Cora's Heart: A Cypress Hollow Yarn

by Rachael Herron

  Mac laughed while Trixie shot him a glare.

  “It was sixth grade, and you didn’t even live here when I was held back,” said Trixie. The jukebox cut off abruptly as if someone had kicked out the plug, so her voice was loud in the sudden quiet. “So, tell us. Did you have a family then, or had you already been ditched?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Not following the pattern will not bring the knitting police. Those officers are all tipsy on red wine, anyway, discussing with slurred words the most appropriate bind-offs for sturdy blue cardigans. Do not fear them. – E.C.

  Well, Cora supposed she had that coming. She had, after all, just made the snark about Trixie being older, which had been uncalled for and uncharitable. It had been fun to say, even though she regretted it, so she took a deep breath and said lightly, “Yep. I’d been ditched by then, a couple of times, actually. But I didn’t move to Cypress Hollow until I was sixteen, so no one here knew me until I was in the deepest, ugliest throes of my teenaged angst.”

  Trixie looked vaguely disappointed that she hadn’t gotten a bigger reaction. She turned back to Royal. “So what brings a man like you to town?”

  Royal, as friendly as he was, looked as if he wasn’t prepared for the bright glow of Trixie’s attention. “I run horses. I’m always looking for, you know… more. You know?”

  “I don’t,” Trixie said, leaning toward him, stroking her finger around the rim of her empty shot glass. “Tell me.”

  “You know, the next big business move.”

  Mac said warningly, “Royal…”

  “It’s okay,” said Trixie. “I may be a reporter, but if you say something’s off the record, I can keep a secret with the best of them.”

  Cora didn’t believe her, and the look on Mac’s face said he tended toward the same conclusion.

  But it was obvious Royal was sinking under her spell. “Wouldn’t Mac’s little town be just the right place to raise horses? Climate’s perfect, only a couple hours either direction from Bay Gate Downs and Golden Gate Fields… I need the right amount of land, because I won’t do anything smaller than I think is appropriate. People get into trouble that way. Do it right. Do it big, I always say.”

  “Not much land for sale,” said Cora. “Most the folks around here have lived on their parcels all their lives. There’s a piece down closer to Pescadero, but I hear it has drainage issues.”

  Trixie raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Launching a commercial thoroughbred venture? That would bring some attention to our little one-horse town, as it were.”

  Grinning, Royal signaled Jonas to pour them all another shot. “I’m a good businessman. And a good dreamer.”

  “Do your dreams often come true?”

  Cora watched Royal’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. He cleared his throat.

  “Usually. Financially, yes.”

  Mac, leaning over the green, mumbled, “Sometimes people hate you for that.”

  “I know, brother.” Royal held out the tequila. “Bottoms up!”

  Trixie laughed again and joined him in tossing back the shot.

  Instead of draining the alcohol that had somehow refilled her shot glass, Cora clutched it. How long did she have to stand here, pretending to be social? Listening to Trixie flirt? High school was rushing back to her, all those teenaged feelings of inadequacy. Standing in the hall, smelling the rust in her locker, pretending she couldn’t hear everyone talking about who was doing what on the weekend.

  Now she turned her back on Trixie and Royal while she watched Mac finish putting the balls in perfect order. He corralled them inside the rack, threading his fingers into the space at the end, and then spinning it up and off so that not a ball moved. The muscles along the back of his neck – who had those? Cora could swear she’d never noticed neck muscles on a man alive before, and now she couldn’t take her eyes off them. He looked up. Caught.

  “Your dog’s still waiting for you at the shelter,” he said.

  Cora jumped. “My dog? Your dog. I can’t believe you took her back there.”

  “She was just on loan. Clementine should be yours.”

  “No pets for me. She wouldn’t even make a good guard dog. Did you see the way she shakes?”

  “She’s waiting. Pining, I tell you. In the meantime, you want to play?” Mac patted the edge of the pool table.

  “Me? No.”

  “Give it a shot.” Mac waggled the rack at her and then slipped it into the slot at the end of the table. “Come on. How bad can it be?”

