His Small-Town Girl (Sutter's Hollow Book 1)

by Lacy Williams

  Her shoulders drooped. "Fine." She moved through the kitchen and upstairs. He doubted she would go back to bed, so she was probably getting ready for the day.

  "You should bring whatever you're working on inside," he called up the stairs. The storm meant she wouldn't be able to work outside today.

  And gave Cord an excuse not to find out where Noah lived and go to visit him. Since seeing Jilly at the swap meet, his former friend had been heavy on his mind. Would Noah even talk to him? Doubtful.

  He'd work on tearing out the rotted wood in the barn. The drafty building would at least be warmer than working outside. He hadn't had the guts to start on the house yet.

  His memories pressed on him in every room. Grandma Mackie's voice griping at him. You failed that math test? Failing now, gonna grow up a failure. Just like your dad.

  He'd been an average student. She'd ridden him hard. West, too.

  Maybe those echoes from the past were why seeing Molly wrapped around that mutt had shocked a memory loose.

  From when he'd been fifteen. West would've been all of thirteen, sleeping with a baby calf in a pile of hay in the barn. Grandma Mackie had been worried about him, looking for him when he'd been missing from his bed.

  And then she'd smacked West across the face when he'd dared to tell her he was staying in the barn with the newborn calf that had lost its mama.

  Cord rubbed a hand down his face.

  He wasn't Grandma Mackie. And he wasn't his dad either.

  But that still didn't mean Molly could sleep in the drafty mudroom on the floor.

  The phone rang as Molly was scrubbing the last dish from lunch. The farmhouse didn't have a dishwasher, and her hands were pruny from the hot water.

  Cord hadn't come in for the noon meal. Wasn't he hungry? And cold? The barn wasn't heated. But he was working hard, like her, to outrun his demons. His seemed to live in this house.

  The ringing phone offered a distraction.

  And raised her heart rate.

  The last time she'd answered her cell phone, it had been Toby's voice coming through the line, delivering a sinister threat.

  But Toby didn't have this number.

  Still, her hand shook as she picked up the corded receiver from its wall dock. Who even still had a landline? "Hello?"

  There was a pause, one long enough that her heart flew into her throat.

  "Who's this?" came a male voice, one she didn't recognize.

  Not Toby.

  Her muscles went weak and she sagged against the wall, still holding the receiver to her ear. "Molly."

  "I've been dialing this number for years and never heard of a Molly. Pretty sure I didn't mis-dial. Where's Cord?"

  The connection was awful. Tinny and full of static, as if the caller were far away.

  "Is this West?" she asked.

  There was another pause. "Now you've got me at a disadvantage. I don't suppose my brother brought home a girlfriend?"

  He actually sounded hopeful.

  "Sorry to disappoint. I'm working here temporarily."

  "Well, shoot. I thought maybe he'd done something good for himself for once."

  It didn't sound as if he was smiling as he said the words. What had happened between the brothers to cause the tension she'd seen in Cord?

  She shook away the curious thoughts. "I'm—I'm sorry about your grandma."

  There was a pause. "Thanks. Is Cord around?"

  "He's been down at the barn all morning." She stretched the phone cord to glance out the window. No sign of his truck. "I can give him a message. Should he try to call you back?" Was that even allowed?

  "He won't." The teasing had completely disappeared from West's voice. "Thanks anyway."

  "Wait." She was afraid he would hang up. "Should I tell Cord... how are you doing? Do you need anything? Can we take care of anything for you over here?" She'd never had a close friend in the military. Didn't know if there might be loose ends in the States that needed managing. It seemed like the right thing to ask. Someone needed to care for him, right?

  He paused for so long that she wondered if they'd lost the connection.

  Then, "You can take care of my brother, if he'll let you. Good bye, Molly-girl."

  She stared at the phone for seconds before she hung it up. What a strange thing to say. Cord was a grown man. He didn't need taking care of.

  Except... she'd seen the shadows in his eyes when he'd been confronted with both Iris and Jilly. Not a family legacy I want to carry on. He was shut down like a bank vault about Mackie and his years in this house.

  And there was that unopened Christmas gift beneath the tree.

  Maybe he did need someone to look after him. Not that he'd ask or allow it.

  But that didn't mean she couldn't do it anyway.

  It was the least she could do after he'd given her a place to hide.

  Late in the evening, Cord sat at the kitchen table, listening to chips of ice crash against the window. He had a headache from staring at the papers spread in front of him. Stupid fine print.

  He'd had to use the library's computer to print out a copy of the loan documents the attorney had forwarded him.

  When the cold had driven him inside from the barn, he'd read through every page. There had to be a loophole somewhere, some clause he'd skimmed that meant he wasn't chained to the No Name.

  It was hopeless.

  Just like the barn.

  He'd spent hours knocking out a few stall walls that were barely standing on their own. The entire structure was in rough shape. Worse than Cord had expected. It might need to be razed. He'd hoped to replace only the rotted boards, but some of the structural support beams on the west side were toast. They needed to be replaced, and soon.

  Having a barn on the property definitely made it more desirable to potential buyers. At least that's what the realtor he'd spoken to on the phone had told him.

