by Jennie Marts
This was no time to cry. This was the time for action. Time to hold it together and take care of business. There would be time to cry later.
Letting go of the dog, she swiped at the few tears that had ignored her stern self-talk and headed down the hall to her bedroom. As long as she was home, she figured it was best to take a few minutes to change.
She shed her damp clothes and pulled on a clean pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and dry socks. She grabbed a hoodie and stuffed her feet into a pair of sneakers, the whole time trying to avoid looking at the bed, the rumpled sheets a stark reminder of the time she’d just spent there with Zane.
Ignoring the ache in her chest, she rushed through the house, collecting the dog and a blue blanket the collie liked to sleep on while she was there. In the car, her thoughts strayed back to Zane. He’d told her he wanted to call things off with them—but it was in the heat of the moment. He didn’t mean it. Things would be different tomorrow. Once Hope was okay and Bryn had a chance to talk to him again. She wasn’t giving up. She meant what she’d said.
She wasn’t sure when it happened. If it was the moment he left her the hundred-dollar tip to buy the horse, or the first time he kissed her, or when he found Pete and got her truck back, or the moment after he’d jumped off that ledge with her and come up whooping and splashing and spouting beautiful words about falling. Or maybe it was all the moments combined. Whatever it was, it was real.
She was in love with him.
Lucky laid his head in her lap, and she scratched his ears. “Good dog.” She pulled into the parking lot of the vet clinic, and the tripod dog followed her inside.
The door to the exam room was closed, but she could see light under the door and hear music playing. “Hello,” she called into the empty room, praying that Zane had changed his mind and come back to the clinic. No one answered.
Her chest tightened as she searched the exam rooms and the bathroom. Lucky followed her back out to the parking lot, where she yelled his name. But he still didn’t answer.
Zane was gone.
* * *
Zane crashed into his house, the door hitting the wall as it slammed open.
His dad was sitting at the table, a mostly empty bottle of Jack in front of him. He wore an old plaid bathrobe tied loosely over faded blue pajama pants and a stained and yellowed T-shirt. His eyes were bleary, and he regarded his son with disdain. “Whaz-a hell are you supposed to be? Is it Halloween or somethin’?” His words slurred together in an all too familiar sound.
Zane furrowed his brow, then remembered the scrub shirt the vet tech had given him to wear. He grabbed the edges of the shirt and pulled it over his head. “It’s not mine.”
His dad laughed—not a funny laugh, but a mean laugh layered with condescension. “Oh, I know izz not. Doctors wear scrubs. And you gotta go to college and earn a fancy degree to be a doctor. They don’t take dumbasses like you who could barely pass algebra in high school.”
“Whatever, Dad.” A basket of clean laundry sat on the corner of the couch, and Zane grabbed a T-shirt off the top and pulled it over his head. Birch hadn’t had any more schooling than Zane. “Hypocrite,” he muttered not quite under his breath.
“What’d you say to me, boy?” His dad lurched from the chair, knocking it over. It crashed to the floor behind him, but he didn’t turn around. His eyes were narrowed in fury. “You wanna get smart with me?”
“No, Dad. I just want to go to bed. I’ve had a shitty day.”
“You had a shitty day? Poor baby. I’ve been sittin’ in this house like a damn invalid for months. My chest hurts, my gut’s all twisted, and I swear this house has been spinnin’ all day.” His voice rose with each assertion. “And I don’t need your whiny smart mouth to come in here and give me sass,” he bellowed.
He balled his hand into a fist and tried to raise his arm to take a swing at Zane, but his arm swung limply at his side. Birch looked down at the arm in disgust, like it had personally failed him, then turned back to his son just as his eyes rolled back and his body slumped forward.
Zane hurled forward and grabbed his father before he fell to the floor. He’d seen his dad pass out drunk many times. This was different. His dad’s words echoed in his ears…chest hurt, gut twisted, house had been spinning. His dad was right—he wasn’t a doctor, but he was pretty certain Birch had just had another heart attack. “Damn it, Dad.”
