by Kait Nolan
“That was the last time we cooked together,” Kennedy murmured.
A band squeezed around Athena’s chest as she thought of the years they’d lost. No going back to change things. They only had the now. She swallowed against a knot in her throat. “I’ve missed this.”
“Me, too.”
The click of a camera had them both turning to look at Ari, who shrugged, unrepentant. “I had to capture that Hallmark Moment.” She shoved her phone back into her pocket. “Now tell me more about your adventures in Italy.”
Athena scraped potatoes into the pot of boiling water on the stove and checked the progress of the meat. “Mind what you’re doing. Break those big clumps up into something smaller with the back of your wooden spoon, and see that you get the surface brown but not burned. That’s the Maillard reaction and where all the flavor is.”
“Yes, Chef.”
Returning to her cutting board, Athena started on an onion. “So there was this guy we called Meatball…”
“You missed an awesome dinner the other night. Athena made these veal and shiitake meatballs and Mom had to stop me from going back for a third helping.”
As Ari circled the paddock on the new gelding, whom she’d dubbed Ridley, Logan marveled at the girl’s ability to continue chattering while she rode. “Heels down,” he reminded. “Don’t let those reins droop.”
She made the corrections and kept talking, going on and on about the food until his stomach growled.
“It’s been so great having Athena in town for longer than a couple of days at a stretch.”
Logan hadn’t seen Athena since the day she’d arrived a week ago. Spring planting had been a convenient excuse to stick close to home. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her. It was that he couldn’t see her and not want to get involved. She was off-limits. He didn’t poach in another guy’s territory. And that aside, whatever issue she was dealing with would tug at him, at his insatiable curiosity, until he got emotionally involved wanting to help. Because you could take the therapist out of the master’s program, but you couldn’t take the training and instincts away. He’d learned his lesson on that front years before. So he’d stayed away for both their sakes.
Still, he couldn’t quite resist pumping Ari for a little more information. “Step it up to a posting trot. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her on this trip?”
She bounced a little before settling into a smooth rise and fall with the gelding’s gait. “She’s been teaching me to cook!”
“Really? I thought she defended the sanctity of her kitchen with all those sharp knives.”
“That’s what Kennedy said, too. But she’s turning me into a proper sous chef. Yesterday, I made béchamel sauce. She says it’s one of the five primary sauces in French cooking.”
“Yeah? What did you do with it?”
“Made a killer mac and cheese. Like, seriously, to die for. You should’ve been there for that, too.”
Amused, he propped a foot on the bottom rail of the paddock fence. “What’s with all the dinner invites all of the sudden?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m feeling sorry for you in your bachelor state, with all the boxed mac and cheese and beanie weenies.”
“I’ll have you know, I have not eaten beanie weenies since I got out of college. Change directions.” Not that his bank account was a whole lot healthier now. Everything he had was sunk into this farm. He’d finally obtained his certification as organic. Now he began the never-ending battle to keep it and sell enough of his crops to cover the outlay to get there, which hadn’t been chump change. Oh, and pray that his equipment held out for at least one more season. Some of it was presently being held together with baling wire, duct tape, and prayers. So maybe the kid had the right idea to mooch meals when he could manage it.
Ari shot him a pitying glance as she smoothly executed the transition. “Please. I’ve seen the state of your kitchen. Hungry Man meals do not constitute actual food.”
They did when you’d put in a fourteen-hour day and didn’t have the energy to do more than push a few buttons before falling face first into bed to do it all over again tomorrow. “Is that you or Athena talking?”
“Does it matter? It’s the truth either way. Besides, we have an award-winning chef at the house right now. Why wouldn’t you want to enjoy that as much as humanly possible?”
He had a sudden flash of long, tanned limbs wrapped around his shoulders and hips. Shaking his head to dislodge the image, he cleared his throat. “Because I’ve been busy with planting, as we’ve already discussed.”
“All the more reason to join us for dinner, so you don’t have to cook.”
He didn’t point out that joining them for dinner would involve quitting his work day early in order to shower and make himself presentable, not to mention drive time both ways and the lengthy socializing involved with a Reynolds family gathering. Not that he didn’t enjoy her family, but he legitimately didn’t have that kind of time.
“Besides, you’re all into the organic farming thing. Athena’s into high-quality ingredients. You’ve got food in common.”
“Pretty sure everybody with taste buds and a stomach has food in common. Step it up to a canter.”
Instead of nudging Ridley’s flank, she continued the conversation. “You know what I mean. Y’all can talk about ingredients at a higher level than the rest of us.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you trying to play matchmaker?”
Her grin was a challenge. “So what if I am?”
“Her boyfriend would probably have a problem with it.”
“He’s not here. And anyway, I don’t know if they’re still together. She hasn’t mentioned him. I mean, wouldn’t you mention the love of your life to your family?”
“He may not be the love of her life.” Please don’t be the love of her life. “That doesn’t mean he’s not still in the picture.”
Ari waved that off. “He shouldn’t be in the picture. We’ve never even met him. Besides, you like her. And whether he’s still around or not, the two of you have chemistry.”
