by Ali M. Cross
“You’re supposed to be my wingman, ya old coot,” he told the dog as he got to his feet. “You’re supposed to keep me from going all nutso over a woman. Especially a woman who’s already a little nutso.”
Nix stopped in his tracks. That—wasn’t right. Thinking thoughts like that—that wasn’t the kind of man he wanted to be. Not anymore.
He stepped back to the bed and dropped to his knees.
“God. Please forgive me for the man I was—the man I still am sometimes. You’ve helped me so much this past year, and I just keep needing your help. I think I’m always gonna need you. I’m just too weak, too stupid without you.
“Please forgive me for saying Fiona was nuts. She’s not. At least I don’t think she is. I think she’s just hurt and hurting. She was attacked back there in New York. I knew she was too smart to overwork her voice.
“I just don’t get why it’s a big secret. Why keep it out of the press releases? I mean, it’s not her fault she couldn’t sing this season—it’s the fault of some crazy guy who almost killed her!” Nix took a deep breath to settle his anger at the injustices done to Fiona.
“Please help me understand. Help me…help me be her friend. I think she needs a friend. And please help Fiona get better. Help her find peace and comfort here at home.
“Thank you, God. For always being there when I need you. Talking to you always makes me feel better. Amen.”
Nix rested his forehead on his hands for a minute before slowly getting to his feet. He turned to face the window which was now bright with the full glory of the morning sun. He closed his eyes and stretched his arms high above his head, then swept them low into a deep backbend. When he straightened, he felt like a whole new man. Deep peace filled him to his toes and deep in his heart he knew that Fiona needed his friendship—and he was honored to give it. As one musician to another, he felt he was the best man for the job.
FIONA WAS KNEE DEEP IN HORSE MANURE. LITERALLY. She’d been struggling to dump the wheelbarrow full of manure into the manure pile out behind the barn when the thing tipped over and dumped all over her knees and boots. There was a trick to this whole thing, but she’d long ago forgotten it. She righted the barrow and looked around. At least no one saw her failure. Grabbing the shovel leaning against the barn, she shoveled the spill into the pile and hoped no one would notice the pile had spread a little bit.
She was determined not to ask for help today. She knew she was being petty, that her family would be happy to help her and wouldn’t hold it against her at all, but she’d been hearing Gavin’s words from the morning in her mind all day. She wanted to prove that he was right—that she was a grown woman and perfectly capable of doing the hard work her siblings did.
So she’d run the ranch’s golf cart out to the west pasture and moved the horses there to the north. Then she’d opened the chute gate from the barn and one by one let the boarding horses out to graze for the day.
There were some beautiful horses boarding there—especially this one pure black Friesian. Fiona had never had the chance to work with a Friesian before, but she sure hoped she got to work with this one. The horse was frisky and a definite handful, but there was something about her that connected with Fiona in a way she couldn’t explain.
She checked the sun as she rolled the wheelbarrow back to the barn—should be lunch soon, but she wasn’t going to be the first one there. She’d do one, maybe two more stalls before she headed for the house.
As she worked, shoveling up the hay and refuse and dumping it into her barrow, her mind stayed busy. Like always, music moved through her. In her mind, she sang every song from Lakmé, music that was as much a part of her now as her own thoughts. But instead of imagining the scenes like she usually did, she thought of Nix. Of the way he’d looked at her last night—first when he’d been so kind and understanding, and then when he’d so gently asked her if she’d been attacked. His deep brown eyes had practically begged her to confide in him.
She wanted to trust him, she did. In fact, deep down she felt like she did trust him. She could imagine telling Nix what had been going on with her more than she could imagine telling any of her family. She just wasn’t sure she could ever say the words. She hadn’t said them yet—not to the police detective working her case, not to her director at the Met, not even Jeanine her best friend.
Worst of all…she didn’t know why. Certainly she’d had every opportunity, and every reason to share the truth of what had happened to her, but when she did open her mouth, she literally couldn’t say the words.
But last night with Nix, she thought she maybe could have. If he asked her again, she might.
