by Liz Isaacson
“Are you saying you want hot chocolate?” Norah smiled and a rush of warmth filled her face when he grinned back.
“Definitely.”
She busied herself in the kitchen, wishing she could sort through her scrambled emotions, wishing that small, orange bottle didn’t sing so strongly to her. She cleared her throat, wishing her mind could be as easily purged.
“Hey, there’s a counselor job opening at the center.” She slid two mugs of milk into the microwave. “Do you think you might be interested?”
He turned down the volume on the movie. “Counseling addicted teens?” His voice held more disbelief than interest.
“I told my boss you were a cop too. He thinks you might be a good fit for our at-risk boys.”
Sterling harrumphed, a sound that set Norah’s nerves on edge. She hadn’t expected him to dismiss the idea so quickly. Maybe not apply instantly, but at least entertain the notion.
“I’m not really into addicts.”
Norah’s heart seized. Of course he wasn’t. No respectable man would want a woman with a drug history, least of all Sterling Maughan. Norah couldn’t clear the raging waves of hurt from her throat, which was just plain stupid. It wasn’t like she and Sterling were even together.
“It’s more than just addicts.” Her voice came out like the Gold Valley wind, sharp and biting. She swallowed to tame it back into niceness. “Our at-risk boys usually come from gangs, and Doctor Richards likes their counselors to have experience in law enforcement or the military.” Norah shrugged, as if Sterling could see her with his back turned. “It’s okay if you’re not interested.”
“Do I have to ride a horse?”
“No,” Norah said as she pulled out the mugs. “But it’s always helpful if the counselors have some experience with animals.”
“Do you?”
She mixed the chocolate powder with the milk. “Yes, I took the center’s basic riding classes when I started there a couple of years ago. I don’t do much riding, though. The girls like the time away from me, I think.” She gave a light laugh, thinking of the girls in her group right now. All good girls who’d just gotten caught up in bad things.
Norah tested the taste and temperature of one mug of hot chocolate, thinking of her own run-in with a dangerous substance. She was still a good person. A good person who’d gotten caught up in something bad.
“Mm.” She gave the other mug a final stir and took them both to the couch. She handed one to Sterling, who wrapped his fingers around the warm ceramic, his eyes never leaving hers.
“You really think I could be a counselor?”
Norah smiled at the uncertainty in his voice. “Sure, why not?”
A dark look crossed his face. “A lot of reasons.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate, startling away from the mug and making a face. When he caught her watching, he pinned a grin in place. “Hot.” He chuckled. “So tell me more about the at-risk boys.”
Norah grinned, tucked her feet under her, covered herself with a blanket, and took a sip of her hot chocolate—not too hot and not too cold. “They’re probably a lot like you….”
Sterling could listen to Norah talk all day and all night. Her voice had a soothing quality he liked, that her girls probably appreciated. He found himself sinking into the warmth of it, but that could’ve been the hot chocolate, though that was neither hot nor chocolaty.
Probably the painkiller, he thought. He’d downed one while Norah was upstairs getting the soup. The screaming pain in his leg had urged him to throw back the whole bottle, but the white-hot agony had now settled into a dull ache.
After she finished telling him about the at-risk boys—who didn’t sound like more than Officer Maughan could handle—he sighed. “I haven’t been a cop for a while, Norah.” Sterling cursed the soft way he spoke her name, sure it had given away too much.
“That’s okay,” she said, her voice a bit too masked. “You have the training, and some experience, and it’s like riding a bike, right?”
Sterling hadn’t ridden a bike for a while either, but agreed with Norah. The idea of working with at-risk boys actually appealed to him. He could be a positive role model, the way he had been as a cop, the way he had as a professional snowboarder who didn’t party and drink and go home with groupies.
“I’m sure you can talk someone down, or keep calm in a stressful situation.” She took his nearly full mug and set it next to hers on the coffee table. “There’s a meeting next weekend at the center. You could meet Doctor Richards and ask any other questions you have. Find out more, no strings attached.”
Sterling focused on the movie, though he hadn’t watched a single minute of it. He’d been consumed by watching Norah lift her soup spoon to her lips, then enthralled when she moved closer to him. The tenderness and compassion with which she helped him suggested her experience as a caretaker.
He needed something to do all day, and maybe learning to ride a horse could be it. Maybe he should learn more about working at Silver Creek.
“I don’t have a car to get to the meeting,” he said. “And I’m not supposed to drive.”
“I could come get you.” She waved her hand like that problem had been solved. “I brought an application for you, just in case you were interested.”
He swung his gaze toward her. “What made you think I’d be interested?”
She picked at something invisible on her quilt, then adjusted it higher to cover her shoulders. “I don’t know. You seemed…. I don’t know.”
“No, go on,” he said. “I seemed what?”
She focused on something in the kitchen. “You seemed lost when I met you on Friday. I know about your snowboarding—everyone watched you win the gold medal last year—and to see you in that nest of blankets….”
Sterling cringed. So she’d noticed. Noticed everything he’d hoped she hadn’t. “I washed those blankets, just so you know. Sprayed air freshener too.”
