Notes in Love

by Hetherington, Megan

  And it seems my damage to women doesn’t stop at Green Parrot hookups. An image of Lacey spins into my head. The way she was enjoying some alone time, and I came along and spoiled it for her.

  I rub shampoo vigorously through my hair.

  But she was mesmerizing. And when I sucked on her thumb, there was something in her eyes. Wide. Wanting. Something passed between us at that moment. I’m damn sure of it.I take hold of my dick and stroke it to the memory of her swaying her hips. Murmuring the words of Closer to You.

  Just one night with her and I’d…

  I snap my eyes open with the reality that bolts in. What is wrong with me? Why do I turn everything with a woman straight into a sexual thing? Lacey lives under the same roof as me and as she pointed out, I’m a boss around here, so there’s no way a one-night stand would work and I’ve promised never to have anything more.

  Seven

  Lacey

  A door upstairs bangs shut and makes me jolt. I slump my spine and roll onto a stool, resting my head in my hands for a moment while I collect my thoughts.

  Why the hell did I overreact? Okay, Colt acted like a jerk, staring at my chest, and he overstepped the mark sucking blood from my thumb, but I’ve experienced worse. Much worse. And it didn’t mean I had to lose my cool like that with him. That is not what I do. And I’m in danger of losing my job. Actually, I probably just have.

  I lean over the cool granite island top and grab a paper towel, wrapping it tightly around my sore thumb.

  And, anyway, the way he touched me, the gentleness of his mouth on my skin, it was… beautiful. I close my eyes and reimagine the feeling of his lips closing around my thumb. The heat. The way his tongue licked at the wound. I’m almost afraid to admit it, but I want that feeling again.

  As my heart rate slows in time with the throb of my thumb, I slink off the stool and deal with the pan. Wrenching the spoon from the spoiled chocolate, I scrape the congealed mess into the waste disposal.

  After fixing my thumb up properly with a bandage from a first aid kit under the sink, I break up another chocolate bar and heat it gently with some butter and a drop of milk until it glistens. The swishing motion of the spoon through the silky mixture calms my nerves.

  What happened to me back then? Normally when faced with an angry man I would freeze, shrink into myself and block out any emotion. Instead, I let rip. Anger, not justified for the situation, raged out of me. It’s as if my freedom has affected my barometer. I recall images of my early days in captivity when the shift from over-protective lover to prison warder began. I was once strong enough to fight back, to stand my ground. But all those years at the hands of a brutal, manipulative captor beat it out of me. It was a struggle to keep any of me alive. But I did. An ember somewhere stayed aglow, and now oxygen is breathing life into it again.

  I place the back of my hand on my forehead as I think of how I threw that spoon at Colt. I turn on the rail that runs along the front of the stove and a slow smile forms on my lips. That shocked look on his face was a picture. But then I broke that actual picture, and it must be important to have the prime spot over that dresser like that. I need to get that fixed.

  I dump a cupful of flour through a sieve into the pan and shake my head at how I was lucky just then. Colt could have lashed out. For him to simply turn off the stove and walk away shows how a real man acts. Pity, I couldn’t have acted like a normal woman. He was only looking for a little harmless fun.

  I snort. Yeah, right? Colt Corrigan is good looking, loaded, well built, and a player. There is no way he was only looking for some banter.

  My shoulders slump and I blow out a justified breath of stupidity. How can I ever be normal enough to enjoy that kind of interaction with a man? Be confident enough to joke; flirt back? Maybe even have an actual relationship with a guy?

  Well, even if that does ever happen, it won’t be anytime soon and definitely not with Colt Corrigan.

  After stirring in some extra chunks of chocolate and chopped pecans, the mixture fits nicely into a square baking tin and I pop it in the oven, while I sip on a bottle of water and walk out onto the porch.

  The moon is a thin sliver, on the cusp of a new cycle. Like me, it seems. Hopefully, when I wake tomorrow, it will signify a new beginning. One I’m able to take up with calmness and positivity. Nothing is normal in my life and likely never will be, unless I force myself to change.

