“I hate you.” She whispered, although it was his memory she spoke to, for the man was no more. “But you can’t hurt me anymore. I won't let you.”
Her eyes fluttered closed and she struggled to keep the tears back, refusing to cry over his grave. The memories were like shotgun pellets now, hitting her in succession with ruthless force. She caved beneath the pain of it all and finally let out the tears, her lips pressed tight to keep from crying out.
“I hate what you did,” she said again, opening her eyes toward heaven. “And you allowed it to happen. You could have stopped it, and you didn’t.”
And then she felt a presence wrap around her like warm velvet, soothing and comforting. She felt her shoulders give under the weight of it, even as the butterflies in her stomach left her weightless. She had heard once that finding faith was like drowning in joy. The idea of that had been an absurd impossibility at the time. How on earth could one suffocate and die from pleasure? But now the joy rose, so overwhelming she thought she might stop breathing, and it didn’t matter. There was no need to breathe.
Her father’s face filled her vision. She flinched, closing her eyes against the memories that were to come. The image persisted. She braced, expecting to see hatred in her father's eyes. Instead, he smiled. She was a little girl, possibly even a baby, curled in her father’s arms. Laughter echoed through him, resonating through her body. And then her mother’s voice, so soft and loving, filled her ears the moment before her face came into Angela’s vision. The child Angela had been looked from her mother to her father, love sparkling in both sets of eyes.
Angela lifted her eyelids and crashed back down to earth. The joy burned away. Her chest tightened. The colors around her seemed so dull compared to what she had just experienced, the air in her lungs thick and unsatisfying. Unsure of what to make of this, and nearly convinced she was going crazy, she swallowed hard and stood. She walked away from the grave and fought the urge to look back, shaking the image of her father’s smiling face out of her mind.
****
She hadn’t meant to stop by the rodeo arena, but as she passed the sign announcing the turn to the Bullpen Arena, she found herself turning onto that dirt road. She had made this drive in a similar fashion three months earlier, with the summer heat in her lungs and a weighty decision on her mind.
Today the air was chilled, the summer quickly fading away. The circuit season was over, the pro event behind them, and the arena would soon shut down for winter repairs.
She needed to see it one last time.
The smell of dirt lingered in the air. She used her key on the outer gate and closed it behind her with a clank, the sound echoing through the empty space. She breathed in, held the air in her lungs and turned toward the ring.
Cole squatted in the center, his gaze lifted to heaven; dirt sifting through his fingers.
Angela considered leaving, but then he looked up and saw her. Still holding her breath, she walked to him.
“What are you doing here?” She asked, releasing the breath into a puff of vapors.
Cole met her at the rail. “I could ask the same of you. I thought you’d be at the airport by now.”
“I have a few hours before my flight leaves.”
“Saying goodbye to all this?”
“Yeah.” She nodded and curled both hands around the newly painted rail, unable to look him directly in the eye. “Reed will make a good partner.”
“He will. We’ve already laid out plans for the rollout of the spring programs.”
She angled her gaze up, daring herself to look into his eyes. He stared at her across the bridge of his nose, the Caribbean blue as cool as the encroaching autumn all around them.
“Any news?” She gestured to his arm, which was no longer bound in a cast.
“The doctor released me. I leave next week. Denver.”
“Good. That’s good.” She nodded, silently praying she wouldn’t cry.
“Look, I gotta get some practice in.” Regret flickered in his eyes for a moment, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.
Ask me to stay. Please. Even if it means my deal with Jeffrey is off and we lose the arena. Please ask.
He said nothing else, the fence rung between them.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Goodbye, Cole.”
She turned to leave but he grabbed her hand and jerked her back. She froze for a moment, tears spilling from her eyes. He leaned over the rail and kissed her, his lips hard and urgent. She kissed him back, his tears warm against her chilled skin.
He released her and stepped back, diverting his gaze. “Goodbye, Angela.”
