by Ali M. Cross
“Jack?” she called loudly to be heard over the cheerful yips.
“Yeah?” He looked up from where he crouched, surrounded by his mismatched pack of buddies.
“I’ll make some of Mom’s cottage pie.”
He grinned as wide as his dogs. “Hear that boys and girls? Fiona-bum’s gonna cook!”
She stepped back from the wagging, wiggling mass and into the big old house, feeling small, wrung-dry, and a little homesick. For the first time since coming here she realized how much she missed her mom and dad, and what she wouldn’t give to have them here now. She could use one of her mom’s hugs. Big time.
LINDSAY GOT HOME FROM CHURCH JUST AS THE cottage pie was coming out of the oven. “Mom?” she called in a surprised voice as she stepped inside. Fiona, pleased with the hour of domesticity she’d enjoyed, smiled to herself.
“Just me!”
“And me,” Jack added indignantly. He was contributing to the afternoon meal by throwing together a salad of bagged romaine, grated parmesan cheese and croutons. Fiona remembered the delicious Caesar salads she’d enjoyed in New York, complete with anchovies and freshly sliced Parmesan. But as she set the steaming dish of cottage pie on the trivet on the kitchen table, and Jack plunked down his big bowl of salad, she had a sudden fit of contentment. This is perfect, she thought.
“All we need is Gavin. Where is he?”
Lindsay kicked off her heels and sluffed into her gray and pink stuffed elephant slippers before sitting down at the head of the table. “He’s on an excursion. Took out Mandy and Andrew late this morning and won’t be back until Wednesday.”
“That’s different,” Fiona said. “Don’t overnight excursions usually start bright and early?”
“Usually!” Lindsay said brightly.
Fiona had given the couple trail rides earlier this week, and seen them poking around the ranch, playing with the dogs, and walking hand-in-hand through the heather. They hadn’t come to the house for any meals though, preferring to keep to themselves.
“Newlyweds,” Jack said. “Specifically requested a late start.” He winked and Fiona felt her face warm. She wasn’t a prude, she just didn’t have much experience with relationships. She couldn’t imagine wanting to spend her honeymoon on a wilderness excursion, though. Riding through the woods, fishing for your dinner, camping under the stars—it didn’t exactly scream romance to her.
“That reminds me,” Jack said as he cut into the pie and began serving up plates. “You ready for that posse that’s comin’ in tomorrow?”
“Posse?” Fiona asked.
Lindsay took her plate and added salad, pouring a generous amount of bottled Caesar dressing over the top. “Family of six.”
“I’m sure ready. I’m itchin’ to get the doggies out on the trail and do some fishin’.” He put an extra twang in his voice as he played up his redneck dreams.
“You’re going on an excursion with a family of six?”
“Oh yeah. Gonna be a fun one, too. We’re going hunting and fishing and real survival camping. No glamping around, this time.” Jack made a disgusted snort. He was a true outdoorsman—he’d never come indoors if he had his way. He’d hunt for his food and cook over a fire every night. And while he was great with kids, Fiona couldn’t imagine even Jack agreeing to take children on a survival excursion.
“It’s not little kids,” Lindsay said, seeming to read Fiona’s mind. “They’re all grown—or mostly. They’re taking their mom and dad on an excursion for their anniversary.”
“They think that’s how their parents want to celebrate?” Fiona asked.
Jack lobbed a crouton at Fiona. “Some people in this world enjoy the mountains.”
She plucked the toasty cube off her lap and ate it. “Some people in this world are crazy.”
Jack grinned and forked up a huge mouthful of pie.
“It’ll be great,” Lindsay said. “But I do need to go shopping tomorrow so I have enough to pack in their gear. I want to add some fresh dried fruit and fruit leather. We’ve got the jerky covered.”
“Dang right,” Jack said to his plate. “Fi, this is delicious. I don’t remember you being that much of a cook.”