  The smell of the brownie mixture wafts through to me as it warms in the oven and when it’s done, I package a slice in a small card box. On my way to bed, I hang the box, along with a small note, from a ribbon on Colt’s door handle.

  I hope he takes the gesture with the intention I give to it.

  Eight

  Lacey

  Cautiously, I bend to pick up a piece of paper poking under my bedroom door. I half expect it to be the note I left for Colt returned along with the brownie.

  I didn’t sleep well last night, worrying about how he would interpret my note. If Colt wants to, he can easily send me packing from this place, and truthfully, I’m not ready for that right now.

  My heart sinks. It is the note I left for him last night.

  Carefully, I push on the door handle, expecting a clunk at the other side when the unopened parcel drops to the floor. Nothing. I pull open the door and look down the hallway, but there’s no box or sign of anyone. So, I examine the note from the safety of my bedroom and find some writing on the back.

  No. I’m sorry.

  I read it over and over, even saying it out loud to see if it still sounds like the apology I think it is.

  He’s screwed the paper up. I wonder if that was before or after he wrote the message. I fold it into a small square, shove it in my pocket at the front of my jeans and hurry downstairs to prepare breakfast.

  The house is quiet, which isn’t unusual. Everyone has an early start. In fact, everyone at the ranch has days filled with hard work and responsibility, and I’ve heard none of them bitch once about it.

  Mrs. Corrigan has taken a liking to my grits and I make a panful, sprinkling some bacon pieces over the creamy top.

  She’s in a quiet mood this morning, staring out of the window at an unusually gray day. I had planned to take her for a walk this morning, but it seems she has a slight fever and says she isn’t interested in exercise. And neither am I if this fog doesn’t clear soon.

  I pick up Notes in Love, left on the windowsill from yesterday, and flick to the bookmarked page. Skimming over the last paragraph, I read silently to the part where Coraline has seen the errors of her ways.

  “Coraline sighed in an unusual show of frustration. ‘Jack, you do test me.’ She walked from her suitor to the window, and her crinoline-enhanced gown bristled against his legs. Her anxious breath steamed the beveled glass windowpane, and she closed her eyes to the misted view. ‘Whenever I spend time in your company, you pull on my heartstrings so.’ She blinked open her eyes.”

  Don’t he just is scrawled at the bottom of the page. I huff in agreement. If it’s Mrs. Corrigan who wrote these notes, I like her style.

  “Are you sure you haven’t read this before?” I ask.

  Mrs. Corrigan fixes her gaze on me and then the book.

  “Show me the cover again.”

  I flip the book over and she places her hand on it.

  “Maybe. I’m not altogether sure.”

  “Would you have written any notes in it, if you did?” I ask cautiously—I don’t want to offend.

  “No,” she says firmly.

  I stop short of questioning her more and bite down on my lip. I was just about to ask her to write something down, so I can check out her handwriting. Thankfully, I don’t. Anyway, it must have been her and, with everything she has going on in her life and my current predicament, it’s really not a big deal. Pushing aside the concerns that seep in at what I’m even doing here, I continue to read until Mrs. Corrigan bobs off. At the steady flow of soft snores from her, I stretch out a yawn and place the
bookmarked novel onto the windowsill.

  Standing up, I look out at the ranch.

  Colt steps down from his black horse, unbuckles the saddle, and hooks it over the fence. He walks the horse into the paddock to run free. It’s mane and tail swish as it gallops off.

  “How wonderful,” I whisper, my breath steams onto the windowpane, just like Coraline’s did in the book.

  I wonder what it must have been like as a woman in the time that the novel was set. Stuck in a house most days, with limited social engagement. Watching over a rural scene just like this one that lays before me. Stiff corsets. Itchy cotton underwear. Men who take advantage of who they thought back then were the weaker sex. I huff and massage a finger and thumb on the bridge of my nose. No change there then.

