Cora's Heart: A Cypress Hollow Yarn

by Rachael Herron

  “Ma’am, my friend has it bad. He’s trying to find Cora, and I’m not above bribery, since I’m actually looking to talk to her about business myself. Now, it seems as if a place like you’ve got here could use a bit more cash in terms of a donation.”

  Stark, who usually looked as if little surprised her, started like a horse spying a rattler. “You’re joking.”

  Mac, who knew better, said, “He’s not.”

  “If we could borrow a horse or two to go after Cora, I’ll make it worth your while. I’m a horse man myself, if that helps.”

  Stark had narrowed her eyes and gone in for the kill. “Cash is always nice, of course. But this is a non-profit, and I only have one full-time employee in the office. I need more than money. And I read The Economist – I know who you are. I just lost a board member.”

  Royal took a step backward and looked at Mac. “Oh, she’s good.”

  Mac smiled.

  “Why’d you lose the board member? Quit? Internal problems?” Royal had gotten his feet back under him again.

  “Died. He was old.”

  “Damn.” Royal paused, stared at Mac who tried to look appropriately lovelorn. “Okay, lady. You got a new board member.”

  “And you,” Stark had said, waving her hand at the stables, “can pick any horses you like. She said she was going out the west loop to where it breaks to the water.”

  Now they were here, his horse’s hooves chopping the dry sand, as impatient as he was to get down to where it was more firmly packed. This was his favorite kind of beach, no fine sand here, just rocky pebbles that got smaller the closer they drew to the water line. The tide was low and a girl and Cora were out peering into tidal pools. When he was a kid, he and Logan could spend hours pulling various things out of the salty water and putting them back, always hoping to find starfish (which they did) and octopi (which they didn’t, but they’d lived in hope). An electric eel would have been great, too. They’d loved anything that seemed moderately dangerous.

  Cora had seen them – he could tell by the way she’d straightened that she was as nervous as he was. What the hell was he doing out here? God. He’d followed her on horseback to a beach without any kind of plan. To what? Say he was sorry? He wasn’t sorry they’d had sex. In fact, he was pretty damn stoked about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. How she’d looked, how she’d sounded.

  What was his reason for coming out here? When Royal had asked him, he hadn’t had an answer. The real reason lay in the last part of their conversation, the fact that now she knew why he hadn’t come home to Logan’s funeral. But that wasn’t beach talk – he needed to come up with a better reason, a more believable one, and fast.

  They drew nearer. Stark’s other two horses nickered in greeting.

  Cora’s face was a question, and all he wanted to do was to slide off the horse and kiss away that worried look .

  Instead, he said, “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Stark’s horses?”

  “Yep.” He patted the palomino’s neck.

  “So you had that whole ride here and you couldn’t think of anything more original than that to say?”

  “Um, yep.”

  Royal rode alongside him. “Ignore my boy here. We were just trying to track you down. That’s all. He’s obsessed with you, I think.”

  Cora blinked in surprise.

  “Anyway,” Royal went on. He waved at Olivia who had her hands jammed into her sweatshirt pockets, frowning as she examined the men. “You must be the Olivia we’ve heard is such a good rider. I’m Royal, and that ugly guy over there is Mac.”

  Olivia tilted her head. “Where’d you hear…?”

  “We were hanging out with Cora the other night and she mentioned it.”

  Olivia’s face lit in surprise and pleasure. “Oh.”

  Mac finally figured out what to say. “Wanna race?”

  Cora said, “No.”

  Olivia said, “Yes,” and scrambled off the rocks toward the horses.

  “Mac, you can’t. You should have heard Trixie. She’d be furious if she even knew that she was out here with me right now. I’m probably going to get sued by the paper or something. You can’t race.”

  Royal swung his mare around to follow Olivia. It was just the two of them on the small strip of rocky sand next to where the tide pool began. Mac met Cora’s eyes. “Remember?”

  “What?” she asked defensively. “What do you mean?”