Maybe, even, she’d try.
This man, new and completely unknown to her, made her feel a little like that gorgeous horse had—thrilled and intimidated. Fiona smiled as she reminded herself that she’d never backed down from a challenge before.
“What’s that smile for?” asked a rough-warm voice.
Fiona jumped, sending a pile of dirty hay into the air as she was midway to dumping the shovelful into the wheelbarrow. She sputtered and slapped at her hat as some of the refuse landed on her.
She glared up at Nix who stepped forward and, with a chuckle that seemed to resonate from his chest more than his throat, plucked straw from her shoulders. “Sorry,” he said, though Fiona didn’t think he looked the least bit sorry. “Didn’t mean to scare ya. I didn’t think I was being quiet at all, but you must’ve been way deep in thought for me to catch you off guard like that.” His eyes searched hers, like they always seemed to be doing, and despite her best efforts to give him a hard time, she felt herself relax.
She sighed and shook her head, standing the shovel on its head and leaning on it. “No, you’re right. I was kinda deep in thought.” Thinking about you. She felt her cheeks warm and hoped he’d just think it was from the work she’d been doing.
“Thinking about what?” Nix walked away from her, down the breezeway toward the stall that held all the tools. He grabbed a shovel and returned to her. Without a word, he slipped past her into the stall, their eyes locked together.
Her mind went blank. She watched him lift a shovelful, dump it in the barrow.
“Fi?”
“Sorry,” she hurried to say. She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. When she opened her eyes again she vowed to do better. To be more in control. “Sorry. I guess…” What could she say to him? She certainly couldn’t tell the truth. At least not all of it.
“I guess it’s just hard being back home.”
“The work?” he asked, moving another shovelful. “Body sore?”
She bent to her own work and shook her head. “No, it’s not that. Though I’m sure I’ll be rethinking that answer tomorrow when I can’t get myself out of bed.” She laughed and he joined her, and she enjoyed the music they made together.
“But it’s not that,” Nix hedged.
“No. Not that.” Her brows drew together as she worked, and as thoughts of what was really troubling her bubbled to the surface and overtook the pleasant thoughts of Nix.
He stopped and rested his forearm on the shovel handle, watching as she continued to work.
Her movements hitched for a second, then she resumed, pondering how to respond. This was her moment, there wouldn’t be a better one. She either went all in and told him, throwing all her trust at a virtual stranger, or she kept it to herself and didn’t tell a soul. Maybe ever.
“Fiona?” His voice was so gentle and soft, and when her movements slowed, he put a hand on her shovel to still her. She stopped and looked up at him. His eyes were deep, so full of compassion and understanding. He took her shovel and stood it against the stall wall next to his, then he placed his hands lightly on her forearms. He barely touched her, but she felt it all the way to her bones. She felt his gaze deep into her heart. She didn’t know what was happening here, why this stranger should move her so, but…she couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t deny this man saw her the way no on
e else did.
Tears welled in her eyes and began to slide down her cheeks.
“Oh, honey,” Nix said. He slipped off her hat and held it with his hand at her back so he could cup his other hand against her head and hold her against him. She cried silently against him, the only indication of her tears the subtle tremors in her back. “Let it on out, honey. It’s okay to cry.”God how he wished he could ease her pain. He grit his teeth as he held her, fighting back the instinct to force her to tell him who had hurt her like this so he could fly to New York and beat the guy up. No, he thought. No. He closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. Help me, God, he prayed.
What he wanted was for Fiona to feel safe and for her to get justice from her attacker. He didn’t need to resort to violence. That was the old him, it had no place in the new. He could let the authorities handle things. He could trust others to do their jobs.
He stroked Fiona’s hair, abstractly noticing how right she felt against him, how her hair was as soft as he’d thought it would be, while he thought about how best to help Fiona right here and now. Thing is, even with God helping him, he was fresh out of ideas. All he could think to do was to hold her and let her cry.