She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not. But I can make this.” She didn’t want to admit how homesick she’d found herself from time to time over the years, and how making a few of Mom’s favorite recipes had helped her feel a little closer to home.
“Hey,” Jack suddenly said, sitting up straighter and pointing his fork at Fiona. “I could use your help.”
Visions of hefting a heavy backpack through the back woods for five days filled Fiona’s mind and her face paled. He laughed at the sight of it. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna ask you to pack out with us. But I’ve got a couple lessons coming in this week—will you take ’em while I’m gone?”
Fiona relaxed. She wasn’t thrilled about giving lessons, but the trail ride the other day wasn’t bad and anything was better than a pack out. She shrugged. “I guess.”
“Nothing to it,” Jack said. “And if I remember right, your next love after all the singing, used to be riding. You could sing and ride—combine both your loves.”
“He’s right,” Lindsay sing-songed. “You did love to ride. I bet Jack’s students will love you.” She lowered her face but Fiona caught the sneaky grin she shared with Jack.
“What are you two planning? Do you have some hellion child coming in or something? Or—” she gasped, “A tiger mom?”
Jack snorted, sucking a piece of food into his throat. Between coughs he asked, “What the heck is a tiger mom?”
“An overbearing mom. A perfectionist mom. You know—those moms who make their kids do everything and be perfect at all of it?” Lindsay said.
“There’re moms like that?” Jack asked.
“I take it that means, no?” Fiona said. Then she asked, “What’ll you do if I say no?” She already knew she’d do it, but she’d begun to feel too comfortable here, too much like she belonged. It scared her. Unconsciously she reached for her throat, warmed by the silk scarf she’d chosen that day. She couldn’t afford to get too comfortable here. She had to get back to New York.
Jack shrugged, but he was eyeing her fingers at her neck. “Lindsay’d do it. She usually fills in when me and Gav are gone. But she’s got a ton on her plate now with Mom and Dad gone, too. She’s gotta run the office and manage the property.” He set down his fork and looked pointedly at Fiona. “What’s with the scarves, Fiona-bum. And the turtlenecks. You never used to wear turtlenecks.”
Fiona’s insides churned and she put down the forkful of food that had looked so delicious two seconds before. “Since when do you pay attention to what I wear?”
“I don’t, but—” he pointed at her neck, “seems different.”
She shrugged, her gaze flicking between her brother and sister who both looked at her expectantly. “It’s nothing.”
Lindsay quirked her head to the side. “I think it’s damaged cords, right Fi? I thought that’s what I read—that you’d overworked your cords or something and needed a break?”
There had been bruises, Fiona thought, but those are gone now. Even though she still saw them in her mind’s eye every time she looked in the mirror. She did still have a half-inch long incision just beneath her larynx where they’d had to perform a tracheotomy, so she could breathe. The bones in her throat had been so crushed, and the swelling had come on so fast, that the paramedics had had no choice. The stitches had come out before she’d left New York, but the scar was still pink and tender. Fiona hated to look at it, to be reminded of everything that had been done to her. Of everything she’d lost.
“Haven’t you noticed she hasn’t been singing?”
Jack’s frown deepened. “You gonna be okay?” he asked. “Will you be able to sing again?
Fiona forced a bright smile to her face and picked up a slice of Lindsay’s homemade bread. “Of course!” she maybe lied. She honestly had no idea. He
r throat still hurt. It hurt to talk, to laugh and cry especially. She’d been too afraid to even hum since the attack. She slathered butter on her bread, feeling her siblings’ eyes on her. She purposefully didn’t look back up, pretending to be wholly engrossed in her bread.
“Well, alrighty then,” Jack said.
“Hey, did you check the seal on Cabin 5’s bathroom window?” Lindsay asked.
“Did it last week,” Jack said.
Fiona looked between her sister and brother, then let her mind wander over the property. Five cabins, two stables, and so many acres of land and water that she’d personally never seen some of their boundary lines. Bookings all year long, and only seasonal employees, if that. She looked past the end of the table toward the wide picture window that looked out over their private backyard. It was the only place in the whole resort that was really theirs, and Mom and Dad had gone to great lengths to make it an oasis. Out beyond the rose hedge bordering it, she saw wide open fields where horses roamed at pasture.
