by Susan Fox
“Why do you say that?” Evan asked.
The girl gave a despairing sigh. Then, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking this way. You’re here for a holiday, not to listen to my problems.”
“Madisun, I’m TJ’s friend and I’d like to be yours. Friends talk to each other, and not just about the cheery stuff.”
The girl hung her head.
“What’s the problem?” he prompted.
Speaking to the ground, she muttered, “Dad lost another job yesterday, and I can just see I’ll have to fork over my savings to feed the kids.”
Jess winced. Damn the man.
“Won’t he get another job?” Evan asked.
Madisun glanced up quickly, then down again. “He’ll go on a bender. A long one. He’s that whole drunken Indian cliché. It’ll be weeks, maybe months, before he’ll work again.”
Another long pause. “And your mother is, uh, dead?”
“No! Why would you think . . . oh, because I was looking after my sister. No, Mom was just out of town for a few days because her own mother was ill.”
“She doesn’t have a job herself?”
“With my eight younger brothers and sisters at home? And him to look after? Not hardly. ’Sides, he knocked her up when she was in grade eleven and she never finished school. The only work she’d ever get hired for wouldn’t pay much.”
Evan let out his breath in a low whistle. Jess wasn’t close enough to see the expression on his face, but she could imagine what he was thinking. Imagine the parallels he’d be drawing between Madisun’s home life and his own childhood.
“Sorry,” the girl said again. “I keep thinking I’m making progress, but then something like this happens.” She sighed. “I’m never gonna get out of here, and it’s stupid to think I will. I have a damned good job and I should be grateful.”
He touched her shoulder. “It is a good job, and I’m sure you are grateful. But don’t give up on the dreams, Madisun. I’m betting you will get out of here.” He drew a long, audible breath. “I did.”
Jess sucked in her own breath. She’d have bet Evan never, but never, talked about his origins.
Madisun’s head came up. “What?”
He nodded. “This is just between us, okay? I grew up in Caribou Crossing—that’s how I know TJ—and my parents weren’t much different from yours. He knocked her up when she was in high school. He drank, had trouble holding a job. Best thing he did was abandon us. Then there was just Broo—my mother and me. She was like your mom, didn’t have many job skills. Or, uh, the personality to hold a job. We had some hard times. But I knew one day I’d get out.” He gave a small, wry laugh. “Recently, an old friend said I was the most single-minded boy. I was, and I did it. Got out, and made my dream into reality.”
Madisun slanted a cynical gaze his way. “White boy. That makes it easier.”
“Don’t cop out. You’re bright and talented, you have what it takes to succeed. Maybe you’ll have to work a bit harder, but for each person who judges because you’re female, or aboriginal, you’ll run into someone else who’ll bend over backward to give you a chance. You just need to find the good people, work hard, and never lose confidence in yourself.”
She shrugged. “Yeah, okay, you’re right. I already know that from how the teachers at school treat me. The thing that’s really going to stop me is money, and my home situation. Last night really brought it home.”
“What happened?” Evan asked softly.
“He came home after the bars closed, drunk as a skunk. . . .” She trailed off.
Evan’s body tensed. “Did he hit you?”
Madisun gazed at the ground and slowly shook her head. “Not this time.” She lifted her head and stared at him. “It was just that I saw . . . he’s never gonna let me go.”
Jess’s muscles had clenched. She honestly hadn’t known Madisun’s father beat her, but she should have. Damn it, she wanted to punch him out, and she knew Evan felt the same. Somehow, she had to get the girl away from her father and help her find her way.
Madisun was still staring at Evan. “Your dad hit you?”
“Sometimes.”
She nodded, as if she’d already known.
Jess’s eyes filled with tears as she rose and tiptoed away. The two of them shared something that, thank God, she could never fully understand.
As the group rode home after lunch, Evan felt the tension in the air. Jess’s grief, Madisun’s despair, his own anger over the girl’s sad plight. And of course, some lingering memories of his father’s fists.
