that as much as she had changed, a lot had remained the same
in Grace. She recalled her mother’s soothing voice: “Just focus
on something that doesn’t move, something steady.”
“Maybe there’s another option.” She let the air out of her
lungs, the weight of this decision heavy on her heart. “I might
be able to find a way to get a few more breaths into her, make
her pretty enough to attract another buyer.”
Reed’s eyes lit up. He looked at her as though she were a
saint. Angela stifled the urge to squirm. She could choose to
view her decision as a call to action; a purpose she was
determined to fulfil. But she knew she was just a coward, still
terrified of going home.
Six
She found Cole behind the house, in a field swinging an ax beneath the harsh glare of sunlight. He was cutting logs on a tree stump, the resonating whap and thump of the blade matching the rhythm of her steps as she neared him.
He had removed the sling, his arm still bound in a cast from biceps to knuckles. Sweat dripped down his face and chest. He noticed her in mid-swing and did a double-take, missing the log. The ax connected sharply with the tree stump. He let out a harsh exclamation – something about donkey brains – and pulled his injured arm against his ribs. His eyes raised to her, his breath heavy and uneven.
“Why chop so much firewood in summer?” she asked. “Stockpiling. I imagine I’ll need it come October.” Cole removed his hat and wiped sweat from his face with a handkerchief. He picked up the pieces of wood he had just cut and tossed them into the woodpile. “I lost this oak a few weeks back. Might as well make use of it. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
“I’m staying.”
“Say that again?” He squinted and leaned toward her.
“I’m staying.”
Cole smirked and tucked the handkerchief into his back pocket. He put his hat back on and looked her straight in the eye. “Why the change of heart?”
Why? It was a simple question with too many answers. Overwhelmed, Angela looked toward the endless sky and considered letting her resolve fall away. If she let it fall, if it was her choice to let go for just a moment, she could still to pick up the pieces again.
She chose to hold on.
“Three months,” she said. “I’ll give you three months. That’ll get us through the summer circuit season and the pro event. Come September, I’ll be gone. No matter what. But I’ll do what I can to help bring the arena into the black before I go. And I’ll be selling my half for a profit. That’s my motivation, Cole. Nothing else.”
He dropped the ax. “What about New York? Don’t you have a job? A life?”
She closed her eyes tightly. It was too late to stop the tears that ran down her cheeks. They were cold against the summer heat on her skin. He reached for her. She stepped way.
“New York will go on fine without me for a bit.” She wiped the tears with the heels of her hands. “But it’s none of your concern. I’ll be your business partner, and I’ll do what I can to bring the arena back. Not for you, nor my father. For me. And that’s the end of it.”
“Alright. Come on into the house, then. We have details to work out.”
She nodded and followed him inside.
****
They spent the next hour talking business in his den, strategizing and breaking up responsibilities. Angie sat on the edge of the desk, among the papers they’d spread out over it. Cole sat in the chair and looked up at her.
Her tears had dried, replaced with a spark of determination.
He knew this situation was misery for her, but it worked out great for him. If Angie stayed and took care of the arena, he’d have his old arrangement back. He could return to rodeo when his arm healed and barely skip a beat.
He had reminded himself of that many times over the last hour, but he knew it was much more complicated. He was worried for her. Worried for them both.
Shoot. He pushed away from the desk.
“I think that about covers it for today.” Cole gathered up papers and slid them into a drawer. “We’ll drive ourselves nuts trying to figure it all out.”
Angie looked away and slid off the desk. He wondered if she knew he wasn’t just talking about the arena.
“I ask just one thing,” he said.
She snapped her gaze to him.
“Don’t look so suspicious,” he laughed.
“The last time you said ‘I ask just one thing’ you talked me into helping you muck stalls, and in exchange you let me ride your horse for ten minutes. It was not worth it. So don’t count on it this time.”
“You never figured out I had an ulterior motive to all that?”
“Of course I did,” she said, “if you finished your chores, your dad would let you take Amy Bedley to the Brooks and Dunn concert in Missoula.”
“That wasn’t the only reason,” Cole muttered, thinking of Angie in her Wranglers and red boots, doing his chores because she’d wanted to spend time with him. He’d known she had a crush on him, and he’d been more than willing to exploit it for his own selfish purposes. Even so, he’d liked the look of her in those jeans.
She frowned. “So what is your ‘one thing’?”
He paused for a moment, considering his words. “Let me have a say in who buys your shares at the end of the summer. If I say ‘no’ to your choice, then no deal. No arguing. No negotiating. And the coalition’s deal is off the table.”
“Fair enough. When the summer is over and I sell my half,” she said confidently, “you’ll have a say in who buys it. Of course, I trust you’ll be reasonable.”
“Of course.”
“We’ll have Mr. Bradley draw up an agreement if that makes you feel more comfortable.”
“This isn’t New York, Angie. I trust you.” He stood and held his hand out. “Partners?”
“Partners.” She shook his hand, her smile turning into a cynical laugh. “Who’d have thought you and I would ever be partners?”
“Who’d’ve thought me and Henry would be partners?”