“Shhhh, now. It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
He didn’t know how long he held her like that—it could have been half an hour but it still wasn’t long enough. Finally she pulled back, immediately reaching up to her eyes to wipe away the tears.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice husky. “I got your shirt all wet and…” she trailed off as her hands came away wet from her face and she looked around for something to wipe it with.
“I’m fresh out of handkerchiefs,” Nix said.
“Some cowboy you are.” But there was the hint of laughter in her voice and Nix counted that as a good thing. A very good thing.
He stepped forward and pulled up the edge of the cotton shirt he wore. “Here.” He began to wipe at her tear-stained cheeks with his shirt-tail.
“No, Nix. You can’t.” She tried to back away, to turn her face from his ministrations, but he held her tight.
“Shhh,” he murmured. “Let me help. Don’t you know it makes men feel big and strong to take care of a damsel in distress?” She stilled beneath his hands and met his gaze with her smokey eyes. Suddenly his heart was in his throat and he ached to bend down and kiss away the tears on her lips.
A sharp ringing pierced the air and Fiona jerked away, bringing her fingers to her lips. Nix let her go, not wanting her to feel at all trapped by him, but he wasn’t happy about it.
“Lunch,” Fiona said on a laugh. “That’s the lunch bell.”
“That’s a real thing? I thought it was only in the movies.”
Fiona laughed, but she didn’t let her gaze linger on his for more than a second. “Yeah, well, that’s the Highlands for ya. We’re kinda old-fashioned around here. Plus, short of an airhorn, the triangle really does a good job of reaching around the property.”
Nix had to agree there. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and watched as Fiona wheeled the mostly empty barrow into the stall she’d been working on, then passed him on her way to the barn door. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder. “Coming?”
He hesitated for only a second before jogging after her. “Sure.” He liked the MacDonalds—when they weren’t accusing him of attacking their sister—and he sure wouldn’t mind a few more minutes with Fiona.
Fiona led him around to the back of the house, where they doffed their muck-covered boots at the door. Nix didn’t think his boots had gotten dirty much, but he followed Fiona—grateful he happened to wear decent socks.
The aroma that greeted him when he stepped inside the house was nothing short of heavenly. Basil and tomato, warm yeasty bread—his mouth salivated from the smell alone. “What is that glorious smell?” he said, forgetting for the moment that he hadn’t exactly been expected for lunch.
“Nix!” Lindsay said. “What a surprise!”
“I’m sorry, Lindsay. Fiona invited me—is it all right that I tagged along?”
“Fiona invited you,” Lindsay said with a raised brow and pointed look at her sister. Fiona ignored her and went to the sink to wash up.
When she didn’t answer, Nix said, “Uh, yeah?” still unsure of his welcome.
“Well come on in,” Lindsay said. “Wash up, then you can help me get this stuff on the table. Fi, will you set the table?”
Fiona still ignored him as they brushed past one another at the sink, but Nix thought he saw her cheeks pinken and he thought—he hoped—that color was for him. He hoped it meant she was glad he was there. That she wanted him there. After all, she had invited him, hadn’t she?
He rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbow and washed his hands thoroughly, then turned toward Lindsay. “How can I help?”
She bustled by him, grabbing up oven mitts and opening the lower door of her double oven. “Can you put that pot on the trivet in the middle of the table?”
“Sure thing.” He glanced around but couldn’t see any other oven mitts, so he used the dishtowel he’d just dried his hands on to protect his hands from the handles of the big soup pot. Most of the delicious smells he’d been enjoying were wafting from that pot and he couldn’t wait to dig his spoon into it.
Fiona set a trivet down on the round kitchen table just as he was looking for a place to put the heavy—and hot—pot. “You can put the lid over in the sink,” Fiona said, so he did.
Just as Lindsay brought a basket of fresh rolls to the round table, the back door burst open and Jack and Gavin entered. Suddenly the spacious kitchen felt a whole lot smaller as the big men hung their hats on the hooks by the door and stalked toward him. Nix stood, one hand holding the dripping pot lid over the sink, and waited to see what their reaction would be.
