She settled on a nice pair of blue jeans and a green shirt, but nothing would dim her debilitating fear of going over to Joe’s. She didn’t know who was going to be there: Would there be kids, adults, and how many? She wondered how painful the night would be, and the more she thought about it, the more she was sweating.
She drove her car, but this time she pulled close to the shoulder and left it parked on the side of the road. There was a path beside the entrance that wasn’t as muddy, and she made her way up the driveway—a walk that didn’t take as long as she hoped. She could hear voices and laughter, a definite party atmosphere, and she walked into the open, grassy yard, where a picnic table and several plastic chairs were sitting, and about a dozen adults and that many more kids all stopped and stared. If it wasn’t for the fact that she’d disappoint Ryan, she’d have turned around and run all the way back to her car, probably never leaving her property again.
“Margaret, you’re here!” Ryan called out. He jogged over to her, wearing a black baseball cap and a bright orange shirt. The sun was still out, the sky blue with thin clouds here and there. All in all, it was a pleasant evening.
She reached out and touched his arm. “Hey, yeah, wouldn’t miss it. How does it feel to be fourteen? Oh, here. Before I forget, I got you something.” She yanked out the wrapped knife and then cringed at the red bow she’d attached. How stupid was that for a boy?
To his credit, he didn’t roll his eyes, but she could tell he wasn’t impressed by the size of the frilly decoration.
“Open it,” she said.
He started to pull the tape, but Joe shouted to him, “Hey, Ryan, you know better. Put it with the other gifts until after.”
“Sorry, Joe. That was my fault,” Margaret stuttered, gazing awkwardly at the strangers and clasping her hands together for lack of anything better to do with them.
Ryan raced to a round plastic table outside the house, which had a few gifts stacked, and placed hers in the pile.
Joe nestled a beer between thumb and forefinger, took a swig, then waved at Margaret while he poked the guy barbequing beside him. The guy was tall, good looking, with broad shoulders, and he looked as good as Joe in a pair of blue jeans. He had short red hair and freckles and wore an Idaho Vandals t-shirt. Everyone there was in blue jeans, but then, in this part of the country, no one wore anything else. Good thing she had realized that before putting on something really stupid, like a skirt or, God forbid, a sundress.
This was the hardest thing she could remember ever having done—next to walking in and facing the hospital board to be fired, that is, which was one of her worst nightmares. It burned a hole in her stomach now as the memory of the experience flashed through her head. With her underarms damp, beads of sweat rolling down her back, she dug deep and took that next step, walking into this close group of people who didn’t know her at all and made her feel about as welcome as a carpenter ant in a cedar house.
“Oh, Madeline, you made it?” It was Sara, who stepped out of Joe’s small one-story house, which had blue shutters and a deck that wrapped around the front. She wore a dark pair of shorts, showing off slim, tanned legs, and a ruffled blue shirt. Her long blond hair was pinned up, with curls cascading down her back, and she looked to be in her early twenties.
Margaret cringed. Having someone forget your name was bad, but having it happen in front of a dozen strangers was worse. “Hi,” she said.
The few lawn chairs on the grass were all taken by the women, clumped together in a circle, and all were staring at her. The men were standing, all with beers, and quick mental math let Margaret know she was the only single person here. Not good. No wonder the women stared. The men obviously knew better—more codes and rules she was sure to break. This was truly awful. Sara strode right to Joe, sliding her arm possessively up his. He leaned down and kissed her, and she linked their arms.
“Madeline, would you like a beer?” Sara asked. “Joe, aren’t you going to introduce her to everyone?”
“Hi, Madeline,” one of the women said. “My name’s Nancy. I’m Vern’s wife. He’s that handsome guy barbequing with Joe.” Nancy was sitting with the group of women. She wore a yellow shirt and had short, dark hair. She smiled brightly and waved.
“My name’s Margaret,” she said, and it came out sounding a little raspy. Nancy winced and pressed her hand to her chest, glancing sharply at Sara.
