“Isn’t he?” she adored, smoothing her hand over Matthew’s golden curls. “He looks exactly like Blythe did at that age, just exactly. And he’s just as sweet, aren’t you, precious?”
“Noah just asked if Millie could sleep over at the Utleys’ tonight,” Jo said, tugging me closer to her side. “I told him that was all right. Do you think Camille would mind? I couldn’t get ahold of her just now. Of course she hasn’t charged her phone.”
“It’s fine,” I said, sounding more bitchy than I’d intended. “Let the poor guy hang out with his kid.”
“So, what did he say?” Jo pressed, her arm around my waist.
“I’ll explain, but where’s Mom?”
As though conjured by my question, Mom appeared in the arch between the dining room and the bar, saying, “There you are, Jilly!”
I made my way through the dining room, leaving Jo with her mother-in-law, and Mom all but pulled me into the other room. The bar was empty of customers, but Mom still spoke in hushed tones. “I’ve been so upset about everything with Zack that I called over to the Angler’s Inn, where he’s been staying.” There was only one hotel in the Landon city limits, run by our longtime customers and friends, Joe and Helen Thompson. Mom went on, “I meant to tell them that they needed to ask him to leave, at once, to explain that he wasn’t welcome in our town any longer. But Helen told me there was no need, as he’d checked out this morning.”
“He did?” I asked, nearly wilting with relief.
“Helen said she would have kicked him out the moment she heard he was being inappropriate. She was surprised, said he seemed like such a nice young man. She said he told her he was going out on the lake once more today, but that he needed to get back to a job in Moorhead tomorrow. So he’s heading out. She said he packed up his car.”
Good old small town gossip vines. I released a small breath, absorbing this news. He’d said just now that he would miss me; wouldn’t that confirm that he was leaving town?
“So he’s gone?” I asked. “He’s leaving Landon?”
Mom nodded.
“Thank God,” I muttered.
“Honey, tell me if anything like this ever happens again, all right?” Mom said.
I felt a small twinge as I promised, “I will,” since now I didn’t feel the need to mention that I’d just talked with Zack down at the dock. It would only make Mom more upset, needlessly, since he was leaving.
Thank God, I thought again. And then I said, “Mom, we need to talk about Noah.”
Rae was sleepy, grumpy and out of sorts when I collected her from Ruthie, so I walked her home for a nap. Clint was at work and Justin was still in Rose Lake. I hated that I was ill at ease in my own house, on the lookout for rocks, for fuck’s sake. The door was locked and dead-bolted, the windows shut, and there didn’t appear to be a thing out of place. Rae wanted to sleep in our bed, so I settled her there with her elephant and then covertly scanned our room, my eyes roving over every surface. Nothing was disturbed and my shoulders relaxed a little more. I bent to kiss my daughter’s soft hair and then headed back to the kitchen, determined to make a good supper.
Zack’s leaving town. It’s all right now. But why can’t I get a sense of things? Why do I still feel so disconnected?
This fact bothered me almost more than anything else, Aubrey and Zack combined. I inhaled slowly, trying to center myself. At last I pulled an old cookbook from the shelf near the fridge, opening to Gran’s favorite lasagna recipe; though it was July I decided to make it. The recipe was everyone’s favorite. I ran my fingertips over the page, food-splattered from decades of use, picturing Gran and Great-Aunt Minnie in the kitchen at Shore Leave, poring over this same book and deciding what to make for dinner, whipping up a batch of their special chocolate frosting that no one else ever came close to perfecting. I smiled, even as the ache of missing them cut into my heart, wishing so badly to see my grandmother and my great-aunt one more time, to stand nearby while they stirred the powdered sugar and cocoa and melted butter, handing me a whisk to lick.
Not too much now, Great-Aunt Minnie would say, cupping the back of my head, smiling at me with her horn-rimmed glasses riding low on her nose.
I called upon them now in my silent kitchen, begging softly, “Gran. Minnie. What’s wrong?”
The empty house was soft with afternoon sun. I propped open the window above the sink and could hear a chorus of birdsong, thousands strong from the sound of them. Not a breath of wind stirred the pines outside. I listened hard, as though expecting to hear their voices.