She looked away, but not before he saw the spark of anger flash across her face.
“Angie, can I ask you one more thing?”
“You said you just had one question.”
“Just one more.” He leaned forward, questioning his own motives. “Will you stay in my guest house?”
“I’m staying at the hotel. It’s already arranged.”
“For three months?”
“I’ll manage.”
Cole shrugged. “If I were you I’d want more of a home.”
“Three months isn’t that long.”
“Still, I think you ought to stay in the guest house.”
Angie shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“It isn’t convenient.” Her voice rose. “If I stayed in town I could more closely oversee the office there.”
“Living in a hotel room is less convenient than having to drive a few minutes to getto work.”
“The hotel can’t be that bad.”
“It’s not what you are used to.”
“You don’t know anything about what I’m used to.”
Cole sat down again and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. He ran his tongue between his bottom teeth and lower lip, then smiled. “Look at you, Angie.”
“My name is Angela.”
“Fine…Angela. Look at your fancy suit and your fancy hair. All that makeup.”
“My job requires that I dress this way.” She fisted her hands at her side.
“Does it? Since when does mucking stalls and ordering horse feed require a two thousand dollar suit?”
She only stared at him.
“You aren’t a New York tycoon now,” he said. “You’re going to be working a rodeo arena. Have you really thought about what it will involve?”
“My parents owned that arena most of my life.” She straightened her shoulders, eyes seething. “Of course I know what it involves. And quit calling me a tycoon. You make me sound like a little old man with a monocle.”
“I need to know you’ll hold your own.” He made an effort to soften his voice. “I can’t have you screaming when you see a bug or crying when you get dirt on your fancy shoes.”
She started to speak, but he interrupted her.
“And I don’t want to listen to you whine about having to sleep on a hotel mattress for three months. And how are you going to eat?” He gestured east, toward town. “The hotels in Grace don’t have room service. Let me make this a little easier for you, Angie…Angela.”
“Maybe I can find a house to rent.” She lifted a shoulder, considering.
“Isn’t that what I’m offering?” he asked. “But I won’t take money from you. You never have to see me when you’re there, if you don’t want to. The house has its own kitchen, although you are always welcome to eat here. Only one bedroom, but it’s fully furnished.”
“You want to keep an eye on me.”
“I want to know you are taken care of.”
Angie walked toward him, her steps tentative. Living close together could be dangerous for them both. He shouldn’t have invited this complication, but there it was, thick between them like a tangible thing he could grab.
“You want to know I’m taken care of, yet you don’t want to do any of the dirty work, is that it?” she asked, her voice slipping into a teasing drawl. “You’ll give me a roof, but you won’t kill bugs for me?”
He knew he’d lost the fight, even if Angie did concede to his request. “I think you’re going to be very difficult to work with.”
“Nothing worthwhile is ever easy,” she replied easily, scooping up her purse. “I’ll be staying in your guest house and I thank you. I’m going into town, but I’ll be back this evening to settle in. And no worries, I can kill my own bugs. I’m good at getting rid of things that annoy me.”
Her pointed look as she walked to the door drew out another laugh from him. She turned back just before shutting the door behind her and said, “thank you, Cole.”
****
Angela awoke the next morning and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face into the pillow. She inhaled the scent of fresh linen and lemon and wondered when her alarm was going to go off, or if she’d missed it entirely.
Her eyes shot open and she flopped onto her back. She hadn’t set the alarm.
Montana. She was still in Montana.
Waves of nausea rippled in her gut. Sunlight streamed through sheer curtains, casting shadows across the wood slats of the guesthouse ceiling. Angela exhaled sharply and stood from bed. She wandered to the window and slid the curtains aside.
Dew sparkled across the grass. As a child she had fancied the dew as a million diamonds tossed across the field. Perhaps God had left those jewels just for her and she had only to scoop up the treasure before they melted away. But it always turned out to be just water, easily evaporated into the heat. She had asked God to save her, but he seemed more interested in taunting her.
She hadn’t seen dew in a very long time, nor that vastness of green that stretched until it faded into the haze of the horizon. The landscape hadn’t changed, but the little girl who once lived here had. Her father hadn’t killed her, in spite of the many times she had hoped he would. A woman had emerged from the pain. And with a woman’s wisdom she turned from the window and shut away the wistful thoughts, going about the task of unpacking her suitcase and preparing for the day.
Grateful she had thought to pack her workout clothes and yoga mat, Angela unrolled the mat and flicked it onto the living room floor. A little bit of yoga, followed by a warm cup of coffee, might just set her equilibrium right.
She stretched and bent, recalling the moves her instructor usually guided her through. She had built up a fairly good sweat when a knock at the door jolted her out of a balancing pose. She stumbled, grabbed her bottle of water from the coffee table, and answered the door.
Cole stood on her doorstep in full cowboy gear: hat, boots, the whole bit. She remembered him as a ten-year-old boy dressed nearly the same, but with a bright red gun holster and a hat with a string cinched beneath his chin.
