Abigail pumped her legs, and the air whipped through her hair, cooling her skin. The metal links creaked and groaned rhythmically, the sound taking her back years.
She extended her arms, leaned back, and watched the leaves overhead shimmy and shake under the breeze. Beyond them, the sky was a gray abyss.
I’m sorry, Julia. I wish I’d told somebody. You were a good friend to me, and you deserved a better childhood.
A drop of rain hit her forehead, followed by another on her arm. She dragged a foot in the wood chips on her next pass, wanting to escape before it started raining in earnest.
Then she remembered Julia’s love for playing in the rain. How she’d stay out until she was soaked to the skin and say it was no different from taking a shower except for the clothes.
A moment later a steady drizzle began to fall from the sky, wetting Abigail’s skin, her clothes. She extended her legs and leaned back again until her arms straightened. Then she blinked up at the sky.
It was time to move on, to forgive herself. She needed to lay it down and let Jesus take it, stop trying to make it right. Because no column could erase the past.
Reagan was right. She was tired of dragging a load of guilt. The stories had alleviated the feeling, but only temporarily. Abigail was ready for a permanent fix. She was tired of feeling restless. She wanted peace, and she wouldn’t have it until she found redemption. She’d spent most of her life seeking self-redemption instead of Truth. Redemption was free; how had she forgotten that?
You can have it, God. I’m giving it to you, and I’m not taking it back. I can’t work my way to redemption, and I don’t need to when you already did that for me.
She didn’t know what that meant for the future of her career and didn’t care at the moment. She was making the choice to forgive herself and was going to move forward however God wanted her to. Abigail began pumping her legs, working higher and higher until she reached the pinnacle, then she leaned back in the rain and smiled.
37
Wade’s fork scraped across his plate, gathering the last mound of macaroni and cheese. “It’s good, Maddy,” he said, breaking the silence that had strung on for several minutes. There’d been a lot of that lately. Silence.
“Abigail taught me.”
Her name still sucked the air from his lungs. After the first couple days without her, Maddy hadn’t brought her up again. Instead, she’d suffered in silence the rest of the week, a persistent frown etched between her brows. Greta, who’d looked after Maddy all week, had expressed concern. Wade didn’t know what to do. He yearned to see her smile again, had brought home a pack of Twizzlers the day before. But there weren’t enough Twizzlers in the world to cheer her up right now.
It was easier to stay busy than to see her forlorn. And between cutting out the cantankerous bulls from the cows, moving the cattle, and planning for their move, there hadn’t been time for anything but work.
And thinking of Abigail.
He’d thought staying busy would make the time pass quickly. Instead, the week had felt like a month. A long, slow, painful month.
He’d begun the process of putting his ranch on the market. Dylan had reluctantly agreed to buy his cattle and hire Pee Wee to cover the extra head. He still had to figure what to do about the house Miss Lucy rented. He couldn’t leave her homeless, even if she was a relation of Abigail’s.
“You need to sign a form for school.” Maddy pushed her macaroni around the plate.
“What kind of form?”
“Field trip. To the Western Heritage Center on Tuesday.”
“That’s in Billings.”
Maddy nodded even as Wade’s mood dropped to an all-time low. Billings was a city. Too many people. Too big a chance of being recognized.
“You know you can’t go,” he said gently.
Maddy lowered her fork. “Why not?”
“We’ve been through this a million times.”
“You never let me go anywhere!”
Wade swallowed. “We’re going somewhere real soon.”
Her brows knotted together. “I don’t want to move! We just fixed my room, and I love it here! Why can’t we be like normal people?”
She looked so much like Lizzie he wanted to scream. Instead, all his fight drained out, leaving him limp as a wet rag. “Don’t have a choice, Maddy.”
“If I can’t go to Billings, how are we gonna travel halfway across the country?”
“Very carefully.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Her lip trembled. “I want Abigail to come back.”