  "Hey." Molly appeared in the doorway. Her feet were bare beneath the hem of her jeans. Her hair was wet, soaking the shoulders of her sweatshirt.

  He forced himself to look away. Not compatible.

  His head throbbed, and he rubbed the heel of his hand between his eyebrows. It didn't help.

  He was aware of her moving around behind him. The oven door squeaked as she opened it. He should tell her not to bother cooking supper. He'd make a sandwich.

  But she was already at his elbow. She put a mug in front of him.

  "Oh, I—"

  "It's not coffee." He didn't look at her but could hear the smile.

  She couldn't seem to leave the coffee alone, even though she knew he hated it. Every morning she tweaked it with some spice or another. Or a dab of whipped cream.

  A spoon clinked on the table next to his mug before she whirled away.

  If it wasn't coffee, what was it? The savory aroma of chicken soup answered him before he could ask. And then she set a plate before him, right on top of his stupid contract. A grilled cheese sandwich. Comfort food.

  He looked at her, letting his gaze trace the purple shadows under her eyes, the way her sweatshirt clung to her shoulders, the chapped pink skin of her hands. She'd been upstairs when he'd come inside from the barn, but he'd seen the old sheet she'd spread on the living room floor and the parts she'd laid out in neat rows. Seemed like she'd torn apart all three tractors during the hours he'd been working in the barn.

  "You skipped lunch." She actually sounded offended by it.

  He shrugged. "It happens."

  She crossed her arms. "On a day like today, you burned more calories just keeping warm. You shouldn't skip meals."

  He raised his brows at her. "Okay, Mom."

  She rolled her eyes. Settled in with her hip against the counter, her arms crossed over her middle. Had they actually shared a meal at the table? No.

  The aroma of the soup was getting to him. His stomach gurgled. He didn't waste time with a spoon, just inhaled it from the mug.

  It was delicious. Granules of rice danced across h
is tongue, and the chicken was hearty. It couldn't be from a can. She'd made it?

  "Thanks," he said as he set the mug down on the table.

  "West called while you were out."

  All the pleasure he'd just been feeling whisked away on icy wind. His headache intensified.

  "Oh yeah?" he asked.

  Why call on the house phone? Cord had had his cell on him all day long. If West had really wanted to talk, he would've called there.

  Which meant he was taking the easy way out. As usual.

  "He asked how you were doing. Said to tell you he was fine. Not to worry about him."

  Cord leveled a glance on her. That sounded nothing like his brother. "If you're going to lie, you have to make it sound like it could be true."

  Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not lying."

  Uh huh.

  At a piercing pain behind his right eye, he put the half-eaten sandwich down. He'd take a Tylenol and go to bed.

  "You guys don't get along?" she asked.

  He shoved back his chair. "Not in about seven years." Longer. The night of the accident, Cord had ruined everything. His closest friendships, any chance he'd had that Grandma Mackie would fund a college education. He'd even lost his brother, though he hadn't known it at the time. All gone in the space of twelve hours.

  "You'd like him," he told her. "He handles a military war dog."

  West had always loved animals—especially dogs. When he'd been a boy, if there was a puppy within five miles, he'd sniff it out and go over to see it, even if it meant hiking in bad weather.

  "That's a dangerous job."

  He nodded. He tried not to think about it. Cord had left town after that fateful night. West had been stuck here for another two years until he'd graduated high school. He'd signed on with the Marines on his eighteenth birthday.

  Thinking about his brother intensified his weariness. He pushed up from the table and picked up his plate and empty mug.

  She reached for them before he got to the counter.

  He held them out of her reach. "I can clean up after myself."

  She tipped her head back, looking up into his face, giving him a clear look at her upturned nose, those kissable lips. A flash zipped through him, head to toes.

  He squelched it, frowning.

  "You look tired," she said. "Let me do it."

  He felt beyond tired. He felt like an old man.

  Fine. Stubborn woman.

  He gave up the plate and mug and crossed to the medicine cabinet above the microwave. Rummaged inside until he found the Tylenol. "I'm going to bed. No sleeping in the mud room," he reminded her.

  When he turned back to the kitchen, she'd pulled a face and was miming his words, even as she rinsed the mug in the sink.

  She shot him an ornery grin.

  He only shook his head. Trudged past her and through the hall.

  He stopped on the bottom step and called over his shoulder, "You can take the darn dog up to your room."

  What did he care? Keeping the dog outside had been Grandma Mackie's rule. And he was selling the place anyway.

  Let Molly get some sleep.

  Molly laid curled beneath the quilt in the bed upstairs. Hound Dog was sleeping on her feet, creating an oven of heat in the bed.

  The twin was barely big enough for the both of them.

  It was late. She'd turned on a late-night sitcom rerun and sat through three episodes before she'd climbed the stairs to go to bed.

  She drowsed on the pillow, feeling happier than she had in weeks. A little less scared of the darkness outside the window.

  The wind was still blowing ice pellets against the glass. Sleet and ice had accumulated all day. There weren't any trees close to the house, but she'd been keeping an eye on the ones down the hill toward the barn. They were drooping from the ice that now clung to their unfallen leaves and bare branches.

