“I’m not proud of it, Cora. It’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
She nodded. “Kidnapped by pirates, that would have been okay. Or in a coma somewhere, almost dead after being kicked in the head by a horse. But just because you ran away and didn’t check your voicemail? Oh, Mac. You should have called. He deserved more than that.” She paused, as if considering whether or not to continue speaking.
The only words he could find were simple ones. “Can you forgive me?”
“Yes.” A long sigh. “I forgave you when you said you were sorry the first time. I’m glad you told me the truth.” She met his gaze and smiled, but her eyes looked bruised, tired. Then she scooted down, turning her back, pulling the covers over her. “Lock the front door as you leave, okay?”
“We have to talk about this –” He hadn’t yet told her why he’d come home so rarely in the years before his cousin died. He hadn’t told her that she was the reason – that it was just too damn hard for him to see her with Logan. The truth.
“Go.” Her voice was so exhausted, so strangled, that Mac went. His staying could only cause her more hurt, and goddamn it, he couldn’t do that to her.
So he wouldn’t stay with her in the bedroom. But her front porch, well, that would be as good a resting place as any, right? It wasn’t like he was going to get any sleep anywhere, either at his house or out here in the foggy moonlight. He grabbed a thick afghan from the back of the couch. As he pulled the front door closed and tested it to make sure it was locked, he realized that he hadn’t felt as close to crying in years, not since he’d clutched his cell phone and listened to his mother’s message about Logan, not since he’d wept like a child while parked in front of a Dairy Queen on Route 395.
He sat on the porch swing, kicking up his boots, draping the blanket over him. It wasn’t long enough, only covering him from the chest down. That was fine. He pulled his cowboy hat low and tugged the blanket a little wider – it would keep most of the morning dew off him. And just for a moment, he let himself remember what Cora’s lips had felt like against his, how she’d felt against him, how she’d stretched along him after she came. The image of her back turned, the sorrow in her voice – he wouldn’t think of that.
Mac took a breath and settled himself deeper into the porch swing cushions. He’d leave early, before she found him. It just made him feel better, knowing he was there to protect her if… hell, she didn’t need protecting. It seemed like she’d done a spit-shine job of taking care of herself. But for now, he’d let himself pretend he was watching over her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Enjoy the middle part – don’t rush so much. Feel each stitch between your fingers. Rub the fabric against your cheek. How lucky we are, to touch every single inch of this beloved sweater! – E.C.
On Saturday morning, Cora’s eyes flew open. There was a reason she’d tossed and turned for the last few hours… the same reason she was vaguely sore…
She’d slept with Mac. Jesus! She’d slept with him!
Screwing her eyes shut tight, Cora groaned and rolled, burying her face in a pillow. A pillow that smelled of him. Of course. She threw herself out of bed.
Saturday. It was Saturday. That meant after chores, she had to meet Olivia at the stables. The girl had been blowing up her phone with texts every day, confirming that they would get together on Saturday to ride – somehow she’d cajoled or bribed her mother to sign the waiver, she said, and Cora looked forward to hearing how Olivia had pulled that one off.
Good. She needed something to do today. Otherwise, she probably would have spent it in the bomb shelter where she would have inventoried the dry stores and rotated the water supply. Again.
Cora took a shower and pulled on her best pair of overalls. She leaned on the bathroom sink, watching her face as she brushed her teeth. Her hair was wild, sticking straight out in a dozen places, and dark circles painted the skin underneath her eyes. Well, crap. It certainly wasn’t anything she was going to attack with make-up. If there was indeed something that could help, it wasn’t anything Cora had in her small make-up kit. What did Mac see when he looked at her? The girls he dated probably had whole drawers full of product instead of her little plastic tackle box, which held one lipstick, one eye shadow she’d bought in the mid-nineties, and a tube of mascara she wasn’t sure wouldn’t give her an eye infection if she tried to use it. The last time she’d had a full face of war paint on had been her wedding, and she’d hated how the fake eyelashes had held down her eyelids, making her feel sleepy at the reception even though she hadn’t been drinking.