She looked back at Lindsay, appreciation for all her siblings growing within her. “You guys are amazing,” she said, interrupting a conversation about a supply order.
“What?” Lindsay said.
“All this. What you do. All that you’ve done.”
Jack grinned like he was personally responsible for all of it. “It is pretty sharp, isn’t it? Best life a man could ask for.”
“And a woman!” Lindsay countered.
“So will ya do it?” Jack scraped his plate from his second helping of pie, then piled on the last of the salad. “Do the lessons? I have some riders coming in tomorrow afternoon, mostly beginner types, but I, uh, have to get the Emersons situated and don’t have time.”
Fiona sighed, then smiled softly at her brother. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
Nix sat behind his club on an old lawn chair, surveying the stretch of lawn, the old barn, and vast expanse of trees. His property had a short level area, then dropped off down the mountainside. It wasn’t so steep that you couldn’t hike it—or, he hoped, ride it, once he got some of the brush cleared away. He owned just shy of ten acres, 99.9% of it forest. When he’d first moved here he’d been fine with that. After all, he and Pops had been living in hotels and condos their whole lives; neither of them had ever been outdoors much. But it hadn’t taken Nix long to realize he wanted more now.
He thought he’d be happy with just buying a horse, boarding it nearby and riding some. Now, he wished to have her near so that on days like today he could watch her graze, talk to her, pet her.
He glanced down at Pops, who lay sprawled on his side at Nix’s feet. His long floppy ears were spread out above his head, making him look like he had donkey ears. Nix toed his dog’s back foot. “Yo, Pops.” The dog flicked his foot out of reach, but otherwise didn’t respond. Pops was an expert sleeper. He could win awards for laziness.
Pops hadn’t seemed to care one bit about their big move. He’d simply found his favorite places to sleep, his favorite places to do his business, and he was good. It was Nix who was restless to make this place his own.
He’d talked to Jack a lot about what could be done with this place. There was just enough flat land for a small barn and house—especially if he made use of part of the mountainside and built the house partly on it. He imagined the views would be spectacular.
With the club out front, it’d never be conventional, though, and he wondered if any woman would really be able to live with that. Could they raise a family here? With a club in their front yard? Would a woman ever go for that? Because family was important to Nix. He knew that was his number one goal—to be worthy of a partner to live out his life with. To be worthy of children and family and togetherness. His throat tightened, and he took a long swig from his water bottle.
He hadn’t quite thought it all through when he’d bought Variety. He’d been thinking of himself, not really taking into consideration whether it would be a good place to raise a family.
Would Fiona be okay with living here? If she could ever leave New York behind. This place was a speck compared to the Highlands. Nix could have probably bought this whole mountain with the money he had, but instead he’d bought ten acres and a run-down bar.
He shook his head. Didn’t matter, he thought. Fiona was ticked at him—again. Despite their moment, he doubted he’d ever be capable of getting her to let her guard down so she could trust him, let alone like him. That woman was seriously cold.
Still, he’d managed to get her to commit to meeting him tonight to go over the music before choir practice on Thursday. And while he knew he should feel a little nervous about that, instead he felt excited. Hopeful. He’d seen the ember of warmth in her eyes. He’d felt…something…when she prayed and their legs were pressed together.
“Well,” he said to Pops. But he didn’t finish the thought. His mind had filled with Fiona’s face, the splatter of freckles across her cheeks and nose. The plumpness of her bottom lip.
Yeah. He could hope.
FIONA CLUTCHED THE STEERING WHEEL TIGHTLY AS SHE drove from the Highlands to Summit United Church. She’d barely given Nix a moment to speak after church, but when she had, he’d shoved a bunch of music at her and told her to come back tonight to practice. She’d been too frustrated to say anything—angry at Lindsay for doing this to her, angry at God for making it so she was committed to these people at least through Christmas, and angry at Nix for presuming to know so much more about music than her.
