A Rush of Wings

by Kristen Heitzmann

  She had intentionally vied with him. But he wasn’t her master. She owed him no obedience, beyond basic cooperation. She was the one who’d forced the issue, enlisted Dad, and won the chance to work together for the goal. Had their success disappointed her?

  Maybe she only wanted the challenge. By all indications she was exactly what Morgan thought her—a wealthy ingénue trying out the world for size. Was she just bored and spoiled enough to only want what she couldn’t have? Then why did his heart sense brokenness? Or was he so out of his league that discernment failed him?

  He pushed away from the rail, turned back to the horse, and noticed Destiny’s gaze had also followed her. Rick grinned. “You don’t have to hook on to everything, horse.”

  Destiny butted him with his nose, and Rick returned the affection. With a last glance over his shoulder, he returned to the center of the corral, Destiny on his heels.

  CHAPTER

  13

  The smell of burnt potatoes lingered when Noelle went inside. Marta’s humming did not entice her in that direction; instead she gave the kitchen a wide berth. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. Standing in the main room, she missed Morgan. They could have hiked or spent time in town. She would have known what to expect, how to be with him.

  On the table lay Rick’s Bible, the words that connected him to some invisible being who claimed to be truth, who wanted absolute submission. She imagined all the movies she’d seen where some black-coated fanatic wielded the Bible like a weapon. Was it magic, like a staff or wand? Was Rick under its spell and therefore empowered to subdue helpless creatures?

  “Is that you, Noelle?”

  She cringed. “Yes, Marta.” And reluctantly she stepped into the kitchen doorway. She may as well make her apologies and be done with it.

  Marta waved toward four golden loaves of bread steaming on the table. “I thought you’d like to see how it turned out.”

  Noelle stared. “That’s the bread?”

  “As pretty as any I’ve made myself.”

  The loaves had a wholesome, rich aroma that filled the kitchen, in spite of the potatoes. The bread had worked. They were beautiful. A flickering satisfaction eased her wounded pride.

  “Now.” Marta rested her knuckles on her hips. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “You … want me to help?” Noelle asked.

  “Hungry guests expect dinner. You want to learn, don’t you?”

  Noelle tipped her head. “I’m not sure I do anymore.” But she couldn’t stop looking at the beautiful bread. Four plain loaves, yet she felt as proud of them as her paintings. She glanced at the pot, half filled with some soapy white liquid. “What were the potatoes for?”

  “German potato salad. That’s why I needed the vinegar.” The whole reason she had gone to the market, but Marta shrugged. “No matter. We’ll make do without.”

  Like Rick, Marta was giving her another chance. She thought of Rick in the corral with Destiny. She’d been unfair in her judgment. He had done something wonderful and she’d scorned it. Maybe now she could make it up to him. “Let me wash up.”

  Marta’s smile sent warmth that buoyed Noelle as Marta showed her how to flour and fry the chicken, slice and steam the carrots. It didn’t bother her to have Marta scrutinize and correct, since it was done gently and she sensed a true concern in the older woman. There had been few enough women in her life, and Noelle had been close to none. Not even a good female friend.

  She looked at Marta. Thirty years separated them, maybe more. They were opposite in personality, polar in beliefs. Marta was measured and faithful; Noelle was fed up with restrictions. But there was no judgment just now in the older woman.

  “It’s kind of you to help me,” Noelle said.

  Marta poured the oil and vinegar into a cruet. “I’m a Titus-two woman.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “In the Bible, book of Titus, chapter two, the older women train the younger ones. Don’t find many interested in what I know, though. Seems they’re more into computers or the stock market or … well, just about anything.” Even while she talked, Marta’s hands were busy adding herbs and seasonings to the cruet. “Not much respect for keeping a home these days, cooking and cleaning.”

  Noelle pointed out the obvious. “It’s not really necessary, is it? With fast food and—”

  “See any golden arches from that window?” Marta jutted her chin.

