by J. S. Marlo
“Hunt…” The specter of another confrontation brought fresh tears into her eyes and sapped her of her resolve. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“No, we won’t. I’m going to Piper’s. See you.” He walked away without giving her a second look.
Angry at fate, she tossed the cell into the hay, hugged her bear, and cried. She wanted her life back.
***
The numbness permeating Blythe’s mind didn’t abate until a flight attendant removed an empty glass from his tray table and told him to prepare for landing.
Driving to the airport, buying a ticket, boarding the plane, and having a drink was all a blur as he tried to comprehend the tragedy that had struck Riley within days of returning home.
Hunter’s less-than-coherent account of the tragic events leading to his desperate phone call contained more holes than a shooting target. In a devastating way, the fire, the arsonist, the homeless family, and Oliver’s death had made sense, but the subsequent altercation with the grandmother and her ultimate demise defied his comprehension. What worried Blythe, the reason that had prompted him to take the next available flight to Sparrowsnest to see Riley in person, was Hunter’s readiness to sacrifice his future to stay with his mother.
After the captain switched off the seatbelt sign, Blythe stood to retrieve his duffel bag from the overhead compartment, and then waited his turn to exit the aircraft.
As he walked inside the terminal, he remembered telling Hunter he’d fly in that day but not on which flight. Hunter wouldn’t be here to pick him up, and it hadn’t occurred to Blythe to ask for directions to the ranch or to reserve a car. On the outside chance Hunter had tried to contact him, he stopped near the luggage carrousel, set his bag on the floor, and checked his messages. Nothing.
In need of a means of transportation, he looked around for a car rental booth.
“Mr. Huxley?” Waving a cowboy hat, Riley’s son snaked his way through the passengers.
“Hello, Hunter.” He offered his hand, and Hunter returned a solid handshake. “These aren’t the circumstances under which I’d hoped to see you again.”
“Me neither.” Visibly nervous, he rolled the rim of his hat between his hands. “This is rather awkward for me, Mr. Huxley.”
“No, it’s not. I’m glad you called.” Awkward would be when Blythe met Riley, and she realized her son had contacted him behind her back. “Please, call me Hux. It sounds less stuffy.”
“Hux?” A sly smile, similar to the one his mother often threw Blythe’s way, darted across Hunter’s face. “Sounds shifty.”
“Now that we’ve been reacquainted, you can fill in the blanks in the car.” He picked up his duffel bag from off the floor, slung it over his shoulder, and followed Hunter.
As he stepped outside, Riley’s son slipped his cowboy hat on his head. “Did you have a good flight?”
“Yes.” They walked alongside a chain-link fence. On the left was the parking lot, and on the right, on the other side of the fence, was the landing strip. “How did you know when I’d land?”
“I didn’t, but it wasn’t like you had that many flights to choose from. If you’d missed the afternoon one, I would have come back after suppertime for the next one.”
Hunter had driven an hour to pick him up, and Blythe was touched by his consideration. “Have you told your mom about my arrival?”
“No. She thinks I’m at my girlfriend’s, Piper’s.” His index finger pointed at a blue Ford Mustang in the corner parking space. “My ride.”
“Nice car, cowboy.”
A smile edged Hunter’s mouth. “It’s not a Porsche, but it gets me around. You can throw your bag on the backseat.”
Within minutes of maneuvering out of the parking lot, the town faded behind them, and the number of cars on the road dwindled to a handful. Ahead of them, magnificent mountains loomed over the foothills.
“Why me, Hunter? Why did you call me and not someone else?”
“A few reasons.” The cowboy hat worn low over Hunter’s eyes prevented Blythe from reading his expression. “When you see mom, you’ll understand.”
But he already understood grief and pain. He’d experienced it. “It’s only been four weeks. Your mother needs time to grieve. It’s normal for her to withdraw from reality. Trust me when I say it won’t last.”
