Then Cora looked at him and he wished he could take back every word he’d said in his life, just to get rid of those last few. The pain in her eyes seared him. No, it was a joke, just a joke.
She turned and pushed her way out the screen door. In the quietness of the kitchen, they could hear her cowboy boots running, her heels hitting the gravel, and then silence as she turned to cut across the pasture.
No, no, no.
Mac took a breath to regroup. How did it get this hard? He sat with a heavy thump in a chair that creaked under him, ignoring the squawk of the cat he displaced. “Fantastic job, you two. Really impressed.”
Aunt Val scowled at him. “I’m sorry. Why did this all come up again? Oh, right, because you want to evict us off our land. Our property. Your grandfather’s land.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not an eviction, merely an offer. All I’m saying is that we should think about it.”
Valentine thumped the limp dishtowel into the washing machine at the end of the room. “You’ve already thought about it, and you want us to think the same way you do. And I’m sorry, Mac, but I don’t. And I can’t. Maybe your mother will sell to you. Maybe you can use your two properties. Louisa, I know you don’t need the money, but I’m sure you’d be thrilled to sock it away.”
“Oh,” said Louisa, brightening. “Could we sell it in pieces?”
“With Cora’s land smack in the middle? No, of course it wouldn’t work.” Mac stared at his hands, reddened by barn work. Give him that any day. A case of sand crack. A mare with hoof fracture. Not this… emotion.
Aunt Valentine shrugged. “Then I guess your boss is out of luck.” In a voice he’d never heard from her, she continued, “And good job making Cora cry, by the way. I haven’t seen her cry since Logan died. Not that you’d know that, Mac.”
The air was ice, and Mac’s heart froze. He felt more alone sitting in the kitchen with his mother and aunt than any moment he’d ever spent in his single bachelor’s condo. The words I’m sorry burned inside his mouth. But instead he said, “What? You’re the ones who chased her off.”
“No,” said his mother, shaking her head.
Aunt Valentine made the same motion at the same time.
Then, with their identical eyes trained on him in exactly the same shade of disappointment and with one voice, the twins said, “That was your fault.”
Shit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Worrying is like a bad snarl in the ball – sometimes there is nothing to do but to cut it out. – E.C.
This. This right here, was why he hadn’t come home after Logan’s death. It was too much. Too hard. A goddamn animal told you with his body, with his eyes, what he needed, and you did it, and everything was all right. If you took a risk on an animal, it paid you back with love. Horses, dogs, cats, they were all the same.
People, humans, were too complex. The moon came out as he walked the pathway home. The way was still clear, the weeds beaten down and back. Maybe it was how Cora got to Valentine’s, even though you couldn’t see the ocean from here – the coast road had a better view, but this one was shorter. He’d run this path a hundred, a million times, with Logan on nights exactly like this one, the sharp coldness of the crisp fall night a reminder of what the coming winter would bring.
As he entered his kitchen, he tried to stop worrying about Cora.
She would be fine. What he’d said about Val taking in strays, she would know that was utter bullshit, right? Just him talking out his ass.
God, his grandfather’s old house was so quiet. Inside, with the doors and windows closed, he couldn’t hear anything but the wooden walls settling around him. He stood in the kitchen for less than a minute, and then barreled back out onto the porch, standing in the one corner where he could just make out the light from Cora’s porch.
Was she crying inside? Was she furious? How was it possible that he didn’t know the answer to this? Mac kicked the bottom of the porch rail and only succeeded in bruising his toe. Damn old house was sturdier than it looked.
He should have brought that mutt Clementine home with him. Screw Cora. She probably wouldn’t know how to take care of a dog anyway. She’d give the animal a job in the barn or something, catching rats or mice, and then probably blame Clementine when she didn’t fulfill Cora’s deepest desire.
Mac took one step off the porch in her direction. Then he took another, grateful that his jean jacket was lined. The smell of wood smoke mingled with the scent of wet sand as he walked through the easement that adjoined his property to Cora’s. For the first time he wondered who took care of this part. For years he’d paid Jack Apfel, a local landscaper, to fireproof his land, keeping the brush short and away from the pool house. But the rest of it, the zones between the properties… hadn’t crossed his mind. Had Cora been taking care of it all by herself? It was a thin strip only ten feet deep, but it was long, maybe a quarter mile out to the shore road. Mac had to find out if he owed her money for maintenance on it.
And he should probably do it tonight. No time like the present.
It was the excuse he’d been looking for, the one that kept him walking, faster now. Mac knew that no matter what, he’d have found an excuse tonight to go to her.
He had no plan. He expected less than nothing. In fact, he told himself, when he got there, she’d probably slam the door in his face. He wouldn’t blame her for being upset. But maybe, just maybe, he could help her think the sale through, right? So, really, this was the best business move, too.
Cora answered the door in a silky looking short red robe designed to kill a man. “Seriously?” she said.
The sight of the robe caused every word he’d thought of on the brief walk over to flee from his mind. As a study in contrast, though, she wore flannel pajamas underneath that were decorated with – were those ducks on skateboards? Yes.
