Winter's End

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Discounting the foolish things he’d done as a kid, Marc appreciated his maturity. He had a plan laid out. He’d achieved renowned status as a premier breeder of prize-winning Herefords and developed a crossbreeding program that commanded blue ribbons and high prices for his prime beef. He was schooled in animal husbandry and the debit and credit lines of a successful enterprise. He kept his costs minimal, but wasn’t afraid to spend money to augment future prospects.

  He stopped at the door.

  Pete DeHollander demonstrated those traits to his young son. It was Pete who’d prodded him into taking one step more, Pete who urged patience when Marc didn’t understand his mother’s ever-changing moods.

  Marc massaged the nape of his neck. He loved his father, but rationalizing the disease that could have been prevented, the mother not cut out to be a mother and the fact he was about to be left alone with Jess angered him.

  He needed to move beyond the fury, but hadn’t a clue how to accomplish that. It seemed like anger had been a part of him forever.

  Not forever, son.

  Hand out, Marc faltered.

  No, he hadn’t been mad forever. Just since the fall of his sophomore year, when he found his father and Jess both crying, the howling baby clutched in Pete’s hands, tears wetting his father’s cheeks, his chin.

  He’d never seen Pete cry before and hadn’t seen it since. The sight shook him. Marc glimpsed the truth of what Pete had done for long, hard years. He’d worked to provide a sense of normalcy to a relationship that was anything but.

  Rock-solid, Pete set the tone for a young boy’s life, his dreams. He was the first line of defense against a world of change. Marc had always been able to count on his father’s love, his strength.

  Pete’s strength ebbed that autumn afternoon and never came back fully. From that day forward, Pete seemed different. Humbled.

  Blessed are the humble, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

  Humility or weakness? At the moment, Marc was unsure where one left off and the other began. With a firm twist of his hand he opened the door and let himself into the house that seemed emptier every day.

  “Jess?”

  Jess emerged from Pete’s room, her expression questioning. “What’s up?”

  “Got someone I’d like you to meet,” Marc told her. He tossed her a barn coat. “Grab your boots.”

  “Someone to…” Jess’s frown deepened, then cleared. “Grace foaled?”

  “Hurry up. You’re slow.”

  “Did she, Marc? Why didn’t you call me? I wanted to see the foal get born.”

  Marc snorted. “She managed to deliver in the one half hour I didn’t check on her. Seems Grace enjoys her privacy.”

  “So what is it? What does it look like?”

  Marc swung the door open. “Let’s go see.”

  “Marc!” Jess ran ahead, her voice floating back to him on the northeast wind. “Is it a paint or not?”

  Marc grinned. The sire was believed to be a tobiano, although he only had a dozen foals to his credit. Grace bore tobiano markings, but her heredity was more “Heinz 57,” a little of this, a little of that.

  Marc hurried to see Jess’s reaction.

  “It’s a girl!” Even in her excitement, Jess kept her voice soft. “Oh, Grace, I’m so proud of you. She’s a beauty, just like her mother.”

  “How about that color?” Marc nudged Jess’s shoulder and nodded toward the red and white filly. “Pretty sweet?”

  “Incredible,” breathed Jess. “Absolutely the most beautiful little horse I’ve ever seen.”

  “Spoken like a proud mother,” Marc teased. He ruffled her hair. “Can you check them hourly tonight? Wake me if anything seems wrong?”

  “I sure will.” Part of her 4-H project was to oversee the animals herself. She tipped a glance to Marc. “Can I miss school tomorrow?”

  “Nothing I didn’t do during busy times. And your grades put mine to shame.”

  Jess flashed him a grin. “You did all right for yourself, Mr. B.A. in Business.”

  “Eventually I got a clue.”

  “Can I go in? Do you think it would disturb them?” Her look of longing took Marc back to his early years of farming. The wonder of birth, of seasons recycled. Life moving on.

  “There’s some soiled straw that needs removing, but other than that I’d leave them be. Bonding time. Don’t want to disturb that.”

  “You’re right.” Jess nodded. “We’ll give them time.”