Sighing, she gave up. Why should she care what Mac saw when he looked at her? The night was an aberration. It wouldn’t happen again. She did the chores and drove to the stables, careful not to glance at herself in the rearview mirror.
When she got there, Olivia was already standing in front, balancing carefully on an old railroad tie. Wearing all black, from the top of the handkerchief that was tied around her head to her worn-out black sweatshirt right down to her ripped black leggings tucked into combat boots, she looked tough. And very, very young.
Olivia hopped off the tie and waved, hard.
“Hi! Stark’s already here! She said she’d lend us both horses and we can go out as long as we want. In exchange for some stable cleanup, that is, but I’ll do that, you don’t have to worry about that part. Isn’t that amazing? I wonder what Stark does when she’s not here. Do you think she has horses at her house, too?”
Cora got out of the car. “She lives here.”
Olivia’s eyes went wide. “She does? Why didn’t I know that? I want to live here someday.”
Smiling, Cora led the way to the barn. “Maybe you can someday.”
“You think I’m kidding,” she said, as she raced to pass Cora and turn around, walking backward in front of her. “But this is what I want to do.”
“Which is what, exactly?” If she didn’t ask, Trixie was going to, and with a mother like that, Olivia would have to have her answers all lined up.
“I want to work with unprivileged and disabled communities, using horse riding to help participants overcome limitations, attain personal freedom, and better understand themselves in relation to others and the environment.”
Cora’s mouth dropped open. “Huh?”
Olivia smiled in satisfaction and continued to speak in her knowledgeable voice. “I memorized it from a page on the stable’s website. But it’s not a unique business model, either. There’s precedent for this to do really, really well for the communities they serve.”
“You getting ready to fight your mom?”
A brief nod. “How do I sound?”
“You sound great,” said Cora. “I think your mom might be a better fighter than you are, though.”
“Yeah, but think about it: where did I come from? I’ve been studying her my whole life. If I can’t do it, no one can.”
“At least you know you have a battle coming.”
She nodded and looked, suddenly, very grown up. “I’ll be ready.”
Cora remembered the way it had felt when Eliza made tea for her, when they’d sat together knitting. She’d been listened to. Heard.
“You should come to tea at my house sometime,” she said spontaneously. “I have the prettiest tea set…”
“A tea party?” Olivia stopped just short of rolling her eyes. “For real?”
“It sounds dumb. But it’s fun.”
Olivia shrugged. “Maybe.”
Stark greeted them as warmly as Stark ever did anything. Cora watched, amused, as Olivia followed her every move. As Cora mounted her horse, Stark stood back watching, her legs apart, arms folded, with Olivia next to her, unselfconsciously echoing the pose, every line the same.
“Coming?” said Cora.
Olivia mounted and Stark swung open the back gate.
“Take the hill trail to the west there, and if you take the left fork and go far enough, you’ll end up at Moonglass Beach.”
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“Really?” said Olivia. Her voice was pure, unadulterated joy.
“Let’s go slow to start,” Cora called to Olivia, who nodded.
It was a glorious morning – warm, the scent of leaf fires hanging on the wind, the sun drifting through the branches of the oak trees they rode under. The well-cut trail was quiet and just wide enough for each of them to pass single-file, dust rising lazily behind them. They saw no one else. The fall sky overhead looked like a faded blue sheet hung out to dry.
Ahead of them, the path opened into rolling hills, long brown grass rising in waves, and when the horses came to the left fork, they looked westward to the ocean gleaming dark blue a mile below.
Olivia jerked her head with a smile and Cora followed. She heard her phone beep in her pocket, and even knowing it was like checking it while driving, she pulled it out anyway. She’d gotten more texts this week than she probably had all year.
It was from Stark. Mac’s coming after you. Hope you don’t mind.
What? Oh, God. Mind? Cora minded all right, so much more than Stark would or could ever know.