  “No, not last night,” he clarified. “Although personally, I can’t think of anything else.” He cleared his throat. From where he sat atop the horse, he could look down and see the curve of the top of her breast. The bottoms of her overalls were wet as if she’d been surprised by a rogue wave, and her lips were as red as if he’d just been biting them. He felt himself grow hard and checked himself. “Not that,” he repeated. “I meant do you remember racing down here?”

  Cora stretched her neck as if it hurt, and then looked down the beach. “I can’t believe we used to do that.”

  “Almost daily. You rode Rivet and I’d have Spooner.”

  “Logan always rode Darkness,” Cora said softly, her voice barely reaching him above the dull roar of the waves rolling into the tide pools.

  “He loved that horse.”

  Cora nodded. “More than anything.”

  Not more than he loved you. “And we’d race. Down here.”

  “Without any kind of adult supervision.”

  “We were in high school. We were old enough.”

  She looked at Olivia, who was chatting to Royal as she got ready to mount her horse from the driftwood. “We were babies. Look at her.”

  Mac turned. He tried to see Trixie in Olivia but apart from the length of her slim nose, and the set of her jaw, she didn’t look anything like her mother. Trixie had always been so proud of her looks, and Mac could imagine she’d have wanted to dress a little girl up just like herself. Olivia, in her ripped black clothing, with the dark eye make-up that looked like raccoon circles around her eyes? That for sure wasn’t the reflection Trixie wanted of herself, which probably just killed her. Might be why the girl did it.

  “Come on, Cora. Let’s do it. For old times’ sake.”

  She shook her head and walked past his horse, giving it a quick nuzzle as she did so. “Not for me. Someone has to stay on the ground to call 911. Go. Just go. You want to.”

  He wanted to do so many other things he couldn’t do – push his fingers into her hair and guide her mouth to his, wrap his arms around her, whisper into her ear, make her laugh until she shook with joy against him, but instead he nodded. “She really as good as you say?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I bet I win.”

  Cora gave a half smile. “She’s good. She might win.”

  “So make a bet with me.”

  She turned to face him. He heard her feet crush the rocky sand, and the ocean wind parted her hair, making it dance. “What are we betting?”

  “Three dates. Real ones. Dinner. Movies. What people do when they like each other.”

  “What? Three?”

  He lifted his hand from the pommel. “That’s not that many.”

  “One. And I pick the date.”

  “If she beats me,” said Mac, “then just one date that you pick. If I beat her, then three, of my choice.” Three dates with Cora. Hot damn. He’d win, come hell or high tide.

  Her mouth moved but no words came out as a spot of red hit her high on her cheekbones. Good. He affected her then, hopefully as much as she was getting to him.

  Finally, she said, “If and when I win, you know that a date means pulling a cleaning shift at the shelter?”

  “Hot. Will you wear rubber gloves?”

  Cora appeared to be trying to swallow a smile. “Followed by making dinner at Windward for the kids. And then games night.”

  “Spin the bottle?”

  “They favor Wii. And, of course, Twister.”

  Mac winked at her. “I’ll play Tw
ister with you anytime.”

  Cora laughed, and pleasure rolled through him. God, that was what he wanted to hear, every minute of the day. When had she started affecting him like this again? Like an emotional gut-punch.

  He should say something – Cora was staring at him. “So I gotta go win. You know,” he stammered. Here he was, throwing his hat in the ring. Again.

  “Be careful.”

  “We will be,” he promised.

  And they would be. They’d be fine physically. Mac suspected it was kind of too late to save his heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Oh, life is fun! And even more so if you have a pair of socks-in-progress in your bag! Never, ever a dull moment. – E.C.

  Cora wasn’t left behind on the beach – Royal stayed with her. “Let them go,” he said. “I love horses. Obviously. But,” he reached behind himself and rubbed his ass, “I own horses. And I hire trainers who hire the jockeys to ride them. I’m used to sitting in a Herman Miller chair, not a rolling block of uncomfortable leather.”

