Mac laughed. “You’ve got a million friends.”
“No, I’ve got a million dollars. Lots of millions. That means I have millions of people who call me a friend but don’t know my birthday.”
“New Year’s Day.”
“Everyone thinks I’m just throwing a New Year’s party,” said Royal.
“But you never tell them. And you never let me tell them.”
Royal blinked. “They should know. People should ask about their friends. That’s what friends are for.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“You’re only asking because I just said that. And because I pay you.”
Mac frowned at Royal. “No. You asshole.”
“That’s better. I’m fine.” Royal thumped Mac on the shoulder. “Quit being so sensitive.”
Mac leaned back in the booth and smiled. It was good to have a friend, even one who knew more secrets than he should.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Once I dreamed the perfect sweater. I couldn’t remember its design when I woke, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying. And isn’t that a worthy goal? – E.C.
In front of Tillie’s Diner, Cora swerved into a parking space three spots down from Mac’s truck. The turn of the wheel had been almost involuntary – she’d had no plans to stop anywhere but at the feed store for beet pulp for the goats, and now here she was. Stalking Mac Wildwood. She’d had better moments.
Cora pulled her sunshade down in case Mac looked outside and saw her. Because, of course, there he was, sitting large as life and twice as handsome in the booth next to the last long window of the cafe. The way the sun was slanted meant that she could see him well through the glass, from the top of his head, the slope of his nose, his green flannel shirt, all the way to the tops of his jeans-clad thighs. At that point the wood of the outside wall cut off her view, but Cora had a clear image in her mind of his long legs, his scuffed cowboy boots… She touched her bottom lip, remembering the feel of his kiss.
That unforgivable kiss.
Cora saw two other patrons look out and squint as the sun bounced off the glass on the cars lined up outside. Hopefully, if Mac glanced out, he wouldn’t be able to see her at all. Why was she watching him? What on earth would she gain from it? She waited for her blood to heat in anger, and it did, but it was a slow burn, much slower than it should have been. She told herself to put the car in reverse, but her hand refused to follow her brain’s direction.
When the Rolls Royce had rolled up, she’d stared along with everyone else. A guy who looked like he would be selling used Playstations at the games store got out, the only person in the car. And then, jaw-droppingly, he’d gone in and sat with Mac. They’d done that classic guy hand-clasp-shoulder-bump that women never, ever did. They looked comfortable with each other. It was weird. Okay, maybe if the guy had pulled up in a Honda, Cora wouldn’t be as instantly curious, but a Rolls? In Cypress Hollow?
Mac was up to something. She knew he was. And her gut told her that the scruffy man was involved.
There were two ways of proceeding. Cora could get out, write down the Rolls’s license plate number, and call John Moss at the police department. He owed her – he’d brought her his wife’s favorite sweater, a forty-year-old Norgie, and Cora had fixed all the worn spots, closing the holes almost invisibly. He’d wanted to pay her, but Cora hadn’t accepted. She could call in that debt now. He could run the plate, give her a name, and Google would tell her the rest.
That would be the way she normally did things. Non-confrontational. Research from home. Be angry about that kiss, alone, at home.
But it was awfully complicated. And it would be easy for Mac to look outside and see her jotting down numbers.
So Cora chose the second, more foreign option.
She walked into Tillie’s, ignoring the feeling that she was making a mistake. Maybe Mac didn’t have anything planned. Maybe she should just trust him. She nodded at Old Bill who nodded back, then she jumped as Toots Harrison held out a catalog for her to look at.
“You have to look at my new nipple clamps!” said Toots, who was showing a beet-faced Pete Wegman a glossy magazine filled with products that Pete had most likely never seen anywhere in real life before.
“Okay, sure, I will, later,” said Cora. She didn’t exactly need sex toys, thank you very much, but Toots was sweet and harmless, and it never hurt to support local businesses.
Mac hadn’t seen her yet. He was laughing at the man with him, his eyes closed, his wide shoulders shaking.