He had pulled her hair while wearing that silly hat, and once he had tied her to a tree during a game of “Cowboys and Indians.” He’d left her there until after supper.
Cole grinned and handed her a steaming cup of coffee, taking a sip from his own.
Angela took the mug, thanked him, and shut the door slightly, angling her body behind it. He didn’t take the hint. Before she could utter another word he was through the entry and making his way to the couch.
“Did you sleep well?” he settled down and propped his feet on the coffee table.
She stayed standing. “Well enough.”
Cole watched her with such intent in his eyes she wanted to squirm.
“What?”
“You,” Cole said with a teasing laugh. “I expected you to answer the door all dolled up in one of your fancy suits.”
Angela sniffed and sipped her coffee. “Well, I don’t keep myself fitting into those fancy suits without a little work. I was exercising. What are you doing here? I thought we were taking the weekend off.”
“We are. I’m just checking on you,” he said. “We still do that sort of thing ‘round here. Do you need anything?”
“You mean besides a plane ticket out of here? Or a mental examination for staying?” She rolled her eyes. “Not a thing.”
“Good.” He rose. “I’ll be in town for most of the day. Mrs. Hammerby has a broken porch step I promised to fix and she’ll probably have a half dozen other projects while I’m there. And she’ll make me stay for tea as a way of saying ‘thank you.’ After that I’ll be headed to the arena to check on the cleanup from last night’s circuit.”
“You don’t need to tell me your schedule.” She opened the door.
“I know.” He smiled and tipped his hat. “Good day, Angie.”
Dread filled her to the brim as she watched him leave. She had two full days with nothing to do. Sipping her coffee, she looked at her briefcase propped against the wall on the other side of the room. She’d brought work from the job she had quit, a habit.
Angela set her coffee down without finishing it and prepared to get to work.
****
The coffee shop in town was in the same place it had always been, on Main along the wooden boardwalk. The spot had once been a saloon. It had been modernized over the years, but maintained many of the same rustic features of aged wood and leather. It still smelled of smoke and whiskey. A menu behind the bar boasted a surprisingly diverse selection of coffees. It was not what she was used to, but Angela was pleased to discover she’d at least be able to order a latte.
She was equally pleased when she sat at a corner table and powered up her notebook computer. The coffee shop had wireless Internet.
“I guess some things have changed,” Angela muttered under breath. She sipped her latte and winced at the taste of burned coffee drowned in sour milk. And some things, she mused, have not.
She worked until past noon, sitting unnoticed in the little coffee shop. It was not uncommon for tourists to frequent the area during the summer rodeo season, and so most passed her by without a single thought. Besides, few would see the girl they remembered in the businesswoman who sat there now, staring at a computer screen.
She was not surprised when Jeffrey’s instant message popped up on her screen. She had known he would notice she was online.
“I have some questions about the Johnson account,” the message stated.
“I’m working on my accounts now to get them to a point where someone else can handle them. I’ll send everything when it’s ready.” She read over the statement three times before hitting “send.”
“Can we meet for lunch?”
“I’m in Montana,” Angela typed, and then clicked the “send” button.
“When will you be back? I want to see you.”
She bit her lip, hating the surge of frustration he always managed to draw out of her, even over instant message.
Angela closed her eyes. “No,” she typed.
Almost two full minutes passed without a response from Jeffrey. Angela imagined he was working up his anger. He had probably written half a dozen messages that he didn’t send. Finally, a message came across her screen: “Very well. Goodbye.”
She closed her files, unable to bear them, and opened a browser to pull up her bank account information. There wasn’t enough to sustain her for three months. At least she didn’t need to worry about rent, but she still needed to eat and there were her credit cards and the storage unit to pay for.
Angela closed the laptop and rested her elbows on it, letting out a long sigh, her chin in both hands. The espresso machine whined. Needing to calm the nervous fluttering in her veins, and hating everything about this moment, she stood and walked outside.
Flags flapped along the boardwalk posts. Pretty white flowers overflowed from terra cotta pots. A man swept the walk in front of his store.
Across the street, a girl carried a tray of lemonade to people seated at patio tables. One of the patrons was the girl Angela had met at the arena office when she first returned to Grace. She sat with a boy who slouched in his seat and stared idly at the umbrella over their heads. The girl – Tina, was it? – set a straw in her lemonade and looked up from her glass. Noticing Angela, Tina stood and waved enthusiastically.
Angela barely managed to return the wave before a kid on a bike rushed by. She lurched to the side to avoid a collision. The man sweeping his stoop yelled after the kid to slow down.
Then the man called across the street, “Mrs. Markey, good day!”
Angela followed the direction of the man’s gaze. Maisy Markey arranged flowers on a display rack outside her dress shop. Angela barely recognized her. The old woman’s hair once been dark brown, but she had let it go completely gray.
Aside from dresses, Maisy sold whatever else held her fancy, whether it was tiny toy cars, plastic windmills, or flats of garden flowers. Once she had set out power tools for sale, because the local handyman decided he was moving to South Dakota and she figured folks would need to learn how to mend their own squeaky screen doors once he was gone. Today she sold flowers.
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