The other guests didn’t seem to pick up on the undercurrents. They were mellow, even sleepy, after hours of riding and fresh air, not to mention an excellent repast.
Trying to put his negative feelings aside, he pulled Rusty up beside Jess and Knight. To his surprise, she gave him a big smile, so warm it almost knocked him out of the saddle. She didn’t say anything, though.
After a few minutes he said, “Want to tell me about Petula?”
Her mouth formed an O, then shaped itself into a crooked grin. “Yeah, I do. Thanks, Ev.” She began to talk softly, almost as if to herself. She told him how she’d first met the horse, how sweet-tempered Pet had always been. She told funny stories and moving ones.
He was listening to a eulogy, given by someone who had known the deceased well and loved her deeply. A horse, yes, but what difference did that make?
With a start, he realized that finally he’d entered Jess’s world, where horses could be almost as important as people.
Here she was, babbling on to Evan about a horse. Just like the old days. He’d always listened then, too, but she’d known it was because he was interested in her, cared about her, not because he gave a damn about horses.
“Anyhow,” she wound up, shooting him a guilty look, “that was Petula, and I’ll miss her.”
“Of course you will.” He gave a sympathetic smile. “Thanks for telling me. She was a great horse.”
Simple words, and yet they sounded sincere. Yes, Evan had changed. He was actually relating to the whole horse thing. “Thanks for letting me talk about her. It was just what I needed.” He’d known that; he’d given her that gift. Damn it, if she’d been crazy about the old Evan, how much more dangerous was this new one?
Sudden raindrops, fat, hard ones, pelted the top of her cowboy hat. “Yikes!” The sleeves of her shirt, the denim at her thighs, darkened in big splotches. Up ahead, guests exclaimed in dismay, and the line moved into a trot. Jess decided to let Madisun keep the lead rather than take over from her. The girl knew what she was doing, and it would boost her confidence.
She assessed the clouds, which were a threatening slate gray. “We’re really in for it,” she told Evan. “Stupid not to have brought ponchos. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s just water,” he replied.
Sure enough, as the rain splattered down harder, and people got wetter and wetter, she heard more laughter than complaints.
In fact, the cool rain was refreshing, and she enjoyed the rich, dusty scent as it splashed onto the dry ground. Fortunately, they weren’t far from home. The ground wasn’t slippery and Madisun let them lope slowly for a fairly long stretch. The group returned to a walk as they neared the barn. Both the riders and the horses were soaked, and the horses’ legs were coated in mud.
When they reached the barnyard and dismounted, Jess said, “Go get warm and dry, folks. Madisun and I will look after the horses.”
It pleased her when the guests ignored her command. Joking with each other, flicking wet hair out off their faces, they fumbled with damp leather straps and slippery buckles. They made short work of getting the tack off, wiped down, and stored in the barn, as Jess and Madisun turned the horses out to pasture.
“Hot chocolate!” Kim exclaimed. “Let’s change into dry clothes, and then we’ll invade Kathy’s kitchen. I bet she’ll let us make hot chocolate.”
“TJ, Madisun,” Ann said, “you should come with us.”
&
nbsp; “Sounds good to me,” Madisun said. “TJ?”
Hot chocolate sounded like a fine idea. But at home in the bath, alone. Followed by bed and, hopefully, a sound sleep. “Thanks, but I’m going to pass.”
As the others left, Evan lingered behind. “You’re beat. Let me drive you home.”
She gave him a tired smile, thinking that the only thing better than hot chocolate and going to bed alone would be sharing them with this man. “Thanks, but I’m okay. I need some time on my own.”
“You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?”
He could be a different man, a man who wanted to stay here rather than return to New York. He could be a man who loved her.
At the moment she wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms and stay there forever. Instead she shook her head. “You’ve done it. I don’t think I’d have survived today without you. You’re still a darn good friend.”
“Get some rest, Jess. Call if you need anything. Promise?” He leaned down and pressed damp lips to her wet forehead. She put her arms around him and clung, allowing herself one brief moment of contact. It was all she could handle, feeling the way she did about Evan right now, and knowing how emotionally fragile she was.