  “You remember the feed regimen for a lactating horse?”

  Jess grinned. “I’ve had it memorized for eleven months.”

  Marc stepped back. “Then it’s all yours, kid.”

  He kept a careful eye on Jess’s progress into the stall. New mothers could turn anxious or defensive.

  Not Grace. She eyed her babe like a woman in love and paid no heed to Jess’s gentle ministrations.

  “Done.”

  “Nice.”

  Marc slung an arm around Jess’s shoulders. “How does it feel?”

  Jess laughed. “Like I should hand out cigars. How weird are we, Marc?”

  “Very.” He squeezed her shoulder and headed for the house. “I’ve got to wash up and see Dad. Do you want to tell him about the foal? Sweetheart, wasn’t it?” he asked from the door.

  “Not Sweetheart,” Jess decided. “Not now that I’ve seen her.” She eyed Grace a moment, then turned Marc’s way. “She’ll be Glory.”

  “Glory?”

  “Yes.” Jess nodded. “The beginnings of my breeding program. Grace and Glory.”

  The names stopped Marc’s progress. His throat tightened at the look on Jess’s face, her belief in all things holy.

  Her strength tweaked a memory of a boy who believed in God, in heaven and hell. Gifts of the Spirit. For a moment he couldn’t say anything, then he took a step back, approving. “Nice combination, Jess.”

  A smile lit her face, her eyes on the mother-foal duo. “Yes. It is.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I needed this.” Sarah sank back against the café booth and smiled at Kayla. “A girls’ night out. No diapers, no drool.”

  Kayla laughed. “Me, too. For different reasons.”

  Sarah slid her glance to Kayla’s bag once they’d ordered coffees. “Obviously. No one with a baby wears cashmere.” She eyed her own small bag, then corrected herself. “Except when it’s on the clearance rack with an additional twenty-percent-off coupon.”

  “And I think Craig will approve not only the bargain price, but also the fit of those sweaters. And as we both know,” opening the menu, Kayla sighed dramatically, “winter will come again.”

  “Inevitably.” Sarah eyed the choices, then laughed, rueful. “I’m so predictable. I read the menu, then order the grilled chicken salad with peppercorn ranch dressing.” She closed her menu. “Why waste time?”

  “Sounds good,” Kayla agreed. “With the cappuccino, of course. Since I’m being sensible about food, if not my wardrobe.”

  “Your clothes are fine,” Sarah argued. She made a face. “Just different from what you’d wear as a mother.”

  Sarah’s statement brought Arianna DeHollander to mind. Her image didn’t jive with North Country farm lore. Kayla leaned forward, curious. “Did you know Marc’s mother?”

  “No. Marc’s older and we didn’t hang in the same circles in high school. I got to know him in college.” Sarah paused while they ordered, then turned back to Kayla. “Marc’s got some pretty strong feelings about the whole thing.”

  Talk about an understatement.

  “Craig knew her,” Sarah continued. “He and Marc have been best buds since they were kids.”

  “Does Craig talk about her?”

  “He would if I asked, but I think it’s been an unspoken rule between him and Marc since she left. Why all the questions?”

  Should she tell her? Sarah had become her closest friend and the temptation was sweet. Kayla would love to unburden herself, but she’d
promised secrecy to Pete. Of course, he didn’t know about her relationship with Arianna, but she respected the man as a person and a patient.

  She’d made a promise. She had to keep it. She sighed and grimaced. “There just seems to be a lot of baggage there. I don’t know how to help that.”

  “Why should you?” Simple words, straight and direct. Pure Sarah.

  Kayla squirmed.

  “Aha.”

  “No ‘aha,’” Kayla protested, but her voice betrayed her.

  “Let’s see.” Sarah appraised her. “You look trapped and frustrated. Generally that means there’s a man involved, and since I know there haven’t been any prospects after working hours, the only one in proximity is Marc DeHollander.”

  “Sarah.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Sarah sipped her water.

  “He’s grumpy, short-sighted, moody and downright antagonistic.”

  Sarah pretended to swoon. “Be still my heart.”