“And how would you know that?” Surely Pru hadn’t said anything…
“Please. I have eyes. Besides, I’ve been surrounded by couples making googly eyes, with little cartoon birdies flying around their heads, for a year. The inn might as well be called The Love Shack.”
Logan snickered, imagining Xander’s pained expression if he heard this exchange. “I feel confident in saying that Athena has never made googly eyes in her life.”
“You’re not denying the chemistry,” Ari pointed out.
“Ari—”
“I’m just saying maybe, if we give her enough reasons, she’ll decide to stay.”
As an adopted kid, Ari was thirsty for family. She was happiest when all of hers was in Eden’s Ridge. It was sweet, and he appreciated that she saw him as a check in the “Reasons Athena Should Stay” column. But he needed to nip this idea in the bud. Not only to protect her but to squash that tiny flare of hope that had lit in his own chest.
“I hate to burst your bubble, kid, but Athena’s life isn’t here. Once the renovations are done, she’ll be headed on back to Chicago, to Olympus. That world, that life, isn’t compatible with ours.” It was as much a reminder to himself as to Ari.
“Athena’s not happy in that world,” she insisted.
“How do you know that?”
“People talk about the things that make them happy. She’s hardly said two words about Olympus since she got here. And if you ask, she finds a way to change the subject.”
He hummed a noncommittal note, but he thought back to her evasion about how long she was staying. Was something more serious going on back in Chicago? Had something besides fatigue carved those lines around her eyes?
Not your business.
“Anyway, she’s not happy, so maybe she should walk away.”
“That’s easier said than done. She’s one of the best in her field, and sh
e deserves the chance to shine.”
“Of course she does, but the sun does not rise and set in Chicago. She could shine closer to home.”
“That’s for Athena to decide. Now step it up to that canter.”
This time Ari did as he asked. But as she slipped smoothly into rhythm with her mount, Logan couldn’t help but wish that the teenager was right.
Chapter 3
Athena had put this trip off for more than a week. Every single time, it got harder and harder to make herself go. Guilt inevitably got her over the hump and forced her into the car for the forty-minute drive to the campus just south of Johnson City.
The grounds of Haven Acres were beautiful. Long, grassy lawns, studded with trees that had leafed out for spring, gave way to stunning views of the mountains. That was part of why she’d chosen it. It wasn’t quite the view he’d had at home, but it was a damned sight better than the endless stretches of institutional beige and cinderblock walls of the state facility he’d been in for years before she’d made enough money to get him out. Not that he usually seemed to notice one way or the other, but maybe, somewhere down deep, he could feel the change.
She stopped in at the front desk of the nursing home’s main building to find out where he was this afternoon.
“Miss Reynolds! It’s so good to see you again. We didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Athena forced a smile, though she thought it might break her face. “Neither did I.”
As the woman checked the schedule on her computer, she kept up a steady stream of small talk. Somehow Athena made appropriate responses, though she wouldn’t have been able to say what they’d talked about on pain of death. The receptionist gave her directions, and Athena murmured her thanks.
Heading out the back door of the main building, she crossed the wide lawn, which was flanked on two sides by more buildings, creating a sort of quad that opened on the fourth side to the mountains. Beyond the buildings, various groups were clustered outside, enjoying the sunshine of a gorgeous spring day. To the south, a knot of people went through the slow, stylized movements of Tai Chi. Further up a small rise, half a dozen others had easels set up.
Away from all of them, a wheelchair was parked beside a bench, beneath a redbud tree that had burst into bloom. Its occupant faced the mountains, a light blanket tucked across his lap. A nurse sat on the bench, a paperback in hand, reading glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. As Athena got closer, she could hear the woman reading aloud.
“There waiting, silent and still in the space before the Gate, sat Gandalf upon Shadowfax: Shadowfax who alone among the free horses of the earth endured the terror, unmoving, steadfast as a graven image in Rath Dínen.”
Athena recognized it as Return of the King, one of his favorites. She had to pause for a minute, closing her eyes to find some control. It had been so many years since she’d heard him read it himself. So many years since she’d heard him speak at all. She couldn’t quite remember the sound of his rich, rolling voice anymore, and that was just another loss on top of so many. Another layer of herself flayed away by the whip of fate. Every visit left more scars on her heart.
When she was certain she could keep herself together, she crossed the rest of the way and crouched in front of the wheelchair. “Hey, Daddy.”
There was nothing in the gray eyes so like her own. No flicker of recognition. No acknowledgment he even knew she was there. A bad day, then. Bracing herself for that, she turned and introduced herself to the nurse.
“How’s he doing?”
“Physically, he’s perfectly healthy. He’s still not usually responsive to people, but he recognizes food when it’s put in front of him. The occupational therapist has been working with him on relearning how to feed himself. There’s been some progress with that.” The nurse smiled. “Won’t acknowledge a vegetable, but he almost always reaches for pie. He’s got quite the sweet tooth.”
Athena swallowed. “Yeah. He always has. Do you mind giving us a little bit?”