  Colt rests his elbows on the gate and lowers his chin onto his hands, appreciatively watching his horse as it kicks out its back legs. Colt seems in no hurry to move on. Another horse in the paddock ambles up and the two horses nuzzle. The sight makes my heart sing. Colt leans backward, his hands grip the fence as he stretches out his back before glancing up at my window.

  He waves casually and I shyly flex my fingers back at him.

  My yearning to go outside grows.

  Those horses frolicking have me wanting to draw in some fresh air and walk wherever I want. And after the exchange of notes and now waves with Colt, I want to talk to him and break the thawing ice between us. I look back at Mrs. Corrigan; there’s no way I can wake her to go for a walk.

  Colt rolls his back on the fence and rests a boot up on the lower wooden rung. I step aside, not wanting to meet his prolonged gaze.

  Quietly, I clear the breakfast dishes and take them to the kitchen. Amber is there, kneeling on a stool with her hand on a high cabinet shelf, patting around the contents too high for her to see.

  “Did I miss your grits?” she asks, eyeing up the empty bowls I place in the dishwasher.

  “Sorry, yeah. Do you want me to make you some?” I check the clock and wonder why she is back from Visalia so early.

  “Nah. I’m not hungry, just bored. Waiting for the riding party to show. I had eggs for breakfast at the guest house and just want something else. I thought maybe the sugared almonds from Thanksgiving might still be lurking somewhere.”

  “How about one of these?” I pull a plastic box from a shelf containing the remaining brownies I made last night and snap off the lid.

  She pulls back the brown paper that lines the box. “Did you make these?”

  I nod, and she picks one out, nibbling on the edge. “Oh, it’s delicious.” She moans around the mouthful, and I break into a genuine smile.

  “You can take the rest to the ranch office if you like.”

  “Yeah, the guys will love that. I might even let on that you made them and not me.” She flashes a cheeky grin at me. “You’ll have friends for life.”

  I laugh. Not likely, but a nice thought.

  I make some coffee and in between a casual conversation about the dreary weather, ask her, “Did you ever read to your mom?”

  “Huh?” she asks, catching some crumbs in her hand.

  “One of those books.” I nod at the shelf. “Did you ever read any to your mom?”

  “Nope. I ain’t got time for that. Those books are hers, though. She would get through at least one a week. More when Dad was busy out there.” She jerks her chin toward the window.

  I nod. I’m certain now that Mrs. Corrigan must have made the notes in the book and it’s one of many things she has forgotten.

  “Anyway, how was Visalia?”

  She settles onto a stool at the island. “Fun. We met up with some friends and went to a male strip show. What a hoot.” She hurriedly chews on the brownie and washes down the last crumbs with coffee, hot enough to scald her mouth. “We snagged front row seats and pushed Josie up on stage to join in the act.”

  Ugh. Sounds awful, but I don’t say that. Amber’s my friend and she thinks it was the best thing ever, so I smile.

  “The guy wore firefighter pants with cut outs at his ass and he danced in her face for a while, then lifted her over his shoulder. It was smokin’ hot.” She licks her finger and makes a sizzle sound as she draws it in the air between us. “You missed a real treat.”

  We’re nothing alike. And I’m not sticking around long enough for us to grow closer together. But she is the nearest I’ve had to a friend in a long while, and I will appreciate that as much as I can while I’m here.

  “So, when do Josie and Blue get married?”

  “Oh, not for a while yet. Plenty of time for you to choose a dress.”

  I screw my forehead up at her remark. “Will anything change around here when they do?”

  “Hope not.” For a few seconds she considers my question. “But don’t suppose this ranch was meant for all of us and our families. Not that I’m planning on settling down anytime soon. And the way Colt goes about his business, neither is he.”

  “Oh.” I don’t set this up as a question to find out more about Amber’s brother, but she takes it that way.

  “He got butt-hurt a while back.” She sucks air in-between her teeth. “And he’d kill me if I told you this but, you need to know, just in case he comes across as an a-hole.”

  My smile falters.

  “His girl ditched him.”

  I wince. “Sounds bad.”