“Tell me, please,” I whispered. “Why haven’t I had a Notion? You never told me that they would go away.”
Of course there was no response, and I felt terribly abandoned. I shook myself together and clicked on the radio above the fridge as I worked making lasagna, searching the cupboards for the ingredients, clinging to the belief that somehow Gran or Great-Aunt Minnie would find a way to communicate with me.
“Doesn’t that sound like fun, Mom?” Clint enthused, leaning around his loaded plate as though expecting one of us to try and snatch it from him. He was on his third square of lasagna.
“It does,” I agreed, glad beyond measure to have my family surrounding the table. Rae resembled a circus clown, her little mouth ringed with tomato sauce as she continued happily eating, chin near her plate. Justin sat back, having eaten two pieces in quick succession, and regarded me with a lazy smile.
“That was delicious, baby,” he said. He was freshly showered, as he’d been a mess when he’d gotten home from looking at the boat in Rose Lake. It was an old Evinrude outboard and needed a lot of work, but that was their specialty. My husband wore his swim trunks and a white t-shirt that accentuated his deeply-tanned skin, his black hair and dark eyes, and as always, looked a little like a dangerous pirate. A very sexy dangerous pirate. Mom had told him about Zack leaving town, and his own relief at this news had lifted the tension from his shoulders.
“Bly really wants to show his mom the campgrounds around here,” Justin added. “He’s so excited about taking the kids that I feel like I can’t say no. He’s like a damn puppy.”
I giggled at this description. Blythe had asked if Justin would come camping with him, Christy, Millie Jo, and Matthew. Clint begged to join them (and so had Jeff, if Liz and Wordo would un-ground him), and of course Rae. Justin said they would leave tomorrow afternoon, if that was all right by me.
“Jo and the girls and I will have a sleepover,” I decided. “We haven’t had a girls’ night in ages.”
“Mom, what’s for dessert?” Clint asked, polishing off the last of his food and then rising to put his plate in the sink. Rae leaped up behind him, not to be outdone.
“Ice cream,” Justin murmured, winking at me.
Chapter Fourteen
“I FEEL LIKE WE NEED TO STAY HERE ONE MORE DAY, AT least,” Mathias said Friday morning. We were still beneath the covers in the guest room bed where I’d told him about my dream.
“I agree,” I whispered. The words spoken in the dream seemed etched into my mind; I could not shake the terrible sensations of ancient pain and loss. I pictured our little cabin in the clearing beyond White Oaks, where Malcolm Carter had once lived, where he’d dictated the telegram from Christmas Eve, 1876. Had Cora meant to live there with him? Had that been their intent? Homesickness for Landon bit into me, harder than before, and I said with undisguised yearning, “I really just want to go home. I want to move into our cabin and I want to forget all of this. I hate feeling so helpless, Thias. Cora wants us to find her but where can we start? It’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” he contradicted quietly, stroking my hair. “A year ago, if someone would have told me that I would be living in the little homestead cabin in Landon with the love of my life I wouldn’t have believed it. And yet here I am, with you. I can’t even begin to explain how grateful I am. What brought us together, if not the impossible? How do you explain all of the things that have happened sin
ce we’ve met? Fate, destiny, past lives…I don’t know exactly, honey, I couldn’t explain it articulately, but maybe that doesn’t matter. I think we can find her. I feel like…”
“Like what?”
“Like we should take the horses for a ride today,” he said, with a slow grin. “Garth said something about that yesterday. What do you say we go have breakfast and then saddle up Bluebell and Renegade?”
Even before we opened the bedroom door, I could smell bacon. The kitchen, once we reached it, was a crowded, noisy, and altogether cheerful wall-to-wall wreck. Cartons of eggs, dripping pancake batter, melted butter, coffee filters in the sink, and boys all over the place. Clark stood at the stove with a cast-iron pan and a spatula, Garth was slicing onions and Case hiding behind sunglasses, even in the house, looking pale beneath his tan as he sipped coffee. A radio above the sink was tuned to a classic-rock station. Everyone wished us good morning and I asked what we could do to help.