She watched him walk away, entertaining the fantasy of jumping over the rail, leaping into his arms, and telling him she was staying.
But he hadn’t asked.
And she loved him too much to sacrifice his arena by staying.
****
Angela pressed her hand against the window as the plane taxied down the runway. She’d have liked to see the leaves change, and to watch the season’s first snow falling over Starhorn Ranch. The plane lifted from the ground. She closed the window screen, unable to bear watching Montana fade away.
She slunk back against the seat, falling beneath the weight of the decisions she had made. Whatever her life was to be from this point forward, Angela knew that Grace had shaped her. A strange sense of hope settling in, knowing it was not all in vain.
The plane climbed higher and eventually leveled out in the sky.
“The pilot has switched off the seatbelt sign,” the flight attendant announced, “feel free to move about the cabin.”
Angela leaned her seat back and unlatched her seatbelt. She thought of her father’s grave thirty thousand feet below, and the ghosts of the memories she had left behind in Grace.
“It looks like we’ll have smooth skies between here and LaGuardia,” the attendant continued, “so relax and enjoy the flight. We’ll begin beverage service shortly.”
Angela sighed and closed her eyes.
The burden lifted.
****
Angela awoke minutes after dawn to the sound of a car horn. Tossing back the covers, she stood from the bed and walked across the hardwood floors Manicured trees lined the street, brownstones. The offending noise polluter – a yellow cab – waited below. The driver honked the horn again.
She scowled at him and went back inside, thinking of long rolling hills and snow-topped mountains; trees that reached to the sky and birds drifting on the breeze.
Her phone beeped. She scooped it up and made her way to the kitchen.
to a tiny balcony. bordering rows of
“In a hurry this morning, aren’t we?” she said, lifting the phone to her ear.
“I knew you’d be up. I know you well.”
Angela smiled into the phone and lifted a coffee mug from the cupboard. “That’s annoying, Jeffrey.”
“But also endearing.”
“Hardly.” She poured her coffee and offered up a silent prayer of thanks for automatic coffee makers. “Did you have a chance to review my presentation?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m calling. I’d like to go over it before we present it to the board tomorrow.”
“I’m heading in shortly. Meet you in your office first thing?”
“I’m afraid my day is booked solid.” Jeffrey exhaled deeply into the phone. “We’ll have to discuss it over dinner.”
“Jeffrey…”
“I know. I said I’d give you time. It’s just business. Rinaldi’s at eight?”
“Your office at seven.”
“Fine. We’ll order in.”
“Goodbye, Jeffrey.”
“Wait…don’t hang up…It’s good to have you back, Angela.”
She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “You took care of the coalition. A deal’s a deal. See you at seven tonight.”
Angela hung up the phone and threaded her fingers through the mug handle. The cab driver honked his horn again, three
times in succession. She slammed the mug down, stalked to the balcony and tossed open the doors.
“Get off your lazy bum and walk up to the door!” she yelled down to the street.
The driver yelled something in response, but by then Angela was already back inside and heading for the shower. ****
Autumn snow fell over Manhattan. Angela spread her fingers over the cold glass of her office window and watched the flakes flutter against the night sky. They melted before touching the ground.
“Wow, look at that! This cold snap is affecting the whole nation.” Angela’s assistant laid a folder on Angela’s desk and stood beside her at the window. “They say it’s likely to continue all week.”
Angela turned from the window and pressed the button to close the blinds. “Go ahead and go home, Stacy. The roads will be crazy, so you should get a head start. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“How late are you staying?”
“Late.” Angela picked up the folder. “I have a meeting with Mr. Sykes at seven.”
“Oh.”
“Is there a problem, Stacy?”
“Not at all.” Stacy lifted her brow and pursed her lips, then turned on her heel and left.
Angela slapped the folder back onto the desk and stood, pacing her office as the sound of Stacy’s footsteps faded down the hall. Along with the new title, Angela had been given a bigger office on a different floor, but her reputation as Mr. Sykes’ mistress had followed her.