Chapter 18
Bryn stumbled through the next day, going through the motions in a sleep-deprived haze. She’d spent most of the night at the vet clinic. Hope had come out of surgery around midnight, and Brody had said her prognosis was good. Lucky had been the hero of the night, offering his blood for the transfusion they eventually had to do.
Bryn had slept a little on the sofa in the waiting room, but Brody sent her home after the surgery. He told her he’d come back in around three to check on Hope, but there wasn’t anything more for her to do that night, so she might as well get some sleep. She’d taken his advice, bringing Lucky home and falling asleep on the sofa with the dog curled in her arms. She couldn’t face the bed yet.
She’d tried Zane’s phone again as she drove to the vet clinic later that morning. She planned to check on Hope, then meet Elle at the bank. As much as she’d wanted to cancel, they’d already made the appointment to set up business accounts, and she knew she needed to get it done. It felt like something normal to do in an otherwise abnormal day.
Zane didn’t answer. He hadn’t answered all night. She’d considered going by his house on her way home the night before, just to tell him that Hope had come through the surgery okay, but had decided to text him instead. He hadn’t answered that either.
Hope was doing okay. She wagged her tail a little when Bryn came into the room, but Brody said she was still pretty lethargic. They were going to keep her for another night, just for observation.
“Has Zane come in this morning?” she asked.
Brody shook his head, avoiding her eyes as he washed his hands. “No. He called and gave his credit card information to the receptionist to cover the bill, but he told her the dog was yours. I figured she must have misunderstood him.”
So he was really going to play it that way, huh?
“Yes, I’m sure that’s it. I’ll take her home if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow, but Hope is still Zane’s dog.”
Bryn left the vet clinic feeling as if twenty pounds had just been dumped on her shoulders. Her eyes were gritty and sore, and her body ached from the night spent on the old sofa. On autopilot, she drove to the bank and tried to concentrate on the information the banker was telling her. Elle met her there, and the banker helped them set up the accounts. Bryn had brought her laptop, and they worked through the process of transferring the donation money and the online GoFundMe account to the new bank accounts as well. Elle loved the business name. Bryn had told it to her the day before, and Elle had set up the LLC and obtained a tax ID number from the IRS using the new name.
What would she do without Elle? In the past few weeks, the two women had really formed a bond. Bryn had called Elle about Hope getting hit by the car and going into surgery, but she hadn’t told her anything about Zane. Her stomach churned with shame and embarrassment. Elle had cautioned her to be wary of Zane, warned her she would get hurt. Apparently her friend had been right.
Elle had brought the money she’d collected from the donation jars to deposit into the accounts, and Bryn realized she still had the first two jars crammed into her pantry. She’d meant to bring them, but her brain didn’t seem to be running on all cylinders that morning.
“You want to grab some coffee?” Elle asked as they left the bank. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.”
“I am.” She covered her mouth as she stifled a yawn. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m going to go home and try to catch a few hours of sleep.”
; “Good idea. Anything I can do to help? You want me to come out and sit with the other dogs or feed your dainty pig?”
Bryn smiled. “No. I’m fine. I appreciate the offer though. You’re a good friend.”
A grin spread across Elle’s face. “Why, thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me today.”
Bryn let Elle pull her into a hug, then she dragged herself back to her car. She drove through the coffee shop on her way home and ordered a caramel latte with a triple shot of espresso for herself and a puppacino for Lucky, the hero dog. It was only a small cup filled with whipped cream, but Lucky licked it clean while Bryn sat on the front porch, nibbling half a sandwich and sipping her drink—and trying to convince herself she wasn’t hanging out there waiting for Zane.
His truck had been gone when she’d come home the night before, but she figured he’d show up eventually. If not for her, then for the horses. He’d told her Beauty was within a few weeks of foaling and had moved the mare into the largest stall in the barn the day before. No matter how upset he was with her, or about the dog, she couldn’t imagine he would neglect the horses for too long.
