Ironically, she’d even had a list for what to do if one of them got sick. She’d listed their insurance information, and where to find their advanced directives. She hadn’t expected Logan to actually go and do it, to get sick. As he got worse, Cora’s lists got longer. She even made a What If list just for him, what to do if she died. “Look, this page that I’ve marked. Right here. If I kick it, just make these phone calls, okay? I’ve planned everything.”
He’d laughed at her. “You’re crazy. You think too much. We’re both going to be fine.”
But he wasn’t. Her lists had come in handy afterward. She called the coroner. The pastor. She knew how to get copies of the death certificate and why she needed them, because she’d researched it. She knew where to mail them, and after the land deed was transferred to her name alone, after she’d received the life insurance, she’d made Logan’s home – her home – better. Stronger. She yearned for the child she’d lost, imagining the little girl clambering the ladder in the barn, playing with the baby sheep. She ached every moment for years. But she took care of herself and her land.
And the whole time, Mac had been gone. Living his own life, while ignoring the most important thing – his child. His flesh and blood.
Cora shook her hand. She finally felt the throbbing in her thumb from slamming it in the drawer, and the pain came as a kind of relief.
A knock at the front door made her jump. Mac looked in at her.
Instead of moving, she stared at him through the glass.
Was it remotely possible he didn’t know? That was really the only thing that could explain his absence, right? Had Trixie never told him? He must have heard she’d had a child – even though he wasn’t in town, gossip still travelled. He would have wondered if it was his, right? Hadn’t he asked her? There was no way Mac could look at Olivia, could see those eyes, and the way they were shaped, wide and expressive, and not recognize himself. No way in hell.
Well, damn. Cora hadn’t seen it herself until today. Until she’d seen Olivia ride.
Mac knocked again, his smile still in place.
Slowly, she got up to let him in. Without preamble, she said, “I’ll have you start in the back kennel. The German Shepherd’s had the trots, and it’s pretty bad.”
He frowned. “Is the dog okay?”
Sometimes Cora forgot he was a vet. “Cindi says yeah. The kennel just needs cleaning.”
He looked surprised but was amenable. “Okay. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
She took dull pleasure in his words before showing Mac where the supplies were and pointing him to the run. “Once you’re done with that, there are about a million dishes that need to be washed. The sanitizer’s down again, so we have to do it by hand.”
“Of course.” He smiled. Cora’s thumb throbbed.
Cora kept him busy for two hours, until sweat dripped from his nose as he stood rinsing at the hot sink. He was so cheerful about it that her determination swayed. “Anything else you need help with?” he asked.
Cora shrugged.
“You know Clementine has a mild case of kennel cough, right?”
Shaking her head, Cora said, “The other day Cindi said a couple had it, but she didn’t say anything today.”
“You should take your dog home.”
Cora shook her head, hard. “Not my dog.”
Mac’s tone was light. “She’s your dog. She needs you. And there are a couple of kittens I want to get a closer look at.” He put away the last bowl and threw the drying towel into the laundry bin. She followed him to the cage. She’d only glanced into it earlier, and the three tiny cats had appeared peacefully asleep but now she could see that they were worse than they’d been the other day. Their eyes were red and runny, and two were wheezing.
“Rhinotracheitis. And this one has stopped drinking.” Mac pinched the tiny tabby’s neck softly. “Probably pneumonia by now. If we get some fluid in them, they’ll be okay, although they’ll always be carriers. If I don’t, they die. Most likely tonight.”
Cora was horrified. “Cindi said the other day they’d gotten the medicine they needed.”
“She was wrong.”
“You honestly think they didn’t treat them?”
“I don’t care what she told you, and maybe they did treat them. But I’m doing this.”
“I can’t let you,” she said. “You’re not authorized.”
Mac ignored her, rummaging in the cupboards and then in the drawer next to the sink. “You think I give a shit?”
“You can’t, Mac.”
“Why? Someone will sue? They’re suffering. I’ll give them subcutaneous fluids – here, this is what I need.” He pulled a box down to the counter with a thump. “Then they’ll just need to sleep and eat some more, and they’ll be fine. Hopefully.” He pulled out another box.
“Mac.”
He held the kitten against his chest with one hand and with the other prepared the needle. “Leave, Cora.” His voice was firm. Somehow the power balance had shifted. He would allow her to boss him around and make him clean, but now Mac the veterinarian was in charge. “They’re not going to like this, but you don’t have to watch. I’ll meet you in the front.”
She paused in the doorway, looking back at him. The cat was so small in his large hands, barely moving.
“I mean it, Cora. Go. Now.”
She went.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Know the function and life of your yarn. A sturdy three-ply is good for an Aran, but not as good for a lace shawl. Take time to learn the yarn’s personality and you’ll be rewarded, richly. –E.C.
When Mac came out with his hands still red from scrubbing, Cora sat in the reception area, her head down. When he took her hands in his, she let him.
“I’m sorry,’ she said. “I never meant for you to have to – that wasn’t why I… Will they live?”