“Now, I’m just plain offended at that, doll,” Clark said. “You’re our guest. I told you I was looking forward to spoiling a lady. You have a seat and let us wait on you.”
I could not argue with this logic, feeling like a princess and wishing more than ever that my sisters were here; wouldn’t they love being spoiled this way? Mathias helped with breakfast, whistling as he toasted bread while Garth added onions and peppers to Clark’s pan of eggs and the younger boys hurried to pour coffee for me, offering cream and sugar and a spoon. Marshall set the table, singing along with the radio under his breath; he sent a grin my way, which I could not help but return, imagining Ruthie sitting here with me and how she might respond to this lean and lanky drummer who’d “claimed” her for himself. Surely thinking along the same lines, Marshall nudged my shoulder and angled so Case couldn’t see, then pulled the picture from his jeans pocket, murmuring, “I stole it back.”
Case nabbed the chair to my right, pushing the sunglasses up to the top of his head. His eyes were cinnamon-brown and slightly bloodshot, but he was as cute as ever, if a little worse for the wear this morning. I tried to picture Tish sitting across the table from us; what would she have to say about this guy’s obvious infatuation with her? And then I almost giggled, just imagining. Tish was not one to pull her verbal punches. I remembered that I had a plan for introducing her to Case.
“Are you free in October?” I asked him. “Mathias and I want you to come to our wedding.”
“For real?” Case asked, eyebrows lofted high. “Oh shit, that would be great! We’re free, aren’t we, guys?”
At the counter, busy buttering toast, Mathias said, “There’s plenty of room at White Oaks for all of you. We’d love it if you’d come.”
Clark said, “Of course we’ll come. We’d be honored.”
Case was ticking through numbers on his fingers, concluding, “That’s three whole months away.”
“Weddings take planning,” I said, smiling at his obvious eagerness. He was so sweet; Tish would eat him for dinner. But…maybe he wouldn’t mind that.
“What’s your sister doing right now, do you think?” Case asked as if reading my mind, leaning on his elbows, knocking aside a set of silverware Marshall had just neatly arranged.
“Probably sleeping,” I said. “You want me to call her?” I’d called home last night to talk to Grandma and Millie Jo, but hadn’t yet spoken to my sisters. “I have my phone right upstairs.”
“Oh God,” he said, sitting straight. “Yes. Hell, yes.”
I returned seconds later with my phone. Case was flushed and couldn’t sit still as I pushed the icon to dial Tish. Mathias was laughing about something with Garth, who was trying to convince him to sing with them at tonight’s gig at The Spoke. Marshall was using two forks to drum along with the beat on his dad’s back, the rest of the brothers all singing along now; the tune was “Bad Medicine” and I giggled at their enthusiasm, adoring this big, loving family of menfolk.
“Oh God,” Case said again, squeezing the lower half of his face; he could hear the phone ringing.
Tish answered on the third ring, sounding groggy and irritable. Motioning Case near enough to hear our conversation I chirped, “Good morning!”
“Milla,” she complained. “Why are you calling so early?”
Case was all but hyperventilating at the sound of her voice, his head almost bumping mine to get closer to the phone. Maybe it wasn’t exactly fair that Tish didn’t know someone else could hear her words, but I wasn’t too worried.
“It’s an hour earlier here than Minnesota,” I said. “Get your ass up!”
“My ass is perfectly comfortable right here,” Tish grumbled.
Case’s cheeks absolutely torched. He put his head on his arms atop the table.
“Who are you talking to?” asked the littlest Rawley brother, Wyatt, coming up beside my elbow.
“Who’s that?” Tish wondered, sounding more awake. “I hear music in the background. And singing. Where are you guys?”
“It’s my sister back in Minnesota,” I told Wyatt, and then explained to Tish, “We’re staying with some friends we met last night. They’re really great, I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
“Mathias’s family?” Tish guessed.
“No, we just met these guys last night, at a show. Did you get my message about us singing at the bar?”
“Yes, that’s so wild! Ruthie and I were freaking out. Were you nervous?”