She wished briefly, fervently, that she’d said something that made Mac react like that. Like he had when they were riding through the woods as teenagers. She’d always been able to hear that laugh for what felt like miles, as if she had some kind of special hearing, tuned to exactly that register.
It didn’t take Mac even a full second to see her – his eyes lit happily, the laughter still spread on his lips, and Cora felt something warm and sweet move inside her.
Oh, that wasn’t fair. That look wasn’t right. He couldn’t just pull that on her.
“Hey,” he said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Cora smiled. Politely. She hoped her voice wouldn’t shake. “I came in because I saw your car parked outside, and then I saw the fancy car drive up. And…” What the hell am I doing? “I want to know what you’re up to.” Her gaze encompassed Mac’s friend who looked even scruffier close up. Six or seven holes gaped in his top T-shirt – which boasted a dinosaur that was eating a pink Barbie while burping bubbles – and the long-sleeved black T-shirt he wore under that one looked almost as ratty. The man grinned at her, and she could see how he might be considered cute if he shaved all that facial fuzz away.
“You going to introduce me to her, Mac?” said the man. “This is the one, right?”
Mac’s smile left his face as suddenly as it had arrived. “Shut up. And by that I mean, Cora, this is Royal Berring. Royal, this is Cora Sylvan. Don’t believe a word he tells you. He lies.”
“You didn’t lie about her, brother,” said Royal. “She is gorgeous.”
“Jesus Christ,” mumbled Mac.
Cora felt the wood floor beneath her shake like the rubber mats of the high school gym during a basketball game. Was that… no. That wasn’t a flush on Mac’s cheeks, was it? So there was something going on, and it had to do with her. She knew it.
“So… you’re just…”
“We’re just drinking coffee.” Royal held up his cup. “Waiting for some eggs. And for you, apparently. I wasn’t told that’s what we were doing, but I approve, now that I know about it.”
Cora popped her hip his direction. “Please scooch.”
Royal obliged, scooting toward the window so Cora could sit. Thankfully, her voice was still steady when she said, “What are you really doing here, Mac?”
Pulling his ear lobe, he said, “Visiting family. Finally.”
“Why now? What changed, suddenly? I don’t get it. I doubt your mom gets it.” Cora pressed her lips together and then said, “You’ve never been able to lie to me. That’s not the real reason.”
Mac looked startled.
“It’s true. Remember when you tried to convince me that Mr. Pederston had another wife and family in another state? Or that Jamie Stockton was the first test tube baby?” Mac had told good whoppers, but she’d never fallen for a single one. He’d been a stammering fool, so young and thin and ridiculous, tugging his ear while he lied.
“So what do you think we’re up to?” Royal’s voice was amused.
She didn’t spare him a glance, keeping her eyes on Mac. “I don’t know. But I don’t trust him. Or you, for that matter.”
“You didn’t mention she was such a scrapper,” said Royal.
“She doesn’t like me much,” said Mac. His voice was genial, though, and Cora wanted to slug him.
“You haven’t given me reason to like you. Not for years and years.”
Shirley came up at her elbow and said, �
�Coffee, Cora?”
“No,” she said shortly, and immediately regretted her tone. “Sorry. Maybe some water?”
Shirley gave her a long look and then said, “Sure, honey.”
Royal watched her walk away. “That woman knows the way the world works.”
Mac snapped, “She’s twenty-five years older than you. Don’t be an ass.”
“So, Cora,” said Royal, cheerily undaunted, “what’s our Mac done to you to piss you off like this? Because if I don’t miss my guess, you’re considering spitting in his coffee just for the fun of it.”
Cora didn’t need to tell him. Royal was a stranger. But, then again, he was a stranger who appeared to be very much Mac’s friend. And Mac’s friend deserved to know the truth about him. “You really want to know?”
“I do,” said Royal.