“Probably. I hope so. It’s no one’s fault, you know,” he said, tucking a red lock of hair behind her ear. God, she was sexy, even now, covered in sweat from cleaning, wearing the same overalls that she’d worn riding. She smelled of horse and antiseptic and something sweet, just under the surface… Honey, that was it. She smelled like honey.
“It’s just something that happens in a kennel. You can’t save all of them. Cora,” he said, putting his other hand on her knee lightly, not wanting to startle her. “What are you punishing me for? Is it for last night?”
Making a noise that was almost a whimper, Cora bit her bottom lip. Then she stood abruptly, pulling her hand out of his. Her voice was cool. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Is this still about Logan?” Jesus, he had whiplash. How could they move forward if she kept going backward like this? He’d thought – naively, perhaps – that they were past this part, that he’d apologized enough, but hell, he’d keep saying he was sorry as long as it took. He would always be sorry, so that part was easy enough.
“I wish,” she said. “Look, this was a stupid idea. Thanks for helping me tonight. It was kind of you.” She leaned on the counter, her hand on top of a pile of blue file folders, and for a moment Mac had the idea that if she hadn’t been holding herself up, she would have swayed, a thought that made him want to gather Cora to him, to hold her, to be strong for her.
On second thought, she looked as if she wanted to punch him, not be held by him.
“What about our date?” he asked.
She laughed but there was no humor in her voice. “It was a stupid bet.”
“Most bets are.”
“Yeah, well, I agree. That’s what gambling gets you.” Her tone was bitter.
If she wouldn’t tell him what this was about, how was he supposed to fix it? Mac felt a knot of solid frustration in the middle of his stomach. “Yeah, I have as much experience with gamblers as you do. More. Is that what this is about? Logan losing your money?”
“No matter what, your family held on to the land.” Cora straightened the files under her fingers for the fourth time a
nd didn’t raise her eyes to his.
“And Logan blew it all. Including your savings. And that makes you furious.”
Cora took a deep breath and paced across the small room. She stood at the glass door and for a moment they were both quiet as an older couple walked past the windows. The old man held his wife’s elbow and she smiled at something he said. How long, Mac wondered, had they been walking together like that?
She turned to him, and in the way she stood, he could see her strength. She’d been standing alone for so long. How could he hope that she would ever accept help?
“That’s just it, Mac. I’m not furious. I’m not even upset. I came to terms long ago with the fact that I either keep my little farm running or I don’t. If I fail, I have no one to blame but myself. I can’t fail. So I won’t. You come to town, you just roar in, guns blazing, aiming at everything I love, everything your family holds dear. And that’s not even the worst thing, not even close –”
“What?” Mac was beyond confused. It was like she was speaking a different language, one he knew only a few useless words of. “Tell me what you mean.”
“Nothing.” Pressing her fingers to the back of her neck. “Just...nothing.” She twisted the key in the deadbolt. “Let’s just close up. Thanks for helping.”
“What about Windward?”
“What about it?” Cora still didn’t meet his eyes, even though he desperately wanted her to.
“The rest of our date? Dinner and games night?”
“I’m still going to Windward. The kids are waiting for me. But you’re no longer invited. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She shook a set of keys in her fingers as if she was trying to determine the right one by its sound. “It’s a place where kids who’ve been abandoned live. It’s their last chance, just like this place is Clementine’s last chance. If she or the kittens don’t get adopted, they die. Can you possibly understand that?”
He opened his hands toward her. She was saying something he just wasn’t getting – he could feel it. “Maybe not. But I know you get that better than anyone else, and I want to help. I want to learn. If you want to take me to Windward and assign me the shitty tasks, I’ll do those there too. I’ll wash their plates or clean the toilets, or… I don’t know what I’d do in a place like that because besides picking you up when we were in high school before you moved to Eliza’s, I’ve never been inside a group home. You always waited for us outside.”
She glared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t getting through to her – he knew he wasn’t.
“But I’m willing to try anything to make you see that I’m not an asshole, which is what you obviously think of me.”
“I waited outside because I didn’t want either of you coming in.”
Mac made his voice soft. “Was it that bad inside? I never knew.”
“It wasn’t bad at all. It was all the home I had. I protected it.” She did that head-tilt thing again, and Mac stood straighter under her gaze.
Finally, as if to herself, she said, “Is it possible you don’t know?”
“Know what?” Jesus, he was desperate. He had to figure this out.
“Never mind.” She shook her head. “If you honestly don’t, then I have no idea how to tell you.”
“God, Cora. Why are you being like this?” His patience, held thinly in check, snapped. “I don’t get it. This cryptic push-pull bullshit is making me dizzy. If it’s because you don’t want to be around me, tell me. If it’s about the land, then let me know. Give me something to work with.”
“I don’t want you around the kids.”
Mac took a step backward, his boot striking the window seat. The smell of bleach was suddenly harsh in his nose. “Are you serious?”
“Completely. Kids need stability. They need people they can count on.”
“What about you? You don’t count on anyone. You used to. But not anymore, is that right?”
She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “And you, Mac, are not that kind of person. You are, in fact, the opposite of reliable as you’ve proven repeatedly, and if you don’t know that already then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.’