She shivered and reached below her desk for her shoes, having no doubt that Jeffrey had helped to perpetuate those rumors.
Unable to concentrate on work, Angela slipped her shoes back on and scooped up her laptop and notebook. She still had an hour before her meeting with Jeffrey, but she wanted to get it over with and get home while the storm was still benign.
Since his secretary had already left for the evening, Angela knocked once on Jeffrey’s door and let herself into his office.
“I know you said seven, but it’s brutal out there and I’d rather not spend my evening waiting outside in the cold for a cab, so…oh…”
Angela stopped halfway to Jeffrey’s desk, nearly dropping her laptop. A large man sat on the leather brocade sofa. He quickly averted his gaze, stood and pulled on his powder blue blazer.
“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing around the office, “I’m looking for Jeffrey Sykes. Is he here?”
“No ma’am.” The man shuffled past her toward the door, refusing to look at her.
Angela kept her eye on him, unable to figure out why she recognized him. Then she looked down at his meaty fingers and remembered what they’d looked like curled around the handle of a knife. He was out the door and in the hallway when it hit her.
“Stop!” She rushed into the hall. “Stop right there! What are you doing here?” Angela caught up to the large man and grabbed his arm.
Jeffrey turned the corner, a stack of papers in his hand.
“Remember this man?” she asked Jeffrey. “He was in your office!”
The man held his hands up in surrender. “Just working on my investments,” he insisted. “I don’t know who you are lady, but-”
“You’re that man from the drilling coalition. You were in my house. You threatened me.”
“Angela, come on. You have it wrong. This gentleman made an appointment. Leave us. Mr. Jones,” Jeffrey turned to the man and ushered him back through the office door, “I apologize for my employee’s misconduct. Please, let’s continue our discussion. I’ll join you in a moment.”
“Tanner!” Angela called out before Jeffrey could shut the door. The man’s head jerked automatically in her direction. He gritted his teeth, immediately regretting the knee-jerk reaction.
Jeffrey shoved the door shut, into Tanner’s red face, and turned to Angela.
“I knew it!” Angela said as Jeffrey took hold of her elbow and led her to his secretary’s desk. “Are you doing business with him? Don’t you remember who that man is?”
“Angela.” Jeffrey sighed and leaned onto the desk. He kept his gaze on the floor, working his lower lip between his teeth.
“Don’t lie to me,” she pleaded.
Jeffrey looked into her eyes.
“Please,” Angela said, her chest tightening, “whatever we are now, or whatever we were, please let it be enough to earn your honesty. I deserve at least that much.”
Jeffrey clasped his hands together, his shoulders hunched.
“I needed you, Angela,” he said quietly. “You have no idea how important you are to this firm…to me.”
“Tanner’s not from the coalition, is he?”
“He is.” Jeffrey sighed. “He’s also been a client of mine for years. Happy coincidence.”
“You put him up to it. He threatened me. I slept with a knife beneath my pillow that night.”
“It was the only way to get you back.” Jeffrey took her hand. “I know it wasn’t the right thing to do. I’m sorry you were scared, but I needed you to think the coalition was a threat. I did it for the firm. For us.”
Angela slid her hand from Jeffrey’s, the words scattering in her thoughts.
“I did use my connections to make sure the coalition will leave the arena alone,” he said. “I kept my promise.”
“How kind of you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, warding off a sudden chill.
“Angela.” He stood and reached for her. She shook away.
“Your boyfriend’s safe. The coalition won’t touch Cole.” Jeffrey’s eyes hardened. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
She shook her head. “I might have stayed in Grace if it weren’t for you, for our deal.”
“You would’ve come back anyway. There’s no way you would have stayed in that town. After six months the novelty of your cowboy would have worn off and you’d be back with me. You and I both know it.”