  Cora looked over her shoulder as if there were someone watching her, as if someone might talk her out of it. And maybe they should. But the only people behind her were Jonas and his sister Lucy, and they were talking to each other. Trixie and Royal had taken seats at the crowded bar and were paying them no attention. “I guess it couldn’t be that bad.”

  But it was.

  Playing pool with Mac was excruciating. He was good, as always, and even though Cora knew he had miles more practice than she did, the game brought out a competitive streak that felt foreign. She lined up her shots carefully, studying the angle the ball would take and when it failed to drop into the right pocket, she stepped back in abject disappointment. The worst part was that she knew Mac could tell, and he was adjusting his game to her.

  “I hate it that you’re going easy on me,” she said when he sunk the cue ball. She dug it out of the pocket and placed it on the felt. “Just do what you always do.”

  “I usually play with Royal. He’s not very good. Does that help?”

  “No.” Her stick glanced off the cue ball with a sharp crack. “Shit.”

  “Chalk,” he said helpfully.

  “I know.” But she didn’t. She’d completely forgotten that. Cora rubbed the chalk on the tip of her stick and lined it up again, leaning forward over the table. Thank god she was wearing a regular black t-shirt and not the V-neck she’d thought of putting on for the benefit.

  He stood at the other end of the table and said softly, “It’s just a game, Corazón.”

  Oh, God. She hadn’t been called that in years.

  Heart.

  Not even Logan had ever called her that – it had been Mac’s way of teasing her in high school. Cora wasn’t short for anything, and she’d hated how girly it had sounded. Mac said it suited her since she wore her heart on her sleeve, which made her hate it even more. She didn’t show her heart. To anyone, really. She was proud of that.

  She risked a glance at him. His eyes were quiet, his arms folded. He didn’t look like he was teasing.

  Taking a deep breath, she made her shot on the exhale, like Logan had taught her so long ago. It worked – her aim was true and steady, and her combo shot sunk two of her balls, leaving her next shot obvious, long green on the seven.

  “Nicely done.”

  “Thanks.” The heat of anger had left her body. She wasn’t sure what had done it – maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t even glanced at Trixie once.

  Ridiculous. That would mean she was still – what? Jealous? Cora shot a look to where Trixie was still flirting with Royal. Trixie tossed her long hair over her shoulder as she made whatever point she was making by opening her arms expansively and then touching his hand.

  Then Trixie looked at Cora, and to Cora’s vast surprise, Trixie smiled. It was an open, genuine-looking smile, and it threw Cora completely. She had no idea what to do in response other than smile back. The surprise was so great that she missed what Mac was saying.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  He followed her gaze. Trixie had turned back to Royal who was, improbably, flexing so that she could feel his muscle. “Oh. Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah,” said Cora. “How tough is he? Can he handle her?” She tended to doubt it, given the few moments she’d spent with him. “Trixie tends to get what she wants.”

  “He’s tough as hell in business. His motto is all or nothing. Wins at everything he tries.”

  Cora scratched her shot. “I hope
he’s not serious about that idea of his.”

  Mac nodded and moved behind her. It was a tight fit, and she could feel the heat of him for the second it took for him to come around to the table.

  Then he was lining up his shot as Cora tried to catch her breath again.

  “Yeah. If it has a dollar bill involved, Royal’s golden. He can do no wrong. He risks and wins.” Mac sounded bitter, as if there were more underneath his words.

  Lightly, she said, “You ever play that game? The investment thing?”

  He laughed, once. “Yep. Just as good at it as the rest of my family is with gambling. Bought a house in 2005.”

  “Yeah? Good for you.”

  “Bought at the worst time. Foreclosed. I lost every bit of savings I’d ever scraped together.”

  “Damn.”

  Rubbing his face, he said, “I don’t know why I just told you that. I don’t talk about that.” He paused. “And Royal there just has to sneeze and someone gives him a hundred dollar bill to blow his nose on.”

  She glanced again at Royal talking to Trixie. He held his hands out as if he were telling a big fish story.