“Of course.” She handed the book to Athena and left them alone.
After a moment’s hesitation, Athena sank down on the bench and looked out at the view. She wondered if her father saw it, or if he saw something else wherever he was trapped inside his own mind.
“So, I’ve got news. I sold my share in Olympus. The paperwork came in day before yesterday.” Before she could change her mind and do something radical like burn the contracts, she’d signed them and overnighted them back, wanting the whole thing over and done with. “I got a good offer on it and the money’s all clear and in my account already.”
Her fingers restlessly stroked the edges of the paperback. “It’s a big change. I’ve still got to make a plan and figure out what’s next. Probably it’s gonna mean leaving Chicago and my apartment there. Not that that’s any great loss. I barely spent any time there other than to sleep. But all that can wait a little bit. I need some time to grieve.”
She paused, waiting for some change in body language. He didn’t even shift in his chair, so she kept talking. “I haven’t told my sisters yet. The reasons why I did it are…ugly and embarrassing. I made a bad decision. Seems I’ve made plenty of those over the years. But I wanted to make sure you knew you’re taken care of. The money from the sale will cover us both at least through the end of the year. By then I’ll have figured something else out.”
She reached out to take one of his hands in hers. His fingers were soft. Weak. Not the strong, callused hands she’d known as a child, when he’d been the one to hold everything together. That was her job now. Had been her job far earlier than it ever should have been. She clenched her teeth, all but snarling the promise. “I’m always going to take care of you.”
But there was still no response. His fingers didn’t tighten in hers. He didn’t move or look away from the view. So she squashed her disappointment and released his hand, picking up the book. “Let’s see what Gandalf is up to.”
She read until her voice gave out, waiting for some sign of life, some indication he wasn’t just a shell. But there was nothing. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she waved the nurse back, thanked her and hurried to the parking lot.
Safely ensconced in her car, she folded both arms over the steering wheel and pressed her face tight against them, her throat so tight, she thought she’d strangle on the urge to cry. When would she give up? When would she stop hoping, stop expecting that he’d fight his way out of the prison of his mind to give her some sign he even knew she was there? When would she acknowledge that her father had died in all but body years ago?
Unable to cope with the threat of tears, she reached for the anger that always battled them back. Because this hadn’t been an accident. This nightmare had been her father’s own fault, and she’d been paying and paying and paying for his mistake for years. The familiar heat of rage was cleansing, if not comforting. She was beyond comfort at this point.
Her phone dinged with a text. Straightening, she took a half dozen measured breaths before digging it out of her purse and thumbing open the screen. She found a message from Moses.
Duck and cover.
There was a link to something on YouTube.
Frowning, she loaded the video. As soon as it filled her screen, her fingers tightened on the phone.
“Oh shit.”
To Athena’s mind, some disasters unequivocally merited getting shit-faced. As it happened, there were only two places to get drunk in Eden’s Ridge. Elvira’s Tavern catered to the respectable crowd, the nice folks who rarely indulged enough to start a bar fight. As it was also where Kennedy worked as a bartender, and as Athena had absolutely no intention of talking this shit out with her sisters, it was automatically off the table.
That left The Right Attitude. She’d always privately thought that meant a bad attitude, given the clientele who frequented it. Those respectable folks didn’t darken its door, and the Sheriff’s Department was on speed dial. Heads were regularly cracked and glassware busted.
She hadn’t been inside since an unfortunate incident testing out a fake ID when she was eighteen, but best as she could tell, the place hadn’t changed much. The squat, cinderblock building was a dingier shade of brown than it had been eight years before. As she came through the door, she noted the decor had been upgraded. Dozens of brassieres stood sentry around the perimeter of the room. Not just any bras, but buxom, over-the-shoulder boulder holders, in a blinding display of pattern and color.
Classy.
For a moment, she stood in the entrance, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The air was hazy, despite the non-smoking ordinance in town, and the floors seemed to suck at her feet as she made her way over to the bar. Aware of the eyes following her progress, she kept her gait loose and ignored them, dialing in her best fuck-with-me-and-die face. Which wasn’t hard, considering the reason she was here.
The bartender, a rangy man who could’ve been anywhere from mid-forties to mid-sixties, wandered over. His steel gray brows shot up as she slid onto a stool. “You in the right place, honey?” His voice was gravel and his face was dominated by a mustache that was a way-less-attractive homage to Sam Elliot.
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks for a bottle of Jack, a clean glass, and no questions.”
He inclined his head and slapped a glass on the scarred wooden bar in front of her. Snagging the iconic black-labeled bottle, he set that in front of her, too, then waited. Clearly she was expected to pay up on the front end. Fine. She dug a hundred dollar bill out of her purse and passed it over.
In the back of her mind, Maggie’s voice chided her that this whole thing was a foolish indulgence. She poured two fingers of whiskey into the glass and downed it in one, fast shot. The real Maggie would have plenty to say later. Athena sure as shit wasn’t going to be lectured right now. She deserved this one night to fall the hell apart and mourn the torpedoing of her career.