Gavin gave him a nod as he joined him at the sink and started the water, while Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Nix! Glad to have you here, man! Mind?” He nodded toward the sink, and Nix jumped, quickly depositing the lid and stepping out of the way.
“They get a little bullish when their stomachs are empty,” Lindsay said. She took one of the chairs and indicated the seat beside her. “Come on, take a seat.” It was the seat between her and Fiona. Butterflies, of all things, took flight in his stomach as he sat down, his arm brushing companionably against Fiona’s. He wiped his damp palms on his jeans before folding them before him on the table.
“This all smells so delicious,” he said, eyeing the empty bowl and bread plate in front of him. He couldn’t wait to fill them both up.
“Smells like Lin’s famous tomato and sausage soup!” Jack said. He sat down next to Lindsay while Gavin took the seat beside Fiona.
They were all a cozy family tucked in together like this, Nix thought. He kind of liked it.
“Fiona, would you say grace?” Jack asked in a soft voice. Everyone looked at Fiona expectantly—all except for Gavin who leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
“It’s been a long time,” Fiona said. “Not sure I remember how.”
“It’s like riding a bike, Fiona-bum. It’ll come back to you.” Jack folded his hands in front of him expectantly.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Fi,” Lindsay said.
Nix felt uncomfortable sitting literally in the middle of this. He also felt bad for Fiona, having been put on the spot in front of him and all. Instinctively he leaned his knee against hers, hoping to offer comfort. Hoping not to offend.
Fiona took a deep breath. “Okay.”
Without a word everyone bowed their heads, including Gavin, as Fiona began her prayer.
“Dear Heavenly Father. We thank thee for this food thou hast provided. For this home our parents built for us. And…” she trailed off.
Nix waited, aware of Fiona’s knee which hadn’t moved away from his. Aware of everyone waiting patiently for her to continue. He listened to her breathe, enjoyed the moment of be
ing near her, in the presence of her family at their table, and a warm feeling of peace settled over him. Oh God, he thought. Thank you for letting me be here. Please bless Fiona that—
“Thank you for letting Nix be here. We, um, are grateful for his presence here,” Fiona said, as if reading his thoughts. “Please bless Lindsay for preparing this food for us. Help her in all she does. And please bless this food that it’ll strengthen and nourish us. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
Their voices joined in a chorus of “amens” and Nix lifted his head, a smile ready for each of them. Jack grinned back at him and winked, while Gavin held his gaze until Nix had to look away. He turned to look at Fiona. “That was beautiful,” he said. He kept his voice soft and low, just shy of a whisper. He wanted to speak only to her, to reassure her of…what he wasn’t sure. That she could still talk to God? That he still wanted to hear from her?
She met his gaze this time. Without guile, without fear, and with complete honesty. For the first time he didn’t see storms in her eyes, but a cool overcast sky—the perfect day for curling up by a fire with the one you loved.
“Thanks,” she said and didn’t look away.
“Bread?” Lindsay asked, tapping something against Nix’s arm.
He tore himself away from Fiona to see that Lindsay was holding the basket of rolls toward him. “Want some?” she asked. There was a wicked gleam in her eyes that made him blush. A quick glance around the table gave him a wink from Jack and a glare from Gavin. Fiona’s cheeks were flaming.
“Uh,” Nix managed. “Thanks.”
Blessedly, Lindsay passed off the basket and turned her attention to Jack. “I saw a truck pull up earlier—that the pup you’re training?”
“Yup. Hyper little bug, too. Gonna have to work that one pretty hard before he’ll be ready for any real training, but I can handle it.”
“You get those stalls mucked out?” Gavin asked Fiona while Nix ladled soup into his bowl.
“Workin’ on it,” Fiona said. She’d regained her composure and answered Gavin with a confidence Nix hadn’t yet seen in her. Well, he’d seen it in the video interviews he’d seen of her—but not in person. Until now. “That paddock’s ready for your stud when he gets delivered. And everybody’s turned out for the day. Man, you’ve got some gorgeous horses right now.”