  She was worried about the tree that overhung the back of the barn. It was already sketchy, with one half-rotten limb. If it fell on the barn, the structure might be a total loss. Cord didn't need that.

  She still couldn't believe he'd let her bring the dog upstairs. Hound Dog had spent ten minutes sniffing every square inch of the bedroom before he'd answered her invitation to join her on the bed.

  Cord might try to hide it, but he was a good guy. She'd known it from the moment she'd met him.

  She was drifting off to sleep when the memory of that one charged moment in the kitchen re-played in her mind.

  For a moment as he'd looked down at her, she'd sworn his heated gaze had caught on her mouth.

  Like he wanted to kiss her.

  She rolled over, punched the pillow. There was an errant thought that needed to be erased from her mind.

  Cord wasn't interested in her. He'd told her so, and even if she did catch an occasional heated glance from him, it didn't mean he was going to change his mind.

  And she was a mess. Why would he be interested in someone with her baggage? Easy answer: he wouldn't.

  The clock on the nightstand had to have the brightest display she'd ever seen. In the dim light, she could just make out the outline of the photo taped to the wall. She'd spent so long looking at it over the past few days that she didn't need the light to know it. In it, the two brothers covered in mud looked as if they could be twins.

  What had happened to the little boy in that picture? He had no relationship with his brother. He kept himself closed off from her and, other than Iris, hadn't had one visitor since Molly'd been on the ranch.

  Something had to have happened to drive Cord away from home; something had forced him to cut ties. Even though Molly should nip her curiosity in the bud, she couldn't help it.

  The man was hurting, even if he wanted to hide it.

  9

  Something crashed, waking Cord from a dead sleep. It sounded like a bomb had gone off.

  His head was pounding and felt as if it was stuffed with cotton, but he pushed out of his bed anyway.

  The sun was coming up outside, but the hall was shadowed. Where had the crash come from? Outside? Or in?

  Had something happened to Molly?

  He knocked on her door. Heard a woof and scrabbling paws on the wood floor.

  "Molly?"

  Through the throbbing in his skull, he thought he heard her crying.

  "Are you okay?" he asked through the door. "Answer me, or I'm coming in."

  There was a snuffle and then, "I'm okay. Bad dream."

  He rested his forearm against the wall. A bad dream. Had she knocked over a lamp or something? Caught in the hazy place between sleep and waking, he'd thought the noise had come from outside.

  Should he wait for her? His pounding head demanded more Tylenol.

  And the sun was coming up, which meant he needed to get moving.

  It was a struggle to dress. Each step down the stairs struck a spike of pain through his skull. He was alternately hot and chilled. He must've come down with something.

  Grandma Mackie hadn't allowed for sick days. He couldn't afford to either.

  He hit the kitchen and, for a moment, stared dumbfounded at the scene outside the window. Ice covered everything. The sun was weak but bright enough to cause blinding pain in his head as it glared off of everything.

  The pond would be frozen over, which meant he'd need to break the ice for the cattle.

  But all he really wanted to do was go back to bed.

  Molly and the dog came downstairs. She let the animal outside and went straight to the coffeemaker.

  "Sorry I woke you," she said softly.

  He squinted against the pain in his head and really looked at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She'd definitely been crying. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and the sweatshirt she wore was so big that the sleeves hung below her hands.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  She nodded jerkily. "Having the dog helped. Really. I haven't slept that good since..." She shrugged and let the sentence hang.

  Ex
cept she'd had a nightmare that had scared her so badly she'd woken crying.

  "Thanks for letting me keep him." She finally looked up at him and frowned. "Oh my gosh, you look—" Her eyes went wide as she cut herself off. "Are you sick?"

  He was going to shake his head, but with his temples pounding, he was afraid to make it worse. "It's just a headache."

  She moved closer. "I don't think so. You're flushed."

  She reached up and laid her palm against his cheek. Her hand was cool and soft.

  It was the first time she'd touched him.

  He felt it like the beat of a gong, even though he might as well have been swimming through sludge.

  "You're burning up," she said. "You can't go out today."

  He took a step back. "I'm not sick. I'll take a Tylenol and be fine."

  The skepticism on her face said she didn't believe him.

  "The pond's iced over," he said, even though he hadn't seen it yet.

  "Tell me where the ax is, and I'll take care of it."

  Sure. That sounded like a great plan.

  He shook his head. Yep, it hurt like the dickens.

  She threw her hands up. Mumbled something he didn't hear. Whirled back to him. "I'm going with you. Don't argue," she said when he would've.

  And that made him grin, just a little. Which hurt too.

  Cord was sick as a dog and pretending he was fine.

  Except he'd clearly had trouble hauling his carcass into the truck, and his reflexes were off.

  She was thinking of putting on her seatbelt, even though they were only going ten miles an hour on the track toward the barn.

  She was determined to break up the ice and leave him in the truck. He was so out of it, so feverish, that he was likely to fall through the ice himself.

  Everything was covered. Trees looked broken and strange as some of their branches had dropped.

  What about the barn—?