As he stood, stupefied, she pushed past him and held open the door for him. She waited until he’d passed through, and then locked it behind them. Outside, the last of the evening’s light was departing in a burst of yellow and red radiance over the water. A trio of screaming little girls trailed by their tired-looking father raced down the sidewalk toward the gazebo.
And without another word to ease what she’d just said to him, Cora strode away, her back stiff as she held her head high. Mac ached to run to her, to make her tell him the truth, to explain what was underneath her words, but he knew that would be the worst thing he could do.
He had to let her go.
Jesus Christ. Sometimes it felt like that was all he’d ever been good at.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The perfect cup of tea seems as much of a mystery as knitting lace, but really, they’re very simple. Tea is just hot water, poured over leaves. Lace is just knits and purls, with pauses in between. – E.C.
Four days later, Mac had the dog. Clementine. He wasn’t sure yet exactly what he was going to do with her, since he hadn’t been able to talk to Cora yet, but keeping the dog made him feel like he was at least doing something. He saw Cora’s face when she looked at the dog – the two of them were made for each other. She cared for it. Clementine adored her. She could rescue something for no other reason but to love it. Mac knew he was right about this, about them needing each other. At the shelter, Cindi hadn’t even blinked when he’d asked to borrow Clementine again, and told him he could finish the paperwork another time. Then she’d offered him a job, saying their sometimes-vet had extended his vacation again. He’d laughed, thinking she was joking, then when she hadn’t smiled, he’d told her thanks, he had a job. She said to keep Clementine and to rethink his answer.
Small town life. Sheesh.
Cora hadn’t returned even one of Mac’s five phone calls. She hadn’t responded to any of his texts. He’d gone and knocked on her door, but when he’d seen the parlor curtain twitch, pride had driven him away without knocking twice.
Maybe it was because they’d had sex? It had to be that.
But it had been incredible sex. Wild, hot, passionate. Possibly the best sex he’d ever had. No, scratch that. Completely, indubitably, the best sex he’d ever had, bar none.
The sex he’d been waiting for his whole life.
Royal had drafted up the official offer, and later today Mac would take it to his mother and Valentine. If he could just talk them into it, he’d be that much closer to getting it done. If the sisters could leave the land their father left to them, then Cora would have to consider going along with them. Without her land, the deal was moot anyway. Royal didn’t want three parcels with a hole out of the middle.
Letting Clementine bound over a low dune ahead of him, he rubbed his eyes.
Cora had called him an idiot. And she was right. He’d fallen for her the first moment he saw her, and he’d never recovered. Maybe, he now realized, that was why he had dated women that were so diametrically opposed to Cora. Maybe that was why he’d never fallen in love, not truly. The women he’d fallen in like with had never been a threat to his comfortable bachelor existence. Somehow, he’d kind of thought he might be above all that. He didn’t need it. While his friends – Royal excluded – fell in love and got married and had children, he’d watched, half amused, half confused. Why couldn’t he have that with any one of his girlfriends who gave him so much and demanded so little? For God’s sake, his last girlfriend Samantha hadn’t even gotten mad at him when he didn’t return her text messages for days. She should have been angry. He’d been callous. Never concerned enough. He’d felt numbed to his girlfriends, somehow. He’d thought he just didn’t get it.
But he’d never felt numbed when it came to Cora.
And here he was, about to pull off another stupid stunt.
Mac stood on the dirt road in front of her house while Clementine dug at something underneath the oleander. Part of him wanted desperately to march the dog up her driveway, to bang on her door. And then what? Doorbell ditch, leaving the dog tied to the porch rail?
Clementine snuffled and scratched at the dirt, obviously interested in something that was alive and hiding from her. Mac said, “Leave it, girl.”
The trouble was, he was having a hard time picturing Cora anywhere else. Since being in her room, seeing her in the home that she’d created around herself, he understood. She’d built herself the ultimate shell, the safe haven she’d always wanted. The one she’d thought Logan would give her. When he’d watched her move through the rooms, it was as if the house was breathing around her. He’d never seen anything like it. Mac himself was still treating his grandfather’s house as a hotel room. He hadn’t even fully unpacked his suitcase. It was propped up on the chair outside the bathroom. He parked his boots under it at night, and he hadn’t hung a single shirt, preferring to lay them back on top of the suitcase after they came out of the dryer.
If he was honest, he’d never even fully moved into his condo. He’d meant to put up framed art at some point, but the walls were still blank and white. His pantry didn’t even have the staples for pancakes, something a woman had once told him in obvious shock. “Everyone has the makings for pancakes. But you don’t even have the makings for rice,” she’d said as she put her earrings back in. He remembered those earrings, oblong, wrapped with silver thread, better than he remembered the woman’s face.
Not like Cora. He knelt to scratch Clementine and pictured Cora. He could see her eyes, the way they crinkled at the edges when she smiled. They were so light blue they reminded him of the edge of the sky at dawn, when the blue wasn’t quite sure of itself yet.
Cora's Heart: A Cypress Hollow Yarn Page 21