  “And women?” She didn’t know if she was asking about Royal or about Mac.

  “He does great with the ponies. But women aren’t horses, are they?”

  No, they weren’t. Cora knew that well. Before she could stop herself, she said, “Logan never quite learned that.”

  Mac froze. Then he shot, and missed the ball almost completely. But it rolled half an inch, and he stepped back. “Your turn.”

  “Now I know you’re going easy on me,” said Cora, but the words felt like she was saying something else. What, she couldn’t – wouldn’t – figure out. “I’m going to get us another beer.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Cables are magic – stability in motion. – E.C.

  Mac watched her go, weaving her way through friends and neighbors. She paused to smile and touch a shoulder, then again to give the next woman a hug. It looked like she knew every single person. Heck, he still recognized most of them, and he’d been gone for years. Oh, Cypress Hollow. It felt for a moment like he’d never left.

  Cora leaned in at the bar and said something he couldn’t hear to Jonas. The low light of the bar lit the top of her head in a red halo, and as she spoke to the man seated on the barstool next to her, Mac felt himself get smacked by a wave of… something. Emotion? Lust? Or more?

  Oh, man. He was in deep trouble. Staring at the pool table, he waited for the stunned feeling to pass. Took a breath. It was going to pass any minute. Yep. Any minute now.

  But sixty seconds later, Mac still felt almost dizzy with it. He was so not over Cora Sylvan. Nowhere near it. Never had been, probably never would be, not if she kept playing pool with him, kept sparring with him. All she had to do was breathe near him. Shit. Mac wasn’t stupid – he’d expected some reaction on his part when he came back to town. A crush was a crush, after all, and a teenaged crush had to be the worst of all.

  But damn. You’d think a grown man would have recovered at least a little bit. Mac felt the tips of his ears go hot, and he wondered if anyone else had noticed how she affected him. Royal probably had. Royal saw everything. Trixie, maybe, but she was pretty busy keeping Royal laughing. Now there was a duo he would never have seen coming, but they were looking cozier by the minute. Good. If it kept them both busy, he could keep watching Cora.

  At the bar, Cora nodded her thanks at Jonas as he pushed the beers toward her. The round-bellied man next to her on the barstool slid his arm around her, and Mac watched as her back stiffened.

  And just like that, he went on full alert. Not caring that his cue stick slid from where he’d leaned it on the table to the ground, he strode across the bar. Royal said something to him – he didn’t hear the words.

  With her right hand, Cora plucked the man’s fingers from her left shoulder. “You think I’d fall for that, Billy?” Neatly sidestepping just far enough away from him that he couldn’t touch her, she went on, “Nice trick, but I’ve seen it before.”

  Billy Thunker. Holy crap. Yep, those same beady little eyes, same thick neck. He was the same Billy who’d plagued Cora so many years ago in the high school quad. He’d wanted to punch Billy then. And he wanted to punch him now. Even more.

  “’S’not a trick, Cora,” slurred Billy, poking at three dice cups in front of him. “Just show me where the dollar bill is.” He leaned so far in her direction he almost fell off the barstool. “And if you get it right, I’ll just schtuff it down your…”

  Mac took another step closer. He would spin that joker around so fast –

  “Nah,” said Cora easily, stilling Mac with a single glance. “I got a better one. I bet you can’t figure this out.”

  “You’re on.” Billy looked to his compatriot at his left. “Ten bucks I can. Whatever it is.”

  “Don’t men ever learn gambling is a waste of money?” she said under her breath. She pulled a handful of change out of her pocket. Mac crossed his arms over his chest and moved so that he could see both of their faces. Whatever she was up to, he was going to enjoy watching her do it.

  “What’zat?”

  “Nothing.” She sifted through the change. Then, holding her closed fist out, she said, “I have two coins equaling thirty-five cents in my hand. However, one of the coins is not a dime.”

  Billy’s face scrunched tight, his lips protruding as he thought. His friend gave up thinking about it almost instantly, going back to his dice game with the man next to him.