Sexy and utilitarian.
He could look at her all night.
She was staring at him, and Mac realized that she’d said something else while he’d been so busy watching the shape her mouth took, her soft, pliant lips. He hadn’t heard one damn word.
“I’m sorry?” he asked.
She formed her words slowly and carefully, as if he were a child. “I said, what… are… you… doing… here?”
He racked his brain. There had been something, God, what was it? Then he cursed himself six ways to Sunday for noticing the way her robe curved and folded over her breast.
“Easement!”
“Excuse me?” She pulled the robe tighter at her neck. “Easy what?”
“No, no. Easement.”
She stood taller as if she could gain actual height from just straightening her spine. “I have no freaking clue what you’re talking about. Did you start drinking in the last twenty minutes? Or are you having a stroke?”
If he was, she didn’t look inclined to call him an ambulance. There was no forgiveness in her eyes. He shook his head. “No, I was walking here and I saw the easement. I know someone’s had to pay to keep that maintained, and it hasn’t been me. I want to know how much I owe you.”
“Why were you walking here?”
Bam. Busted. Rapidfire, he thought of several excuses, all of them weak. Walked home the wrong way, lost my way in the non-existent fog, possible aneurism.
But he chose honesty instead. “I have no idea, other than the fact that I hated the way we left it at their house. I wanted to see if you were okay.”
Cora’s hand fluttered again to the neck of her robe. “Fine.”
“Really?”
“Mac, I said I’m fine.”
“Is it okay if I choose not to believe you?”
She frowned. “What you want to believe is none of my business. And about the easement, I do it myself. So you don’t owe me anything.”
Mac patted his back pocket as if he were carrying cash or a checkbook, which he wasn’t. “I owe you for your time, at least.” Then he realized what she’d just said. “Yourself? Th
at’s a huge job.”
Sighing, she stepped out onto the porch and neatly sidled around him. She sat on the top step. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is all a big job.”
Mac chose to take the way she swept her hand out, encompassing her land, as an invitation to sit one step below her. That wasn’t what it was, he knew, but she didn’t protest.
“You’ve done all this by yourself.”
“For a long time.” She gazed out over the front pasture. “Look out there.”
Across the road, past the dune that gleamed pale gold in the moonlight, the water glinted. “It’s getting choppy,” he said. “Windy weather coming in.”
“Can you imagine?”
“Wind?” Was it terrible that he wanted her to keep talking? He didn’t care about what – Mac just wanted to watch her mouth all night.
“No.” But her voice wasn’t as angry as it had been at Valentine’s. “Not being able to see this. To look out the windows, or sit right here, and hear the waves breaking. To feel that salt in the air, to know the humidity is rising, and the pressure is dropping, to feel that against your skin. To be able to walk across the street and swim.”
“To swim? Are you insane? It’s freezing out there.”
“I don’t go in for long.”
“And it’s dangerous.” A terrible image of her being swept out by a rogue current, unable – and Jesus, probably unwilling – to call for help, being dashed against rocks or even worse, taken away and never, ever found. “Way too dangerous. You can’t do that.”
“I don’t go far. I just dip.” She rubbed her arms, and he saw goosebumps.
“I don’t like it. Are you cold?”
“No.” Her smile was slow as honey. “I’m thinking about how damn cold it is in that water. You’re right about that.”
She turned to face him, shifting her body just a few inches but now he could feel the warmth of her legs near his. “I couldn’t leave this, Mac. You have to understand that.”
He didn’t. It was good land with historical and familial attachment. Yeah. So? Other land elsewhere would do just as nicely, wouldn’t it? Maybe not with this exact view, which was stunning, he had to give it that.
But it wasn’t as stunning as the view he had right now, looking at her.
Christ. He felt eighteen again, in love with someone he could never have. One of the worst times in his life, actually. This wasn’t good.
“I get what you’re saying.” He didn’t. “I’m just asking you to think about it.”
Cora’s eyes fell to his lips.
Then she licked her own.
Holy crap. The fact that she could still do this to him, with a single look, frustrated the hell out of him. And it completely, utterly turned him on.
He couldn’t.
He shouldn’t.
But he did. He leaned forward, drawn to her like a stallion to a mare in season.
Cora swayed, too, her eyes dipping again to his mouth. The heat, the indescribable tension that hung in the breath’s space separating them, electrified Mac. He had to kiss her. He had to.
Then Cora punched the hell out of his upper arm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
In meditation, I like to use ‘just one more row’ as my mantra. Of course, that’s why I knit more than I meditate. – E.C.
The thump was so hard Cora’s knuckles hurt immediately. “Ow!” she said. “Damn!”
Mac jumped to his feet, his left hand cradling his right bicep. “You’re the one saying ow? You punched me!”
“I know,” she said, shaking out her fingers. If this put a cramp in her spinning, she’d probably want to punch him again.
“I don’t get it,” he said, and he sounded more confused than angry. “It would never be okay for a man to hit a woman. Ever. Why is it okay for you to hit me?”
Sudden guilt flooded her. “You’re right.”
He frowned. “I am?”
