by Natalie Dean
So, what did that mean?
“I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
“I don’t think there is anything to say,” she answered after another couple of beats. “It is what it is. It’s not like you asked to be born into your family, either. Let’s just let it go and… take me back to work.”
Sterling swallowed, feeling like there was a lump of lead down in his stomach. Going through the expenses for the pigs had gone so well, how had it all fallen apart? They hadn’t even eaten yet and she was asking him to drive her the hour and a half or so back to their estate. What kind of awkward ride would that be?
“Yeah. I can do that.”
“Thanks.”
10
Sterling
It’d been a month since that not-a-lunch in the city, and Elizabeth had kept her distance ever since. If he came into a room, she usually left it. And if she didn’t, it was because she was so embroiled in her work that she didn’t notice him much.
The pigpen was still being worked on, of course, and then add on top of that the fact that Sterling was busy dodging his father, and that made for a pretty hectic day. Because of course McLintoc Miller had noticed all the expenses his middle son had incurred in the past month, and of course he was on the warpath for it.
But Sterling did have two particular advantages. One being that his father regularly forgot to wear his glasses, as if his subconscious physically rejected the idea that he was getting old and needed them. The second was that he was an identical twin. And that second advantage had never been so apparent as when his father had managed to corner him in the kitchen, all red-faced and looking right ornery.
Sterling had been so sure that was the end, that his dad was going to cut him off and maybe even send him to his aunt and uncle’s place where his brother Samuel was. But instead, his father had called him Silas and demanded to know “what in tarnation his younger brother was doing.” Naturally, Sterling hadn’t bothered to correct his father on the error, but he sure didn’t like the feelings it had stirred up in him.
“Is that really how I looked when I was pining over Teddy?” Silas said, pulling Sterling’s mind away from his thoughts.
“I’m not pining,” Sterling grumbled, perhaps more crankily than he should have given the situation. He was on top of one of their silos, helping his twin repair a part that the wind had taken off in a spring storm a month or so back. “I just know that I messed up, but don’t really get how, or how to fix it. And it feels like I should fix it so that there’s not bad blood on the ranch.”
Silas let out a small chuckle. It was one that Sterling knew all too well that meant he thought his little brother was being particular. In other words: ridiculous.
“What’s so funny?”
“There was plenty of bad blood when Dad tried to switch the insurance policies after Solomon put the kibosh on it, and we all made it through. So, if you’re really worried about that, you don’t need to be. As angry as Dad can get sometimes, he’s running out of steam. And he knows that he has to walk the fine line of keeping us loyal to him while also being a complete dictator about things.”
Surprise tugged at Sterling, making him forget about Elizabeth for a moment. “Is that what happened? That’s what that whole fight was about?”
He vaguely remembered it happening before Teddy rolled around but after Solomon started spending a lot of time in the city. It was Sal who had spilled the beans about Frenchie, but the real tear up between their father and Solomon hadn’t happened until at least a couple of weeks after that.
Any details post-fight were lost on Sterling, however, as he’d chosen to take a couple week vacation to Australia rather than stick around for all the tension. It was already bad enough after Samuel bailing.
“Yup. ‘Fraid so. Thought he was going to write Solomon out of the will right then and there for daring to say no to him, but somehow he survived.” Silas wrinkled his nose. “Although, to be honest, it hasn’t gotten much better. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled a Samuel any day now and took off with whatever money he’s got squirreled away.”
“I don’t know what to say to that.” That seemed to be happening more and more lately, and Sterling didn’t like it. He may have not been the smarter twin, or more useful twin, but he was always the smoother twin. The charmer. The flirt. If that got taken away, did he have anything besides his money?
That was a hollow life if he ever heard of one.
But… when he thought about it… did he really have much else? Sure, he had plans with his soil tests and now the pigpens, but what did he actually contribute to the world? Anything? He could spend money well. He’d helped a couple girls who were in a tough situation. But hadn’t most of that been really about helping himself out? Would he even have done it if he hadn’t been almost certain that it would get him out of any future engagement shenanigans for at least a while?
“Yeah, I’m not too keen on it either, if I’m being honest,” Silas said, reaching out for Sterling to hand him the tinsnips. He didn’t need to verbalize what he was asking for; they were long past that. Had been since they were ten. “And the more time I spend with Teddy and the community center, the more I can see why our brothers feel the way they feel.”
Sterling wanted to tell his twin not to be dramatic. That their family did plenty for the community, like helping fund the restoration of that one church after a bad storm. Or contributing to political campaigns that needed support. But no matter how he turned what Silas said this way and that in his head, it didn’t seem like something good people would do.
And if his family weren’t good people, if he wasn’t a good person, what all did that mean?
If that was the kind of doubt that came along from trying to be the hero in someone else’s story like Silas, well then, he changed his mind. He didn’t want any of it. It was far too exhausting and left him feeling like he didn’t have any solid ground to stand on.
Sterling had never been much of a fan of falling.
11
Elizabeth
She really shouldn’t be outside.