Norah blinked, then burst into laughter. She stood and took their mugs and soup bowls into the kitchen. “Trust me, I get it.”
“You do?”
“Sure.” She returned to the couch, flopping into her spot, which lingered just out of Sterling’s reach. “You’ve been injured, and your life has changed. It’s okay, you know, to feel angry, or hurt, or depressed right now. No one’s expecting you to be happy about what’s happened.”
Sterling stared at his hands on top of the blanket. His parents expected him to get happy about what had happened. His mother said God had a plan for him, and it simply wasn’t snowboarding. That he needed to get as healthy as possible, and then figure out what God wanted him to do.
Her lecture had only fanned the flames of anger in Sterling’s chest. He wanted to snowboard. Why did God get to decide what Sterling did with his life?
“Would you be angry, or hurt, or depressed if something like this happened to you?” he whispered, sure Norah wouldn’t answer.
“Of course.” She didn’t sound ashamed or worried about what he’d think. Sterling wondered if he would ever be able to talk about snowboarding and his accident in such an even tone.
“You’ll get better. This isn’t forever.” She scooted closer and put her hand on his, her slender fingers slipping between his, creating a piano-like array of black and white. “It might take a while. But you’ll have help from your family and friends.”
He looked at her, fell right into the depths of her eyes, got lost in the sincerity of her tone, enjoyed the warmth of her hand in his. “Tell me about your family.”
Her fingers tightened and then released. She straightened, putting more inches between them. “My family is…well, they’re doing the best they can.”
Sterling sensed a note of finality in her words, so he didn’t push her any further. His family was probably doing the best they could too. His brothers had called and sent cards, flowers, and gifts. Rex had helped Sterling when he got discharged from the hospital. He’d driven him up to the cabin, stocked the house with
frozen burritos and boxes of cereal, and checked in from time to time.
Still, Sterling didn’t see any of them here with him, talking to him like his negative and bitter feelings were normal, his struggles real, his injuries a terrible injustice. His mother would never even suggest such things. It wasn’t okay to be angry. He never could tell her about ideas or problems he wrestled with. In the Maughan household, tears weren’t tolerated, questions discouraged. And she’d already said his injuries were meant to put him on the right path in life.
If only he knew what path that was, and why God cared so little about him that He had to shatter Sterling’s left leg and steal his future to get him there.
4
Norah shivered, the uncomfortable sensation tearing her away from unconsciousness. Absolute darkness prevailed, and she couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or not.
She blinked, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. “The fire.”
Sterling’s steady breathing sounded to her right, and Norah fumbled for her cell phone, which she’d left on the coffee table. Her fingers touched it, but she could barely curl them around the phone, cold as they were.
Her teeth shook and a violent shiver wracked her shoulders. She thumbed on the phone, squinting against the sudden bright light. She turned on the flashlight and aimed it at the fireplace.
Out.
Norah moved to kneel in front of the hearth, taking several pieces of wood from the pile Sterling had stacked the night before. He’d left the paper bags and matches nearby, and she worked as quickly as she could with trembling hands.
A few minutes later, a friendly flame flickered in the firebox. Norah grabbed her quilt from the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders as she repositioned herself in front of the flames. A moment later, she realized she was hogging all the heat.
She returned to the couch, where she slipped the blanket around to cover her as she snuggled into Sterling’s left side, careful not to jostle his injured leg. His body emanated warmth, and a final shiver shook Norah’s body as a quick fantasy of him cradling her against his chest flashed through her mind.
She shook away the ridiculous images, erased the slight smile that had upturned her lips, and closed her eyes. The next time she woke, pale orange light colored the room. She got up and added another log to the fire. Once it became friends with the other flames, she stood and listened to the wind howling outside. Doubts crept into her mind about when she’d be able to get back to the valley.
“Norah?”
She twisted toward the sound of Sterling’s voice. The firelight painted his face in handsome lines, and Norah’s breath caught. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Just adding wood to the fire. And listening to the wind.”
Sterling cocked his head to the side, obviously listening. “Sounds like the storm’s still going strong.”
Norah returned to her spot on the couch, wishing she could cuddle up with Sterling again, and brought her knees to her chest. A thread of horror stole through her when she thought of him knowing she’d snuggled into him for warmth.
She cast him a sneak peek out of the corner of her eye. Did he know she’d used him for warmth in the middle of the night?
He didn’t seem to know.
“How long can we survive up here?” she asked to calm her rampant thoughts.
Sterling reached for his phone and grunted as he moved his leg. A groan followed, a low, deep sound that spoke only of pain.
“Let me get your pills.” She stepped into the kitchen, using her phone’s flashlight to get his medicine and fill a glass with water. She stalled with the bottle of hydrocodone in her hand, remembering her own pain, her own path with this drug. Time seemed to stretch just as it had when she’d been under the influence of this drug.
She shook herself and centered her thoughts. She tapped one pill into her palm and returned to Sterling.
He took the medicine with agony reflecting in his eyes. “Thank you.” He laid his head back and sighed. “It’s not even five,” he said. “Too early to be awake.”
“Whatever, Sleeping Beauty,” Norah said. “You fell asleep by nine.”
