Heart of Grace (Return to Grace Trilogy Book 1)

by Abigail Easton

  nothing for a long time, letting the swing sway with the natural

  motion of their bodies. The night air was too chilly for the

  cicadas, but the crickets chirped all around them. Angela lost

  track of time, and when the air cooled more, she pulled her legs

  up onto the swing and curled against his side. He sighed and

  hooked his arm around her, pulling her close.

  “I wish Michael hadn’t come,” she admitted, closing her

  eyes, his body warm against her skin. “I think he wishes it,

  too.”

  “And what about you? Do you wish you hadn’t come to

  Grace?”

  “I don’t know.” She stifled a yawn and rested her head in

  the curve between his shoulder and chin. “The arena’s doing

  well. We’ll make money on it by the end of the summer. I have

  some of my old contacts working on finding us an investor.” “You’ve done a fine job, Angie. Even without the Burberry

  suits.” He nudged her. “But you know that’s not what I

  meant.”

  “I know.”

  They swung in silence for a little while longer. Eventually,

  she drifted to sleep, awakening to the feel of being lifted in

  Cole’s arms.

  “Come on,” he grunted, setting her on her feet, “don’t

  make me have to pour a brother and a sister into bed on the

  same night. I’ll walk you home.”

  They walked down the porch steps and across the lawn

  toward the guest house.

  “I wonder if we can get around to finishing the

  conversation we started earlier?” Cole asked as they stepped

  onto her porch.

  She laid a hand on his cast, and thought of what he had

  said about wanting to be in Arizona. She supposed ending up

  in Grace together was something, but they’d been here before.

  It hadn’t been enough back then, and now there was a

  mountain of pretenses and regrets between them. “You want me to tell you I don’t want you.”

  “No Angie. I want you to tell me you want me, that you’ll

  let me make it right.”

  “And if I can’t do that?”

  “You mean ‘won’t’.”

  She shook her head and backed up to the door. “Fine. If I

  won’t?”

  “It’s not a threat.”

  “But it is,” Angela said, turning the knob. “What you’re asking me to give, I can’t. I’m leaving in a few months. I’m going back to New York. I already have my resume submitted

  to a few firms.”

  “Resumes? You quit your job to be here?”

  “No.” She laughed harshly. “Goodness, no. I quit before I

  decided to come. I also broke up with my boyfriend, slash, boss

  and lost my apartment.”

  Cole nodded, watching her without censure. His calm

  acceptance was far more disturbing.

  “I didn’t count on this,” she waved her hand between

  them. “I didn’t count on you, the boy I wanted so long ago

  finally coming to his senses.” The air thickened in her lungs.

  She breathed in deep and held it for a few moments, then let it

  out on a whoosh. “But I’m not that kid anymore. And it’s too

  late to make it right.”

  He said nothing, but his eyes stayed intent on hers. She

  offered him a small smile, nodded, and went inside. ****

  Angela had every intention of sleeping late that next

  morning, but a strange sound pulled her abruptly from her

  dreams. She could have sworn she heard her name being

  spoken, but no one was there when she opened her eyes. She

  sat up quickly, startled by the quiet. Sunlight streaked though

  the window and across her bed. The tree branch Cole stole for

  her still sat on the windowsill, the flowers long ago shriveled.

  Curtains billowed in the breeze, bringing in the scent of her

  dying dahlias from the garden outside.

  With a sigh, she stood from bed and dressed in yoga pants

  and a t-shirt, taking just a moment to lament on her nearly

  empty closet. Weeks ago she’d had her suits shipped from New

  York. They had decorated her closet for two days before she

  had sold them to a secondhand store for money to pay her

  rental car and credit cards. Only t-shirts remained. Angela closed the closet door and went out to her garden

  to try the fertilizer she had bought. Perhaps she could squeeze

  another week or two of life out of her flowers. As she worked,

  her thoughts flittered back and forth between the work at hand

  and wondering over Jeffrey’s reaction to her proposal. Her flowerbed concerned her far greater than knowing the outcome, but she kept an eye on the time and decided she

  would call Jeffrey after lunch.