As Jess drove away, Evan stood in the rain wishing he could somehow ease her pain. He respected Jess as a strong, independent woman, and yet he wanted to protect her. He never felt protective around Cynthia.
He took a long shower, then dressed and sprinted through the drizzle to the lodge. Voices told him the others were hanging out in the kitchen, but he headed straight for the phone.
Fortunately, she answered.
“Hello, Cynthia. Are you busy?”
“Evan. I’m at the office and of course I’m busy. The Dynamite deal? Remember?”
“Sure. Sorry for bothering you.”
“You’re not bothering me!” Her exasperated tone told him that if he hadn’t been before he certainly was now.
Biting his lip, he glanced out the window. Despite the rain, that bird was there, its head cocked toward him. It seemed to be asking a question. And now, finally, he knew the answer.
“Cynthia, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since I got here, and—”
“Wait.” He imagined her holding her hand up, the way she did when she needed to think. He obeyed. For a couple of long seconds. Then she said, “You’re a square peg.”
“Pardon?”
“We both thought you were a round one, but you’re not. We aren’t ever going to fit together, are we?”
His reaction stunned him. He felt a heady surge of relief and found himself smiling. Then he sobered and said quietly, “I suppose not. I’m sorry. I should have realized sooner, but I honestly thought our relationship was exactly what I wanted.”
“I know. Maybe you had to go back home to figure it out.” Her tone was flat. He couldn’t read what she was feeling. “This woman, Jess,” she continued. “You love her.”
“No! Well, yes, in a way. I mean, I always have. As a close friend.” And an object of his lust, but he wasn’t going to mention that.
“That’s not how it sounds from here.”
“Cynthia, nothing’s happened.” He winced, feeling guilty about the half-truth, but if he mentioned the kiss, it would only hurt her.
“I know you wouldn’t cheat on me. But that’s not the point. The point is, our relationship is going nowhere.” She sounded exceptionally calm.
“So . . . I guess we’re breaking up?” It was what he’d intended, but she seemed to have taken control.
She gave a humorless laugh. “That’s what ‘I’ve been thinking’ means, isn’t it? Besides, you’re right. It’s for the best. For both of us.”
He’d known the two of them weren’t emotional people, but he couldn’t believe she could be so calm about this. “You aren’t . . . angry, or hurt?”
She gave another laugh, and this one actually held a note of humor. “What would be the point? You know me, Evan. I’m eminently practical. I hate to waste time, or emotion. You and I did all right, but it’s time to move on. Separately.”
It felt anticlimactic. Not that he wanted a scene, but two years ought to at least end with a whimper, if not a bang.
Damn. This was just how he and Jess had finished ten years ago. Except they’d done it by e-mail—even more impersonally.
He couldn’t let it end like this. “Cynthia, are you really all right?”
“Of course. Disappointed, but to be honest I’d suspected it wasn’t going to work.”
He wondered if she was rewriting history in her head, but it didn’t matter.
She went on. “And when you told me you were going home—”
“It’s not home! New York is home. I only came here to check out this investment.”
“Oh, Evan, you don’t fool me. Don’t fool yourself. You had things you needed to find out. It sounds to me like you’re getting in touch with a part of yourself that’s been buried deep for far too long.”
It wasn’t like her to play amateur shrink, and that fact, as much as her words, gave him pause. Besides, she was sounding very much like Jess had, when she’d said that maybe he had to come back to Caribou Crossing to find himself.
“Maybe you’re right,” he admitted slowly. “But I’m confused.”
Had he just, for the first time with Cynthia, admitted to vulnerability?
If so, she brushed it off, saying briskly, “You’ll sort things out.” She paused a moment. “Have you seen your mother?”
“No!” Good God, what was up with this woman? She’d turned from fiancée to shrink in less than five minutes. Was this her way of shoving aside her emotions and pretending he hadn’t hurt her?
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, I think you need to. You left home when you were still a boy, Evan. You need an adult resolution of the whole thing, even if it’s a decision to sever all ties.”
