Jilly huffed her bangs out of her eyes, not concealing her eye roll. She ignored Iris’s concern, like usual, and began pitching the hay, one stall behind Iris.
The task was one they’d done together many times since their childhood. After their mom had died, they’d found solace at Uncle Joe’s when their father’s grief had turned him distant and uncommunicative. Uncle Joe had been Mom’s brother and was a different breed than their stuffy, ambitious father. Those summers spent on the ranch had taught the sisters about real family love and had solidified the faith their mother had planted. Uncle Joe had also taught them both to love the land and animals. As much as Iris had always planned to leave Redbud Trails and this ranch behind, she’d still loved it here.
But now, everything had changed. Iris could hear Jilly’s labored breathing after just a few moments of effort. And her sister’s pallor was alarming, but if Iris expressed her concern again, Jilly would bite her head off. Hadn’t they danced that number a million times? Jilly’s head scarf had slipped, and Iris saw a patch of the thin, tufty hair above her sister’s ear. Tough as her sister had always seemed, that little tuft of hair was evidence of her true vulnerability.
Moments later, Jilly leaned against the stall door, winded.
“Wasn’t it enough that you spent the night at the hospital with him?” Jilly’s protective nature always brought out that defensive, argumentative tone. Iris might as well get used to it—surely others in town were probably talking about her unexpected charity toward Cal and his sons.
She focused on her task as she admitted, “I don’t know what happened. I was watching the boys, getting ready to leave, and suddenly the offer just popped out of my mouth.”
If she were completely honest with herself, she hadn’t been thinking. She’d seen and recognized, with a visceral emotional tug, the vulnerable light in Callum’s eyes, and she’d spoken without thought.
They hadn’t dated until after he’d reached his majority and had lived on his own, working as a cowhand on her uncle’s spread. And he’d been closed-mouthed about the foster homes he’d lived in during his growing up years.
But his vehement no, the intensity of his refusal to allow his boys to stay in a foster home, even for a few days, spoke volumes.
In those early days, as their friendship had developed, he’d been both quiet and reticent to talk to her, and as she’d snuck under the walls he’d built, she’d discovered he was starved for friendship.
Seeing that vulnerability all over again had tugged at her heartstrings today.
And she had a scary suspicion that she wasn’t as over him as she’d hoped. If a small corner of her heart still harbored compassion for the things he’d been through, then maybe she hadn’t completely eradicated him from her heart.
“It’s too late to take it back,” she murmured to Jilly. “I’ve already cancelled this week’s dance classes and juggled my shifts at the firehouse.” Without her permission, her eyes tracked outside to where joyful, high-pitched shouts rang out. “They need somebody to look after them.”
“Not you,” Jilly muttered. “They aren’t yours.”
The reminder was stinging, painful. She knew that. She jabbed the pitchfork into the soiled hay.
The reminder of Jilly’s condition had Iris slipping a hand around her sister’s too-thin waist.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”
Her cell phone trilled, and she propped her pitchfork against the corner of the stall, digging in the pocket of her jeans with her opposite hand.
“Hey, Dad,” she answered.
“Just calling to check on you.” For a moment, she was transported back in time, back to when he’d questioned everything about her relationship with Callum. Had he heard that the cowboy was back in town? He was mayor—he heard everything.
“I heard that last thunderstorm knocked down some fence,” he said. “Do you want me to call someone to fix it?”
A sigh escaped. The ranch. He was concerned about the ranch. “We’ll handle it.” Like they always did. She and Jilly were adults, capable of handling the ranch’s affairs.
“Is Jilly around?”
Her eyes darted to her sister. Jilly stared out the barn doors, her expression closed off. Iris waved, motioning to the phone, but Jilly only shook her head and averted her eyes.
“Yes, but …” She wouldn’t talk to him.
He rang off moments later, and Iris pocketed her phone with a sigh. “I can’t believe you’re still giving him the silent treatment.”
It had been four years since the blowup. Their father had always been distant, choosing his moments to be involved in their lives, like Iris’s last high school ballet recital. Distant, but strict, limiting their friendships and enforcing firm dating rules on them.
Almost a year after Callum’s disappearance, when Iris had been in New York City dancing, Jilly had discovered the lengths to which their father had gone to drive away her high school boyfriend. A cancelled check and an incriminating email revealed that their dad had paid the guy to break up with Jilly. That’s when Jilly had moved into Uncle Joe’s place. She’d vowed never to trust Dad again.
And Iris had been left in the middle.
Not without questions of her own. She’d wondered over and over if Dad had been involved in Callum’s sudden disappearance, but since Callum had never returned one of her calls, she had no way to ask him.
And she’d never gotten the courage up to ask her dad. The fragile links holding their family together were strained enough with the tension between him and Jilly, and then Uncle Joe’s passing had blotted everything else out.
A shriek from outside drew their attention. They peered out to see the sun setting, the boys expending their energy into the twilight.
Jilly tired easily under her current treatment regimen, and after the exertion in the barn, Iris wasn’t surprised that she turned in early. Iris corralled the boys in the living room, sitting down with a book.
They zoomed around her, running circles and shrieking at each other.