  Noelle smiled. “Not here. Or I might never have thought of learning, and I am glad to be, in spite of being culinarily challenged.” Marta laughed. “You’re not challenged, just disadvantaged.” Disadvantaged?

  “Don’t hang your mouth open. Plenty a rich person has been neglected where it counts.”

  “But, Marta…”

  “I don’t doubt you’ve had privileges enough; you’re obviously well educated in some areas. But if you don’t mind me saying so, there’s something missing, isn’t there?” Marta’s voice softened.

  Noelle looked down at her hands. “Why do you think that?”

  Marta held the knife above a sprig of fresh parsley. “Am I wrong?”

  Noelle sighed. “I don’t know.” She hoped the woman wouldn’t probe further. Something missing? How about whole chunks of her memory?

  Marta minced the parsley. “The heart of everything is faith. Without it, life has no meaning. With it, everything is ennobled. Even scrubbing that pot.” She jutted her chin toward the burned potato pot.

  “Do you want me to—”

  “No.” Marta shook the dressing, then poured it from the cruet. “You can toss this with the salad tongs. Lightly, so you don’t crush the tomatoes.”

  Noelle did as Marta directed, blending the herbs and oil and vinegar into the cucumber and tomato salad. It smelled delightfully pungent. At Marta’s direction she placed the bowl into the refrigerator. Preparing the meal was easy with Marta there telling her each step. Marta’s knowledge and confidence gave her courage to try.

  Maybe that was it for Destiny too; he felt secure in Rick’s guidance. He succumbed because he wanted to, not because he couldn’t help himself. Was she the one who had misunderstood?

  Noelle heard Rick come inside and climb the stairs. He must be washing in his room, but he would be down to eat. As Marta heaped the chicken onto the platter, Noelle tore a small square of foil. With deft fingers she folded and twisted the foil into a tiny origami swan. She grabbed a sprig of fresh parsley and laid it atop the mound of chicken, then tucked in the swan.

  Marta raised her eyebrows. “What’s that?”

  “Garnish.” Noelle heard Rick in the dining room. Did he smart from her earlier lack of enthusiasm? She had behaved poorly. She drew a deep breath, then carried the platter to the table, a peace offering.

  He didn’t look angry. When she set the chicken before him, he breathed the aroma. “Mmm. Nothing like fried chicken to cover the smell of burnt potatoes.” There was teasing amusement in his eyes, certainly not the mood she’d expected. He bent and touched the tiny wing of the swan, the only thing on the table totally hers. He raised his eyebrows. “Nice touch.”

  “Thank you.” She gathered her breath. “Speaking of touch, you did an amazing job with Destiny.”

  “It’s not over. He’s just turned a corner.”

  “A big corner.”

  “It’s all about trust.”

  But unlike Destiny, she’d had her trust betrayed. Something had made her run away, something gave her a jaded eye, caused the panic attacks, the fractured images. Even if she couldn’t remember what, she recognized the effects. Broken trust was not easily fixed, and the only way she knew to be safe was to trust only herself.

  Michael shooed the fluffy white-and-gray Shih Tzu from his leg. When it persisted, he kicked its ribs with the toe of his loafer.

  “Michael!” His mother’s face pinched.

  The dog must be even more brainless than her last, as it still yapped at his ankle. He reached down and snatched it up by the scruff.r />
  “Oh, Darling, Darling. Don’t hurt Darling, Michael.”

  He tossed the dog into the coat closet and closed the door.

  “Now, what kind of place is that for a dog?” His mother pouted.

  “I won’t be here long. Then you can save Darling from the dungeon.”

  She stepped close and stroked his suit lapel. “You look very handsome today. Were you in court?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did it go?”

  He pushed her hand aside and strode into her living room. “How do you think it went, Mother?”

  “I bet you were superb.”

  “Well, you’re wrong.” He turned to face her. “I was ineffective. I failed to connect with the jury, to convince them of anything I said. I fumbled and forgot my point and acted like an imbecile. William St. Claire took over for me.” His mentor’s action wrenched his insides and played over and over in his mind. A second failure.

