Maisy stopped fussing with the flowers and looked across the street, her hands at her thin hips. “Hello John!” she said. “Fine day it is!”
And then Maisy’s gaze fixed on Angela. It was too late to duck back into the coffee shop. Maisy tossed both hands into the air and waved her over.
“My, my, Miss Angie Donnelly!” Maisy said as Angela approached. “Why just this morning, Mrs. Bradley and I were taking our morning walk and she told me you were back!”
Angela smiled at Maisy’s penchant for using such formality with the name of her closest friend.
“How are you, Mrs. Markey? You look well.”
The old woman clucked and shook her head. “I almost didn’t recognize you, but it’s hard to miss that red hair and fair skin. Though the hair is a bit blonder now, isn’t it? You’re prettier than I remember. Oh, now, don’t blush. You always were a shy child.”
Since Angela’s return she had been called shy by three different people: Cole, Mrs. Bradley, and now Mrs. Markey. The idea was absurd, but she supposed people were inclined to see her as they had known her long ago. They would not know how she had changed. And yet, she realized she was twisting her fingers in the strap of her laptop bag and she didn’t know what to say.
Just as she would have done with a child, Maisy took Angela by the hand and led her to the flowers.
“Aren’t these beautiful?” she asked, her tone soothing. “I went to the nursery to buy a new fig tree, and I just couldn’t resist them. Have you ever seen dahlias so bright?”
However foolish she felt, Angela rubbed a petal between her fingers, smiling at the thought of flowers for sale in front of a dress shop.
“They are gorgeous,” Angela said, “and they smell lovely.”
“Won’t you come inside for some tea?” Maisy took Angela’s hand again and tugged her toward the door.
She almost agreed to go in. She found herself wanting to talk with this woman who never lost her smile. She wanted to sit in those soft chairs and let them swallow her up in the warmth and fragrance of Maisy’s shop, which had always been a favorite gossip spot among locals. Maisy Markey still treated her customers as if each one were special. She served them tea and cookies and never considered that she was keeping them from spending their money.
“I’d love to come inside,” Angela answered apologetically, “but maybe some other time.”
“Oh, well why don’t you take some flowers? Just some dahlias to give you a smile when you see them. A gift.” Maisy beamed and clapped her hands together, pleased with the idea.
A half hour later Angela was sent on her way with several flats of dahlias, along with some sweet alyssum and marigolds. Maisy had explained that the little white and gold flowers were to protect the dahlias from insects, but Angela knew she had been duped into planting a garden.
****
She had never before tilled the earth, but she figured it couldn’t be very hard. She was without the necessary tools, but she found a serving spoon in the guest house kitchen that could work as a makeshift shovel, and a glass pitcher would serve as a watering can. She chose a strip of land beside the front porch.
Having donned her workout clothes once again, Angela knelt beside her garden-to-be and got to work.
After two hours, she resigned herself to the fact that a spoon did not double as a shovel, and gardening was much tougher than it looked. Hot and sweaty and frustrated, she sat back on her heels and closed her eyes to do some yoga breathing.
A low chuckle pulled her from her meditations.
“Is that a spoon?”
Still sitting on her heels, Angela opened her eyes and looked up at Cole, squinting from the glare of the sun. “I couldn’t find one of those little shovels, but this works just fine.”
“Trowel.”
“What?”
“Trowel. That’s what those little shovels are called.” He squatted beside her and picked up the spoon, grinning at her over the bent metal.
“Shut up.” She took the spoon from him.
“Why are you doing this?” Cole gestured to her halffinished flowerbed.
“I don’t know.” She sat back on her bottom and curled her knees to her chest. “I ran into Maisy Markey in town.”
“Say no more.” Cole rolled his eyes. “Now I understand.”
Angela laughed. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the yellow envelope in his hand.
“From Mr. Bradley. He brought over some papers for me to sign and asked me to give these to you. They’re documents, family paperwork…that sort of thing. They were found in a nightstand that sold in Henry’s estate sale.” Cole paused thoughtfully. “You don’t have to take it. I can keep it for you.”
“I doubt there’s anything in here that I haven’t seen a thousand times already.” Angela brushed the worst of the dirt from her hands. She took the envelope from him and lifted the flap.
She sifted through the contents and found what looked like a diary, and then the usual family documents: birth and death certificates, school records and the like. Angela stopped and solemnly examined her mother’s death certificate. When Cole asked her what it was, she turned it to him so he could see. Cause of death: complications from osteosarcoma. Bone cancer.
“Just usual family paperwork,” she said. She was about to put it – and the memories – away, but then she pulled out a thickly folded pack of papers. The date at the top sucked the breath out of her. She dropped the envelope and the rest of the documents to the ground, focusing on the papers in her hands.
“What is that?” Cole scooped up the envelope and the fallen documents.
“My medical records…from that night. He kept them.” Seven
Cole ushered her into the house. She was like a rag doll, her face frozen and expressionless, and her arms limp at her sides. He urged her to sit on the couch and then went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.