“Do you want to read a story before bed?” she asked them.
They pretended that they hadn’t heard her, climbing onto the couch and jumping from cushion to cushion. She winced. Jilly had bought the couch a few months ago.
She couldn’t understand how they had so much energy. She’d brought them home at lunchtime, and after an afternoon of chasing them around, she was exhausted. Wasn’t it bedtime yet?
“C’mon, you three. Don’t make me get out the tickle monster…”
They shrieked in joy at her warning instead of slowing down as she’d hoped. With a sigh, she pushed up off the carpet and gave chase. Her longer legs gave her the advantage, and she wrapped one arm around Levi and Tyler, then collapsed on the floor. Brandt jumped on top of all of them. She tickled them until they dissolved into giggles.
When they quieted, two sweaty heads rested on her shoulders and another on her tummy. She stroked each dark curly mop, a painful knot clogging her throat.
It was quiet for precious moments, only the sound of water running upstairs.
“Miss Iris?” Brandt shifted his head, tilting his chin up to look into her face.
She’d learned that Brandt had a small freckle on one side of his nose and that he was the most demanding of the three, ready to speak his mind at any time. He often spoke for Tyler, who was quiet. Well, quieter, anyway.
Tyler had a nearly invisible scar under his chin and, though he was just as active as Brandt, he was shy. Levi was a combination of the two and smart as a whip.
“Will Daddy sleep at the hospital?”
He’d asked her the same question multiple times. She answered him the same way she had all day.
“Yes.”
“But won’t he be lonely? Can we go there?”
Now Tyler’s chin tilted up so he could read her face too. Were all small children so intuitive?
Her heart lurched a little as she imagined Callum alone in the
hospital bed with nothing but the television for company.
“We’ll visit tomorrow, when he’s feeling a bit better.”
And hopefully he would have an ETA for his release, or she could well imagine how grumpy he would be.
“Promise?” Tyler whispered around the thumb in his mouth. Wasn’t three too old to still be sucking his thumb?
“I promise.”
She read them one story that turned into another until finally their eyes were drooping.
She tucked them into the double bed she’d used as a teen when she’d spent the summers here. After probate had settled her uncle’s estate, Jilly had insisted Iris move into the master bedroom down the hall. Ever since the early days after Jilly’s diagnosis, Iris slept most nights downstairs.
At the doorway, she watched the boys for a long time. Brandt whispered to Tyler. Levi kicked out his legs in reflex as he drifted off.
Hot tears compressed her chest. She’d wanted a family with Callum. What would it have been like if these were their boys? What must it have been like to hold them as newborns? To witness their first steps?
Since Callum had disappeared, she’d dated a few men, but none of those dates had turned into anything serious. Some of her friends had married and espoused the newlywed life and their romances. She hadn’t been tempted, though.
She’d been so focused, first on her career—to mask the pain of his desertion—and then after her back injury and Jilly’s diagnosis, on getting her sister through the treatments. There hadn’t been time to worry about dating. Managing the ranch, even though they hired out the bulk of the work, just added more to her plate.
But seeing Callum again, being so close to his sons…these circumstances were bringing back all of the might-have-beens.
And it hurt.
What was she going to do with Callum underfoot until he could care for the boys or found someone else?
You are going to suck it up, she told herself, backing away from the bedroom and returning to the living room to tidy up the destruction they’d left behind. Jilly had unearthed a bucket of connecting blocks from who knows where, and its contents were now scattered all over the floor.
That task finished, she settled on the couch with an afghan wrapped around her shoulders.
The old farmhouse had its share of character, and one of the hidden blessings had been that from the living room couch, you could hear if someone called out from any of the three bedrooms upstairs. Iris didn’t like to think of it as spying on her sister, but if Jilly were in pain during the night or needed to go to the emergency room, she could hear better from down here.
Jilly was the reason she’d become a paramedic in the first place. There’d been a scare early on in her treatments. She’d been prescribed two medications that had interacted badly. Iris had found her sister comatose on the bathroom floor, pale and barely breathing. And the worst part was, Iris hadn’t had one clue what to do about it. She’d dialed 911, almost too panicked to follow the dispatcher’s instructions, her brain replaying grief over their mother’s death in a shocking, painful loop. Iris hadn’t ever wanted to feel that way again.
According to Jilly, Iris’ becoming a paramedic was overkill. Iris had argued that becoming a doctor might’ve been. Being a paramedic made perfect sense.
The months of classes and hands-on training had given Iris a goal when the grief and fear over her sister’s battle got to be too much. Volunteering with the fire department had strengthened her ties to Redbud Trails after everything had fallen apart in NYC. It gave her purpose.
That Jilly’s doctors had kept her from facing another intense crisis was a blessing, but Iris was prepared, just in case.
But how was she going to prepare her heart to be in Callum’s presence day in and day out?
That was the real question.
#
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Bonus chapters - Saving Justice
After losing her brother to gang-related violence, elementary schoolteacher Kinley is on a mission to help her at-risk students. When one of them, Justice, is caught in an act of vandalism, she intervenes.
Entrepreneur Nash McGuire has gone to great lengths to overcome the poverty he grew up in. When working on a renovation project in his old neighborhood he collides with a juvenile delinquent and his do-gooder teacher.