Mac sat up straighter. “Now wait a minute –”
“He never came home. My husband, his cousin, the man he was as close to as a brother, died. It was quick as these things go, I’m told, but we all knew he was going, and the one good thing about that was that we had time to say our farewells. Mac never came to say goodbye.” Cora didn’t think about the kiss, the betrayal of it. She couldn’t. “And even more than that, he just abandoned us. The whole family, what was left of it.”
She turned to Mac, steeling herself. “If you couldn’t come back for the funeral, couldn’t you have come back later? I don’t understand.” There it was, the weak shake in her voice she’d been dreading. Cora hated it.
“I said I was sorry,” Mac said roughly. The skin under his eyes was white. “I thought you accepted that.”
“I heard you. I accepted your apology. But it hurts, especially since I still don’t understand it.”
“I can’t just – it’s not that easy. But I should have come, I know that. At least to help you.”
“To help me? You think that’s what I needed? God, Mac. That’s not what this is about. I didn’t want help. I was fine. He wasn’t. And now you’re suddenly back here –”
“Working for me,” said Royal.
“Awesome,” said Cora thinly. That explained it. Kind of. She should have known Mac wasn’t here by choice. “And you’re in…”
“I do a lot of things for work but horses are what I love. Racing thoroughbreds. And Mac here makes good guesses.”
“Oh.” Cora sat back in the booth, feeling a spring poke her in the shoulder. “So the same as the rest of your family then. You’re gambling, Mac?” She wouldn’t have guessed she could have felt this disappointed in him.
There was a full, long pause as Mac slowly lifted his eyes from the table and met hers. “After where I came from?”
Cora shrugged and looked out the window. A small child raced past the glass, chased by a woman with outstretched arms.
“Fine,” said Mac. “Think whatever you want.”
“I’ve never been able to talk our boy into putting a dime on the horses,” said Royal. “And believe me, I’ve tried. He’s my vet. I just meant he makes good guesses when it comes to buying and breeding, that’s all.”
“You have horses.”
“I do. Mac works for me exclusively.”
“You must have a lot of them, to employ a vet full-time.”
“Two hundred or so.”
“Two hundred?” Cora said.
Royal shrugged. “I’m an all or nothing kind of guy. I like horses.”
Cora stabbed the napkin in front of her with the butter knife. “So neither of you is going to tell me the full truth?’”
“She’s a suspicious one, isn’t she?” Royal nudged Cora with his shoulder. “I’m one of the good guys, gorgeous.”
Cora knocked his shoulder back, harder, so that he bumped into the glass. Over his laughter, she said, “Flattery will literally get you nowhere.”
Mac said, “Easy, Cora. It’s not a big deal.” He was still pale, though, and he wiped his hand over his mouth and jaw. That mouth… those lips that she’d…
And with that, Cora lost what little thread she’d held on her anger up till that point. “It is a big deal. You’re up to something, and I swear to God, I’ll keep working at it until I figure it out.” She stood and faced them, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans so they wouldn’t see them shaking.
“What if it turns out to be good?” asked Royal. “What if Mac has your best interests at heart?”
“I’ll tell you the truth.” Cora paused. “I don’t think he does. I don’t think he ever has.”
Mac looked stricken, blue veins standing out on his neck. And while it was exactly what she’d wanted, Cora felt sick. She’d made him look like that.
But dammit, all of this was his fault in the first place. He was the one who had let her – no, Logan – down. He was the one who had kissed her. As Mac’s mouth opened to speak, Cora turned, and without another word she walked out of Tillie’s. She managed to keep her composure, walking slowly and with purpose. She felt Mac’s eyes follow her, even after she’d pulled out of her parking space and laid rubber peeling out. She didn’t know any more than she did before.
She’d only made things worse.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Knit the current trends, certainly. Why not knit a novelty yarn tank top at least once? But don’t forget the warmth of an Aran’s cables, the uniqueness of a Gansey’s design, or the delight of a Norgie’s peeries. These are our touchstones, our common language, our shared knowledge. –E.C.
On Wednesday, Cora found Olivia waiting at the stables as she’d said she would be. She wore thick, black combat boots that were already covered in country dust, and her hair had more twisted green strands than it had the week before.