  “Come on, Billy.” Cora put her other hand on her hip as she waited. “You can do it.” Her voice was gently mocking. Mac couldn’t detect any trace of that girl he’d first seen in the quad – she wasn’t shy or scared. She was confident now. Good God, it was hot.

  “Gah,” Billy said. “It’s some kinda trick. I know it is.”

  “No trick, big guy. Just use your common sense.”

  Without looking up from his dice cup, his friend nudged him. “Get it? Cents?”

  “Shut up, Paul.” Billy drummed his thick fingers on the bar, staring at them as if counting. “Impossible. I call bullshit.”

  “We’re not playing that, but okay.” Cora opened her fingers and held the two coins up by her fingertips: a quarter and a dime.

  “But, but… you said…”

  “I said one was not a dime. I didn’t say a thing about the other one, did I?”

  “Hey,” he sputtered. “You can’t – I don’t –”

  “Just pay Jonas for our beers, and we’ll call it even, huh?”

  Behind the bar, Jonas laughed and said, “I’ll add it to your tab, Billy.”

  Mac’s stomach tightened as Cora caught his eye and flipped him a smile. She wound her way back to him. The beers were full to the brim, and she didn’t spill a drop.

  He took a glass from her, and foam immediately dripped over the edge and onto his hand. “Pretty roughneck place,” he said.

  “Hustlers everywhere.” Cora winked at him.

  Mac had to clear his throat before he spoke again. “Looks like you can handle yourself, though.”

  She glanced down into her beer. “Guess so.”

  Too damn true. “Let’s finish this game.”

  “At least we didn’t bet anything on it,” Cora said.

  He couldn’t help himself – his gaze dropped to her lips. They should have bet a kiss.

  As if she could hear his thoughts, her fingers went to her mouth. “I mean,” she said, “It’s not like I’ve ever been a gambler.”

  Nope. She never had. She’d probably never felt the urge to risk it all course through her veins. Mac came by it naturally, he knew that. Luckily, he’d kept himself out of casinos, and only ever went on the back side of the racetrack. The danger of a track was on the front side.

  Still. He’d risked it all and lost it all on his house. Just like he’d lost it all so long ago, gambling on Cora. His personal rule was to only gamble when it really, r
eally mattered was a stupid one. He lost anyway. No matter what. No difference between him and the old men with their eyes glued to the horses racing centerfield.

  Glancing at the guy slouched at the bar, he shook the beer off his fingers, wishing for one moment that he was shaking out his hand after driving it into Billy’s face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The man who hand washes the socks you give him is the true king of hearts. – E.C.

  Mac had won the game of pool, of course. Cora had skedaddled out afterward, ducking goodbyes, pretending she didn’t hear Royal teasing her for running away. The next night, she had spent the whole farmers market in agony, waiting for Mac to bring the dog by the booth for another appearance.

  But he hadn’t showed. Cora had been grateful. Mostly.

  The next morning, Friday, she rose early. For a pair of hand-knit socks, Silas Harrison had agreed to help Cora take down and dispose of the burned out shed. He wore size thirteen shoes, and because his mother, Toots, and sister, Lucy, had drilled into him the value of hand-knits, he knew the worth of such a large pair. The deal was perfect for Cora – she had more yarn floating around than she had dollar bills.

  While Silas broke apart pieces of the shed with a mallet and sheer force, she pulled out some gray Romney fiber that had been in a wooden box – it was smoke damaged, but she thought if she soaked it for long enough and then hung it in the sun, it might be redeemed. Almost everything else she’d stored inside was gone. The jams and preserves had burst in the heat. The candles, obviously, had all melted into dirty lumps.

  When the state of affairs got to be too much for her, she gave Silas a wave and went to sit in the bomb shelter for a few minutes. Sanity. Peace. Order.

  Safety.

  Her store of canned food soothed her. The various tools she’d gathered over the years: the hand-cranked radio, the stock of flashlights filled with batteries she changed every year – she wanted to hug them. In the old rucksacks she’d gotten at the Army Navy store, her stores of daily supplies were still good, protected by heavy canvas. Water: she had so much water, also regularly changed out.