket. He pulled out the packet of candy. "She loves Pop Rocks."

  I grabbed the candy from his hand and threw my arms around his neck. We kissed long enough for Seymour to finally get bored and hop down from the jeep. He pushed against the back of my knee with his nose. I reluctantly pulled my lips from Joshua. We both stared down at Seymour, a goat who had no problem looking people straight in the eye. This time his annoyed goat gaze was trained on Joshua.

  "It's a goat," Joshua said, finally. "And he looks mad that I've got my arms around you."

  "He's probably a little perturbed, but the most he'll do is head butt you. Just watch out for your knee caps."

  "Right." Joshua lifted his gaze back to my face. He pushed a wavy strand of my hair back behind my ear. "I like it with some curl. And I like these curves too." He checked that Seymour wasn't keeping too close a watch and slid his hand down over my ass. "Holy shit, have I missed you, Rebel. Are you surprised to see me?"

  I shrugged. "Not entirely. I told Dad you'd come eventually because you were madly and hopelessly in love with me."

  "I like your confidence. And yep. Pretty much had to come find out what my Rebel Love was up to out here in the middle of—" He looked around at the picturesque scenery. "An oil painting. This is incredible. No wonder you could never find time to text me back. I was almost thinking you'd found someone else, some tall, smooth Portuguese fisherman with a heavy accent and a silver earring."

  "Oh, you mean Franco?"

  His face dropped instantly.

  I kissed him. "I'm kidding. Franco works in the vineyard. He's four feet tall and four feet wide with a nose the shape of cauliflower. And as my dad would say, he's a bloody genius when it comes to grapes. My dad's picked up all kinds of salty international language since he moved to Europe. He's quite changed. You won't even recognize him. He's given up his razor, tailored shirts and monthly trips to the barber
. And he'll be happy to have more strong arms to help around the farm."

  "Huh, is that right? What about you?" He tightened his embrace and pulled me closer.

  "Oh, I've always been happy to have strong arms around me, especially when they belong to you."

  I leaned back. "You don't happen to have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in that backpack? PB and J is sorely lacking out here."

  "I might but first I need another kiss." His mouth lowered to mine. "Forever mine, Rebel Love."

  Also by Tess Oliver

  Read Wingman

  "I'd taken that proverbial road trip to 'find myself', and along the way, I'd also found the person who I needed to keep myself whole."

  About the Author

  Tess Oliver is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of sexy romances. She’s always working on new and exciting projects. You can stay up to date, and get a free book by visiting her website and subscribing to her newsletter.

  www.tessoliver.com

  [email protected]