Addy sighed and conceded, “Yeah. Maybe.”
With a last thrust Miranda pushed the fabric down and held it below the surface, not giving the sheet any choice but to soak up the water. Being Reaper never brought her the confidence or strength it brought others. In many ways she felt like she’d been sold snake oil when the rest of the world had been handed a magic elixir.
“Look, Mommy!” Wendy squealed.
Wendy had finally gotten the knack of pumping to make the swing go. She wasn’t going high, but she was going.
“I knew you could do it,” Miranda called back. And she had. Wendy might not be Cole’s daughter by blood, but they shared a bone-deep stubbornness.
“That girl doesn’t know the meaning of quit.” Addy smiled.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She’ll lead some man a merry chase some day.”
Not if that man was Reaper. A Reaper wouldn’t risk losing her. But if he were human . . . Miranda stirred the laundry hard, working the dirt out, working her fears out. She moved the heavy weight until her arms ached and determination settled around her resolve. Her daughter would have a choice. “Yes, she will.”
* * *
Cole took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His mood was not at peak, seeing as he’d just spent an hour discussing his options with Blade and Isaiah. Options. He wanted to spit. In their eyes there was only one. His disagreement didn’t seem to make much of an impression. When he’d felt the unease coming from Miranda, it’d been a convenient excuse to end a conversation he was leaving one way or another. He was not turning. He’d been born a Cameron and would die one. Period.
Even though the anxiety coming from Miranda didn’t ease the closer he got, a lot of the tension inside Cole did. The last of his worry disappeared when he cleared the back corner and had Miranda in view. Whatever was upsetting her, he would deal with it. Not having her in arm’s reach? That was a whole other animal. In a very short time she’d become integral to his contentment.
If the number of sheets and items hanging on the line were anything to go by, he’d say she and Addy were almost done with the laundry. Had it been up to him, he’d have left the chore for a less blistering day, but when he’d suggested it, both women had looked at him as if he’d sprouted two heads. There’d been all sorts of reasons from the scheduled rotation of the only set of laundry cauldrons, to the dirt level of the sheets. Personally he’d have put up with the dirt, but he knew how Addy felt about dirt, and he was learning Miranda was of a similar mind, so he’d done the only thing a wise man could do in the situation. He’d thrown up his hands and backed slowly away.
But he bet if he put forth the suggestion now, it wouldn’t be so virulently rejected. He’d never seen two women drooping more around the edges than Addy and Miranda. Frazzled didn’t begin to describe their energy. He tried not to feel sympathy. He’d told them it was going to be a scorcher, that doing laundry today was going to be nothing but torture. If they were suffering now it was their own fault. The problem was he didn’t like to see Miranda suffering.
Just as he was about to call out, Wendy hopped off the swing and ran over to her mother, tugging at her skirt. He saw the flash of impatience go across Miranda’s face as she moved her daughter away from the coals, felt it in her energy. A split second later he felt the love she felt for Wendy. But hot on the heels of it, impatience simmered again. The woman was on her last nerve. She needed a break.
Miranda wiped her hand across her forehead. The braid she’d so meticulously worked that morning had long since given up the ghost. Long brown strands stuck to her sweaty face, which was paler than normal. A few more steps got him within earshot. He heard Wendy asking to go swimming. He couldn’t blame the little girl. He’d like to go, too. It was that kind of day. Miranda’s shake of the head wasn’t a surprise. The woman wouldn’t let herself have fun until the work was done.
“Afternoon, ladies.”
“Cole!”
Wendy came running. Cole caught her up in his arms. She smelled of grass and dirt and little girl sweat. She squeezed his neck.
“Hello, little one. How are you this fine day?”
She promptly pouted. “Mommy says we can’t go swimming.”
“I said not this minute,” Miranda sighed. “I need to finish up the laundry.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
Cole tread carefully. “Well, that seems sensible—”
“No, it’s hot!”
Miranda frowned at her daughter. “You, young lady, are about on your way to a nap. Remember to whom you’re speaking.”
“I don’t want a nap,” Wendy snapped, glaring at her mother from his arms. “I want to go swimming.”
Little sizzles of temper reached out from Miranda to him. She didn’t like being manipulated. Neither did he, but she couldn’t expect a six-year-old to understand the call of work when the pond was so temptingly near.
“I don’t care about stupid work,” Wendy added for good measure.
“Wendy!”
If he didn’t do something soon, the child was going to dig a hole for herself so deep there’d be no option but to just throw dirt on top and call it a day. Cole gave her a jostle to get her attention.
“Your mom’s got a point. Work’s got to be done before you can play.”
“But it’s hot now!”
“I can see your point, too.”
Miranda crossed her arms over her chest. That deliciously full chest he’d nibbled on that morning. Licking his lips, he imagined he could still taste her.
“Don’t encourage her, please.”