He could feel his heart breaking in two. He wanted her back, too, God help him. “She’s not who we thought she was, Maddy.”
Her nostrils flared. “Stop saying that! She loved us; I know she did!” She shoved her chair back abruptly and ran toward the stairs.
Wade watched her go, wondering if he should stop her. If he should sit her down for a talk or let her blow off some steam.
Abigail would know what to do.
He scowled. He was sick and tired of thinking of Abigail. Sick of wanting her.
Wade put his plate in the sink. “Going out to the barn,” he called up the stairs. When Maddy didn’t reply, he went to put on his boots and hat.
Wade had found a calf with pneumonia on his swing through Wolf Ridge that day. He’d treated her, but he needed to check on her before he fell into bed, and he wanted to be dog-tired before he did that. It was his only hope for keeping his thoughts of Abigail at bay.
The cool air was welcome, and he drew in a deep breath as he made his way across the yard. Inhaling hurt his chest these days. And it had nothing to do with the love pat he’d received from an ornery bull earlier.
He kept telling himself it would get better, that if he worked hard enough, long enough, he’d feel better. Or at least be too busy to feel. But time in a saddle was nothing but a slow cooker for memories. They simmered in his mind for hour upon hour until he thought he’d go mad.
The crunch of gravel and low hum of an engine stopped him before he entered the barn. Headlights he hadn’t noticed before pointed his direction, and moments later Dylan’s truck pulled alongside the barn.
His friend shut off the engine and exited the truck. “Still working?”
“Sick calf.”
Dylan rounded the truck in his stiff new jeans, a white collared shirt, and a snazzy black vest. “Let’s go check on her, then we can get Maddy and go.”
“Go where?”
“Chuckwagon.”
Wade entered the barn and flipped on the lights. “Never said I’d go.” Truth was, he’d even forgotten it was Saturday. Every day blurred right into the next.
“Didn’t say you wouldn’t.” Dylan followed. The spicy smell of his cologne filled up the space, making one of his horses sneeze.
“I’m tired. When I finish here, I’m hitting the hay.” He was pretty sure he wouldn’t lie awake for hours tonight. At some point the body had to surrender.
“Think of Maddy, at least. She could use some fun.”
“Take her then.” He squatted by the calf. She looked less droopy. The Nuflor was working—her fever was down. From a few feet away, the mother mooed softly.
“You need to hang around something on two legs for a change, buddy.”
“When I need your advice, I’ll ask for it.” No way was he going out. Every time he did he got the same thing.
Where’s Abigail been hiding? Haven’t seen her around in a while. She left? Oh, I was hoping she’d stay, such a nice girl. We’re sure going to miss her ’round here.
Apparently she hadn’t just captivated him but the whole town of Moose Creek. Made him feel a little less foolish. Least he wasn’t the only one she’d duped.
Wade checked the hay. Dry, clean. No sign of moisture in the air. The calf would eat soon. Already her eyes were brighter, more alert.
“It was a low blow,” Dylan said. “What Abigail did . . . I don’t get it either. But she had real feelings for
you. You’d have to be blind not to see it.”
Wade grunted. Those kinds of feelings he could do without.
“From what you said, she didn’t come here intending—”
“She exploited us. All I need to know.” Come moving day, wouldn’t matter why she’d done it. Wouldn’t matter that she’d supposedly had feelings for him, that he’d loved her. All that mattered was that their life in Moose Creek was over, and it was all Abigail’s fault.
Okay, and his own. How had he been stupid enough to fall prey to her feminine wiles? Might be just a country cowboy, but he thought he was savvier than that.
“I wish you wouldn’t move. She said she canceled the article.”
“And I should trust her? Even if she did, how can I know she’ll keep her mouth shut? I have Maddy to consider.”
“Last I checked, Maddy wanted to stay.”
What did Dylan know about parenthood? “I have to protect her—it’s my job.” One he’d failed too many times before.