“You’re completely right. I’m sorry I punched you. I should have pushed you off the porch instead.”
“Or you could have done something completely non-violent. Ever hear of using your words? What the hell?”
Cora didn’t understand what was happening inside her. She wanted to touch him, and she wanted to push him as far away as she possibly could. “Oh, non-violent? Like a kiss? Is that what you expected?”
He crossed his arms then, wincing as he moved his shoulder. “I didn’t know what to expect. I never have any idea what to do you with you, Cora Sylvan.”
Maybe that was the whole problem, from top to bottom. Maybe Mac had just summed it up. They didn’t know what to do with each other. They never had, not from the very first moment they’d seen each other in high school.
She leaned her back against the porch rail and rubbed her knuckles harder. “Do you remember when I met you?”
Even though Mac still frowned, the corner of his mouth twitched. “In the quad with Billy Thunker?” His voice was a low grumble.
“No, you told me that’s when you saw me first. No, when we met. Officially.”
He gave a half-smile. “In Mrs. Gupstern’s class. I was throwing spitballs.”
“Because even though you were sixteen, you were acting like you were twelve.”
“I think that’s the job of a teenage boy.”
“And one of the spitwads landed in my ear.”
He shuffled the dirt at his feet with the toe of his boot. “I felt bad about it.”
“You did. You bought me a baked potato at the cafeteria.” It had been awful, a soggy mess, loaded with sour cream and ranch dressing and blue cheese. If there was a topping to be had, he’d asked to have it put on for her.
“Which you immediately threw in the trash. Without taking a bite.”
“I thought you were teasing me. Like there was a potato joke at the school that I didn’t know about.” She hadn’t known anything at that school yet, hadn’t gotten the lay of the land. Every school – and there had been so many – had its own rules and in-jokes, and usually, when she was new, they were all played on her. She’d been a good sport for years, but she’d lost her patience with being laughed at somewhere during the two previous moves, and she’d thought whatever Mac had been pulling on her was probably mean, if not plain cruel.
“It was just a potato. A peace offering.”
Cora made a face. “It was still pretty disgusting looking.”
“Logan didn’t think so,” said Mac. “That’s the way he always ate his.”
Cora pressed her lips together. Would invoking Logan’s name change the mood? Should it?
Mac went on as if nothing had changed. “Remember those clouds of seagulls that hung over the quad like a dirty cloud?”
“We held books over our heads as we went between classes. A week without bird poop was like a miracle.”
“I bet he never told you about the bird shit in his potato.”
She laughed in surprise. “No.”
“It must have landed when he wasn’t looking, and it blended into all that other ranch and sour cream and he didn’t notice until it was too late.”
“Oh, God. That’s awful.” She laughed harder. She could just imagine Logan’s face. He’d always liked everything precisely so. He’d ironed his Wranglers before he raced.
You’re barrel racing. You think anyone’s going to see wrinkles in your jeans?
It’s the principle. It’s my job to look good, baby.
And he had. Logan had always looked great. He was the quintessential cowboy, short and broad-chested with a bowlegged walk, as if he were always on the back of a horse. He was one of the guys in school who had actually needed to shave – it wasn’t just an affectation. When he took his cowboy hat off, his head had always looked vulnerable. Delicate, almost. It was one of her favorite parts of him, that softness right where the brim of his hat usually sat. She’d always found it horribly, terribly ironic that it had been a brain tumor that had killed him. He’d protected that noggin of hi
s so carefully, and in the end it had betrayed him.
Mac cleared his throat. “I’ll never forget the day he asked you out.”
“You? It was the first time anyone had ever expressed any interest in me in my whole life. I mean, the three of us were friends, but going to a dance symbolized being more than friends.”
He looked affronted. “I had.”
“What?” Cora was confused.
“With a potato.”
“What?”
“Okay, so you didn’t understand how boys showed interest.”
“Ah. The old fool-proof potato trick,” she said, and she got the effect she wanted – Mac laughed. Cora reveled in the sound of it, warm and round.
And he’d just said he was interested. Back then, she reminded herself. It was the closest to a confession she’d ever gotten out of him.
“Yeah. Whatever. Logan asked you to the Spring Fling dance.”
Cora gazed at the sliver of moon that seemed to hover over Mac’s left shoulder. “And I said no. I wanted us to all stay friends. The way we were. People already thought I was after him…” Trixie had thought that because Cora had told her so. Cora still regretted that untruth even now.
“You never could do things the normal way.”
“No, never.”
“What made you change your mind?” he asked, remaining very still.
Cora looked at Mac standing in the moonlight. He was the one in front of her. Logan was in the ground by his grandfather, up on the ridge. She could lie, she could say she’d changed her mind because she’d fallen for Logan. She could make up any kind of lie she wanted – he’d never know the difference.
But Cora had always been a bad liar.
“I didn’t think you’d go with me,” she said.
Mac blinked. “But…”
She waited for it to sink in.
He stopped rubbing his shoulder, his hand falling to his side. “But that means…”
Cora's Heart: A Cypress Hollow Yarn Page 15