by Ali M. Cross
Fiona drew a breath, looked Lindsay in the eye, and delivered the lie she’d prepared. “A severe case of laryngitis.” She half-shrugged and hoped her hoarse voice would help sell it. It wasn’t entirely a lie anyway, she reasoned. A broken larynx was sort of like laryngitis. At least, the treatment was virtually the same.
“What’s wrong?” Lindsay peered into Fiona’s eyes, as if hoping to read her mind. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“It’s nothing,” Fiona said. She squirmed under all the attention and the panic rose like a flood. She needed space. She needed room to breathe.
“Fiona?”
“Just…some guy accosted me and I…”
“Some guy—what? Accosted you? Where? Did you report it to the police?” Jack, easy-going, expect-the-best-of-everyone-Jack, glared down at her, thunderclouds in his gray eyes. Her gaze flicked to Lindsay, who held her hands uncomfortably tight, and to Gavin who joined them, watching over the proceedings with his arms folded and his eyes shielded beneath his battered cowboy hat. Her mouth moved as she sought for something to say.
“No, I—” she shook her head, “I didn’t call the police. I mean, maybe ‘accosted’ is a strong word. He just pulled me from my car and—”
“He did what?” Gavin demanded.
She was backed into a corner. She couldn’t tell them about the attack in New York—she wasn’t ready for that. She didn’t want them taking her back because they felt sorry for her. But how could she tell them about why she was even at Rednecks? About the panic attacks and why the Good Samaritan had thought she needed saving.
“Where did this happen?” Lindsay asked and Fiona answered automatically, “Rednecks.”
“Rednecks?” Lindsay searched Fiona’s face. “You mean Variety?” She paused for only a second before continuing. “Rednecks has been closed forever. Nix made it into a variety show kind of place. But—who attacked you? The place is closed at this time of day.” Lindsay looked as bewildered as Fiona felt. Jingle bells. She’d only made things worse for herself. And for that guy who, through no fault of his own, was terrible at rescuing people and even worse at rescuing people who didn’t need rescuing.
“No, it’s no big deal. Really. He was just…” trying to help. But she couldn’t very well tell them that; they’d want to know why she needed help in the first place. She couldn’t tell them she’d been crying, or worse, why. She’d long ago perfected the art of not needing help. Of never being weak. Of never crying. She couldn’t let them see behind the ice curtain, not after all this long time.
She glanced at Jack and found him watching her intently with eyes so like her own. She urged him to read her mind and help the others see that nothing happened.
“Tell us, Fi,” Jack urged. Traitor. He used to be so good at reading her thoughts.
“Did Nix hurt you?” Gavin asked in his deep, molasses voice. His shoulders were tight with tension and a muscle in his jaw pulsed rhythmically.
Fiona gripped the hem of her silk blouse, twisting and wringing it. “Really, I shouldn’t have said anything. It was no big deal. And I don’t even know who this Nix guy is.”
Lindsay took her by the elbow, shot the boys a telling glare, and walked her to the swing bench on the porch. “First, tell me what you were doing at Variety.” The boys followed them and leaned against the porch railing. Towering above her. Trapping her.
“Nothing,” Fiona said defensively. She would not admit that she’d stopped there to have a giant cry and to gain the courage to see her family again. “I just stopped there for a second. Just to . . .” her mind raced for a believable lie, “to check my messages.” Lindsay narrowed her eyes, but let it go.
“So you’re sitting in the parking lot, checking your messages, and some guy just up and attacks you?”
“No way it was Nix,” Jack said. “But we should check it out, anyway. Might be there’s a vagrant in town. Someone passing through.”
Fiona cringed. The guy was no vagrant. He’d smelled too good. Looked too good. She wished they would all stop looking at her. Stop focusing on her. Ever since that day when Jack told her no one liked a baby, she’d made it her life mission to never need anything from anyone. She could just imagine how much they probably hated all this drama.
Here’s Fiona back again, bringing all her drama with her.