“I’m fine,” she said when he returned with the water, but she didn’t look at him, and she hadn’t moved a muscle since he set her on the couch.
He sat beside her and sighed, feeling as useless as he’d been the night they got the call. Seventeen-year-old Angie, the woman-child who had stood stoically at her mother’s funeral just hours before, laid in a hospital bed nearly beaten to death. The entire town knew her father had done it, but when it came time for Angie to talk to the cops she high-tailed it out of town. There was no proof and without her cooperation Henry had never been officially charged.
Cole took the papers from her and tossed them onto the coffee table. He didn’t need to read them to remember the long list of injuries she had suffered. He had seen her that night when he went to the hospital with his dad. She had been in one of those emergency room beds, hooked up to machines and barely breathing. Her lung had collapsed, her skull had been smashed open and her face was swollen beyond recognition. The town pastor had been called; no one had expected her to live through the night.
She still had a faint scar just below her left cheekbone; he could see it if the light hit her at the just the right angle. And there were other scars; non-visible wounds that still haunted her eyes. He hooked a finger under her chin and turned her face toward his.
“I’m sorry.” The unsteadiness of his own voice surprised him. “I shouldn’t have let it come to that.”
Angela shifted from his touch and diverted her gaze.
The guilt hit him as hard as it had that night, when he had watched her struggle for life and he knew he was to blame. Cole hadn’t been the one to strike the blow, but he might as well have been.
“Why didn’t you make Henry pay?”
She straightened her posture. “I was in the hospital for almost a month. He took enough from me. I wasn’t about to let him take months more while I waited out a trial. I had an apartment lined up and a class schedule waiting for me in New York.”
She looked up at the ceiling. “He said it was my fault that my mom died, that she lost the will to fight the cancer
because I was leaving them to go away to college. And then he called her horrible things. He said I was no better than her. I yelled back. So stupid. I knew better.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Ang.”
Amusement curved her lips, but it did not reach her eyes. “I haven’t thought of this for years. I swore I’d never come back to Grace. And here I am.”
“Grace is different now. You’re different.”
“No.” She looked away. “It’s always the same.”
“Are you talking about the town or about yourself?”
“Maybe both.”
The movement of some leaves on a tree caught his attention and he looked out the window. Lavender and orange streaked across the sky, the lingering glow from a late summer sun. He had dozens of things to do before nightfall, and his ranch manager had already gone home. The rest of the ranch hands had their own jobs to do.
He knew he should leave to handle the responsibilities of his ranch. He looked at Angie. She stared back at him questioningly, vexed by his silence. He smiled and tugged on the loose bun in her hair, if only to ease the strain a bit. “Why do you always wear your hair up?”
She smoothed a hand over the bun. “I don’t know. It’s easier, I suppose, more convenient.”
“You got any working clothes?”
“I thought we were taking the weekend off.”
“We are. Do you have any jeans?”
Angela looked at him suspiciously. “I bought a pair when I was in town yesterday.”
“Fine.” He picked up his hat and headed for the door. “Put them on and meet me by the main stables.”
“Cole?”
He turned just before he reached the door.
“Is there even any point in arguing?”
“Don’t worry, darlin’.” He turned the doorknob and stepped outside. “I don’t plan to put you to too much work. See you in about twenty minutes.” He closed the door and left her frowning after him.
****
The last remnant of sunlight stained the sky lavender. Angela trekked across Cole’s land and neared the stables, feeling silly for bothering to take a shower and reapplying her makeup. He was likely to make her muck out the stalls, or brush the horses.
She stopped abruptly when she rounded the corner and saw Cole with a horse’s hoof between his knees, his head bent as he scraped around the shoe. She could tell he was having a hard time with the task, his cast making his hand almost useless.
She felt a wave of pity for the man who relied on his physical ability. His entire livelihood depended on the use of his hands. But then, she imagined he had become accustomed to broken bones and other physical injuries. He would have to, which is why he was able to finish the chore.
Cole set the horse’s leg back down and turned fully to the cinnamon mare. He stroked her coat lovingly. “There you are, my girl. All fixed.”
Angela stepped out of the shadows. Cole noticed her, his brow furrowed. He tried – and failed – to stifle his laugh.
Self-conscious, Angela laid her hand over her stomach and looked behind her. “What?”
Cole shook his head and bent to pick up a saddle. “You put on makeup?”
She raised her fingers to her cheek, wishing he hadn’t said that.“I always wear makeup.”
He lifted the saddle onto the horse’s back and glanced at her over his shoulder. “Fine.”
Angela stepped defiantly toward him. She was irritated enough to pick a fight. “Since I got here you have criticized me for the way I dress, how I wear my hair, and now the fact that I wear makeup. This is who I am and I won’t tolerate your criticism.”
“It isn’t who you are, Angie.” Cole tightened the saddle straps with a zip of leather through steel rings. “You’ve polished up your appearance, and you sure do look pretty. But I still see an awkward little girl with freckles.”
“Awkward.” Just the mention of that word made her feel awkward. “Again with the criticism.”
He looked up at the fading sky and sighed. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head, daring him to explain.