“That’s one reason I called you. With your wife being—I mean—I don’t mean it the wrong way…”
“I lost my wife, Hunter. There’s no right or wrong way.” He’d accepted his loss. If only her parents could do the same. “Give your mother time, and she’ll be able to face the outside world again.”
His hands clenched and unclenched the steering wheel, giving Blythe a glimpse of the tumult raging inside his young heart. “Mom cried a lot, you know. She didn’t eat. She didn’t sleep. She went on lone rides into the woods. She did all the things that people say are normal, but in the last week or so, she was getting better. She’d started cooking and eating again, fixing things around the ranch, going to town, but then…Medusa died on the kitchen floor.”
“Medusa?” Blythe pictured the mythological creature whose hair turned into snakes after she angered the Greek goddess Athena. “Is she…”
“Dad’s mother.”
Unlike grandma, grandmother, or even dad’s mom, dad’s mother sounded devoid of emotional connection. “When did she die exactly?”
“Three days ago. After she died, Mom withdrew again. She spends day and night in the stable or the woods. It’s like she’s haunted or something.”
Riley’s behavior struck him as odd. “Tell me about the altercation with your dad’s mother. What did she say to your mother?”
“That she hated us. That we were not Dad’s children. That Dad never loved Mom.” The words spat out of his mouth, hard and cold. “That he married Mom out of pity.”
Hunter and Rowan had been Oliver’s children in every important sense of the word. Any mother would have recognized that. “I met your dad, Hunter. He loved your mother very much. And he loved you and your sister. You were his children. His real children.”
“I know, but…” An ominous sigh deflated Hunter’s chest. “She also told mom she was like my mom’s mom—a piece—a piece of trash that—that kills men.”
The car swayed onto the center of the road, and Blythe’s breath caught in his throat. There was no traffic coming from the opposite direction, but still…
“Would you stop the car, please?” As the Mustang came to a full stop on the side of the deserted country road, he heaved a silent sigh of relief.
“I shouldn’t have called you. I’ll drive you back.”
“No.” By asking Hunter to stop, he didn’t mean to imply he wasn’t interested in helping them. Quite the opposite. He wanted to be there for them, but Hunter’s emotional state worried him, and he’d rather not end up in a ditch. To settle him down, Blythe placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not leaving, son. But would you do me a favor, and let me drive?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hunter’s directions led Blythe to a private dirt road at the foot of a grassy hill where a two-story log cabin sat on its southern slope. The house featured a red roof with three dormers, where he guessed the bedrooms to be located, and a large covered veranda that extended from the front porch and wrapped each side of the house.
Peaceful and isolated. I love it.
Except for the house, all the adjacent buildings were on the right side of the road. He slowed down as he drove by a barn with a red rounded roof. If he weren’t mistaken, that’d be where Riley stored the hay and kept supplies, tools, and equipment.
“You can park in front of the garage.”
The next building was a two-car garage with a SUV and a damaged truck parked in front of it. Blythe stopped between the two vehicles and turned off the engine. “What’s next?”
“We look for Mom. You can leave your bag in the car.”
Farther up the driveway was what looked like th
e stable, a low rectangular structure with a flat roof and many open shutters where she’d keep the horses. And attached to the outside of the stable was a paddock where two horses and a youngling grazed in the sun.
“The black horse is Willow, Mom’s mare.” Hunter pointed at the paddock. “If Willow’s here, it means Mom isn’t riding in the woods. We’ll check the house first.”
Before Blythe had a chance to see the animals up close, Hunter veered away from the stable. With each step they took toward the house, a fine layer of dust rose from the hard-packed dirt.
On the veranda, a hammock was tied to the corner posts on his right. “I’ll wait here, Hunter.” To enter her house when she didn’t know he was here seemed too much of an intrusion.
Minutes later, Hunter returned. Alone. “Not here. She must be in the stable.” With a tip of his chin, he indicated the low structure. “When you’re inside, don’t approach the stall with the gelding. He’s my sister’s horse, and he bites. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
When he abandoned him on the veranda, Hunter gave being thrown to the wolves a new meaning.