If she told them about the crying, Lindsay would think it meant Fiona never should have left and Jack would know just how big a baby she still was. When she’d done more than prove she was a total grownup handling life all by herself these past years. When it was coming back that hurt so much.
She must have waited too long to respond because Gavin gave a curt nod before turning on his heel and stomping down the porch steps.
Jack kissed Fiona on the cheek. “Glad you’re back, Fi,” he said before hustling out to the Highlands pickup truck.
“What are they doing?” Fiona stood and put a hand to her throat. That guy would tell them what he saw. And either they’d think she was choking too, and that Fiona was some kind of psychotic attention-seeking diva, or he would have figured out that the pained expression on her face was her crying and then everyone would see through her carefully constructed façade. Or maybe he really was a bad guy and she’d be doing the community a service by outing him.
Guilt warred with self-preservation inside her. She knew he was no vagrant. Knew he hadn’t tried to hurt her. Knew it was wrong of her to let her brothers go off like this. But she watched them drive away, anyway. When the truth came out, no one would want her to stay. And isn’t that exactly what she wanted? A reason to leave?
The exorbitant fee her landlord had charged her to break her lease had taken just about everything she had in the bank—which hadn’t been that much to begin with. She hadn’t seen any other options but to come home until she was well enough to return to the Met. Assuming they even took her back.
Lindsay joined her at the railing. “I just can’t believe it. Nix seems like such a good guy. But I guess you never know. Except he has that great smile and everyone has such fun at his club and…Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was a hitchhiker or something, like Jack said.” She turned to Fiona, hope blazing in her eyes. “What’d he look like? Did you get a good look at him?”
Fiona closed her eyes. The touchable, chestnut hair that flopped over his forehead. The dark, feeling eyes that seemed to see right through her, seeing too much. He was definitely not her type—so why did she hate the idea that he might be this Nix guy and that her brothers were about to read him the riot act?
“Was he kind of tall, slim, dark, shaggy hair, really big, dark eyes? Maybe wearing a band shirt and torn jeans?” Lindsay asked. Fiona’s mouth fell open. She had just described her would-be rescuer perfectly.
“Yes,” Fiona whispered.
Lindsay sighed heavily. “That’s Nix, then. Dang it. He just started leading the choir at church, too, and he actually seems to know what he’s doing. But once Pastor Allan learns he attacked you, I doubt he’ll be the choir director anymore.” Lindsay turned away from Fiona. “Come on in—I almost forgot I have soup on the stove.”
Her family had been hard at work since Fiona’d been gone—the beams and wood trim that framed the spacious open floor plan gleamed with rich varnish. All the fixtures had been replaced with Edison bulbs to give a modern look while still keeping the feeling that guests had stepped back into a simpler time.
“That means it’ll be Katie again, probably,” Lindsay continued as she moved into the well-appointed kitchen. “And you know I love her, but she does not know a thing about music except what she’s learned from watching American Idol.”
Fiona stood in the entryway, unmoving. Her sister kept talking, but Fiona had stopped listening. She should have told the truth. She didn’t mean to get Nix fired from the choir. She hated the way this place made her say and do things she didn’t mean—like she was destined to play the selfish little girl whenever she was here. She’d outgrown this—hadn’t
she? At least she wouldn’t have to stay here long, and she’d never have to see Nix again.
Down in the cellar, Nix was hooking up the tap line to the beer keg when he heard the front door of the club bang against the wall. Pops, still draped across his bed at the top of the stairs, grunted but otherwise didn’t move. “You’re no help,” he told the dog as he climbed the stairs. “Hello?”
“Nix?”
The voice sounded familiar but he couldn’t place it and wasn’t expecting any deliveries. “We’re closed,” he called, hoping the person would go away. He had to finish these chores before the club opened.
“Nix,” the man said again, much closer this time.
Nix turned back to the landing and saw two men standing there. Is it really impossible to teach an old dog new tricks? Cuz Pops has a thing or two to learn about protecting his property.