He turned from his task and set his fingers on his hips. “The make-up you wear and that thing you do with your voice doesn’t match the rest of you. Like it or not, your success hasn’t taken away what you hoped it would. You’re still innocent, Ang. So innocent, you don’t even know it.”
“Innocent?” She scoffed. “I’m hardly that, Cole.”
“Not so you can see. It’s buried under all the rest. Coming back is hard for you. You’re remembering things, aren’t you? Things about your father.” He paused and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Things about me.”
“Thank you Dr. Cole.” She turned from him, but he pulled her back around.
She sighed. “What do you know of any of this, anyway?”
“Not enough,” he said pointedly. “It’s been fifteen years, Angie, and a few days ago if you would’ve asked me how often I thought of you, I would have said hardly ever. But now that you’re here I realize I’ve thought of you more than I knew. It’s been there all along, my thoughts of you, in everything I’ve done.”
“It bothers you that I’m here, that you have to deal with all of this. With me.”
“It does bother me.” He stepped closer. “But not the way you mean. Seeing you again after all these years matters, Angie.”
His quiet voice was enough to break her resolve, but she held onto it tightly. “Why does it matter? Why should you care about any of this?” she asked.
“We grew up together.”
“You hated me.”
“That’s not completely true. You know that, Ang.”
She wanted to ask him about that afternoon by the pond, but the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes reminded her of the years that had passed, and the futility of going back.
“Now, allow me to introduce you to Dixie,” Cole said quickly, forcing a smile. “She’s a gentle girl.”
Angela rubbed the horse’s nose, flinching when Dixie nudged against her hand. She hadn’t touched a horse in fifteen years.
Cole made a few more adjustments to the gear and then patted the horse’s flank. “She’s ready for you, hop on up.”
Angela quickly looked from the horse to Cole. “No, I don’t think I should-”
“Come on. This time I won’t even make you muck stalls first.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and picked up his discarded shirt. “Let’s go for a ride.”
“Cole, I can’t. I don’t remember…” But she allowed Cole to prod her to Dixie’s side.
“Need help up?” he asked.
“No.” She rolled her eyes, but grabbed the saddle. “I can still do this.” She stuck a foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up, swinging her other leg over the horse.
Cole put his shirt back on and mounted his own horse.
“Now, Dixie just needs gentle commands.” He took up position next to her. “She’ll follow the motions of your body.”
Angela picked up the reigns and gripped the horse with her knees to keep herself from sliding off. Dixie responded by stepping forward at a slow, steady walk. Angela gasped and jerked, grabbing hold of the mane. Dixie shook her head and stepped back nervously.
“Shhhhh.” Cole leaned to rub the horse’s nose. “She can sense that you’re nervous. Relax. It’s like ridinga bike.”
Angela took the reins when he held them out to her and sat up straight in the saddle. Her pulse scrambled erratically. Had the ground always been so far away from the back of a horse?
She looked toward the forest beyond the meadow. The newly risen moon hovered just above the tree tops, its light mingling with the last remnants of daylight in an ethereal glow. She took a deep breath and lightly tapped her heels against the horse’s ribs.
Dixie obeyed and started walking. Angela squeezed the horse with her knees, her knuckles white from the tight grip on the reins. She found her balance after a few moments, her bo
dy gradually remembering how to move with the horse.
A bubble filled in her chest; peace overwhelmed her. Tiny firefly sparks speckled above the tall grass of the meadow, dancing to the rhythm of the chirps of crickets and cicadas. Cole and his horse took step beside her. She flashed him a mischievous smile. “Nuclear fireflies.”
He winced. “You remember that?”
“How could I not?” she teased as they walked their horses side by side. “I convinced myself my skin was turning green and that my fingers were tingling and they were going to fall off. All because I had touched ‘nuclear’ fireflies.”
He laughed deeply. “I was twelve and you asked me a question I didn’t know the answer to. I had to come up with something.”
“Well, fortunately, my mother reassured me that fireflies do not get their glow from drinking toxic waste.”
“And your mother told my father. It cost me a day cleaning out the glick trench in the stables.” He winked at her. “I was so mad at you for telling on me, but it was worth it just to see the look on your face. I think you did turn green for a minute.”
Angela laughed as they walked through the fireflies, sending them flittering about. “It wasn’t the first time a man has lied to me. Just the first lesson of many.”
“So you’re saying I ruined you for all other men?”
“No, you saved me. Thanks to you I was made well aware of their lies.”
“What if not all of them tell lies? Ever consider that?”
Instead of answering, Angela kicked her heels into Dixie’s side and took off at a full trot. Cole frowned after her for a moment, and then directed his horse to follow. He kept up with her over the small hills and flower dotted meadows, past the main house and into the woods. She slowed as the mass of trees thickened.
She had asked why it mattered to him and he pondered the question now, wondering if it had more to do with himself than with her. He could tell himself he still saw her as the child he should have protected, but the woman she was now mattered even more to him than the child she had been.
Heart of Grace (Return to Grace Trilogy #1) Page 7