  “Yeah, although he seemed to take it harder than he should. Or maybe it was me and I wasn’t as sympathetic as I could have been.” She looks at me for a while with sad regret and I don’t know what to say because it’s not an emotion I’ve seen Amber express.

  “It was a strange time at that point. Dad died, Mom became ill, Blue still brooded over Josie and fought every weekend with Lemon—his ex wife. And then Ellen split with Cody.” She shakes her head. “And I was the selfish little brat who thought everyone was being miserable on purpose and ignoring me.” She rolls her eyes. “Good thing I’ve grown. Mostly.” She sighs and smiles and then with her head cocked to one side asks, “So, don’t you think my brother is kinda handsome?”

  The blood drains from my face and I place my coffee onto the counter so I don’t drop it with the shock of her question. “Colt?”

  She nods.

  “No.” I wince at the forceful way I push out my denial.

  Her head remains angled, and I can tell she is drumming up some scheme. “Why? Is he not your type?”

  “It’s not that. I’m kinda taking a break from relationships right now.”

  Now, while that is the truth, it’s probably not the most accurate way to describe my current position. Not if I want everyone to keep their nose out of my situation. And stop Amber from pursuing this line of matchmaking again.

  “Ah, so you’ve had a recent break up.” She pushes back in her chair. “Well, you know what they say… A sure-fire way to get over a bad relationship is to get straight back on a horse. And from what I’ve heard, my brother is one hella stallion.”

  My mouth drops open at her remark, but it seems it is no embarrassment to Amber. And just when I think she’s as brazen as they come, she qualifies her statement. “His name, Colt, it means a young stallion.”

  “Oh.” I wide eye her.

  She shoves the last piece of brownie in her mouth and hums her approval. “Which reminds me, if you wanna learn how to ride a horse, we can set something up. You should take some time from caring for Mom and you seemed kinda eager to learn to ride when I mentioned it the other day.”

  I blink a few times with the thought and the change in Amber’s conversation. “Okay, thank you.”

  The afternoon flies by in a haze of chores and conversation with Mrs. Corrigan. I even sneak in another chapter from Notes in Love. The handwritten annotations in the margin are more intriguing than the story itself.

  I’m also curious of Mrs. Corrigan’s condition and make a mental note to ask Amber what the doctor has diagnosed her with and the purpose of all this medication she takes. Fifteen tabl
ets a day seems excessive and I want to know how they help with her condition because to me they just seem to make her drowsy and forgetful.

  I wash the dishes after dinner and persuade everyone to go enjoy their evening. Colt didn’t turn up to dinner, which isn’t entirely a surprise after our altercation last night. But I’m disappointed all the same. I dump the pots in the sink and turn on the faucet, sticking my hand in the water’s flow as it turns warm and the bubbles froth up. All the while I’m thinking on where I am right now and what my immediate future has in store for me. Should I carry on for a few more days, or even weeks, or make plans to leave as soon as I can? I love it here and feel almost safe. Amber is turning out to be a great friend and the rest are welcoming enough in their own way. And Mrs. Corrigan is lovely, and I’d hate to leave her in the lurch. Or any of the family, actually.

  “Shit!” I nearly fall down, drawing a soaked hand to my pounding chest.

  “Sorry.” Colt steps back and lifts his hands to his broad shoulders.

  My muscles tense and my joints lock in place while I try to work out why, or even if, he crept up on me on purpose.

  His face softens. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Especially after your reaction last night.” His hand reaches out, and he touches my arm. “I’m sorry.” His eyes have an earnest honesty, but I can’t help but flinch at his touch. “That came out wrong. Your reaction wasn’t the problem last night, it was mine.”

  I drop my gaze in embarrassment.

  He tilts his head to one side and with a strong thumb slowly lifts my chin so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes exude warmth, and I melt under his stare.

  “There’s no need to be scared,” he purrs.

  “I’m not,” I murmur, forcing my shoulders to relax a little.

  He smiles sympathetically, as if he doesn’t believe me. And he’d be right not to. My wariness of all men is hammered in deep, wedged in, from years of bouncing between fear and paranoia.