“Yes, but I’m so glad we did it. It was amazing. The musicians are from this big family that lives in Jalesville, and they invited us over because they actually know about Malcolm Carter. Can you believe it?”
“Wait, what?” she demanded. “How is that possible?”
I filled her in on the details, while Case regained control and leaned near the phone again; I angled it for him to listen, too. When Tish and I finally paused for breath, I covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Case, “You want to say hi to her?”
He shook his head, obviously terrified at the notion.
Clark and the boys had begun carting food to the table and I said to my sister, “Hey, I have to go, it’s time for breakfast.”
“I’m glad you called,” Tish said, and I pictured her sitting up in bed, scraping a hand through her tangled curls. She added, “Hurry home, we miss you! Ruthie and I are having a sleepover with Aunt Jilly and Mom tomorrow, since everyone else is going camping at Itasca.”
A sleepover, Case mouthed, and put his head back on his forearms.
Homesickness bombarded me. “That sounds fun. Give them hugs from me. I miss you, too. We’ll be home by next week.”
Breakfast was a noisy, messy affair, everyone talking and no one really listening; Garth was ecstatic that Mathias had agreed to sing at their show tonight.
“You, too, Camille, no excuses,” Garth said, his mouth full of omelet. He gestured with his fork. “You two will move out here yet, just wait.”
Case, who had not touched a bite on his plate, said for the third or fourth time, “I should have said hi.”
“I can call her back,” I offered.
“October is three months away,” he muttered, as though he hadn’t heard. “Three whole months. I’ll never survive.”
Despite Cora’s presence in the back of my mind, I was determined to enjoy the day. Clark saddled horses for Mathias and me, and we were joined by Garth, Case, and little Wyatt. I’d only ever been on a horse once before, back in Minnesota with my dad and Tish, years ago. Clark decided that I should ride one of their mares, a small, gentle animal. He called her a sorrel; her name was Sunny and she was the color of a new copper penny, with a coarse, blond mane and matching tail. I loved her at once, unable to stop smiling at her as Clark walked me through the basics of mounting and sitting the saddle. Sunny was patient and hardly flicked an eyelash as I slipped my foot into the stirrup and climbed atop her back. I thought at once, Aces. This is just what he felt like. And again I missed the horse I’d never met.
I scanned the yard fr
om this new vantage point, delighting in the feel of the animal beneath me; I envisioned her galloping across the prairie, racing toward the sunset. The sight of Mathias on a tall chestnut called Archer did things to my insides. He looked so right…he looked like Malcolm, I could not deny this. He was wearing the black hat from yesterday, sitting with both reins in one hand, chatting comfortably with Garth, their horses side by side. If I narrowed my eyes and hazed my vision, I could swear that this was who they actually were: Malcolm Carter and his old friend, Grant Rawley, and shivered with certainty. Case rode near them, as graceful on horseback as a dancer, his movements effortless; he’d told me that, like the Rawley boys, he’d learned to ride almost before he could walk. He explained his horse was one he’d raised from a foal, named Buck.
We rode into the foothills at a slow-paced walk, where the bitterroot flowers grew in low-lying profusion. I allowed Sunny to lag behind, quietly studying the landscape under the steady July sun. I wore a hat that Clark lent me, wide-brimmed and woven of straw, grateful for this as the day burned with increasing heat. Mathias looked back at me as I strayed from the group the first time.
“I’m fine!” I called. “I’m just admiring everything.”
Mathias, Garth, and Case couldn’t seem to stop talking, riding three abreast. Wyatt was doing the same thing I was, purposely stalling; he rode in a wide arc and then circled back, peeking at me and then shyly looking away. After the second time taking his horse in a big loop, he seemed to gain confidence and drew his lovely black-and-white mare alongside Sunny and me.
“Hi,” I said.
“I’m eight-and-a-half,” he replied.
I hid a smile. “I would have guessed ten, at least.”
He flushed with pleasure.
“I have a little girl who’s two years old. Her name is Millie Jo.”
“That’s a pretty name,” he said politely. “This is my horse. She’s a pinto. Her name is Oreo. Your hair reminds me of her mane.”
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