Heart of Grace (Return to Grace Trilogy Book 1)

by Abigail Easton

  Cole chuckled, turning to look up at Jack. The older man looked down at him, his gray hair peaking around the edges of a faded blue baseball cap, his wrinkle-framed eyes filled with wisdom.

  “You’re serious? Shoot.” Cole sighed and stood, taking the holster down from the peg on the wall to secure around Dakota’s head. “I’m a changed man, Jack, you know that.”

  “Just ‘cause you ain’t playing around no more don’t mean you shouldn’t be looking. It ain’t healthy to be alone. You should be looking for a wife. Settle down. What about Ella Lou? Now, that gal-”

  “Come off it, Jack!” Cole guided the horse out of the stall and into the outer corral. Jack trailed at their heels. “Did you know I caught her talking to Maisy Markey over at that dress shop of hers? We hadn’t been on but three dates. By that afternoon the whole town was talking like we were already engaged.”

  “Would that have been so bad?”

  “Yes.” Cole let the horse free and secured the gate.

  “Ella Lou isn’t like Jenna.”

  Cole shook his head and steeled his jaw. “I’ll agree with you on that account. Jenna was one of a kind.” He adjusted his hat and glanced toward the house. Nadine was taking laundry down from the line.

  He left Jack standing outside the pasture gate and hurried to Nadine. He helped her carry in the laundry and charmed her into cooking Angie some supper.

  ****

  “Looks like the storm’s gonna blow through soon.” Nadine, Cole’s matronly housemaid, tossed a dishtowel over her shoulder and scraped chopped carrots into the stewpot on the stove. She turned back to the kitchen peninsula, where Angela sat.

  “Was it alright?” Nadine asked, gesturing to Angela’s halfeaten sandwich. “I’ll save some stew for you, if you’d rather have that. Just didn’t think you’d appreciate waiting to eat after almost fainting. You can bet Cole would’ve rung my neck if I let you go ahead and faint. And you don’t want to eat with a bunch of smelly ranch hands, anyway.”

  Nadine giggled and fussed with the braids wound on top of her head. The rest of her long gray her hair fell freely down her back. “Goodness me, those boys get younger and smellier every year. But handsomer, too.” She winked and giggled again. “I’ll just save you a bowl, so you can-”

  “No, it’s fine.” Angela spoke quickly to get the words in amidst Nadine’s chatter. “Really, the sandwich is delicious, I’m just-”

  “Wanting to find Cole?” Nadine smiled knowingly. “Of course you do, so go on. He’s probably in the west pasture this time of day.”

  Angela smiled and slid off the bar stool, thinking that Nadine had probably said the same words to Angela two decades earlier, while Angela had sat on that same stool.

  “You know,” Nadine called out as Angela walked toward the back door, “I like having another lady around, especially one whose scraped knees I used to mend. Been lonely these past few years, especially since his daddy died. And Lord knows his mama’s been gone to heaven a long time now. I miss her more every day. You’ll come back, won’t you?”

  Angela nodded – a fickle promise.

  Happy tears filled the old woman’s eyes. “It’s good to have you here, Angie. Now hurry on. And mind the storm. It’s gonna be a bad one.”

  Angela hurried outside and started toward the west pasture, the last desperate rays of sunlight streaking through heavy clouds. She was grateful to have an excuse to go outside, to take a deep breath and to reason things out. She was past the days of childhood, but as she walked along the grazing pastures, she couldn’t help but remember those days. The fence had come all the way up to her shoulders, the horses so monstrous. And Doug Jordan, larger than life in his Stetson and Wranglers, would walk beside her, his kind eyes soothing; his smile easy and welcoming.

  She had grieved when she’d heard that he died. Standing there now, in the middle of his legacy, she grieved anew, sighing a little over her wistfulness. Was it so foolish to wish that he were still alive, to know in her heart that coming back would have been less painful if he were?

  He had eased her troubles for a time, although he had never known about them. She had been too afraid to tell him what home was like, and too scared he would stop loving her if he knew.

  Angela wondered what he would say to her now about her predicament in New York. She imagined sitting with him on the porch swing, swaying idly.