Kinley believes Justice can overcome the influence of his environment; Nash knows the odds and has little patience with Kinley’s naivety. But as the boy’s mandatory community service forces Justice and Kinley into Nash’s life, he can’t help but discover a boy searching for love and purpose–a boy very much like he once was.
Then Justice is accused of another crime. And Kinley’s stubborn belief in the boy’s innocence is just too much for Nash to accept…
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Read the first chapters…
#
Kinley Reid had expected poverty, but this was worse than she’d imagined. Infinitely worse. The baby-blue house in front of her looked as sturdy as a cereal box. She matched the address on her purple sticky note with the numbers near the front door, though with the paint peeling off, they were hard to make out. Unfortunately, she’d come to the right place.
As she tiptoed over bits of trash in the so-called yard, untamed weeds brushed her ankles and the reality of her students’ living conditions crashed in on her. The Martindale neighborhood sat just five miles from her own quaint little housing addition, but the differences were so extreme, they were hardly measurable. Homes on her street were well-built, though small, and lawns were nicely kept, but terms like homes and lawns were far too generous to describe Kinley’s present surroundings. How could such poverty exist in Oklahoma City? Or maybe the better question was how could she have been blind to the severity of it until now? She knew her fourth-graders faced significant challenges, but she hadn’t seen their lives from this angle before.
She reached the porch, paused, and then climbed the crumbling concrete steps. Squaring her shoulders, she pasted on her best teacher smile and knocked on the rickety door. A plump woman with cocoa skin and cropped gray hair answered, a crying infant in one arm and a toddler clutching her leg. The stink of sour milk hit Kinley, and she fought the urge to turn her head.
“What you want?” the woman asked. “I ain’t buying nothin’.”
Kinley broadened her smile and raised her voice over the baby’s squalls. “I’m not selling anything, ma’am. Are you Justice’s grandmother?”
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m Kinley Reid, his teacher.” She extended her hand, but the woman only deadpanned in return. Kinley’s hand hung there for several awkward seconds before she surrendered and pulled it back. “Is Justice here?”
The grandmother angled her head, her upper lip curled into a sneer. “You always go bothering people at their houses?”
Heat crept up Kinley’s neck and into her cheeks. “The school tried to call, but the number has been disconnected. Has he been sick?”
The woman glared at her, but said nothing.
“Okay, then, can you tell me why he’s been absent from school for the last five days?”
The woman’s eyes widened for a flicker of a second. “That ain’t none of your business.”
“Actually, Ms. Williams, it is. Students are only allowed a certain number of unexcused absences. If Justice misses many more days, the school will be required to report it to the District Attorney’s office, and you’ll have to go to court to resolve the issue.”
The baby’s wails grew even louder. Ms. Williams huffed and shifted the child to her shoulder, then moved to close the door, but Kinley took a quick step forward and placed her palm against it. “Ma’am, it’s in your best interest to make sure Justice is back in school on Monday.”
“I ain’t got time for this.” She scooted the toddler back and slammed the door.
“But …” The lock clicked before Kinley could say
another word. She stood frozen, slack-jawed and staring at the weathered door. Had Justice been skipping school? It seemed so unlike him. His grandmother hadn’t seemed the least bit concerned, but worry gnawed in Kinley’s chest.
She turned and surveyed the Martindale neighborhood. Two houses down, yellow crime-scene tape fluttered in the autumn breeze, a grim reminder of the fatal shooting the night before. As if Kinley could forget any shooting that happened on the east side of Oklahoma City. Since her brother’s death, each news report scraped at the wound until her emotions were raw.
The grief that lived in the shallows of her heart spewed to the surface. Oh, Eli. She reached for the watch on her left wrist. Its silver face was enormous, its band an inch wide. Her thin wrist looked silly with it dangling there, but it was the only thing she had left of her brother. She twirled it, letting the words of the inscription fill her mind. Thank you for making a difference.
Kinley would make a difference, too, just like Eli had. She capped the familiar ache and refocused on the police tape. No child, especially not one of her fourth-graders, should have to live in perpetual fear, wondering if his house would be the next one wrapped in yellow. Kinley couldn’t single-handedly fix all that was wrong in Martindale, but she could make sure one little boy stayed in school. At least give him a fighting chance.
She stepped off the porch and navigated through the yard, weaving around an old bicycle tire and over a dirt-caked glass bottle. A red sports car in the adjacent driveway caught her eye, and a tall man in a polished gray suit stood near its front bumper. What was a man like that doing in this part of town? That car of his probably cost more than the combined yearly income of the entire block. He moved around to the driver’s side, and she caught a glimpse of his chiseled face, which might’ve been movie-star handsome if not for the scowl pinching his features. Off-putting as his expression was, she needed to find Justice. Maybe the guy had seen him.
As Kinley strode toward him, a blue streak blurred through her periphery and crashed into her side, the impact knocking her out of step. Justice, wild-eyed and clad in his blue OKC Thunder T-shirt, bounced off of her and glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Miss Reid? What’re you doing here?”
The Art Of Falling Page 14