  The morning slipped away. Dew dried and shadows

  shifted. The breeze kicked up, a relief to the sweltering heat.

  Angela knelt in the dirt, drenched in sunlight and sweat. A distant melody piqued her attention, but then she turned

  back to her task, deciding it was just a bird chirping. After a

  minute or two the sound came back, louder and more distinct;

  she was certain now that it came from a guitar.

  Sitting back onto the grass, Angela gave herself over to the

  tune, the air cooling around her. She closed her eyes and turned

  her face toward the breeze. The sensation she had felt in the

  bar the night before rushed back in. It filled and lifted her. She

  looked up to the sky.

  And wondered.

  The past washed over her, taking her over like a rogue

  wave. She dropped her head onto her knees. The images in her

  mind’s eye centered on her dorm room during her first

  semester of college.

  “Nineteen’s too old to be a virgin. Loosen up.”

  She gave in, fighting glimpses of horror too vague to understand.

  Afterward, she curled herself onto the bathroom floor while he slept, his

  satiated snoring keeping rhythm with her quiet sobs.

  “No.” Angela squeezed her eyes tighter, the heels of her

  hands at her temples to push out the memory, to keep it from

  rising to the surface.

  “You killed her. She couldn’t fight the cancer knowing you were

  leaving us. It’s all your fault, girl! You shoulda gone to the grave with her.

  It shoulda been you I buried today!”

  She opened her eyes, struggling to force her focus out of

  the past. She rocked back and forth, her gaze on the dying

  flowers. The soft music continued. The light around her faded

  into the shadows, the colors dimming. Just as they had the

  night the paramedics had taken her away in an ambulance and

  hooked her up to machines.

  “Do you remember what happened? Do you know where you are?” She wanted to stay in the darkness, but a woman’s quiet voice pulled her back into a world she did not want to be in. She fought it, turning away from the voice and into a pillow. Pain seared over her skin and through her bones. She wept. Her hand came up to her face, a bandage

  beneath her fingertips.

  “It’s okay,” the nurse said, “you’re pretty banged up. Take it easy.” “Don’t touch me.” Angela pushed the woman’s hand away and sat

  up, her eyes darting about the sterile room. She remembered. She knew

  what he had done. She screamed.

  Angela shook her head to edge out the echoing memory of

  her o
wn screams, and took up her hand rake. “No,” she hissed

  through clenched teeth, frantically scratching and patting the

  dirt of her flower bed. She still couldn’t remember what her

  father had done, but she remembered waking up. And she

  remembered knowing.

  The music stopped. Angela dropped the rake and sat back.

  She let the tears fall, urging her pulse to quiet. She looked to

  the sky, to the God who let this happen, but left the angry

  words on her tongue.

  “Good morning.”

  Angela jolted at the voice behind her and quickly wiped

  away the tears, turning as Michael jogged toward her. She gathered her gardening tools, pushed her shoulders

  back and cleared her throat. “Hey. Hung over?”

  “Nah, just slept it off late.” He took the tools from her and

  set them in the plastic bucket by the porch steps. “And I wasn’t

  that drunk.”

  Her hands shook, so she riffled them through her hair to

  keep him from seeing, avoiding his gaze so he wouldn’t notice

  her swollen eyes.

  “That Sophie is a piece of work. Then again, she always

  was,” Michael said. “There wasn’t a thing I did to encourage

  her, but she…Angie, have you been crying?”

  “No.” She stood and blinked away the grittiness in her

  eyes, her blood quickening again. “It’s the flowers.” “You don’t have allergies.”

  “Drop it.” She finally looked at him, but quickly looked

  away when she saw the concern in his eyes.

  “How about some lunch?”