He heeded Hunter’s instructions and headed for the stable. A light breeze coming from the west tousled his hair, and fresh air filled his lungs. He’d always dreamed of retiring in the mountains. Maybe one day.
As he neared the stable, he grew more nervous. A part of him feared Riley might push him away for intruding, while the other part hoped she might need him. He wiped his hands on the side of his pants and squared his shoulders. Her son had requested his help, and he intended to provide it.
When he opened the door, it squeaked and rattled, announcing his entrance. He stepped inside and waited as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. When no one greeted him, he advanced between the stalls. The gray-speckled horse didn’t pay any attention to him. Maybe Hunter was wrong, and his mother wasn’t here.
The horses’ sweat mixed with the sweet smell of fresh hay, and a soft light shone through the open shutters at the end of each stall. The gate of the last stall was open. A few more steps and he came within view of the inside.
Curled up in a fetal position, Riley was asleep on a thick layer of hay. Dry tears and dirt streaked her face, while the evening sun highlighted the red streaks in her brown hair.
Shaken by the heartbreaking image, he grabbed the nearest post for support, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. She’d lost two good husbands. No one deserved that much suffering.
She stirred, and one arm moved alongside her stomach, revealing the little bear tucked against her chest.
“Shamrock…” His whisper carried her name into the stall.
Never had he imagined she’d seek comfort in the bear he’d given her, and it gave him hope she might need him as much as he needed her.
Now he understood why Hunter had called him.
***
Something brushed her cheek. Hovering between dreams and reality, Riley willed the fly away. “Away, Buzzy.”
“Buzzy?”
The voice floated at the edge of her subconscious, and the caress became as soft as the fuzzy duvet of a newborn chick. Eyes closed, she tilted her head toward the elusive touch, and with Ice hugged against her chest, she sought comfort in the illusion.
“Who’s Buzzy?”
The tender whisper enveloped her like a cozy blanket. “Fly,” she murmured. Everyone knew Buzzy was a fly.
“Shamrock?”
No one but Blythe called her Shamrock. But it couldn’t be him. Like her, he was tangled in his own world of grief and pain.
“I’m here, Shamrock.”
The voice grew closer, and slowly the haze lifted from her mind. She opened her eyes and gasped in astonishment at the man kneeling over her. “Blythe?”
His warm gaze embraced her broken heart. “Hunter called me. He thought you might need a shoulder to cry on.”
“Hunter?” More tears pooled in her eyes. “Would you hold me? Please?”
With one hand near her head, he scrunched up in the hay, and as he lay sideways next to her, he slid his arm behind her shoulders, pulling her into a gentle hug.
She rolled into him, her head pressed against his chest. Tears streamed down her face, unrelenting. Swept into a sea of sorrow, she listened for the steady beating of his heart, her only beacon in the middle of the storm pummeling her life. He stroked her back, his rhythm never wavering as she cried for what felt like an eternity.
“Why didn’t you call me? I would have come right away.”
And tell him what? That I lost my husband again? That my world spiraled down again? That I missed him? “I couldn’t.”
His fingers ran through her hair, and gently he cupped the side of her head, nudging her to meet his gaze. “You didn’t need to cope alone.”
Emotions she couldn’t decipher swirled in his eyes, pulling her into their depths. “I’m coping, Blythe.”
“Really? When is the last time you didn’t sleep in the hay? The last time you ate a meal with your son?”
“I’m…” Fresh tears stung her eyes.
His thumb caressed her cheek near her ear. “What happened the night Oliver’s mother died? What made you retreat to the stable?”
“She—she—” The short, hasty breaths she took choked her words. “She—”
“Easy on the ribs, Shamrock.”
Until he moved his hand from her hair to trap her fist against his chest, Riley hadn’t realized she was hitting him.