She nudged her horse and caught up to Olivia. “Let’s go a little faster.”
No, Mac would be fifteen minutes behind, at least. They should just ride and let the wind blow away this tension. There was nothing she could do about it. And maybe Mac would get lost. There were a lot of trails out here, after all…
Mac had never been lost a minute in his life. Never.
As the horses stepped carefully across a slow, almost dry stream, another thing struck Cora.
Mac was riding. A satisfaction filled her, slow and rich. He’d found the reason he needed to get up on a horse again.
She couldn’t help hoping that she was part of the reason. An image filled her mind and blotted out the ocean and the white water break at the edge of the pools in front of her: she saw the side of Mac’s neck, where the stubble ran down to his jaw and past, and then that soft part just above his collarbone, where she’d pushed her nose… Jesus Christ, she’d nuzzled into him, hadn’t she? She’d nuzzled Mac Wildwood.
Maybe she should have denied what was between them forever.
But she hadn’t.
Cora cursed herself in low words that blew into the salty wind. She shouldn’t think of him, not like that. It wasn’t right. Unfair. She needed distraction; that was it. Cora whooped and pushed her horse into a gallop down onto the beach. Olivia laughed behind her.
After tethering the horses to a large piece of driftwood, she and Olivia grabbed a stray plank each and poked them into the tide pools.
“This has always been my favorite thing to do down here,” said Cora as they hopped from rock to rock. “I always feel so accomplished, as if I know something about what I’m looking at when I peer into the water.”
“Sometimes I pretend I’m a scientist. Just for fun.”
“Do you ever really want to do that? Be one, I mean?”
For this, Cora earned an eye-roll. “Sorry,” she said. “I deserved that.”
Olivia reached down, stretching her arm into the water. She picked up a tiny crab and held it up, watching its legs struggle. “You want to call my mom and tell her I should apply myself more? That I could get to college if I just took a little more time with my homework? Because she’s never heard that before from anyone. I’m sure she’d love hearing it, especially from you.” She dropped the crab back into the pool and they watched it scrabble away.
Cora admitted, “She’s not too fond of me.”
“I can’t believe you told her that you’d taken me to the stables.”
“She guessed! But I confirmed it. I wasn’t thinking.”
Olivia rolled her eyes again, but it was a softer roll this time. “That’s usually my line.”
“Hey, grownups are just as dumb as kids are.”
Olivia laughed. “Nice.”
Oops. “Sorry.” Cora poked a bit of seaweed that floated into their pool on a gentle swell. “Here, use this driftwood. Move that kelp, right, like that and see? Just under the water?”
Delight lit Olivia’s face as she revealed a deep purple starfish glinting in the sunlight. “How did you know it was there?”
“I dunno. I’ve always been good with tidepools.”
“My mom loves them, too.”
“I’ve seen her here before.” And she had. They’d never actually spoken to each other on the beach, because they didn’t do that, but they usually made an awkward wave of acknowledgement. You had to, when you were alone on a mile-long stretch of beach, only one other person in sight.
Olivia cocked her head on the side. “Why does she feel like she does about you, anyway?”
Cora wiped her wet fingers on her overalls. “It’s been that way since high school. I dated the guy who turned into my husband, and she dated his cousin. We’re just not cut out to be friends, I think. That’s all. Sometimes it’s like that.”
“So, why wouldn’t you be friends?” Olivia asked, her face even more curious.
Cora had almost lost track of the conversation. “I don’t know why. It was always like that. When I first came to town, I was about your age. There were two sides I could be on, the popular kids, or the not-so-popular ones. With the exception of Logan and Mac, I was in the not-so’s.”
Olivia stood and balanced on the potholed black rock, hopping to the next pool. “Well, my mom was probably the same even back then. She can be such a challenge.”
Cora smiled at the way it sounded like something an adult would say about a child. And the fact that it was true.
Olivia continued, “But it’s not like she’s mean or anything.”