  “This is really not a good time.” She bent to pick up a

  trowel and tossed it into the bucket with a loud clank. Her

  hands at her hips, she turned to face her brother fully. “Quit

  trying to play big brother, okay? Why are you here?” “I just wanted to check on you. After last night-” “Not here, now. Here. In Grace.”

  “First of all, I’m not playing, I am your big brother. Mr.

  Bradley told me you were staying. You wouldn’t take my calls,

  so I came in person. I didn’t want you to do this on your own.” “I got through a lot on my own. You saw to that. I’m

  sorry,” she said quickly, biting back the spite in her voice. “It’s

  not your fault. It’s been a…rough morning.”

  “I shouldn’t have left, Ang.” He swallowed hard. “But I

  had to. I was selfish and I had to get out. I’m so sorry, sis.” A thousand reprimands came to mind, but she held them.

  “I told you last night that I don’t want to talk about it. Let it

  go.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you want?” She raised her voice. “Do you want

  me to tell you that it’s all right? That I didn’t need you? Well, I

  did need you, but you left. And I survived. I got out, too, and

  I moved on. It makes it harder for me to dwell on it. Can’t you

  see that? Can’t you see that I am doing everything in my power

  to keep it behind me?”

  “That’s gotta be hard when the memories are all around

  you.”

  “Don’t look at me that way,” she said. Don’t pity me. Once

  I get the arena on sure footing I’m going to make a lot of

  money, then I’ll go back to New York and start again. This is

  all just temporary.”

  “So why the garden?”

  She glanced at her flowers, then back at Michael. “Heck if

  I know. Maisy Markey.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I’ve forgiven you,” she said, “is that what you want

  to hear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there it is.” She wrapped her arms around her brother’s ribs, feeling the tension in him build up and then

  release as he accepted her words and hugged her back. “I want to fix this,” he said, “I want us to be close again.” The pit in her stomach deepened and she held her breath.

  The shame of her lie overwhelmed her.

  She knew nothing of forgiveness, least of all how to grant

  it.

  Twelve

  Angela hadn’t planned on helping with the arena cleanup, but after her conversation with Michael that morning she’d had to get away. It felt good to do something with her hands, but by evening, and with plenty of work left to do, she laid down her bag of empty hot dog wrappers, pulled off her gloves, and walked to the corrals.

  She found Trina brushing Moonstar. Jeremy sat on the top fence rung, watching her.

  “Come on,” Jeremy pleaded, his gaze angled over the back of the horse, “come with us, T. We’re all going. The old theater’s only got two shows left. Oh, hey Miz Donnelly.”

  “Hi guys.” Angela walked through the gate. Tina looked up from her task, her eyes wide and pleading. Taking the hint Angela said, “Jeremy, I think Reed and Cole need help taking down the banner out front. Do you mind?”

  Jeremy sighed and jumped off the fence. “Later T., let me know if you change your mind and wanna come. See ya, Miz Donnelly.”

  After he had left, Angela picked up a brush and started on Moonstar’s other side. “He’s a nice boy,” she said.

  “I have a boyfriend,” Tina reminded her.

  “Why don’t you go with them to the theater? Your shift’s almost up, so go ahead and take off early.”

  “Billy wasn’t invited.”

  “So? Go without him.”

  “He wouldn’t like that. We have other plans anyway.” Tina untied her apron and set it on the hook. “Can I still leave early?”

  “Sure.” Angela took the brush from Tina. “Be good.”

  “Always.” Tina smiled and hurried through the gate. “Thanks Angela!”

  Angela turned to the horse after Tina left. Moonstar snorted and shook her head.

  “What is it?” Angela ran the brush along Moonstar’s mane. The horse backed away. Deciding the animal just didn’t like her, Angela unlatched the gate and set down the grooming tools.

  Moonstar neighed and stomped her feet.

  “I’m leaving, isn’t that what you wanted? So stop it.” Angela continued her path out of the corrals, the horse whinnying at her back.