“How long have you been waiting? Does the bus run pretty often?” Cora asked, shoving her keys into her overall pocket.
“You don’t want to know.” Olivia shuffled her feet and twisted her face as if she were itching her nose without touching it.
“What, did you hitchhike or something?”
Olivia’s face scrunched even further.
“Oh,” said Cora. “I was kidding.”
Olivia shrugged. “People feel sorry for a kid.”
“Or they kidnap them and chop them into little tiny pieces and leave those bloody bits alongside the highway.”
Olivia’s eyes widened. “Shit.”
“I grew up in foster homes. You want to know something? At least once a month, one kid I knew in the system disappeared.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” They were taken out of the system by family members, usually, sometimes turning up again with little fanfare a month or three later. “They were all murdered.”
“Bullshit.”
The girl had a mouth on her, but her last curse was weak. Unconvinced. “Okay,” admitted Cora. “Only most of them were. Don’t do that again, okay? Will you call me when you need a ride?”
“You sound like my mom.”
“Easy, tiger. I wouldn’t go that far.” Cora thought about Trixie and her breathy laugh. No way did she sound like her. “Come on, this way. I’ll introduce you to Stark.”
Stark was the manager, a thin woman who went solely by her last name. Only forty or so, her face was deeply lined by too much sun over the years. She wore sunglasses all the time, even indoors, which, with the addition of her long leather swing coat, gave her a science fiction look, as if she were as likely to pull a ray gun as a curry comb.
Olivia looked star-struck and stayed quiet as Stark led the way to the red barn with its tired-looking roof.
“Got a couple of Windward kids here now, Cora. Bill and Ted. Like the excellent adventure, only if they don’t quit goofing off, I’m gonna adventure them right out. They spilled a gallon of paint all over the west drive earlier.”
Cora smiled. Bill and Ted, brothers who’d been placed at Windward last month were two of her favorites. Twelve and thirteen, they were all thumbs and elbows, eager to help but clueless as to how much havoc the
y left in their ‘helpful’ wake.
“I’ll talk to them.”
Stark shrugged. “They’re okay.” Still moving quickly ahead, she glanced over her shoulder at Olivia. “What is it exactly you’re looking to do?”
A pause. “I dunno,” said Olivia.
“She might like to volunteer,” said Cora.
“We have a lot of work that needs doin’, all the time. But I already have volunteers. What is it you want to do?”
Olivia said nothing, keeping her eyes on the ground.
Stark stopped and turned, midstride, startling Cora and making Olivia stumble to a halt. “Know what? I get you. I was you.”
Olivia looked startled, and turned her head to catch Cora’s eye.
Stark went on, “I don’t know if you got friends, but I know I didn’t. No offense, but I dressed funny, too. Know what I had? Horses. They were all I cared about, still are. And I think you’ve got some of that in you, if I don’t miss my guess, which I rarely do. But if you want to get on board this train, you gotta buy a ticket, Olivia.”
“What –”
Stark turned again and continued forward without looking to see if Olivia followed her.
Appearing lost and even younger than she was, Olivia whispered to Cora, “I want to. Buy a ticket, I mean.”
Without thinking, Cora said, “I think this might be the best thing you’ve ever done.”
It was as if she’d flipped some kind of internal switch in the girl. Olivia went from slouched to upright, from glowering to glowing. She chased after Stark. “Wait! Can I come twice a week? After school? I already know how to ride – I won riding lessons once, or I mean, my mom did and she gave them to me. It’s been a long time, but I’ll remember, I know I will.”
Stark said something that Cora couldn’t catch. She’d been like that once, trailing hopefully after Mac and Logan, wanting to get to ride one of their horses, wishing for… something she’d never been able to name, not even now.
Olivia peppered Stark with questions. “I could come help more often, if you needed someone. What about every day? Do you have any volunteers who come every day? Can I ride one of the horses, maybe? I mean, when the groups are done riding at the end of the day?”
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