He knew she was an opera singer—he practically admitted to stalking her online.
He’d also said he suspected she’d been attacked.
Fiona shook her head, refusing to even go there. With all that talking he could have mentioned he was a musician, too. Instead he’d let her be blindsided at church. The fact that he didn’t tell her made her feel like he really did believe he was better than her—that he’d only been patronizing her before when he complimented her singing.
“Ugh! This is why I don’t date!” she said into the quiet of the car. Nix Elliot was arrogant and forward.
So why did she hope he’d sit beside her on the piano bench tonight?
Why did her insides do flips whenever she thought about being close to him? Of making music with him.
She pulled into the parking lot and parked beside the beat-up Ford truck she assumed was Nix’s. She sat there, her hands on the wheels, psyching herself up to go in.
She’d spent an hour practicing the music before coming. There was no way she’d let Nix see her stumble and despite doing a good job at church that day, she wasn’t as confident at the piano as she let on. It had always been a necessary skill, one she used for her own purposes only to help her practice. She’d accompanied a few classmates during rehearsals back in school, but they’d all done that. And she’d learned the organ during a semester alternate instrument course she’d taken. She was passable, that’s all.
It frustrated her that she wanted to impress him. She’d never cared about impressing a man—unless he had producer or director behind his name. But this was something different. When she competed to be noticed and appreciated in the opera world, she felt confident and powerful—every inch the diva she’d been trained to be. Now, she felt small. Scared. Wimpy.
She rolled her eyes and seriously considered pulling out and going back to the ranch. This was stupid. She didn’t belong here in this little town doing menial chores and pining after a Podunk club owner. She belonged in New York. Maybe she should go back. Wait tables or something until her voice healed.
Woof!
The bellowing bark scared her out of her skin and she sat there, her hand pressed over her heart, fighting to regain her breath. Sitting in front of her car, illuminated by her headlights, was a giant bloodhound, looking right at her. She leaned forward, peering at the dog. He looked friendly enough. She could even see his tail wagging, stirring the leaves on the sidewalk.
Woof! he barked again.
“What are
you doing here?” Fiona wondered aloud. She got out of her car and slowly approached the dog. He stood to greet her, his tail wagging all the while. When her hands brushed the top of his silky-soft head, he leaned against her, nearly knocking her off balance.
“Hey, bud,” she said to the dog, rubbing behind one big, floppy ear. “You lost?” She knelt down, risking being near the slobbery mouth, to read the name on his tag. “Pops, eh?” She turned over the tag, and found a number.
“Hang on, bud,” she said as she retreated to her car. She reached inside for her bag, digging around to find her cell phone. When she had it she straightened from the car and looked toward Pops. But he wasn’t there.
“Pops!” she called, looking all around. She couldn’t see him and he didn’t answer.
But she did hear music. She recognized the tune of Silent Night, played with some embellishment, coming from the rear of the building. She figured she was here and out of her car, now. Might as well go in. Plus, she’d never been a quitter—not when it came to music. Besides, she’d worked with plenty of impossible men with much higher stakes than this.
After gathering up her things and locking her car, she walked behind the church, calling out for Pops a couple more times.
She found the back door propped open with an old iron doorstop and followed the sound of music into the back room and down a narrow set of wooden stairs. She was grateful for the bright bulbs lighting the way or she might have felt like she was stepping down into a dungeon.
The stairs deposited her in a narrow hallway she didn’t remember from her childhood. Maybe she’d never seen this part of the church. She stepped to her right and found an entry to the wide meeting room the church used to use for dinners or dances and the like. She turned the other way, following the music past a closed door to an open one at the end of the paneled hallway.
Fiona stepped into the doorway and the first thing she noticed was Pops sprawled out on the floor in front of the piano. “There you are!” she exclaimed, exasperation lacing her voice.
