Until I Really Do

Chapter Twenty Three

His thighs pressed against hers, her back to his chest as the faint smell of hay and aftershave drifted to her nostrils, mercilessly torturing her senses with images of the man seated behind her.

She sat trapped in his arms, his nearness filling her with an unfamiliar feeling of warmth, even if she tried to attribute it to the sun that shone down on both their heads. Surely her accelerated heartbeat had more to do with the trotting horse than the man whose arms held her steady on the horse!

Sharon fought to rid herself of the unfamiliar feelings that were now taking over her mind, but with every second that ticked by in Matthew's arms, her efforts proved futile. Indeed, the need to lean back against his firm chest became nearly undeniable.

They reached the lake sooner than Sharon would have liked, ending their moment on the horse together. Matthew climbed down first, before turning to retrieve the picnic basket from her. Once he had placed it on the grass, he turned to her. Reaching out, his hands settled on her waist, sending a shockwave of emotions down her spine. Pressing her lips together to keep from gasping, she placed her shaky hands on his shoulders as he carried her down the horse.

“I should set things up,” she said, desperate to put some distance between them.

Picking the basket from where he had placed it, she hurriedly turned from him and made her way to the lake. She found a cool spot under a tree, and retrieving the blanket from the basket, spread it out on the grass. She had began serving their mashed potatoes in their plate when the sound of reed breaking behind her drifted to her, alerting her of Matthew's presence.

“Need help?” He said.

She opened her mouth to ward him off, desperately needing to maintain the distance between them if she was going to succeed in keeping her composure throughout their lunch, but just as she turned around, she was suddenly face to face with him.

He knelt there, hazel eyes staring back at her as his warm breath tickled her skin, rendering her completely speechless. She could only kneel there and watch him, his lips inches away from hers. The memories of their kiss came rushing back, helping to further heighten the feeling of warmth on her skin.

And how could Sharon forget their kiss? She had relived it every day for the past one week, secretly desiring more of it. Even now, as she stared at Matthew, she desired to kiss him.

She stared into his eyes, searching for signs that he desired a kiss just as much as she did, but before she could find the answers she sought, he pulled away, rising to his feet.

Embarrassed, Sharon turned sharply around, replacing the emptied bowl of potatoes back in the basket. Perhaps she was wrong to imagine he would want to kiss her again? What was she thinking?! It was true that they had kissed, but it had been spontaneous, brought about by their heightened emotions. Perhaps he had kissed her as some form of apology for the kiss he had shared with Gretchen? And how could she forget Gretchen, the woman he was in love with? Surely she was being silly for dwelling on a kiss that had happened a week ago and had failed to happen again.

Swallowing her emotions, Sharon went about filling their plates. She ignored Matthew as he sat on the blanket, and once she was done, she handed him a plate, barely making eye contact with him. She instead focused on eating and on fighting the silliness of her thoughts. For it was silly to be hurt by the idea of Matthew being in love with Gretchen, or the idea of him wanting nothing to do with Sharon. Wasn't that what she always wanted; to be independent of every man? Why did the idea of being separated from him suddenly hurt?!

She didn't need him, she thought, clenching her teeth. She had survived alone for several years with an absentee father. She could do it again. She didn't need these silly emotions either, they only helped to make her feel weak and vulnerable and weakness was not a thing Sharon was willing to give into.

Feeling Matthew's gaze on her, she kept her eyes on her plate.

“Nana was right; it's a good day for a picnic.” He said and she shrugged, unsure of her ability to speak without exposing her emotions to him. “And this is a great spot to have one.”

“Hm,” she murmured, chewing on a carrot.

She didn't dare look at him throughout their time together, neither did she dare respond to his words beyond a shrug, afraid he would take one look at her and see how vulnerable she really was. She instead focused on trying to eat, but once she saw the futility in that as well, she abandoned her plate and waited until Matthew was done. She replaced the dirty dishes in the basket, rising to her feet.

“We should head back.” She said, smoothing her skirt with her eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

Silence followed her words. When she was almost certain Matthew had somehow disappeared, he finally said, “We should.”

He rose to his feet and turned from her. Following him silently, she waited until he had untied the horse and allowed him help her mount the horse once more, her heart doing a little flip at his touch. She ignored it, stiffening as he settled behind her.

Tension filled the air as they rode back in silence. Fighting the urge once more to lean back against him, Sharon instead focused her attention on the building ahead, even if thoughts of Matthew and his rejection still plagued her.

She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the commotion that awaited them at home, until Matthew was swearing loudly behind her and kicking the horse into a run. It was then she saw the small crowd of people standing before the building. The closer they got, the easier it became to recognize some of the farmhands. Gretchen, Elle, Grace, Nana Lois and an older man Sharon could not recognize, stood on the front porch staring down at the scene.

Afraid she would fall off of the horse, Sharon leaned into Matthew, his arm immediately curling around her waist to hold her in place. When they finally reached the house, Matthew jumped down, turning briefly to help her down, before hurrying over to the scene.

Sharon walked slowly behind, confused.

“What is going on here?!”  Matthew yelled, gaining the attention of his farmhands. They turned around, parting to give him a clear view of what it was that had managed to gain the attention of the entire farm.

Matthew paused in his tracks, his back stiffening. Curios, Sharon made her way around him, a loud gasp immediately drifting from her lips the second her eyes came to rest on him; her father!

Pinned to the ground with his face half buried in the dust, George Freelance stared back at her, eyes dazed by alcohol. A bulky man knelt over him, holding both his hands behind him.

Horrified, Sharon covered the distance between them. “What are you doing?! Get off of my father!” She cried, trying and failing to shove the farmhand off of him. Still, the farmhand maintained him position over her father, unmoved by her command. “Now!” She pounded against his back, furious.

Something in Sharon was desperate to free her father from the man who was obviously much stronger. It was an instinct she had; one that had thrown her into action whenever her father got himself into trouble with his debauchery and gambling. It was an instinct to protect him, the only family she had left —even if he was undeserving of her! Even if he was less than a good father! Even if he had so cruelly exchanged her for the cancellation of his debt!

He was her father. This damaged, disgusting human being was her father whether she liked it or not. And for god's sake she was his daughter! Decency demanded that she protected him! Decency —the damned thing— demanded that she fought for him.

And so she fought with tears blurring her vision as she engaged in a futile battle to free him from his oppressor.

Something curled around her then, holding her against himself.

“Sharon,” Matthew.

She gave into her grief, crumbling in his arms as he held her firmly against himself. She cried for her father, who was condemned to live such a wretched life and imprisoned by his cruel addiction. She cried for herself; condemned forever to be the daughter of the town's drunken gambler, even if she had fought for many years to gain a reputation independent of his. But her fight was futile.

Matthew tightened his hold on her as she wept. “I'm sorry,” he whispered solemnly against her hair.

She wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault but she found it impossible to speak. Leaning further into him, she let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes.

“Do you want to lie down?” He asked, drawing her attention to the pain that was now slicing through her skull.

Exhausted, she nodded once as he leaned down and swept her into his arms. Snuggling against his chest, she heaved a soft sigh as he turned and began carrying her into the building, away from the father she had fought and failed severally to save. And as they went, Sharon admitted to herself that she could never save George Freelance, but perhaps it was time to save herself.

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