Elizabeth knew that much. In fact, a not-so-small voice was practically screaming it from the back of her head, and yet she hadn’t listened.
Classic Elizabeth.
She hadn’t meant to put herself in such a position. One moment she’d been working, the next a sudden storm swept in right before the end of her shift.
She should have gone into the main house for protection. Should have left. The garage and the worker’s shop were both too dangerous, considering the intense winds and how many sharp implements hung out in both those places. The smart thing to do was to get shelter and be safe.
…but she wasn’t doing that at all.
Ignoring the near frenzied voice telling her to find cover, she stood a few feet away from the pens, finishing up the very last-minute checkups of work done for the day. She wanted to make sure that no one cut corners. Even if she trusted Sterling—which she didn’t—that didn’t stop the contractors they’d brought in from trying to pull one over on the both of them.
It was getting to be almost impossible to see with the rain starting to slant sideways, driven like bullets in the malevolent gusts. Although the work tablet she had been given was incredibly fancy and “water-resistant,” she couldn’t help but wonder if she was pressing that to its limits.
Finally, the voice screaming in the back of her head won out, and she decided to stop being reckless. It was just so hard for her to leave something undone, grating at her nerves like a half-finished homework sheet or project.
Oh well. Better safe than sorry, something her mother had always tried to teach her.
Tucking her tablet under her arm and her stylus in her already soaked hair—which was going to be awful to deal with once she was home—she sprinted to her car.
Well… she tried to sprint. Against the wind and the rain, it was more of an unsteady lope. But whatever one called it, she made it to her vehic
le and threw open her door to practically throw herself in. Her hands shook with a bit of a chill, the wind negating the normal summer warmth. Blearily, she only barely got her car started when she heard an awful, ear-piercing sort of sound.
It was distorted, carried over to her on the wind and twisting in on itself, coiled like a specter’s last haunting cry. But then it sounded again, a terrible, terrible yowl.
Something was hurt.
She was back out of the door before she could think about it, looking for the source of the sound. It was a small creature; she was almost certain. If she had to put money on it, could be a feline. Maybe a fox or coyote. Definitely very scared.
It sounded again, almost floating to her through the increasingly violent storm. A desperate SOS, a plea that didn’t expect to get answered. She took off in the direction of the noise, one hand holding her ruined hair out of her eyes.
It was so impossible to see. It was like the world had been dipped in gray paint and was trying to violently shake it off. The wind was growing sharper and meaner, its teeth biting into her like it wanted to yank off whole trunks as trophies. But she pressed on, following the desperate, horrid yowls.
And against all the odds, she spotted it. She didn’t know how, but she did. There was a cat, stretched out, bristling and completely soaked a dozen or so feet away from her. It looked to be a calico, all patches of white, orange, brown and cream, and Elizabeth didn’t need to see it clearly to know it was very upset.
As she sprinted over, sliding slightly in the mud, she realized that a heavy piece of equipment had fallen over and one of her front paws was stuck under it, trapped between that and another errant piece of shrapnel. Strange, sure, for something as dexterous as a cat, but not unheard of.
“Hey there, friend,” Elizabeth said as soothingly as she could. Normally she would give a cat a chance to sniff her. Do some slow blinks to show she wasn’t a threat in that way that cats liked. She would let the cat invite her into its space. But normally she wasn’t rescuing a feline from errant machinery in the middle of a freak storm. “I’m going to approach you. I’m going to touch you in ways you probably won’t like. I need you to stay calm for me, okay? Let’s work together.”
The cat meowed at her again, sorrowful and weaker by the moment. She didn’t have time to waste. Going over to it, she saw how the equipment tipped. It was too heavy for her to pick up completely, but she could definitely rock it off the cat’s paw. The poor thing would probably run off the moment it was free, but that was okay. At least it wouldn’t be trapped.
In some sort of small miracle, she was able to move it just long enough for the cat to yank her paw back, but surprisingly, she didn’t run. Instead, she inched forward tentatively, like she was terrified of the contraption but not willing to leave it.
“Hey, what’s going on now? Are you—”
But then she heard it.
Barely audible over the howling wind. The tiniest, teeniest sliver of a mewl. And a cry. And then other mewls.
Kittens.
Elizabeth was on her knees in that same breath, not caring if mud soaked through the knees of her jeans. Whipping her phone out, she shook it to activate the flashlight and looked into a recess barely visible under the twisted metal.
And it was there, just behind some grating that might have been part of a door before but now most definitely was not, five little kittens. Their eyes weren’t open, they were soaked, and they were voicing their displeasure with all the strength that tiny little kitten lungs had.
“Oh no, mama. I’m not gonna leave any of you out here.”
She went from her knees to her belly, the mud happily clinging to her front pretty much instantly. The grating was tiny, but it was enough for her to slip her fingers through some of the gaps at the top and tug.
Once. Twice. Three times with all she had. The calico was trying to press up beside her arm, as if she was helping, but mostly she was just motivating Elizabeth further. She yanked again, hissing and letting out a long stream of curses as the metal grating sliced through one of her fingers. Her Pa wouldn’t have approved of such language, but she could worry about that later.