  “Seems to me,” Doug would say, his words keeping pace with the creak of the swing, “that Jeffrey did you a favor. Why would you want a man who refused to love you? And why’d you wanna work for him, anyway?”

  Doug had always had a simplistic way of looking at things.

  “Angie.”

  She stopped and turned, surprised to realize she had been meandering and her thoughts had wandered so far. She reigned them in and watched Cole in the dull, stormy light. He might have been mistaken for his father with that same confident smile. But Cole’s eyes were different from Doug’s. Same color, perhaps, but different; wilder.

  He looked at home here, against the backdrop of rugged mountains, which pierced a sky that could, at times, be impossibly blue. But there was little blue in the sky today, and Cole’s eyes were as untamed as the whip of the wind that swept out of those fat gray clouds.

  He stopped in front of her, and Angela leaned against the fencepost. “Nadine said I’d find you here. You’re working.”

  Cole shrugged. “Yeah, but I could use a break.”

  “Looks like you’ve already had one.” Angela pushed away from the post and gestured to his injured arm. “What happened?”

  “My relief wasn’t where they were supposed to be. But even if they were, they probably wouldn’t’ve got to me in time. Bad luck. Shattered elbow, three fractures”

  “So you’re really a rodeo cowboy.” She looked up at the sky, then back at him. “That explains a lot.”

  “What needed explaining?” Cole removed his hat and riffled his hand through sweat soaked hair.

  “You didn’t want to come back to Grace any more than I did.”

  “Grace is my home,” he said offhandedly, refusing to meet her eyes. They took step together alongside the fence.

  “How long are you back for?” she asked.

  “As long as it takes to heal and to get the doc to clear me,” Cole answered dryly. “Two months, maybe three.”

  They fell silent. Other sounds filled the void – feet shuffling on the grass, wind rustling through trees, a voice in the distance, and the flutter of wings as birds raced for shelter from the coming storm.

  Angela gathered her wind-whipped hair back into a ponytail, and then released it to flitter back into the wind. She glanced at Cole. He stared straight ahead as they walked, his eyes fixed on a spot the distance. There were so many things to discuss. She was tempted to let it slide.

  She took a breath and let it out slowly, sternly reminding herself that she had come there to talk business. She opened her mouth to speak, but he slipped his hand around the crook of her elbow and veered her off course, down a sloping meadow.

  “Might want to take those shoes off,” he said when her heels sunk into the moist ground and she stumbled.

  “I’m fine.” And to prove it, she pulled out of his grip and dislodged her feet from the soil. “Where are we going?”

  “I want you to meet my girls.”

  Angela stopped suddenly, further upsetting her balance. She decided it wasn’t such a bad idea to remove her shoes, and did so quickly. He had continued on without her. She caught up with him at the bottom of the hill.

  It never occurred to her that he might have children, a wife. Nadine certainly hadn’t mentioned it. “Your girls?”

  “Yep. Born this year. Came from my best stud.”

  Of course, his horses! Her heart fluttered with relief. It reminded her of the time she’d managed to get him alone at the arena. She had used the excuse of needing his help with tacking a horse. She’d stood close to him as he had set the saddle and reins, de
sperately wishing he would kiss her. When he had turned to her, she had entertained herself with the notion that he just might.

  Realizing she stood too close to him now, Angela angled away. As he had done back then, he just kept on walking, having no knowledge of the things he was doing to her heart.

  Angela breathed in deeply and looked heavenward.

  They’d come to a small fenced area just outside the main stables, separate from the larger grazing field beyond. Cole stopped by the gate and rested his good arm on the aging wood. Over his shoulder two baby horses pranced excitedly. Two full-grown horses that she presumed were their mothers, stood close by.

  The older filly, her shoulders barely reaching the middle fence rung, saw Cole and walked to him. She bowed her head in hope that he would give her a rub. Cole obliged, stroking his hand up her long nose, between her eyes.

  “Dakota’s going to be easy to break,” he said conversationally. “She took to me right from the start. Now, Rosie’s a little tougher. I haven’t started training her yet, but she hasn’t moved more than fivefeet from her mama.”