  “But why?” His mother pulled her boa-trimmed robe tighter at the waist and headed for the wet bar. She couldn’t stand his failure and took it personally. That was the one good thing to come from today’s humiliation, seeing it upset his mother. Michael seethed. To be replaced by William, in court, in progress. He flinched.

  William’s decision had been right. He had seen the need and acted on it. The truth was, Michael couldn’t keep the facts straight, could hardly concentrate. He’d dreamed of Noelle and wakened weeping. Actually weeping. It was getting worse. Time was not healing the wound; it was festering it. It ate at him like a cancer.

  If he could just find Noelle and make her understand. How could she stay away so long? Had she contacted William again? Had she told him? No. William St. Claire would have him prosecuted, imprisoned, and disgraced if he knew. Michael rubbed a hand over his face. Didn’t she know losing her was worse than any of that?

  The ice clinked in his mother’s glass as she approached. “Have a drink, dear. It will soothe you.”

  “Soothe me, Mother? It makes me an animal.”

  She smiled. “Don’t be silly.”

  “No? Ask Noelle if you don’t believe me.”

  His mother stopped, paused her glass halfway to her mouth. “She’s back? Have you spoken to her? Is everything all right?”

  “No. No. And no.” He smiled wickedly. “I have no idea where she is, and I’d be the last to know.”

  Mother sank into the couch, her robe parting to reveal more than Michael ever wanted to see. She was oblivious. “But why? What happened?”

  “I told you; I’m an animal.”

  “You’re a god. Adonis.” She raised her glass in toast, then gulped her drink.

  Michael sneered. “Adonis was not a god. Only a lowly youth loved by a goddess.”

  “Noelle is no goddess. How could she be and reject you?” Another gulp.

  By the glaze in her eyes, she’d had a few before he came, the on her breath when she greeted him a shabby clue. Though why she bothered, he didn’t know. “And how is your liver today?”

  She glared. “I’m as fit as you.”

  Michael laughed. “Oh, Mother, that’s rich. As I’m not fit at all.”

  “You’ve never had a sick day. We have pure genes.”

  Michael walked to the couch and hovered over the pathetic woman who’d birthed him. “So did the Caesars. And as you know, they were all quite mad.”

  He left her with her mouth hanging open in fear and dismay. At least that parting shot was effective. If mother had been on the jury … But that thought was too ludicrous to pursue. He went to meet Sebastian in Central Park. Sebastian could track anything in cyberspace, but Noelle had done nothing, it seemed, that could be caught in his web. She had left her car with its global tracking system right on the estate, had used no phone or credit card, opened no account, not even checked e-mail or surfed the Web. Had she climbed into a cave? How long would two thousand dollars last? Or did she have help? Was she with someone else?

  His gut knotted. Oh, she had denied it, but … He swiped a handkerchief over his suddenly perspiring brow as he stalked to the taxi at the curb. He was going mad. There was no other explanation. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, couldn’t function.

  William had made up his mind. He had to consider everything. And the truth was, his shining star was falling. It was common enough in the profession, with the hours, the mental acuity required, the stress. But William knew it was more than that. Noelle had crushed Michael’s spirit when she left. And as there had been no word from her since that solitary phone call, he could not even discuss it, persuade her to consider the pain she caused. Time to think was one thing. Total abandonment, another.

  Yes, she had the right to time alone, time to think, to do whatever she was doing. William paced across his plush carpet, making no sound at all. Wherever she was after nearly two months, did she consider Michael at all? William understood heartache. He read the signs in Michael, but he couldn’t let it affect their work. He had the firm to think of, their clients and their reputation. The other partners were rightly concerned. He stopped before the picture of Noelle.

  She had never been so reckless, certainly not with another’s hopes and feelings. He’d taught her to be charitable. Even if Michael had upset her, hurt or angered her, surely this was excessive! She was ruining him, and there was no way to communicate, to remedy that.

