But he still saw more than she probably wanted.
She'd let him in close before.
So he stepped over the tools toward her.
Danger!
He ignored the warning flares his brain was sending up and crowded her in against the side of the tractor with both arms. Careful not to touch her.
Yet.
"Cord—" She could've ducked beneath either of his arms and escaped. He wasn't trapping her, not really. But he wanted answers.
He wanted to go back three days, to the way she'd looked at him in the upstairs hallway. Now, she had her walls up high. She wouldn't even look him in the eye, just stared at his chin.
"Something happened in town. Tell me."
Her chin firmed. She didn't say a word, just kept staring at his jaw.
He wanted to shake her.
From this close, he could smell the sweet perfume of her hair. Wanted to bury his nose in her neck. Wanted closer.
She was driving him crazy.
"Molly." He’d meant her name to sound firm, but somehow his voice emerged rough with emotion.
And a silver tear slipped down her cheek.
He was helpless against her tears.
Almost in slow motion, he gathered her in close. She had plenty of time to see him coming, plenty of time to push him away.
But she didn't.
As his arms came around her, hers slipped inside his coat, around his back.
She buried her face in his chest and held on for dear life.
Until now, he hadn't embraced her. Hadn't dared.
Partly because of what she'd told him. He hadn’t wanted to scare her.
But mostly because of this. The waves of emotion crashing through him broke his willpower. He'd promised himself he wouldn’t let her get close.
And now look at him.
Her hat had fallen away and he buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in.
She was trembling. Crying, he realized as he moved back enough to cup one hand against her jaw.
She was fighting it, holding back her tears with sheer force of will. Her eyes were luminous with moisture, her cheeks pink.
"I think—I'm g-going crazy," she whispered.
She closed her eyes, but not before two more tears fell.
He wrapped her up in his arms, let her have the privacy of his shirt for her tears, resting his chin against the crown of her hair.
He was in over his head, choked up with the desire to help her, to find words that would comfort her. He didn't know what they were.
He'd never felt so unprepared to face something in his life.
He needed help.
It might kill him to ask for it.
He needed Iris.
12
Molly stood with her arms braced on the corral railing watching the four horses in Iris and Jilly's corral.
The animals were in awful shape. Skinny bags of bones. One had a skin condition and was missing half its coat. But they were full of life, nickering and chasing each other around the enclosure.
Apparently, Iris and Jilly ran an unofficial rescue operation for horses on top of their cattle ranch. They rehabilitated and placed horses who had been removed from their owners for mistreatment or given up by neglectful owners who didn't want the expense of a horse any longer.
Just looking at the animals made Molly tired. She hadn't found her footing again after this morning's breakdown with Cord.
He was standing on the porch with Iris right now, several yards behind her. Molly was fairly sure they were talking about her.
Poor girl. She could imagine the words from Iris. I can't believe that happened to her.
She didn't know what Cord's response would be. He'd been stoic and silent after he'd let her go, after her crying jag.
Maybe she'd scared him as badly as seeing the red Mustang in town had scared her. Because he'd insisted she abandon the tractor and come to the house. And he'd called Iris.
She was a little surprised he hadn't asked Molly to leave.
He didn't need her drama.
Especially because the more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that her mind was playing tricks on her.
Red Mustangs weren't unusual. If someone was going to buy a sports car, red was one of the more popular colors.
She'd overreacted.
But she still couldn't escape the fear dogging her steps.
She was a mess.
Why would anyone want to keep a mess around?
* * *
"I was surprised to get your call this morning," Iris said.
Cord knocked back his Resistol and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, well, I was surprised to make it."
"Desperate, you mean?"
She pulled a laugh out of him. Iris had never pulled punches, even when they were kids. She'd been a good friend when he'd needed one.
He let his eyes stray to where Molly stood near the corral fence. Even after she'd cried a wet patch onto his shirt, she hadn't opened up about what was wrong. Hadn't expounded on what her statement—I think I'm going crazy—meant.
Which had left him no choice but to phone his old friend. Former friend.
He didn't know what they were.
"You care about her," Iris said.
And a pain jabbed behind his right eye.
"We're friends," he admitted grudgingly. He hadn't intended to give Molly that much. Friendship came with too many strings. "She doesn't exactly take no for an answer."
A sideways glance at Iris revealed the twitch of her lips.
"That must bug you, since no is your favorite word."
For one-tenth of a second, the old joke shimmered in the air between them, waiting for him to smile, to join in the fun.
But then it fell flat, because he hadn't said no the only night it had counted.
Iris's smile faded.
Cord forced his eyes back to Molly. Better to leave the past in the past.
Except the pulsing pain behind his eye got worse.
"She's had... some trauma in the recent past," he said. He didn't know how much Molly was comfortable with him sharing.
He stuck his hands in his pockets. "I want to help her. Comfort her. Make her feel safe. But I don't know how."
Saying the words aloud made it real. He'd denied his growing feelings for her up to this point.
But there was no ignoring them.
Iris was quiet.
When he glanced at her, all signs of humor had faded.