  “Can you tell that early?” Angela asked. “Wouldn’t all horses want their mothers that young?”

  “Not always. They’re like people. You know right away the ones that’ll be more approachable.” Cole gave the horse a light slap on the flank and she wandered off. “Dakota walked to me the first time I came to her with the halter.”

  “Maybe she knows she’s meant to be broken.” Angela hadn’t meant to say the words, but they were out before she could stop them. She leaned on the fence and watched Dakota’s white mane wisp over her spotted coat. Cole sighed and Angela closed her eyes, knowing he had picked up on her embittered tone.

  “I won’t say I’m sorry your dad died,” Cole said quietly, his eyes fixed on the horses. “Mostly, I’m sorry Henry lived.”

  “Why’d you work for him, then?”

  The first drops of rain pelted them.

  “Came a bit earlier than I thought it would,” he said easily. “Go on inside and I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

  Irritated that he had brushed her off, Angela did not go inside. She stood at the corral gate and watched him direct the horses into the stables. In the field beyond were a few others that paid no heed to the rain. Cole jogged out to them, whistling so they would follow him in.

  Once he secured all his horses, and made a last check of the stable guards, he took Angela’s arm. They hurried to the house, making it through the back door seconds before the rain dumped from the sky in a torrent.

  She dropped her shoes onto the floor.

  Three young men came in behind them and filed into the adjoining dining room. Raucous laughter broke out. A moment later, Nadine came out of the room carrying the large, now empty, stewpot against her bosom. The pot was almost as big as she was.

  “I set aside a bit of stew for you both. Will you be having it in the nook?” Nadine grinned at Cole and Angela, each in turn.

  “No.” Cole smirked and took the pot from her to place it on the stove. “We’ll be eating with the crew.”

  “Cole…” Angela pleaded.

  Not discouraged by her protest, he winked, took her hand and pulled her into the dining room.

  The voices faded away one by one as she and Cole walked through the arched entryway and toward the table. Eight pairs of eyes stared at her, spoonfuls of stew stopping halfway to gaping mouths. Cole pulled a chair out for Angela, between a boy of about seventeen and a man in his twenties or thirties. It was hard to judge his actual age, as a full beard covered most of his face. All eyes followed her to the chair.

  She thought of every board room she had stood in and all the business men and women she had addressed. None of them were nearly as intimidating as this group of work-wary men. Taking her seat, she became much too aware of her expensive Chanel suit, and of how useless it was now.

  Cole took his seat at the head of the table.

  Nadine had not been exaggerating about the smell. Angela looked at the eight worn men, all jeans and flannel and scruffy faces.

  The maid came back in to serve Angela and Cole. She mouthed “sorry” at Angela, and placed Cole’s bowl in front of him with a flick of her wrist.

  As she shuffled out of the room Angela thought she heard the old woman mutter “no way to treat a lady.”

  Angela met Cole’s gaze from across the table. He smiled at her, but she couldn’t decide if was in challenge or companionship.

  “Angie,” he said, “meet Jeremy, Josh, Nathan, Andrew, Kevin, Steve, Matt and Allen.”

  “Hello.” She nodded to the group. The men muttered their hellos and then returned to their meals. Spoons clattered against the bottom of bowls, their voices slowly picking up again.

  The storm trembled beyond the walls. Lights flickered, but her dinner companions were too intent on their suppers to notice the storm.

  “Not hungry?” the boy to her left asked between scoops of food.

  “No, I ate already.”

  “Miss Nadine’s stew is real good,” he urged. “Take a taste.”

  How absurd it was to be sitting at this table with these rednecks talking about stew! She frowned at Cole.

  The man sitting next to Cole said “so, you got a girl? Right on, been a while.”

  “Hey, Cole,” said another man, “you pick her up in Cheyenne? Heard them Wyoming girls are classy these days.”

  “Maybe she was his nurse,” a man further down the table said, letting out a hoot. “Looks like old Cole’s back on top, busted arm and all.”