  “Seriously…”

  “Oh, I’m serious.” Sarah laughed. “I’m familiar with the symptoms.”

  “Of?”

  “Love.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Stop that. Now.”

  “Okay.” Sarah’s grin told her it was anything but over. “Not that we didn’t wonder when he showed up at seven-fifteen on a brutally cold Sunday morning to fix your car.”

  Kayla gulped.

  “And he looks at you as if he wants to shelter you. Take care of you.”

  “He does not.”

  Sarah’s smile grew. She raised her brows. “He does. You don’t notice because you’re too busy dodging his words, but Craig and I caught it. And my husband’s not too quick with these things.”

  Restless, Kayla fingered her napkin, eyes down. “He kissed me.”

  “Really?” Sarah hunched closer. “Do tell.”

  Kayla twisted the napkin with more vigor. “There’s nothing to tell. He regrets it and hasn’t mentioned it. I think he’s avoiding me because of it.”

  “That brings back memories.” Sarah unfolded her napkin as the waitress dropped off their cappuccinos. The scent of rich cream and butter toffee filled the air. “I avoided Craig after the first time he kissed me.”

  “Why?”

  Sarah shrugged. “I didn’t think I was good enough for him. He was a Macklin. I was a Slocum.”

  “You’re not like your brothers.”

  “Maybe not, but I was pretty discouraged after that storm knocked me into that sugar maple, face first. Something about a broken face and loose teeth does that to a girl. Especially since Craig had recently dated you.” Sarah shot Kayla a wry look.

  Kayla’s cheeks heated. “We were never serious.”

  “I know that now.” Sarah squeezed Kayla’s hand. “But my self-esteem was low. I got defensive.”

  “You?” Kayla stared, disbelieving. “You’re the most self-assured woman I know.”

  “Which is why we get along.” Sarah arched one brow. “We hide our secrets well.”

  Kayla’s spine prickled as thoughts of her mother’s death invaded the moment. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Sarah regarded her, calm. “You are, but you’re not ready to share. And that’s okay.” She paused as the food was delivered, then continued, “If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

  If only she could. Kayla breathed deep, eyes downcast.

  Where would she start? Ancient history? Recent dilemmas? The fact that the two twined together confused her more. Sarah gave her arm a slight jab. “Eat. True confessions can wait. I’m tired of your waistline being two inches smaller than mine.”

  That made Kayla smile. “You just had a baby,” she reminded her friend.

  “And expect to have another in about six and a half months.”

  “Really?” Kayla hopped out of her seat and hugged her friend. “That’s amazing. So that explains the decaf.” She nodded to Sarah’s cup.

  “Absolutely.” Sarah grinned. “McKenna will have a playmate come August.”

  “I don’t know how you do it.” Kayla fussed as she slid back into her seat. “With the farm, McKenna, the animals, the sheep, Craig’s job pulling him out at all hours. When do you sleep?”

  “Here and there.” Sarah smiled at the truth in her remark. “It’s doable. We don’t sweat the small stuff. Life sends enough big challenges. Why make yourself crazy over what you can’t change?”

  “The Serenity Prayer.”

  “Yes.”

  Kayla studied the spear of chicken on her fork, then shrugged. “I’m not sure how to get to that point. If I ever will.”

  “Let go and let God.”

  “Easy to say.”

  “Much harder to do,” Sarah agreed. “I won’t argue that. We independent types have a harder time letting go. It takes humility to hand over the reins.”

  Kayla cringed. Did being humble weaken one’s resolve, erode one’s strength? She wasn’t sure how it couldn’t. Weren’t humility and strength polar opposites?

  “Enough discussion,” Sarah declared as she cut her salad. “I’m eating for two and taking full advantage of it.”

  Kayla agreed. “And I’m going to celebrate how good you’ll look in that red sweater by Christmastime, so you might want to rethink the whole dessert thing tonight.”

  “I just might. It was long weeks before I was back in regular clothes after McKenna, and I entertained mean thoughts about anyone who wore pre-pregnancy jeans after delivery. It’s just not natural.”