Ollie’s mother had hurt her, trampled over her broken heart. “She—she trashed my children and my mother, Blythe. She denigrated Ollie’s love and commitments in front of my son.” And she’d suffered a heart attack on the kitchen floor before she answered for her vile accusations.
A feathery kiss brushed her forehead. “Oliver loved you. It radiated from his whole person when he looked at you. For your sake, let his mother go.”
“I can’t.” The memory of that night shackled her, and she couldn’t find the key to escape the ghost of Ollie’s mother. “She hurt my children, and she hurt me.” As Rowan and Hunter grew older, her mother-in-law’s dislike for them had turned into scornful rejection. “She said she’d ruin my life like my mother ruined hers. She owed me an explanation before she died.”
“Then let’s try to find one.” With his thumb, he stroked the top of her fingers, and her hand relaxed in his. “Have you tried talking to your mother to learn what might have transpired between them?”
“My parents died when I was ten, Blythe. I was raised by my grandfather. I didn’t meet Oliver until years later.”
“Is it possible your mother lived near his mother at one point?”
He was trying to force her to think, but she was tired of thinking. “I don’t know. My parents grew up around here. Not sure where his mother was from, but she lived two hours east. Next time her landlord calls, I’ll tell him to throw her stuff in the trash.” That’d be one thing crossed off her list.
“There might be answers hidden in her apartment, Shamrock. What would you say if tomorrow morning we went for a car ride?”
“I…” Wrapped in his arms, she realized how much she’d missed him, how much a part of her he’d become. The reasons behind his presence in the stable didn’t matter. She needed him to hold her and comfort her, if only for a stolen moment, and as much as she wished she could freeze this moment in time, she had no right to ask him to stay. The battle against the ghost of Ollie’s mother wasn’t his to wage. “What about Claire? Shouldn’t you be home?” When his entire body tensed against her, she lifted her head and searched his face. “Blythe? What happened?”
“A German doctor dangled a miracle cure in front of Claire’s parents.” He gently nudged her head back against his chest and held her tight. The pounding of his heart resonated in her ear, strong and loud. “After you flew home, they asked to transport Claire to his private clinic in Munich. When I refused, they sought the court’s permission to take her, but the judge dismissed their r
equest after the doctor was arrested. Since then he’s been charged with criminal negligent homicide in the deaths of two women. From what I read, he’d been using his patients as guinea pigs.”
Appalled by the doctor’s behavior and lack of scruples, she hoped he rotted in jail for the hurt and pain he’d caused his patients and their families. “How are Claire’s parents?”
“They’re angry…desperate. Last week, I asked Dr. Salinski to remove Claire from life support. They sought another injunction to stop me. I’m waiting for the judge to decide.”
He’d accepted his loss, and he’d let go, but his wife’s parents kept reeling him in. Not fair, but life wasn’t fair. To lose two husbands hurt beyond definition, but at least she’d been granted closure.
“She’s your wife. Shouldn’t your decision overrule their objections?”
“According to my lawyer, it’s not always that black and white.”
Riley didn’t envy his situation. “Sometimes I think the people who die are the ones who have it easy. The people left behind are the ones who suffer.”
“True, and you’ve had your share of suffering for the day.” He propped himself on his elbow and picked up Ice from between them. “Let’s go inside. Little bear needs a tumble in the washer; you need a shower; and your son needs you.”
“But—”
“No argument, Shamrock. Tonight you’re sleeping in your bed. And I’ll tuck you in if I have to.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“My husband ain’t here. Come back later.”
Not in the mood to deal with rejection, Riley stuck her foot in the door before the landlord’s wife could close it in her face.
“I want my mother-in-law’s key, and I want it now.” Awakened at dawn, she’d been coaxed into eating breakfast by a man who called her stubborn and dragged into a two-hour car ride to a three-story apartment building that needed a serious overhaul. Now that she’d made the trip, no scatterbrained wife would stop her from entering her mother-in-law’s apartment. “You have five minutes, or I’m calling the police. I bet they’ll love the smell coming from the end of the hallway.”