At least it was just Jack, though he had a sour looking fellow with him. “Oh, hey,” Nix said, climbing the last steps to greet the men. When he reached the top, he shook Jack’s hand. “You must be Gavin,” he said, turning to the scowling man standing behind his friend. He’d seen the man around the Highlands, but hadn’t met him before now. He offered his hand, but Gavin didn’t take it.
Nix wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to some of the surly personalities that lived up here in the mountains, but it was better the men were honest about their opinions. He’d spent his life surrounded by sycophants and was glad to be done with them. Easing past the men, he leaned on the bar top. “What can I do for you guys?” He and Jack had become friends in the past few months. Jack had even helped him buy his first horse and was giving him riding lessons.
“Nix, can we talk to you for a minute?” Jack seemed nervous and his brother’s frown somehow managed to grow darker. Jack gestured to a table.
“Sure.” Pops watched him take down four chairs from where they’d been upturned on a table, and place them on the floor before he decided to join them. He slunk across the floor, his head low as if it were too heavy for his neck, then threw himself at Nix’s feet with a long, dramatic sigh.
Nix grinned at the men. “What’s up? Oh—can I get you a drink?”
“Nah, we’ll only be a minute.” Jack waved off the offer and Nix, half-standing, sat back down.
The brothers sat and put their elbows on the table, their bodies tense. At least Jack tried to smile. Nix leaned back and stretched out his long legs. He kept one hand on his lap while he reached down to stroke Pop’s silky, floppy ear. He kept his expression open and friendly while inside he was bursting with curiosity. What had these guys so mad? And what did it have to do with him?
“Nix,” Jack said, opening his hands in a supplicating gesture. “You’ve been nothing but good to this community since you got here. Buying this old place. Fixing it up and making it a place of friendship and fun instead of a symbol for broken promises and broken families.”
Nice lines, Nix thought. He tucked them away for future reference, in case he ever decided to compose song lyrics again.
“The choir’s sure been doing better since you started leading them.”
“Well thanks, Jack. I’m really happy to be here—and happy to contribute in any way I can.”
“That’s what I thought.” Jack looked down at his hands which were now clasped tightly together. “It’s just that—”
Gavin jerked forward. “Why’d you attack our sister? That’s what we need to know.”
NIX FELT HIS HEART THUMP IN HIS CHEST. “ATTACK? I didn’t—and that…your sister?” His mind spun as a dozen thoughts overwhelmed him. “I didn’t attack anyone. I was trying to help.”
Gavin’s biceps bulged threateningly. “You call dragging her out of her car, ‘helping’?”
Jack glanced at his brother, then leaned forward himself, somehow giving the impression that he was stepping in front of Gavin, urging him to back off.
“Listen, Nix,” Jack said in his warm baritone. “I know the work you’ve done for the church and in the community. I can’t—”
“I find it hard to believe that you would attack a woman—”
“I didn’t—”
Jack held up his hand when Gavin and Nix interrupted at the same time. “We’d like to hear what happened.”
Gavin tensed, but Jack leaned back and after a moment, Gavin seemed to take the hint and relaxed a little in his seat as well, though he kept his arms folded tightly across his chest and thunder in his gaze.
Nix spread his hands out on the table and let out a long breath. He’d been in his fair share of fights, maybe even more than fair—being a rocker had its perks and its disadvantages. But he’d come to River Mile to escape all that. He needed friends, not enemies. “Listen. I’m so sorry if I hurt your sister. I definitely didn’t intend to do that. I saw her park in the lot, and when she held her hands to her throat,” Nix demonstrated and immediately felt like an idiot, “and scrunched up her face, I thought she was choking. So yeah. I ran out there and tried to help, but she was freaking out. I pulled her out of the car so I could do the Heimlich maneuver or something.” His words tumbled out, faster and faster in the face of the stony MacDonald brothers, but now he paused, looking from one to the other. “I thought I was helping,” he finished lamely.
“What do you mean ‘freaking out’?” Gavin asked.