"It bugs you, doesn't it?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"She got under your skin."
That pain behind his eye pulsed again.
"I'm not exactly equipped." He kicked the post at the edge of the porch. "When everything fell apart… with Noah… I left. You stayed for the fallout. I don't know what I'm doing here."
When she smiled, it was a little bit sad. "Haven't you had any meaningful relationships in the last ten years? A girlfriend that lasted?"
He squinted, glaring out at her property. Hers was almost in as bad of shape as Grandma Mackie’s had been. Because of Jilly's cancer? He could only imagine the doctor's bills. "My last ex claimed I was shut off."
Iris let him have the moment. Or maybe she wanted him to keep talking.
"It's better if I don't let anyone get too close. Easier."
"Don't you mean 'safer'?"
Yeah, the excuse had sounded flimsy to him, too.
He grimaced. "It hasn't been a big deal. I never wanted to let anybody close. Until..." He nodded to Molly.
He exhaled noisily, turned his back to the scenery. Rubbed his hand down his face. "And she's so young. Still in college." She might've ditched university for now, but that didn't mean she wasn't going back. She had her whole life in front of her. "Did you know she made me homemade soup?" he burst out. "I thought all soup came from a can. She played nurse for days. Without expecting anything in return."
He shook his head. He didn't understand
her. A giver. Didn't she worry he was going to walk all over her?
"She's stronger than you think." Iris's quiet words sent his gaze back to the woman in question.
She stood near the corral with her arms wrapped around her waist, looking like a gust of wind could knock her over. One lock of hair had fallen against her cheek. She didn't seem to notice it.
Almost without meaning to, he started talking. "She's a whiz with engines. And she took care of the cattle while I was down. Knew how to break the ice on the pond and didn't overfeed 'em. She's a natural rancher."
"Why don't you keep her on?"
He shot a look at Iris. "You know why. I'm selling." That pain pulsed again. "It's the only way out."
"You still want out?"
He gritted his teeth. "Living in Sutter's Hollow stopped making sense to me a decade ago. I have a life in Houston."
"Don't you mean a job?"
He rubbed both hands down his face this time. Why did it have to be so hard?
Iris touched the back of his shoulder. When he looked at her, he saw forgiveness. Acceptance. Friendship.
She was still willing to be his friend, after everything?
"For what it's worth," she said, "the fact that you want to help Molly—that you want to let her in—is enough."
Ha. When had he ever been enough?
"You'll figure everything else out."
He'd wanted a concrete answer, an action plan. He hadn't gotten it, but Iris's encouragement settled somewhere deep inside him.
He had to clear his throat before he spoke. "Would you talk to her?"
Iris nodded and started down the porch steps.
"Iris." His throat burned on the words. "I'm sorry I left you to pick up the pieces. Sorry I didn't keep in touch." He was sorry for all of it.
Her smile, thrown over her shoulder, was soft and sad. "I know."
* * *
"Cord must be really worried about me to beg for your help." Molly spoke the words as she heard Iris approach. She'd know Cord's distinctive footfall even in a pitch-black room. In contrast, Iris moved with a quiet grace.
She settled against the railing, a few feet between her shoulder and Molly's.
"Cord worries a lot. Always has." There was affection in Iris's voice. There'd been tension when they'd been in the No Name kitchen two weeks ago. It seemed to have dissipated. Was Cord rekindling their friendship? At least one good thing had come from Molly interfering in his life.
Iris was quiet for several moments. Then,
"When we were in high school, if someone suggested dirt biking, Cord was always counting the helmets. If we wanted to take the boat out at the lake, he was making sure everyone not only had their life jacket, but was wearing it."
"He likes to take care of things," Molly said quietly. She'd seen it with the cat. Bringing the dog inside on the bitter cold nights. And her. The poor lost lamb.
I think I'm going crazy.
He didn't need her kind of drama in his life. But she was so afraid to leave.
"He takes care of the people he loves," Iris corrected gently. "He was a mother hen to West for a long time. He was only two years older but took care of West the best he could. Took the brunt of Mackie's temper when it erupted."
The words confirmed what Molly had only guessed at.
"He must've done a good job," she said quietly. On the phone, West had seemed tough and capable. And he'd asked about Cord, which meant he cared. Even if the relationship wasn't what it should be.
"I think it's because of the way his parents died," Iris said. "Just ripped away in a freak car accident."
Oh, Cord. He hadn't mentioned his parents, only West and Mackie. She'd made assumptions, because he'd been raised by his grandmother, but hearing it... she ached for him. For the little boy he must've been.
"He doesn't want to care about me," Molly said quietly. She'd known it from the start.
But sometime over the last few days, the fact had begun to hurt.
"None of us can choose who we fall in love with."
There was a sadness, an acceptance to her words. Maybe some long-ago heartbreak.
"Did Cord tell you…?"
Iris was already shaking her head. "He didn't tell me anything. Just that you'd had a recent trauma."
Trauma. What a strange word to choose.
Was that how he saw it? That she'd been traumatized?