The latte didn’t seem to be helping, she thought as another yawn overtook her. Maybe she’d lie down. Just for a little bit. She shuffled into the house and down the hallway, too tired for the sofa. She wanted her own bed, her own pillow.
Sinking into the bed, she closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of Zane still perceptible on her sheets. Lucky followed her in, jumped on the bed, and curled against Bryn’s legs as she drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Bryn woke from the depths of a murky dream to the sound of someone in her kitchen.
Zane!
She threw back the covers and pushed off the bed, stumbling a little as her knees threatened to buckle. Blinking her eyes, she shook her head, trying to get her body to match the alertness of her brain. Reaching out a hand, she steadied herself against the nightstand and took a second to catch her breath.
Lucky was gone from the bed, and she was surprised to see it was past five. No wonder she felt groggy—she’d slept for most of the afternoon. Lucky hopped into the room, gave her a doggie look that translated into something like Help! Timmy fell in the well. Follow me, then hopped back out again. Bryn straightened her shirt and smoothed her hair as she walked out of the bedroom. She ran the back of her hand over her chin, just to make sure she hadn’t drooled.
She was excited to see Zane, but also apprehensive. It was about time he showed up, and her heart was racing in her chest, but she wasn’t sure if it was pounding because she was excited or just pissed off.
Apparently it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t Zane in the kitchen anyway.
Although she did recognize the back of the guy currently digging through her pantry. Unfortunately, she didn’t think he was searching for the peanut butter.
“Hey, Buck,” she said, casually leaning her hip against the counter.
Her brother raised up and whacked his head on the shelf above him. He swore as he turned around, the two donation jars clutched in his hands. “Damn, Sis, you scared the hell out of me.”
“Apparently not, because I think hell is still comin’ for the kind of guy who would steal money from helpless animals.”
He furrowed his brow. “I wasn’t stealing it.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I was just borrowing it. Come on. I heard you’ve got these jars all over town. No one’s going to miss a couple of bucks.”
“The horses will. And the dogs too. Because that’s the money that’s going to buy them food.”
“What about me? I need to buy food too.”
“Seriously?” She opened her mouth to say something more, probably something simpering and yielding before reaching for her purse and handing him the last of her money.
But this time she didn’t. She snapped her lips shut and gritted her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. Why did she have to give him her money? What made her think she always had to take care of everyone else?
Warmth bloomed in her chest, a fiery fury that swirled and ached and burned her throat. All the craziness of the past few days, the dog getting hurt by a hit and run driver, Pete saying terrible things to her, and Zane… Well, Zane was a ball of fury all on his own. Who was he to tell her who she should be with? All the pieces eddied and churned, making her nauseous and feeling like if she didn’t vomit out the sentiments building inside her, then she might actually puke on her freshly mopped kitchen floor.
She raised her hand, then slammed it down on the counter as she let out a cry of frustration through tightly gripped teeth. “Gahhhh. I’m so damn tired of being there for everyone else, of sticking my neck, not to mention my heart, out again and again and every damn time getting it stepped on. No, not even stepped on, but trampled, mashed, smashed, crushed, and massacred.” She hit the counter again and again, smacking it with each new adjective describing the condition of her heart. “I’m tired of showing up every damn time for everyone who needs me, who needs anything, but never having anyone, not one single person, show up for me when I need them.”
She’d thought Zane was going to be that person. But where the hell was he? He sure as heck wasn’t here.
“Geez,” her brother said, wrinkling his nose as if something in the kitchen smelled bad. “What’s gotten into you? Why are you losing your shit?”
“Oh gosh, Bucky, I haven’t even begun to lose my shit. This is only the top layer of the shit I’m about to lose. I have been keeping this bottled up in me for so long, pressing it down every time you asked for money, or some guy I’m dating asks to borrow my car, or some asshole who acts like he loves me steals my money and my truck. Well, I am sick and tired of stuffing the shit down. And guess what, Little Brother? You’re the first one I’m going to start losing some of it on.”