  “Absolutely not.” Kayla added a note of righteous indignation for emphasis. She raised her mug in a toast to motherhood. “Elastic waistbands, all the way!”

  Sarah eyed Kayla, bemused. “The only elastic waistbands you own are on your pyjamas,” she chastised.

  “And my workout sweats,” Kayla added. “But I love ’em.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sarah glanced down to her thickening middle with a sigh of acceptance. “Me, too.”

  Marc moved to the entry as soon as Kayla turned into the drive. He swung open the door, then reached to ease her coat from her arms.

  “Thank you.” She shot him a look both puzzled and amused. Classic Kayla. “How’s your dad?”

  “Tired.” Marc frowned. “He sleeps a lot.”

  “That can be a blessing,” Kayla offered. She started toward the kitchen, but Marc stalled her with a firm hand to her shoulder.

  “I’ve thought about what you said.”

  Kayla’s look could have scorched his socks. “Which time?”

  His jaw twitched. He gave her a wry smile. “Good point. The last time. About talking to Dad.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “I won’t mention our conversation to him,” Marc continued. He kept his hand on her shoulder, their gazes locked. “But you’re right. If I’m going to be good for Jess, I need to know what’s gone on.”

  “And get beyond your anger.”

  “You don’t mess around with your shots.” He didn’t harden his look. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then released it.

  She trained a no-nonsense look on him, a little bossy and very cute. Maybe even endearing. Maybe. “Jess deserves the big brother she’s always loved. Without the giant chip on his shoulder.”

  Marc flexed the shoulders in question. “Easier said than done.”

  “Depends how bad you want it.” Kayla stepped toward the kitchen, but once more he stilled her with a hand.

  “Have coffee with me. Dad’s asleep and I could use a good scolding.”

  She wheeled about. “You know, you—”

  He grinned and watched for her reaction.

  Positively stellar. Her breath paused, her eyes widened, her lips parted, then softened into a smile. One hand came to her throat, uncertain, fingers shaky. Eventually she drew a breath. “You wouldn’t get scolded so often if you didn’t deserve it so much.”


  He nudged her through the oak-trimmed arch. “I think I like being yelled at, actually. Or at least accept it.”

  She leaned against the counter while he poured coffee and retrieved the milk. He took the mugs and the milk to the table and drew out a chair. “Sit with me.”

  “I should check your father.”

  “I just did. Sound asleep.” He slid his glance to the offered chair. “I promise to behave.”

  She flushed. “Listen, about that—”

  “Yes?” He leaned forward. Up close, the pale freckles were more discernible, and the dark rim of blue made her light irises brighter. Noting that, he could imagine a child, their child, with dark, curly hair and vivid blue eyes.

  She’s leaving, Marc’s inner voice warned.

  For just a moment he weighed the counsel. He’d done it this long, surely he could manage a few more weeks.

  Then she blinked, watching him, thick lashes hovering against peaches-and-cream skin.

  The blink undid him. The tiny flash of uncertainty offered a glimpse of the vulnerable Kayla, the little girl trapped inside. Decisive, he leaned forward and kissed her, his arm snugging her waist, drawing her in, her curves a sweet reprieve from grit-hard farm muscle.

  Yeah, she’s leaving, he acknowledged the twinge that wouldn’t let him be. But she’s here now.

  Kayla stepped back, trying to calm her cardiovascular system. It wasn’t easy with Marc this close, those eyes warm and amused.

  “Marc, I’m working.” She spread her hands in a gesture of appeal. “This isn’t right.”

  He closed the distance, the dark turtleneck outlining thick, broad shoulders, muscled arms. “It feels right.”

  She swallowed hard and shifted her gaze. “I don’t kiss people casually.”

  “Me, neither.”

  She shot him a look. He held her gaze. “It’s true enough, believe it or not.”

  For some reason, she did. Despite his rugged good looks and his air of independence, she didn’t see Marc as a player.

  Just angry, morose, grumpy, short-sighted and faithless. Reality hit. She took another step back. “We’ve got no place to go with this. We don’t share the same faith or ideals and I’m leaving soon.”