Not that she was weak? A big 'fraidy cat, scared of her own shadow?
Iris clucked to one of the horses that had wandered in their direction. She dug in her pocket and came up with an apple slice. "Have you called the police?"
Molly swallowed hard. "Back in Austin." She tried to breathe as the memories rolled over her. "It didn't help."
Iris's horse was watching her warily. "You might try reaching out to the sheriff's office in town. Maybe they could help."
The horse pawed at the ground. It bobbed its head as Iris held the apple on her outstretched palm, calm as could be.
"I learn a lot from these guys," Iris said. The horse pawed the ground again. "He wants the apple, but you're too close."
Molly rocked back on her heels. "Do you want me to—?"
"Nope." Iris kept her eyes on the horse. And waited. "He's got to learn that I'm not the only good human out there."
The horse snorted a burst of air and wheeled, moving several yards away and bending his head to snuffle at the grass inside the corral.
"Most of the time, Jilly and I don't know all the details about what these guys have been through." Iris lowered her arm, resting it against the fence, though she kept the apple in her hand. She glanced at Molly. "What I know is that there's never a clear path to rehabilitation. It might be one step forward and three steps back. It might take months for me to earn trust from an animal that has suffered intense neglect. Or everything might be going along swimmingly for weeks, and then something happens that triggers fear, something I never saw coming."
It was impossible to ignore the parallels to Molly's own situation. Iris might be talking about her rescued animals, but she was also talking about Molly.
She was silent for a moment. Then, "It's okay for you to not be okay."
Hot tears pricked Molly's eyes. She raised one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, to try and stop them.
She'd been doing her best to be strong. Her dad had refused to help her. The police couldn't protect her, not really.
And now Iris was telling her that it was okay to be weak.
"I like Cord," she blurted. "A lot. I don't want him to think..." I'm nuts.
Iris snorted a half-laugh.
And now Molly heard the distinct sound of Cord's footsteps coming up behind them.
Iris must've too, but it didn't stop her from saying, "Cord's got just as many issues as you do. Maybe more. He just hides them better."
He came up beside Molly. Closer than Iris. Close enough that his elbow brushed hers. He held her gaze. Steady. There was something between them. She felt it, even if he wouldn't acknowledge it.
"Issues?" she asked, not looking away from Cord's gaze.
Iris made a noncommittal noise from behind Molly.
But Cord didn't look away. "There were five of us real close in high school," he said. "Best friends. Closer than a dumb TV sitcom. Me and Noah, Jilly and Iris and Callum." He rushed the last name, like he didn't want to have to say it in front of Iris.
The other woman just looked across the pasture, not acknowledging it.
"A month after graduation, we decided to pop off some fireworks."
"Someone was against it," Iris mumbled, still beside Molly.
Cord. The safety patrol.
"Normal teen stuff," he said, ignoring Iris's interruption. "No big deal." The little lines around his eyes tightened as he said it. Obviously, it was a big deal. "One of the fireworks was a dud. We waited, but not long enough. Noah went to check it out, and it blew up in his face."
Molly's breath stilled in her chest. How horrible
. For Noah.
And for Cord and his friends to have witnessed it.
Cord's expression was tight, and he looked off to the side. "We were so far out of town, no ambulance could get to us. We did the best we could to stop the bleeding. Loaded him in my truck and nearly killed ourselves getting him to the hospital."
She couldn't bear to find out. Couldn't bear not to. Had Noah died?
He shook his head tightly, as if he could read her thoughts. Or maybe was just lost in his memories. "He lost his sight. Had scarring across his face. We ruined his life."
Oh, Cord. Her heart ached for the man, for what he carried.
"But he lived," she whispered. "Is he still—?"
"He moved away for a few years,” Iris said. “But he’s been back a long time. He lives across town. But he's a loner. A recluse. Jilly and I tried to reach out for a while. For a long time.” This said with a rueful smile. Then Iris shook her head and shrugged helplessly.
Iris had her hand extended again, the horse considering the apple. "Why don't you tell her the rest?"
Molly's head bounced back to look at Cord again. There was more?
He was frowning deeply, watching Iris with the horse.
When Cord didn’t speak, Iris did. "The night that stupid firework exploded, Cord was the only"—she cleared her throat —"the only one present who'd turned eighteen."
Something in the way she said it... Molly knew she wasn't telling the truth. Or the whole truth, at least. Was that about Callum, the name that Cord had done everything to gloss over?
"And the county sheriff was on this kick to crack down on underage drinking. We'd all had a beer or two. We weren't drunk, but there were beer bottles at the scene, and since Cord was the only adult, the sheriff pushed for a trial. Negligent battery."
Cord stared at the horizon, his eyes narrow and his walls up. "Mackie got me off. I didn't serve time."
But the damage had been done. She already knew his grandma had been hard on him. What would the old woman have done, have said, when this terrible event had happened?
"You lost your scholarship, though," Iris said.
That very first day, Molly had teased him about being a football player. She couldn't have known what he'd lost.
Cord shrugged. "I left. And didn't come back."
His Small-Town Girl Page 9