“I’m not encouraging her,” he explained calmly, catching the frayed edges of her energy and smoothing them. “I’m working on a solution.”
Addy chuckled. “Have you been keeping your diplomatic side a secret, cousin?”
He cut her a glare. “You’re not too old to spank, Addy.”
Wendy gasped. Miranda looked like a spider had landed on his shoulder, and Addy, well, Addy just smiled and handed the shirt she’d wrung out to Miranda to hang.
“I think that threat lost its oomph about six months after you started issuing it fifteen years ago.”
“Da—darn.” He ruffled Wendy’s hair. “I guess I need new threats.”
Miranda snapped out the shirt. “What’s your solution?”
Irritation, exhaustion, confusion, and . . . fear? All came off her in waves, pricking at him, drawing him. He didn’t like her upset. He walked toward her.
“How about . . .” he hooked his hand behind Miranda’s neck, tilted her head back, pulled her to the right around the dying fire, and kissed her softly on her lips, her nose, her cheek before pulling her in for a hug. She melted against his free side. Her energy calmed. And oddly enough so did his.
“That’s your solution?” Miranda asked again, looking up at him from the hollow of his shoulder.
“Well,” he said, “I’m also thinking that maybe I could take over your job at the laundry, and Wendy and you could go down to the pond and catch a quick dip.”
“Oh, yes.” Wendy bounced and kicked. “Let’s, Mommy.”
Miranda just blinked. “Laundry is women’s work.”
“Work is work, and it’s not like Addy and I haven’t done laundry before. It will be like old times. Won’t it, Addy?”
“Of course.”
The look she sent him said she knew what he was up to, and it would cost him. He didn’t care. There were a lot of things he didn’t understand about the situation he was in, things he needed to know. A fresh perspective would help.
Wendy was all for the idea, bouncing in his arms, pushing against him, trying to get down, he realized. He let her.
Miranda said, “I can do my work.”
“Yes, you can. So can I, and”—h
e pushed the hair off her face—“a little bit of freshening wouldn’t hurt you.”
That snapped her head up, as he’d known it would.
“Are you saying I stink?”
He raised an eyebrow. “There’s a distinct scent of bluing about you.”
For a second she fluttered as if she didn’t know whether to hug him or push him away. She settled for the latter. He allowed her a couple inches before stroking his thumb over her cheek. “Go have some fun with your daughter.”
“I can’t go play in the water in the middle of the afternoon with work still undone.”
“The work will be done.”
“By you?” She set her hands on her hips. “And who will be doing your work?”
“My work is done for the day.”
“Then why don’t you go splash in the water with Wendy?”
“Because I’m not the one who’s been standing over the fire on a hot day, whose temper is worn to a frazzle, who’s worried and hot and miserable, and who’s longing to jump into that pond but stubbornly refusing to go because she thinks I’ll somehow think less of her.”
She blinked at him.
“Do I have it about right?”
“You don’t always have to be right,” she pointed out disgruntledly.
“I know. But I enjoy it.” He pushed her toward Wendy who was impatiently dancing in place. “Go have some fun.”
Miranda walked away. Slowly.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Addy said, “So, what about me? Don’t I look hot and sticky?”
She did. “That you do.”
“And don’t I deserve a cooling break?”
“Yes, you do.”
Arching her brows at him, she asked, “But?”
He smiled. “But I need some questions answered first.”
Addy nodded. “I figured as much.” She handed him the stick for dragging the sheets out of the pot.
He held it up. “Gonna cost me, huh?”
She nodded again and went and sat on the stump next to it. “As you said, it’s hot, and this is heavy work, and you clearly have more muscle than me.”
“You’re a Reaper.”
She shrugged. “You’re human. Are going to fight over the semantics? Work is work.”
He smiled and fished out a sheet and dropped it into the rinse cauldron.
“You know I’ll always make things easier for you if I can.”
“I know; it’s one of your more endearing qualities.”
He watched as Miranda stripped Wendy down to her bloomers and chemise and hung her dress on a bush.
“I know you want to make things easy for Miranda and Wendy, too,” Addy said softly, her gaze following his. “That’s not as easy as taking over the laundry.”
“Maybe it’s not supposed to be.”
“There’s always a price for happiness, Cole.”
“And you think I need to pay it?”
Addy shrugged. “I think you’re deciding whether you want to pay it or not and until you do, no amount of argument will persuade you.”
“If the price is turning Reaper, the answer is hell no. I am who I am, and if that’s not good enough, then I need to take my family and move on.”
He dragged a sheet out of the cold water. Addy stood up. He shook his head.
“It takes two to wring that out.”
“No, it just takes one person willing to get wet.” He smiled at her. “And it’s a damn hot day.”
He wrestled the sheet, folded it in half, and started twisting it from the top. Water spewed over him, and even lukewarm it felt good, soaking his pants, dripping into his boots. Hell, he hadn’t thought of that. He took a second to sit down, kicked one boot off, then the other, until he was barefoot in the dirt. Now the water could drip all it wanted.