Another yank. Another slice, this time through her palm. But she didn’t stop. She could feel the grating giving way, bending, little by little until there was enough of a gap for her to shove her arm through and grab one of the kittens in the mud.
Thankfully it was still warm to the touch, and that allowed her to ignore the way the sharp metal bit into the skin of her arm, tore at the sleeves of her work shirt. None of that mattered. The only thing that was important was the little lives depending on her.
It was almost like she entered a trance. There wasn’t any rain, weren’t any tornado-force winds. It was just her, the mama and the kitties, all working together to make sure everyone was safe.
When the last one was over the barrier, she could have cried. But there was no time for that. Quickly, she sat back on her knees, shoving the kittens down into her shirt and then picking up the Mama and tucking her into the crook of her arm. Strangely, the cat didn’t object, a small thread of a purr escaping her. It was comforting, especially since Elizabeth knew that a cat’s purring could actually heal themselves and humans faster.
But even some good purr-therapy wouldn’t do much if she stayed out in the maelstrom surrounding them. She needed to get them to shelter. She needed to get them warm, and while the mud was helping contain her body heat, all the wind and water wasn’t.
She fought her way to her feet in the slick mud without the use of her hands, kittens wiggling in her shirt while mama just purred away. Trying to guess what direction her car was, she barely took a step before her entire world exploded with a bang.
Everything spun, violent and cruel, only for a deluge of pain to wash all of that away in a rush of blinding white. Elizabeth stumbled, barely able to catch herself on her knees.
Something had… hit her? Yeah, something had hit her. In the back of her head. She wanted to touch it, to see if the warmth there was just her body’s response to the impact or if she was bleeding. But her hands were full, and she felt like if she tried to raise them above her head that she might keel over then and there, so she just pushed herself unsteadily back onto her feet again.
She had to find her car. She had to get to shelter.
It was like that song she used to listen to every Christmas as a kid. She just had to take one step. And then another. And then one more. Just a step, and then she would be at her car door. Or something like that.
She managed to get a good pace, going a bit further. She was almost certain she could see the outline of her car in the distance. It seemed almost impossible. Had she really run that far toward the cat?
She had to have… but that didn’t seem right.
Her internal debate was interrupted violently when something else crashed into the back of her leg, heavy and far too dense. It was too much for her to stay steady, and she tripped again, her balance as scattered as the wind.
With the way she was falling, she knew she couldn’t catch herself. At least not without her hands and possibly hurting the kittens. So she turned as best she could, landing square on her back and driving all of the air out of her lungs. It was amazing how much her body could register in slow motion. The initial blow on her shoulder blades and how it radiated outwards. The lightning down her spine. Then her head hit the ground, bouncing off what felt like a rock peeking out of the wet muck. That was right when the world stopped making sense, both going fuzzy and spinning viciously at the same time.
Ow…
It was hard to think; in fact, her thoughts might have actually been soup. The only thing she could wrap any of her brain around was the cats. She had to get up. She had to help them. She was so close to her car.
But her body wouldn’t cooperate. It was like someone had cut the strings that normally moved her limbs, and she was left lying there with no way to control her own form. She could feel the mud seeping int
o her clothes, stealing away her body heat. She could feel the wind scouring her. Heck, she could even feel the kittens squirming in her shirt. But none of that could help her figure out how to bend her legs or sit up.
And boy would it be nice if everything would stop spinning.
She was lost in that nonstop cycle of panic and confusion until, seemingly out of nowhere, strong hands were gripping her. She would have let out a shout if she had the wherewithal to do so, but she could only sputter blearily as she was pulled up. The hands were warm, so warm and nice against her skin, which felt like it had been scrubbed raw with a Brillo pad.
She wanted to say thank you; she wanted to explain why she was an idiot that ran out into the storm. But the only words that really came out were murmurs about cats, and Elizabeth let herself sink into that mantra. If the cats were safe, then everything would be okay.
12
Sterling
He really shouldn’t have been outside.
Sterling knew that much. He could practically hear Silas standing behind him, lecturing him how it wasn’t safe and how he was going to get himself killed. And yet he was outside anyway, watching the insane storm that had rolled in like it needed vengeance and ASAP.
He wasn’t just standing out in the drive for no reason, however. In a lot of ways, the storm outside seemed a lot like the one inside of him. He’d had a month and a half of feeling bad about how the lunch with Elizabeth had turned out, knowing he did something wrong but not entirely sure of what. He told himself that that day was the day, and he was going to confront Elizabeth and see if he could talk things out.
And then the storm started sweeping in.
It didn’t look that bad, but he knew Texas well enough to be aware that a “not bad” storm could quickly become “a really bad” storm, and it wouldn’t be wise to risk it. But it was the end of the day on Friday, and if he didn’t talk to her in the next few minutes, he would have to wait until Monday to try again. And he knew from experience that she was always brusque and a bit cranky on Monday because she was catching up on anything she had missed with the contractors over the weekend.