She and Jess really did have some things in common. He felt ganged up on. “I’ll think about it.”
“Mmm-hmm. Well, do what you need to do. Now I must run. Let’s see . . . I have some things of yours. I’ll drop them off at your apartment, pick up the items I’ve left there, leave your keys. You can courier my keys to me when you get back to town—or perhaps we’ll meet for a drink one day.”
Good old efficient Cynthia. “Sure, that sounds fine.”
“Bye for now.”
“Cynthia?”
But she had already gone.
He hung up the phone. Who was the woman he’d just spoken to, just broken up with? Was she really so pragmatic, so adaptable, or was she saving face? It irked him that after two years together, he couldn’t tell what she was feeling. Before, he’d admired her emotional restraint. Now, oddly, he wanted to know her better. He cared about Cynthia and believed that, behind her reserve, she cared about him. When he got home, he’d ask her for that drink. Perhaps he could be a better friend than he’d been a lover. Somehow, things were coming into focus this week.
He glanced out the window. The bird was pecking busily, and the sound of laughter drifted in from the kitchen. So did the scent of chocolate. Suddenly, he felt lighthearted. A mug of hot chocolate was exactly what he wanted.
Evan slept like he’d never slept before. Usually, he was awake before his alarm went off, but on Wednesday morning he actually managed to sleep through its buzz. Too late for breakfast, he dashed into the lodge and picked up a muffin and a cardboard cup of Kathy’s delicious coffee. He also snagged a couple of apples, one for himself and one for Rusty.
When he reached the barnyard, he was pleased to see that both Jess and Madisun had clear eyes and genuine smiles. He could barely suppress an urge to hug each of them, for very different reasons. Although he’d known Madisun just over a week, she almost seemed like the sister he’d never had. As for Jess . . . his feelings were far from brotherly. And now, finally, he could admit that to himself without feeling guilt. He was a single man; she was a single woman. There was no
thing wrong with being attracted.
He let his gaze linger on her, appreciating everything about her. She might not be a fashion plate, but damn, she looked terrific. Ancient jeans hugged slim, feminine curves, a light blue shirt bared strong, tanned forearms and a lovely throat. A wide leather belt showed off her slim waist and emphasized the curves above and below. Ponytailed hair gleamed in the pale sunlight.
But the best thing—the captivating thing—was her face. Its lines were clean and strong, yet ineffably feminine. Her mouth was generous and expressive, almost as expressive as those chocolate eyes that could sparkle with laughter, melt with tears, or sizzle with passion.
Passion. He’d seen it in her eyes, the same passion he’d felt and tried to repress. What were they going to do about it?
“Evan,” she called, a quizzical smile on her face. “Somebody hog-tie you so you can’t move?”
She had. “Just enjoying the morning,” he said, then headed to the barn to get Rusty’s tack.
As soon as the group was on the trail, his thoughts returned to Jess. Now that he was single, could the two of them be more than friends? Well, why not do an analysis?
Fact 1: He was attracted to her. That was undeniable. Even thinking about her made him harden, an undesirable condition for a man seated on an unyielding leather saddle.
Fact 2: Though Jess said she just wanted to be friends, he knew she felt the same attraction he did. The passion in that kiss last week, the affection in her glance, told him that. But he’d been with Cynthia, so they’d both held back. Which led him to the next point.
Fact 3: They were now both single. So far, so good.
Rusty made a grab at the leaves of a wild rose, thorns and all. Evan yanked sharply on the reins. “Forget it.”
The words echoed in his head, and he sighed. He’d been avoiding consideration of the single most important fact. The one that had always been there.
Fact 4: Jess lived in Caribou Crossing. More than that, she belonged here. Just like Rusty, those pink roses with their heady perfume, and the squirrel that scolded from a fence rail. Her heart was here—with her daughter, her parents, that damned Dave Cousins, and her beloved horses. In New York, she would slowly wither, the way one of those pretty pink blossoms eventually would if he snapped it off its stem.