Tears of rage burned behind her eyes. She pushed past him and hurried down the hall.
“He won’t want you now!” Jeffrey called after her. “Those cowboys value loyalty, a quality you’ve never had!”
Angela walked faster, her heart beating erratically. She walked into her office and shut the door behind her.
She thought of Cole’s goodbye and the anger laced in his last kiss. The way he’d called her Angela.
She kicked off her shoes and lowered herself to the floor, giving in to the sobs aching in her throat.
****
A cold front bore down on Denver, forcing rodeo spectators under thick blankets and jackets as they feasted on five-dollar hot dogs and watered down beer.
Children ran and chased each other through the stands and walkways. The bravest adults, or those who were arrogant enough to show off, tried their hand at the mechanical bull out front. Many never made it past the first jolt, and very few would come to find out just how long eight seconds could seem. But it kept them amused and it kept them warm, biding time until the rodeo began.
“Ooh boy, I tell ya,” chimed one of the announcers, “it sure is cold out there tonight. And I ain’t even gonna tell ya what the cold does to a bull’s mood. Ooh-ee we are in for a treat tonight, folks. It’s a night for heroes to shine and for losers to go home to mama.”
“Speaking of heroes,” said the second announcer, “we got none other than Cold Jordan, seasoned veteran for going on two decades, fightin’ a bronc tonight.”
“I hear he’s been given lucky number seven,” the first announcer added, “and you better bet he’s gonna need a ton of luck. First competition since that arm and elbow injury sent him home last spring. As luck – or rather, misfortune – would have it, Cole drew Old Harley, the very same pony that shattered his arm in Cheyenne.”
Murmurs passed through the crowd.
“He’ll have to work extra hard tonight,” the announcer continued. “With three months gone, he’ll have to take first place tonight for even a shot at making it to the Tulsa Nationals.”
Cole stood by the rear chutes. He wore his lucky chaps
and an old Stetson, his boots scuffed and worn. Some revered him as one of the greatest rodeo stars to grace the ring, and he was touted to die a legend. Others claimed he was too old and had passed his prime.
Tonight, Cole agreed with the latter.
Hands at his waist, he squinted up at the crowd. The murmurs faded out and the first competitor took to the ring. He began to pace behind the chutes, waiting for his turn.
He would score important points just from the rough bucking Old Harley was known for. But he knew those points alone wouldn’t qualify him for the Nationals. He knew what needed to be done.
The buzzer cued him into position. He climbed over the gate and settled onto the bronco’s bare back. Then there was nothing else but heat and muscle beneath him, no sound but the echo of his own breathing, the blood pumping through his veins.
He took the rigging in his hand. His hand trembled. The shouts of the crowd flooded in; his focus slipped. Sweat beaded on his forehead and pooled onto his upper lip. He lost his grip on the rigging and every separate voice, every single shout assaulted him like daggers.
It’s been too long. You’re too old.
The buzzer sounded again. It was his turn.
Cole’s hand found the rigging again. He wouldn’t give in this way. Closing his eyes, he shut out the shouts and counted the heartbeats of his adversary, willing his own heart to beat the same rhythm.
When he was certain his focus had returned, he opened his eyes and tipped his hat. The chute swung wide open.
The bronco fought good and hard, but the man fought harder. Luck played no part, but Lucky Seven, as the announcers had dubbed him, walked away with a first place trophy and a nice chunk of points to take him one step closer to Nationals.
But Cole knew he would not be taking that trip to Tulsa. Eighteen
Angela turned up the Christmas music and sipped her tea, examining the huge tree in her living room. She adjusted the golden gossamer ribbons that cascaded down the branches, and then lit candles scented of pine and cinnamon, which she’d placed strategically around the living room.
She was grateful she had negotiated the full deed to the Greenwich Village apartment into her contract. It was hers again, more now than it had ever been.
Heart of Grace (Return to Grace Trilogy #1) Page 21