“Lucky me,” he muttered.
“No, dear Brother, not lucky you. In fact, your luck in this house has just run out.” She reached for the donation jars and snatched them out of his hands. “These are not yours. And you’re not taking them. And furthermore, I’m not giving you any of my money either. I work really freakin’ hard for that tip money. I stand on my feet for hours on end and put up with bullshit customers who like to demand everything special, then stiff me on the tip. Granted, not all my customers are assholes, some are very nice, but nice doesn’t always pay the bills. I have to clean up half-eaten food and spilled milk and mop floors and clean greasy pans. I work my ass off for every dime I make, then I hand it over to you out of some guilt-driven sense of responsibility. I give it to you because I’m your sister, and I should take care of you. Well, guess what, buddy? You are an adult. And it’s time you start acting like one, starting with getting out of my house and going to find a job.”
“I have a job.”
“A real job. One that doesn’t involve eight seconds of peril on the back of a thousand-pound bull.” She let out a sigh as she set the donation jars on the counter and pushed them back against the wall, away from her brother’s sticky fingers. “Actually I don’t care what kind of job you get. Or don’t get. Just quit calling me and asking me for money.”
He huffed out an indignant breath. “Fine. I won’t call.”
“Grrr. That is not what I’m saying. I’m not telling you not to call. I just once, seriously, Brother, just one time would like to have you call me or stop by for a visit and not slip somewhere into our conversation a request for money.”
“I don’t,” he sputtered.
“Yeah, you do. And until you realize it and stop freakin’ doing it, I want you to go.”
“Go? You’re kicking me out of my own house?”
“Your house?” This time it was her turn to sputter. “When’s the last time you paid the taxes or the homeowner’s insurance? Or the electric bill? Or any freakin’ bill?”
He
shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Look, Buck. This is your home. And it always will be. But this is my house. I don’t expect you to pay the taxes or the insurance or the propane or the hundred other things I take care of around here. I just want you to quit taking away the money that does pay that stuff.”
“Fine.”
“I think you’d better go.”
“I think so too.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair as he ducked his head. “I’ll call ya next week. Just to say hi.” He leaned down and gave her a sort of awkward hug-type pat on the back. They’d never been big huggers, but her chewing him out must have hit a nerve for him to attempt one.
“I’d like that.” She clasped her hands together in front of her, squeezing them tightly to keep from cracking open her purse and giving him the last twelve dollars of cash she had in her wallet. It could buy him a cheeseburger at least. He can buy his own bloody cheeseburger. Remember? He’s an adult.
He gave her a little wave and slipped out the front door. She stood at the counter, still clasping her hands and willing her feet to stay in place so she didn’t go running after him and beg him to take some of her money. She let out her breath, then collapsed onto the sofa as his truck barreled down the driveway and out onto the highway.
Lucky ran over and licked her face as if to say Good girl.
She sat there a few minutes, then her stomach growled. She heated up a bowl of leftover pasta and sat at the counter, staring at her phone while she absently shoved noodles into her mouth. Apparently staring at it didn’t make it ring or ding or do anything at all. Neither did ignoring it while she rinsed her dish, then tried to watch a crime show on television.
So far, she’d tried eating, sleeping, and watching television, and none of them took her mind off the tall cowboy. Maybe she needed to go for a walk. She laced up her sneakers and let out a laugh as she pushed open the front door.
Tiny was sprawled out on the porch, four barn cats of various shades curled around her massive pink body, and all sound asleep. Otis had claimed a spot on the porch and rested his horned head next to Tiny’s snout. Bryn’s laugh and the squeak of the door must have woken them, because they all stirred and stretched, then the cats lounged back against Tiny’s body. The pig raised her head, and Bryn swore it looked like she smiled at her.