  “You got any friends in Wyoming, sweetie?” Another hand said as the others broke out into snickering laughter. “We all could use some tending to.”

  The boy to her left – James? Jeremy? – said, “Nah, she’s not Wyoming. She’s classy, and that pretty suit of hers has gotta cost a pretty penny. So I’d wager she’s from L.A. or New York.”

  “Enough, Jeremy. All of you,” Cole said evenly. “She's Henry’s girl.”

  The men quieted and diverted their gazes. She wasn’t sure if they were embarrassed for themselves or for her. Being the daughter of Henry Donnelly said all that needed to be said. There was little doubt that her troubles in Grace had become one of those anecdotes that never really went away.

  Jeremy muttered, “Didn’t mean no disrespect, miss.”

  Angela stood. “It was nice meeting all of you,” she said politely.

  Cole shoved his plate away and followed her into the kitchen.

  She picked up her shoes, intending to clean the clumps of dirt off the stiletto heels, but Cole took them from her, tossed them to the tile floor and grabbed her hand.

  He led her into the study and slid the door closed behind them.

  “Sorry, about them, they live out in the ranch quarters and don’t get into town much when it’s busiest in the summer. They don’t get to see many women, except for Nadine, and she mostly gives them a hard time.”

  “Well,” Angela said, uncomfortably aware of her bare feet, “I suppose they had that stored up, then. Glad I was able to provide the evening’s entertainment.”

  Lightning flashed and thunder growled. The wash would flood. If she didn’t leave soon it would be impassable.

  “It can’t be easy, Angie, coming back here like this,” Cole said. “There’ll be more of what you got out there. When people find out you’re back-”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m not back,” Angela said impatiently, thinking she would have sold everything she owned just to have her shoes on her feet at that moment. “We need to talk about the arena. Twice I tried to bring it up and you avoided it. Why?”

  Cole sat in the leather gentleman’s chair beside the desk. The room was sparse, the walls painted a deep brown. This was a man’s den. It had belonged to Doug.

  “You come here with your briefcase and your fancy clothes. And you want business with me. It can’t be avoided. I know that.”

  Cole jerked to standing. He had taken
the cowboy hat off as soon as they’d come inside. He still wore the boots and worn-out Wranglers he’d had on earlier that afternoon. His hair was the color of a walnut, left untamed to fall carelessly against his collar, and wetted from the rain so that tufts stuck out. The cut of his jeans were tight against a bottom sculpted by the horses he rode, the pant legs bunching up at the ankle to allow extra room for his boots.

  He turned to look out the window at the storm. Angela took a deep breath and spoke to his back, knowing it made her a coward. “My father left me the arena in his will.”

  Cole turned. “He didn’t leave it all to you.”

  “I know he owned half.” She paused and tugged at her jacket. “I need the names of all the stockholders. I hold the largest share of stock, so I am entitled to those names,” she added, sensing his disagreement. “I assume you also own stock. That, in conjunction with the fact that you run the arena, is why I’ve chosen to come straight to you, before I deal with my father’s attorney. I do intend to sell it, whether in whole or in part.”

  Satisfied her speech was logical, Angela stepped back. Cole’s eyes darkened.

  “Are you a good businesswoman?” he asked after a moment. “Does that thing you do with your voice work for your customers?”

  “Clients,” Angela corrected. “And yes, as a matter of fact, it works quite well. It’s called a business demeanor.”

  “What did you expect it to do for me?” Cole asked coolly. “Did you think it’d placate me into letting you sell off my arena?”

  “It’s my arena and I can do withit as I please.”

  His eyes widened.

  Angela glanced out the window. An explosion of lightning split the sky. The crackle of thunder followed. While the rain in New York smeared all the dirty colors together, Montana rain brought out the colors. Even the greens and browns seemed florescent. Dahlia bushes and wisteria vines lent bright splashes of pink, white and blue to a scene that could have been born from a painter’s pallet. She turned back to Cole.

  “I have been made aware through my father’s attorney that he sold off fifty percent of his stock.” She heightened the business-like tone, smirking a bit when he rewarded her with a scowl. “I’m meeting with the attorney tomorrow to get the details.”