  She smiled. “Most riders like that feeling.”

  “Yeah, well, I like computers. And a desk.”

  Mac and Olivia trotted down the beach, laughing about something Cora couldn’t hear. Their words were tossed on the wind, jostled by the waves. The broken sound reminded her so acutely of being with the boys, way back when, that her heart hurt as she looked for Logan behind her. She could almost hear him whoopin’ about kicking Mac’s ass.

  She’d missed something Royal had said to her. “I’m sorry?”

  “Ah,” he shrugged, and his look was curious. “It doesn’t matter.”

  They turned to watch the riders who had made it to the end of the cove, near the old cave. A quarter mile down the road, where the cliff curved away, perched the lighthouse, an optical illusion making it seem as if it was hovering over Mac and Olivia’s heads.

  “That’s where we always started.”

  “Where do they ride to? Here?”

  Her hands chilled by the salt water, Cora nodded while rubbing her fingers together. “If they do what we used to, they’ll ride here, around us to the end, turn and go back again.”

  “This is pretty broke-down horseflesh we’re all on.”

  “They’re not! Don’t say that. You’re just used to the best. Stark’s horses are well-taken care of, even if they’re a little bit older.”

  “A little bit? They all wear bifocals,” But he laughed, and Cora couldn’t help smiling. He was a friendly guy, and she forgot for a moment that he had enough money to buy God. What she didn’t forget was that he wanted to own her part of Cypress Hollow. And he wasn’t going to.

  Olivia appeared to be adjusting something on her pommel. Sunlight broke through the fog, lighting them both in a pool of watery sunshine at the end of the beach.

  “I’m not selling,” said Cora. “Did he tell you that?”

  Royal sat on the driftwood log and picked up a handful of stones. Just under the surface, they were wet and shiny, and he sorted through them, apparently totally at ease. “He did.”

  “Are you angry?”

  “Of course not. It’s your choice to make. But I think I can change your mind.”

  “I don’t think there’s any way for you to do that.”

  “As they say, money talks.”

  Cora inclined her head. “They do say that. But I like my house more than money.”

  “We can move the house. And I think if you’ll let me show you the plans we’ve drawn up –”

  “You’ve drawn up plans already?”

  “Just to show you what would be possible. I’m thinking green, environmental all the way. The stables would blend into the landscape so that it would look even wilder from the coast road than it does now. Make it truly coastal and sustainable. You’ll love it.”

  “I like my view more than money.”

  “That,” Royal said, “might present a bigger problem. But I like big problems. They give me something to work on when I can’t sleep.”

  “Why can’t you sleep?”

  “Big thoughts. Empty bed.” He said it matter-of-factly.

  “Not to be too crass about it, but it seems like a man with your money could probably find a girlfriend or two.”

  “Sure. I just don’t like the ones who think like that.” He picked a deep blue piece of stone-worn glass out of the sea pebbles. “See? I like the unusual ones. They’re rare.” He paused and seemed to be wondering if he should speak. Then he said, “I still can’t believe I’m seeing him on a horse. I’ve seen him next to them; hell, I’ve seen his arm all the way up one of ’em more times than I’d liked to have. But you’re the one who got him up on that horse. Mac’s a lucky man.”

  Frowning, Cora ignored the last part of his speech and said lightly, “I’m glad I have small thoughts. I usually sleep pretty well.”

  “Yeah. Money can’t buy that. You’re lucky, too. Look, they’re starting.”

  At the cave’s opening, Mac’s arm was raised. It dropped, and they started. Mac, obviously, was better seated than the girl from the beginning. He knew how to hold the horse with his legs, how to lift his weight and move with the animal.

  “Like riding a bike,” Cora murmured. The rolling, thunderous sound got closer and closer as they galloped.

  Mac was ahead, of course, but then, improbably, Olivia began to catch up.