“I’m recovering.” A curve tugged against his lips, his eyes still shut. Norah stared at him unabashedly. She’d expected his rugged good looks to unseat her—they had through a television screen.
She hadn’t expected him to be soft-spoken, grateful, or interested in anything but himself. But last night, he’d asked question after question about her family, the job at Silver Creek, and her social work classes. When she’d asked about his family, she sensed his sadness. If she understood anything, it was that pictures didn’t always tell the whole story. In fact, the numerous family photos around Six Sons Cabin probably masked the truth more than revealed it.
He’d given a little information about his father’s class on real estate investing in Madagascar and his brothers who lived around the country. He obviously adored his nieces and nephews. Norah had heard as much in his voice.
“You never said how long we could survive up here,” she said, hoping to get outside her tumbling thoughts.
“Forever,” he said. “When I got here last week, my brother hauled in a ton of groceries. And my mom always keeps the cabin well-stocked.” He yawned. “We’ll be fine for at least a couple weeks.”
A couple weeks. In a snowbound luxury cabin. A couple weeks in a snowbound luxury cabin with a dreamy sports star. Norah shouldn’t feel so freaked out by such a prospect. Any single woman with a pair of operational eyes would be delighted.
She snuck another glance at Sterling, but he hadn’t moved. His chest rose and fell in even breaths, her signal that he’d drifted back to sleep. The silence unnerved her further, if that were even possible. She got up and went in the bathroom, just to find a space to think that didn’t scream Sterling!
If she wanted such a place, the bathroom Sterling had been using wasn’t it. His razor, shaving cream, and aftershave sat on the counter. His clothes were stacked in the linen cupboard.
With the budding light from the window, she saw herself in the mirror, the disheveled appearance of her hair sending a shock through her. She combed her fingers through the curls and yearned for her toiletries and a fresh set of clothes. Moving as quietly as possible, she snuck upstairs to where she’d left her suitcase and brought it downstairs.
Sterling didn’t move, not even a twitch, and Norah envied the drug-induced sleep he’d fallen into as she brushed her teeth and tamed her curls.
By mid-morning, the snow ceased. Only an hour later, the rumbling sound of snowplows reached Norah’s ears. Sterling had banked the fire and called the furnace repairman by the time Norah loaded her car with her belongings.
She sighed in relief and frustration as she started the trip down the mountain. The time with Sterling should’ve been pleasant—they spoke of her classes, his future in snowboarding, and managed to make lunch in the same kitchen with nothing but smiles and easy conversation.
She hated that she felt so tight during that time, that she hadn’t let herself enjoy being with him.
“You’ve got to relax,” she chastised herself as she eased the sedan around a corner. Countless women would’ve liked to have been in her place.
It took her twenty minutes to reach the valley. She continued past Silver Creek and into town, where the snowplows had also been hard at work.
She crossed into the older part of town, where her childhood home waited with three feet of new snow in the driveway. She didn’t see footprints, which meant her brothers had been cooped up in the house with Mama—and each other—all day.
Exhaustion weighed on her as she stopped on the street and climbed out of the car. Would it have killed her almost eighteen-year-old brother to get out the shovel and clear the driveway? If shoveling snow wouldn’t kill him, Javier should’ve known Norah would when she got home.
Norah tromped to the garage and kicked the snow away so she could lift the door. She slamm
ed it up, making more noise than necessary. Her passive-aggressive fit worked; Javier poked his head out the door that led to the kitchen.
“Hey, Norah.”
She glared in his direction as she grabbed the snow shovel with exaggerated force.
“I was gonna get to it,” he said.
“Right,” she muttered as she dug the shovel into the snow. A few minutes later, all three of her brothers joined her, Javier wielding a second shovel while Alex used a broom to push the snow out of the way and Erik followed them all with a bag of salt.
“You know, you’re not going to live here forever,” Norah said to Javier as Alex and Erik moved down the sidewalk toward the front door.
“I know.”
“Who do you think is going to take care of your apartment? Your driveway?” Norah straightened to relieve the pain in her lower back. Sleeping on a couch hadn’t helped, even if it was the most expensive couch on the planet.
“I don’t know,” Javier mumbled, lifting another shovelful of snow and tossing it onto the pile.
“Javier.” Her serious tone did the trick. He stopped working and looked at her. “I want more for you,” she said. “You have to do more than Mama. More than me.” She gestured to the house. “You have to get out of here.” Tears pricked her eyes, bringing some welcome heat to her face. “Stay clean. Stay away from girls. And get out of here.”
Javier nodded and dug the shovel into the snow again. “Okay, Norah.”
“Promise me, Javier.” She put her gloved hand on his arm and met his eye again.
“Norah, I’ve promised you this a million times.”
“Then one more time won’t hurt.”
Javier rolled his eyes. “I promise. No girls. No drugs. Get good grades. Get out of Gold Valley.”
Norah nodded, even though his promise was delivered in a monotone, and continued working. With the driveway and front sidewalk cleared and salted, Norah pulled her car into the garage.
“Thanks, guys,” she said. Her three half-brothers gave her guilty smiles as they entered the house. “How’s Mama?”