  “She wants to run,” Jeremy said, coming down the alleyway from the main floor. “Want me to tack her for you?”

  “I don’t think so,” Angela laughed, “that horse has an attitude problem.”

  “I know. Beautiful, isn’t she?” He smiled. “Come on, she only had one run today. She could use another.”

  “No,” Angela said sternly. “I thought you were helping with the banner.”

  “They were done when I got there.” Jeremy spread his arms wide and backed away. “So if you don’t need anything, I’m taking off.”

  “Go on. Have fun tonight!”

  He saluted and hurried down the alleyway. “Moonstar’s saddle is on the red stand,” he called back over his shoulder.

  She watched him leave, thinking he looked a lot like her brother at that age. Left alone in the corrals among the shadows cast by the fading sun, Angela took the brushes into the tack room. As she walked out she caught a glimpse of Moonstar’s saddle on the red stand. The horse whinnied and flipped her black mane when she saw Angela step back into the alleyway.

  She stopped short and could have sworn the horse tilted her head, as if daring Angela to ride her. “You do have an attitude problem, you know that? But what they hay…so do I.” She grab the horse’s tack and carried it to the corral. Moonstar pranced excitedly as Angela tightened the saddle’s cinch and positioned the bridle and bit.

  She led the horse to the ring. The house lights had been dimmed, and the clanks and chatter of the workers echoed through the steel stands, but the main
part of the arena was vacant. The barrels were still in the center, the ground still unsettled from last night’s rodeo.

  Angela took a deep breath and mounted Moonstar. The horse looked back at its rider, waiting for permission to run. Angela obliged and clicked her tongue, but she pulled back on the reins to keep the pace slow.

  She walked the horse in the cloverleaf pattern of the barrels three times, her thoughts scattered. The earthy scent of damp dirt brought her back to her dying garden and the things she had remembered there. She recalled the image of Michael silhouetted against the sunlight, asking for forgiveness she could not give. And she thought of Cole, kissing her beside a bale of hay, their attempts at avoiding each other having failed miserably.

  It had been like a lit stick of dynamite tossed into a bucket of fuel. He had waited weeks for that kiss; Angela had waited years.

  Something close to anger shimmied through her bones. The horse – strong and stalwart beneath her – obeyed Angela’s command for gentleness. Angela found peace in this quiet walk, as she had found peace on the back of Dixie that first night Cole convinced her to ride again.

  Unlike that night on the open plains of Cole’s ranch, tonight the air was stale and dusty. There were no meadows or fireflies in the distance; no crickets chirping or a full moon hanging over the tree tops. And no Cole.

  Nothing holding her back.

  “You wanna run, don’t you girl?” Angela rubbed Moonstar’s neck. She loosened the reins and tightened the grip of her knees. “Me too, let’s go!”

  Moonstar took off at a full run, her mane and Angela’s hair trailing behind. Angela picked up the horse’s shoulder and added pressure with the inside leg to lead her around the first barrel. Adrenaline surged as they circled it and raced for the second, and then the third, a cloud of dust at their heels.

  Angela inhaled the fresh dirt and rounded the barrels once more, smiling into the wind they created. She sensed figures in her peripheral, but she moved too fast to identify them.

  As she came around the third barrel she saw Cole, her angle just right for only half a second. It was enough to throw off her focus. Moonstar clipped the barrel and sent it to the ground. Angela nearly slid off the saddle.

  “Whoa. Whoa. Easy.” She pulled on the reins and the horse slowed to a trot, and then a full stop.

  Some of the ranch boys hung over the rails, clapping and whistling. She dismounted and walked Moonstar through the gate opposite from where Cole stood.

  He walked over to her, anyway.

  “If you hadn’t knocked over that barrel I think you would’ve gotten fourteen seconds. Maybe even thirteen.” Cole took the horse’s reins from Angela and asked one of the ranch boys to settle Moonstar in for the night.