  A date. With Mac. In every moment she’d ever spent trying to turn off her feelings – any feelings – she’d never accidentally pictured that. Out with Mac. Would he hold her hand? They could go into the Book Spire together and chat with Lucy about new releases, followed by ice cream at Tad’s. The image twisted at her heart. It wasn’t fair to think like this. Not for any of them.

  “Damn,” said Royal.

  It was as if they were watching time-lapsed photography. Olivia was hurtling up the learning curve before their eyes. Even head on, Cora could see her think about her positioning, changing her seat, and then, in mid-flight, the horse and she became one. By the time the horses were upon them, splitting and going around where Royal and Cora stood, then charging to the end of the beach and turning, hard, Olivia was next to Mac. When they passed by again, Olivia whooped, a sound matched by Mac.

  She heard it then.

  She saw it then.

  Olivia drew ahead, her body perfectly positioned on the horse as if she’d been born to do nothing more than ride, forever, to the ends of the earth.

  Just like Mac.

  Mac was Olivia’s father.

  Cora sat on the log with a thump as the realization pounded through her body as firmly as she’d just felt the hoof beats pounding the sand around them.

  “Oh, help,” she whispered so quietly that she knew the wind took the words away from her even before they left her mouth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Breathe into the difficult bits. They aren’t a hurdle to be gotten over in one great leap – they are to be leaned into just as sweetly as the long stretches of stockinette. – E.C.

  The ride back to the stables wasn’t what Mac hoped it would be. Olivia was so excited about her win, and he hoped that Cora would buy into it, just a little bit. They’d been safe, couldn’t she see that? No one had been thrown, no one was hurt, and more than that, it was obvious that Olivia had proven to herself that she really could ride, that this really was her thing.

  And Mac had lost the bet, which meant that he’d still won, of course. That had been the goal. One date with Cora was one more than he’d had this morning. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Hot damn.

  Why, then, was Cora staying a hundred yards ahead of them the whole ride to the stables? Her back was stiff and every time Mac hurried his horse to try to catch up with her, she sensed it and rode faster. Once she broke into a gallop, as if she were running from him, and after that he stayed back, feeling rejected even though she hadn’t said a word. Was she that upset about the date? Mac wouldn’t hold her to it, not if she felt lik
e that.

  He wasn’t a monster.

  Finally, he gave up entirely and fell all the way back, listening to Olivia chatter to Royal. She spoke as quickly as the words could tumble out of her mouth, and Royal laughed at her, encouraging her.

  Mac wondered if Trixie had ever said anything to her about him. Did mothers talk about their old boyfriends to their kids? He had no idea. Olivia had given him a strange look down there on the beach, but the strangeness between them had gone away as they’d raced.

  God, Mac hadn’t felt that sensation of flying in so long that he was still drunk with it.

  At the stables, Cora mumbled some excuse about stopping by Windward on her way home, and she talked Olivia – who hadn’t needed much convincing – into currying her horse and putting her away along with the one Olivia had been riding. “Stark can give you a ride home so you don’t have to ride the bus.”

  Mac said, “Cora, about tonight –”

  “Stop.”

  “Can I pick you up?”

  “No. You can’t.”

  “But the date –” Although he tried not to let the emotion reach his voice, Mac felt eight years old, promised a gift that was snatched away before he could touch it.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered. Then she said more loudly, “If you’re still serious about that, then meet me at the shelter at five, when they close.”

  “I don’t mind picking you up –”

  She held up her hand without turning to look at him, and then she’d slammed her car door so hard Stark’s dog barked in protest.

  “Jeez, Mac,” said Royal as he dismounted awkwardly. “What burr did you put under her saddle?”

  “No freakin’ idea.”

  “How’d you leave it with her last night?”

  Twisting his head quickly to stare at Royal, Mac said, “How did you know?”

  With a satisfied look, Royal said, “I didn’t. But I do now.”

  “Oh, for cripe’s sake. You’re a piece of work. And no. We didn’t leave it well.”