“Abigail’s a respected journalist, by all accounts. Not like she works for some celebrity rag. You know, maybe her boss pressured her; did ya think of that?”
Dylan’s defense of her was getting under Wade’s skin. He gave the calf one last stroke and rose to his feet. “Don’t care about her excuses. She hurt my daughter. You weren’t here when Maddy was bawling her eyes out. She had it in her head Abigail was going to be her new mom.”
Dylan pocketed his hands. “And you had it in your head she was going to be your new wife.”
Did he have to look so smug? Wade gave his hat a sharp tug, clenched his teeth until his jaw ached.
“Not faulting you for that, friend.”
Wade was finding it hard to move on past the memories when he couldn’t so much as look across the table without seeing Abigail’s face. She was all around him. Under the weeping willow, in the barn, beside him on the swing. That would all change soon.
“You know, you weren’t all that happy with Lizzie,” Dylan said. “Not really. Not like you were with Abigail.”
“It wasn’t real. Not to her.”
“That night at the Chuckwagon when you danced with her—the way she looked at you? I was jealous, man. For the first time in a long time . . . I wanted that too.”
“That’s real rich, coming from you.”
“I may run through women like a bull through barbed wire, but I’m smart enough to know this: you don’t throw away something like that.”
He hadn’t thrown it away. Abigail had stolen it, for all the good it had done her. Even if Dylan was right, there was nothing to show for Abigail’s time here but broken hearts.
“Okay.” Dylan held up his hands, surrendering. “I’m done.”
“ ’Bout time.”
“Sure you don’t want to go? Might help to get your mind on something else.”
“Got plenty on my mind.” Abigail just took up the other 95 percent.
“Lots of women happy to save you a dance . . .”
The only woman he wanted wouldn’t be there. “No thanks.”
Dylan measured Wade’s resolve, then sighed hard. “All right. I tried.” He shook his head. “Ladies are going to be disappointed . . .”
“They’ll get over it.” Wade closed the stall door and followed Dylan from the barn.
“Care if I ask Maddy?” Dylan said.
“Won’t she put a damper on your love life?”
“Kidding me? Women love a man with a kid.” He flashed his dimple.
Dylan wasn’t fooling anyone. The guy adored Maddy, and his time with her was short. Besides, he was right. His daughter could use a little fun. Her smile seemed to have disappeared with Abigail.
“Be my guest.”
Ten minutes later Maddy followed Dylan out the door, tossing Wade a petulant good-bye. He was glad she was going. Dylan would have her spinning around the floor, forgetting her troubles in minutes.
But after the door closed, after the truck rumbled down the drive, the house felt empty. Empty and quiet. He’d get some packing done while she was gone. Maddy hadn’t even started on her room, and he hadn’t had the gumption to make her do it.
Even his own feet dragged on the steps, despite his plan. Every time he went in her room, he thought of Abigail. It was impossible not to, with the freshly painted walls, the lime green accents, the horse border, all those feminine touches she’d left behind. She’d spent so much time with Maddy.
What you paid her for, Ryan.
Dylan’s words came back to him. Was his friend right about Abigail? Despite all she’d done, he wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe everything she’d said was true, that everything she’d done was genuine, that every touch had been sincere.
He stopped on the threshold of Maddy’s room. The redecorating was only a tiny portion of what Abigail had done. She’d taught Maddy to cook, had taken her shopping, had done all the things a mother did with a daughter. She’d brought out the spunk in Maddy, had made him see his daughter’s need for him, had made him believe in himself again. He’d finally been able to put his past behind him and get things straight with God. All because of Abigail.
Wade looked across the hall. The door to Abigail’s room was drawn. Abigail’s room—he still thought of it that way. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to pack up that room yet. Was hoping the smell of her would be gone by the time he finally did.
But now he was drawn inexplicably to the room. He reached for the handle and pushed the door. It squeaked as it yawned open. He smelled her fragrance as he entered, and before he could stop himself, he drew in a lungful, allowing himself to savor the smell.