Nix winced. He didn’t want to tell them how she was hitting and fighting him—thinking about it now, he could definitely see that she didn’t want his help. But at the time, with the adrenaline coursing through him because he thought a woman’s life was on the line, he thought she was just flailing, desperate to breathe.
“What do you mean she was holding her throat with her face all scrunched up?” Jack asked. “Was she choking or not?”
Thank you, God, Nix thought. He chose to answer Jack’s question and hoped that Gavin would forget his. “Well, once I got a look at her it didn’t seem like she’d been choking. I think—” he hesitated for a moment as he remembered the woman’s tear-streaked face and watery gray-blue eyes rimmed with red.
“Nix,” Gavin prompted.
“I think she was crying.” Nix’s voice was soft, tender even.
Gavin and Jack exchanged a look.
“Crying.” Gavin said the word like it was a joke. “Fiona doesn’t cry. Ever. I think the last time I saw her cry was when she was four years old and our dog Missy died in her arms. She didn’t even cry when she fell off her horse and broke her arm. Lindsay, now. Lindsay cries over every little thing, but Fiona MacDonald never cries. I’d bet my life on it.”
“Maybe she does and she just doesn’t like people seeing it. Maybe that’s why she stopped here to cry before seeing you guys.” Nix felt confident now, encouraged by this new hypothesis about a woman he didn’t even know but somehow felt he understood. “Maybe that’s why she said I attacked her—she didn’t want you guys to know she’d been crying.”
Jack grunted out a “Huh,” but didn’t say anything else. Gavin glared at him. Jack seemed to startle out of his own thoughts and shrugged. “She could have been crying. Nix might be right.”
Gavin stood abruptly, causing Pops to startle and let out an ear-splitting ruff. “You better hope Fiona backs up your story, or else we’ll be back. Fighting’s not really my thing, but I’ll have you shut down and run out of town in no time flat—you can count on that.”
At least you give your threats in rhymes, Nix thought.
“See ya, Nix,” Jack said once Gavin had stomped out. “Sorry about all this.” The two men stood together and Jack leaned across the table to shake Nix’s hand. He turned and followed after his brother, leaving Nix to wonder what kind of family drama lay behind all that overprotectiveness—and what made Fiona MacDonald want to keep her tears to herself.
Fiona checked her watch. “Haven’t they been gone a long time?” She’d already asked a version of the same question at least three times, but Lindsay never had a good enough answer. This time she got up, stalked over to
take Fiona’s half-empty mug from her and stomped into the kitchen.
“Why are you so worried? You don’t even know him,” Lindsay called out over the running water at the sink.
“Do you like him?” Fiona asked when Lindsay returned and flopped into the lounge chair across from her. “Nix, I mean?”
Lindsay sighed. “Yeah. And you’d like him too, if you got to know him. He’s kind and, well, I think he came here looking for something. Friends. A home. And now…”
“And now your sister shows up and drives him out of town. And it’s not even a fair trade.”
The pause that followed was long enough for Fiona to get her answer. Lindsay thought Nix was more deserving of this place than she was. Even though Fiona would likely agree, and she had no desire to claim any piece of River Mile, her heart burned at the thought of her sister choosing someone else over her.
Lindsay sighed again. “Why are you here, Fi? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you are, but…you made it pretty clear when you left that you never wanted to come back. And the last six years seemed to prove that you were determined to stick to that promise.”
Fiona stared at her empty hands, wishing they still held the warm cocoa mug.
“Are you here to stay?” her sister asked. “Are you here for a visit? Why didn’t you call to let us know you were coming? You didn’t even come to say goodbye to Mom and Dad.”
“I saw them at the airport,” Fiona said.
Lindsay threw her hands up and slouched back into the chair. “That’s not the point. They’re your mom and dad. We’re your family.” She leaned forward again, her elbows on her knees, and waited until Fiona met her gaze. “What I wanna know is—are you ours?”
Fiona opened her mouth but she had no idea what to say. This is exactly why she left. There were too many expectations here. Too many ways to fail. To let people down.
The front door burst open and people and dogs tumbled in.