  Or was he misreading it all? His first reaction had been to doubt Michael, but dealing with Noelle’s absence together these last two months had cemented a kinship with Michael and affected an irritation toward Noelle. Maybe that was unfair, unnatural after all the years centered around her. But then her disappearing for two months was equally unnatural.

  Margaret’s voice came over the intercom. “Michael Fallon for you, sir.”

  William drew a slow breath. “Send him in.”

  Michael looked like a man reaching meltdown. At any moment, the explosion would blow him apart. He tried hard to mask it, but William saw the strain as clearly as he might in a witness ready to break.

  Michael cleared his throat. “I know what you have to say, William.”

  “Do you?” William motioned him to a chair.

  “Do you mind if I stand?” He was brittle enough to break.

  “Sit down, Michael. This isn’t a sentencing.”

  Michael sat. William took another side chair instead of the one behind his desk. They were friends, colleagues, mentor and pupil. They were almost father and son, except for Noelle’s apparent change of heart.

  Michael took a pen from the desktop and studied it, clicking the end in and out. A vein pulsed in his temple. “You’re justified in your decision, sir.”

  “Am I?” William folded his hands.

  Michael looked as though he meant to go on, but he glanced up. William’s chest ached. The fire inside the young man needed to be directed outward. It was burning him alive.

  “I want you to take a leave.”

  Michael seemed surprised. He’d obviously prepared himself for the worst. He didn’t have an answer ready, and William was glad. He wanted to be heard.

  “I know the strain Noelle’s disappearance is causing.”

  Michael stiffened. “I don’t blame her for my mistakes, William.”

  “Whether you blame her or not is irrelevant. The results are not healthy for the firm, nor for you.” William reached out and took the pen from Michael’s hand and set it on the desk. “There’s no letter of resignation for you to sign. I expect you to unwind, refocus, and come back. I’m not putting a timeline on this. Your position with the firm is secure. But I want you back altogether.” He dampened his lips. “Regardless of Noelle.”

  Michael dropped his chin. He might have looked grateful for the clout William carried as senior partner, the weight he’d thrown to keep Michael from being dismissed. Instead, he looked devastated.

  William softened his tone. “This happens. You’re not the first supernova. Just see that your meltdown isn�
��t complete.” He paused. “I’ve put a lot of energy into your development. Prove me right.” Michael jerked his head up. “I don’t deserve this.” William smiled. “Just get through it.”

  Michael seemed to consider that with a clearer head. He nodded. “A few days might be good.”

  “I think longer. I want you one hundred percent.” William put force behind the words.

  The muscles tightened at the joint of Michael’s jaw. “May I ask you something, sir?”

  William nodded.

  “How many days did you take when Adelle died?”

  William sat a long time, holding Michael’s gaze. Then he swallowed and said, “Four.”

  Michael stood. “I’ll take four days.”

  William watched him walk out, his heart surging with pride and worry—exactly what he would feel for his own son, what he’d felt for Noelle so many times. Four days would not be enough, but there was no way he’d tell Michael that.

  The sun blazed on her shoulders as Noelle stood just outside the stable. The late August heat was sharp and dry. The breeze rasped across the brittle grass, chaff floating in gusts. She’d taken for granted the dazzling sunny days until rust-colored pine needles intermixed with green and everything had a drawn, crisp look.

  With her paints, Noelle hoped to capture just that look. More and more she wanted an emotion in her landscapes. Not just the fertile beauty, but the need as well. Nature was fragile. Life was fragile.

  Last night’s dream had reinforced that thought. She was glass, a glass picture lying flat where anyone could step, and all around her, yellow light as through a window. But the light was not comforting. It revealed her, lying helpless, waiting to break.

  Rick led the mare out, checked the cinch, and handed her the reins. He gazed up the meadow and frowned. “Don’t go too far.” He’d been like that these last weeks, tense and curt.

  “I just need something to appease Ms. Walker.”

  “How’s that going?” He tied her paint box behind the saddle.