This was where Cora didn’t get to say a word in response. She folded her lips tightly and nodded.
“No, really. I know you don’t believe me, and when she does that thing where she cuts people down, she’s like scary good at it. Once she made the cable guy cry.”
Cora’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”
“It was so fucking awesome.” Olivia grinned. “He left and sent the manager back to finish the job.”
“That’s the best story ever.”
“So, yeah, I know she can be hard to deal with. But she picks and chooses, and most people in town like her. She has, like, real friends, I swear. Like, besties.”
It was true. Abigail MacArthur had told Cora time and time again that she liked Trixie, that she made her laugh. And Naomi Fontaine, who didn’t get close to people easily, had had a hard time with Trixie when she’d first moved to town but now they were in same knitting group.
“It’s really not a big deal, I promise. Your mom and I are fine. So we’re not that close. All adults don’t have to be best friends,” said Cora, teetering carefully on a rock that turned out to be sturdier than it looked.
“Hey!” Olivia pointed. “Look! Another rider! No, two. You think it’s Stark?”
Cora shook her head and felt her heart start racing. “I don’t think she can leave the stables today. But she sent me a text. It’s a guy named Mac. Actually, it’s that guy I was talking about earlier. My husband’s cousin who used to date your mom.” She squinted. “He’s with his boss, Royal.” Who wants to buy my land.
“You like them?” Olivia looked at Cora with an open expression. Whatever Cora said was the direction in which Olivia would lean. She could turn her against the men with just a frown, she knew it. How did parents handle this? Knowing they were so powerful? Of course, when it came to a mother like Olivia’s, and the situation they were in, it went the other way, too. The fact that Olivia knew Trixie hated her probably made Cora that much more attractive in Olivia’s eyes.
“Sure. Mac and I go way back.” Oh, God. All the way to back her bed last night.
Together they watched the men approach. Royal was a competent rider, and as a racetrack owner, surrounded by horses, that didn’t surprise her.
Mac still rode like he was part of the horse, like his long, muscular legs became one with the a
nimal beneath him. They moved together. If poetry could look like a thing, it would look like that man on a horse, Cora thought, and was immediately overcome with internal embarrassment for even having such a thought.
“In my mom’s yearbook, he wrote something like Our times together were the highlight of our high school years. Love and kisses, Mac.”
Cora snorted. “Love and kisses doesn’t sound like Mac.”
“It does kind of look like my mom’s handwriting, which is why I always wondered about it. I’ve asked her about him a couple of times and she always said he was the one that got away.”
Which was exactly the kind of thing that caught a teenager’s attention. No wonder she was watching him approach like a cat stalking a bird in a birdbath.
Cora tried her best not to watch Mac the same way.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
How fortunate and blessed are we that we are the makers of things. – E.C.
Mac had been astonished at how good the riding felt that he’d almost forgotten where he was going. Then he saw her, down on the beach, her hair a flame against the grayness of the sand – a touch of color near the brown rocks.
The palomino beneath him reacted to whatever he’d done when he saw Cora – the horse jumped and moved more quickly, breaking into a canter. Mac allowed it. God, what he really wanted was to gallop, to race at Cora like she was the end of the finish line and there were no other horses around.
From behind him, he heard Royal call, “Easy now, big guy. She’ll be there when we get there.”
Mac inhaled. Royal was right. It was bad enough that he’d gone out to the stables, knowing that Cora had mentioned to Valentine that she’d be there today with Olivia. He hadn’t been able to shake Royal, who had stood next to the Rolls with the door open. “Let’s go,” said Royal, tapping on the roof of the car. “Let’s go get her.”
“No.”
“We’re going to get your girl.”
“Not with you. And anyway, that’s not what I’m doing,” Mac had insisted, but it had fallen on deaf ears. Royal was one persistent little bugger when he wanted to be. When they’d gotten to the stables, Stark had done a good job of deflecting their curiosity until Royal had simply laid it out there.
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