“I wondered if you were going to save those boots.”
“You knew I would.”
“I remember when you got them.”
“So do I. The Christmas before Isaiah came.”
“He was actually already here on Christmas.”
“You just didn’t know it.”
She nodded.
He chuckled and shook his head “And here I thought the ‘Harry’ you were leaving food out for was a stray cat.”
She smiled. “Well, he was a stray, and I did bring him home.”
“Are you happy, Addy?” Cole had to ask even though every bit of her energy and every bit of her life force said she was.
“I am.”
“And you don’t mind that you’re Reaper?”
“I don’t mind it a bit. I was scared for so long, lost to myself for so long. I had my rituals, but they were all I had, and it all just felt so fragile.” She raised her hands and dropped them in her lap. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He understood because he’d been there, and he’d seen the tenuous thread that held her to sanity. Everything always had to be perfect; everything had to be done just right. Always clean, always neat, always on schedule.
“With Isaiah it’s okay to be me. He doesn’t mind my rituals.”
He tossed the sheet over the line. “I never minded your rituals.”
“I know you didn’t mind them, but to you it was never right that I needed to have them. You always felt so guilty.”
“I should have been there.”
“And maybe I shouldn’t have been where I was, who knows? Things happen, life changes us, and we go on. And I like this change. I’m happy.”
He fished out another sheet. “What changed Isaiah?”
“I was wondering when you were going to ask that.” She came up and grabbed the other end of the sheet. “Don’t fuss, it will go faster if we do it together. And it’s easier for me to work when talking about difficult things.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know everything that happened. I know his memory of his life before he was changed is sketchy, but he wasn’t happy. He was alone, and he was hurting, and he was angry.”
“All the Reapers seem angry.”
She nodded. “I think that was the criteria when they were chosen.”
“And how did they know to make them Reapers?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t know, either. No one knows.”
“Blade implied there might be others. Older, more established Reapers.”
“That makes sense. The blood that they used to change them had to come from somewhere.”
“They didn’t just change their blood though, did they?”
She shook her head. “No. They tortured them to break their minds, then they re-created them as monsters.”
Her expression sobered. “I think for a while there wasn’t much to Isaiah beyond the monster they wanted him to be.”
“So what happened?”
“Another awful thing. He was imprisoned at Andersonville during the war. They kept him in a hole in the ground, and he went crazy.”
“Crazy or crazier?”
“I don’t know. His energy when he talks about that . . .” She shivered. “In his mind there are violent flashes of all kinds of stuff. Past, present. Whole streams of emotions. I can’t read it. It’s just chaos.”
“Damn.”
“What you never understood about him, Cole, is he is who he is, but that person is based on what he’s built. Not on a foundation of faltering memories.”
“Fuck.”
“What?”
He sighed. “I’m trying not to like the man, you know.”
“I know, but he’s a good man.”
“Yeah. But he’s a mean son of a bitch.”
“Not to me.”
“Good.”
“Somehow in that craziness, when he was locked in that dark hole with nothing but bugs and dir
t and mold, he found himself.” She looked at him. “That’s the impression I get, by the way. When he thinks on it. Bugs, dirt and mold, and the walls closing in.”
Cole knew how that felt. “He still doesn’t like dark places.”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t stop him though.”
“Would it stop you?”
He smiled and twisted the sheet, waiting as the water dripped. “Not a bit. And thanks.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel important in that mighty shadow Isaiah casts.”
“You are the man against whom I always judged all other men. You know that. You might be my cousin, but you were like my big brother, the one who made me feel safe, the one who came for me when nobody else would, the one who never gave up.”
“Reese and Ryan didn’t give up, either.”
“I know, but they might have eventually.”
“No, you underestimate them. They are happy to let me do the managing when I’m around, but when I’m not, they’re Cameron to the core.”
“Probably, but Isaiah is like that, too. What’s his stays his, and he’ll die protecting it.”
Cole looked around the ragtag settlement of huts and tents. “And all these people are his?”
“Yes. And the dream. He wants normal. They might not have had a choice about being Reaper, but they have a choice about being normal.”
“Reaper law is pretty absolute.”
“But the people within it are so different.” She nodded. “When they thought they couldn’t have children, when they thought they couldn’t change at will, when they thought they were at the mercy of this demon that had been put inside them, they made laws to save the world from themselves.”
“And now they’re finding out those laws don’t work.”
“Yeah, but there are fanatics. You don’t know . . .”
He filled in the blank. “I’m guessing you have people who want to use the power for good, people who want to use it for evil, and people that just fear it or use it to hurt others.”
She nodded. “Even the ones that want to do good hurt others. I don’t know. It’s like anything else, Cole; it’s got its good side and its bad side. Being Reaper, it doesn’t change who you are.”
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