Her bed was made, not a lump or wrinkle in sight. The floor was bare, the dresser bare. There was nothing left of Abigail.
Then his eyes swept across the desk and stuck there. He frowned, walked toward the desk, and reached out for the stack of money. He counted the bills. She’d left every dime he’d paid her. Every dime.
Just when he thought he had her all figured out . . .
Dylan’s words came back to him now, ringing truer now. Was it possible she had come here innocently? That she hadn’t known who he was until she was living under his roof? Was it possible she’d fallen for him, despite her better judgment?
Isn’t that what happened to you? She’d come right into his home and stolen his heart before he could turn around twice. Maybe what Dylan said was true. Maybe she did love him. Maybe her heart was broken too.
He remembered the look on her face in the barn when he’d confronted her. He hadn’t been able to see it at the time for his anger. Hadn’t let himself remember it until now. The way her eyes had filled with fear and then desperation.
The words he’d flung at her from across the barn haunted him now. You get extra points for stringing me along? He winced now at his cruelty. Couldn’t he have given her the benefit of the doubt? Wade forked his fingers through his hair. Had he ruined everything? Abigail must hate him.
Instead of hearing her out, he’d cut her off, then sent her packing.
“No, please”—the tears that had sparkled in her eyes tormented him now. “I can’t just leave. I love you.”
He’d cut her off again, like her profession of love was irrelevant, unwanted. And then he’d threatened her with telling Maddy.
He’d been a jerk. A first-class jerk. And she must realize it by now. She hadn’t attempted to call in days, four to be exact. Could he blame her?
If he closed his eyes, he could still feel her hair against the curve of his neck, still feel her breath against his skin, still smell the sweet fragrance of sunshine and flowers.
He remembered the way she looked wearing his hat, remembered the warmth of her in his arms as they danced, their first kiss in the barn when he’d been rocked by the riot she’d caused inside him. There was nothing he didn’t remember. Including the way she looked at him, like he hung the moon and the stars. It was the look Dylan referred to, the one that convinced his friend her feelin
gs were real.
Wade would give anything to have her here now, looking at him like that. Face it, Ryan, you miss her bad. Regardless of everything Abigail might’ve done, regardless of her poor judgment, regardless of the fact that she’d hurt him and Maddy . . .
Wade loved her. He loved the way she was with his daughter. He loved the way she looked at him, the way she fit into his arms like she was made to be there. He loved the way she never gave up. Not on the garden, not on Maddy, and not on him. He loved every single thing about her, even the way she twisted that ring when she was nervous or uncomfortable.
He wished now he’d answered his phone all those times she’d called. He’d been stubborn as a bull. Hadn’t given Abigail a chance to speak before she left and hadn’t given her a chance to explain in the week since she’d been gone.
He’d made assumptions. But he’d had it all wrong.
He dropped into the desk chair. But what could he do about it now? He’d thrown away their relationship that day in the barn. He’d ripped her story from underneath her, in essence killing something that obviously mattered a great deal to her: the magazine. Her article about him had been her last hope, and he’d taken that from her so quickly, so easily. She didn’t deserve that, not after everything she’d done for them.
He popped to his feet and paced. How do I fix this mess, God? Even if he agreed to the article, it was surely too late to include it now. Abigail had no doubt gone back to Chicago and worked her tail end off to change the cover and column in time. And she’d said it was the last issue, barring a miracle.
Barring a miracle.
Didn’t he have everything he needed to save Abigail, save her magazine? But if he saved the magazine, he also saved her job. And if he saved her job, she’d be lost to him.
He considered the cost. Was he willing to pay it, willing to do anything for the woman who’d stolen his heart—even if it meant losing her?
38
Chatter buzzed around Abigail and her mom from their booth table. She scanned the restaurant they’d dined at many times and wondered why, for the first time, she felt out of place. She’d been back in Chicago for a week and a half, but somehow it seemed much longer.
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