“I’m so sorry, Margaret. I heard you were working with Storm, doing all kinds of great things. That horse, I swear, was about to kill someone. Vern even said to Joe there was no hope for that horse. He told Joe to put him down before someone got hurt.”
“There’s always hope for a horse. Sometimes it’s just about figuring out what went wrong, but it’s always about people when it comes to horse problems. Horses are really just mirrors to a situation, and they react to you and what’s going on in your life.” Everyone stared at her, and the only thing she could hear was the sizzling of some meat on the barbeque. She could see Joe staring at her with a dark look she hadn’t seen before, but it convinced her he definitely didn’t want her there. Someone cleared their throat roughly. Maybe she should leave, she thought, as she realized what she’d said.
Ryan took that moment to jog back over. He was a welcome sight to Margaret, especially since he seemed happy. She turned to face him and touched his shoulder so she could give everyone her back. What could ever have possessed her to talk about the root of Storm’s problems here, of all places? “You know, Ryan, I think I should go,” she said, wincing when she saw his disappointment.
She wondered now, by Joe’s reaction when she’d walked in, if maybe she hadn’t been expected. Maybe Ryan hadn’t told his dad she was coming? The way Joe treated her when they were alone was far different from the cold disinterest he showed now. She was glad she’d decided to pull on her jean jacket, because when she got nervous, she sweated worse than any man. Her underarms, her back, and, she was positive, her green shirt were wet in the most awkward of places.
“Listen, you have a great birthday,” she continued. “I should really get back. I didn’t do any work with Storm today.” She saw his disappointment when his shoulders dipped and his excitement dimmed. “It’ll be okay. You have friends here. You’ll have fun tonight….”
Ryan glanced over her shoulder. Margaret could feel her back heating up and hear footsteps behind her. Her heart was pounding, and she swallowed the urge to bolt as her leg muscles tightened and she glanced to the line of trees at the edge of the driveway, which would hide her as she raced down the road to her parked car.
“Dad, Margaret said she’s leaving,” Ryan said. What made it worse, other than the few whispers, was that everyone appeared to be listening. She cringed inwardly, and she really wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Her face warmed. She knew she was blushing.
“Ryan, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday and give you your present. Really, I should go….”
Joe came into her line of sight, Sara attached to his side as if they were glued together.
“Dad, tell her to stay, please,” Ryan asked.
“Margaret, dinner’s almost ready. Come on, stay. Ryan really wants you here,” Joe said, but somehow it lacked any real conviction.
Sara pursed her lips, glanced up at Joe, and then patted his arm as she moved toward Margaret, sliding her hand around her elbow and linking their arms as if they were the best of friends, saying, “Yes, stay, please. Joe, get her a beer.” Sara turned back to Margaret. “Look, there’s so much food. Everyone brought something.” Some of the women were now filling plates, and teens were crowding the food table filled with salads, buns, and beans.
A platter of hot dogs and burgers was set on the table by Vern as he shouted, “Burgers and dogs are ready! Everyone come and eat.”
A plate was passed to Margaret, and everyone’s attention was now on the food and, thankfully, not the fact that she was a social misfit. How did one go about learning the niceties of polite conversation? S
he’d have given anything for the sky to open up and grace her with something intelligent to say, but her tongue became thick and heavy and her mind went blank.
It was taking everything she had in her to fight the urge to drop her plate and run, which would ensure she’d never be able to show her face anywhere in this county again. It just wasn’t an option, so she scooped up a few types of salads and dressed a burger, quelling the horrible shaking that had her nerves on edge.
Sara called to her and motioned her over. “Come and grab a seat!”
Margaret moved away from the table to find a spot to sit. She didn’t like Sara, but she had to admit that she was the only one other than Ryan making any attempt with her at all.
“I don’t want to take anyone’s chair,” Margaret said as she stared at several of the empty chairs the women had been sitting in.
Sara shook her head. “They’re first come, first serve. Joe put them all out for everyone.”
Margaret took the white plastic one beside Sara, and they were joined by the other women and a few husbands. Some of the men grabbed some lawn chairs from the back of a pickup and brought them over.
Nancy carried a plate of food and two open beers in her other hand. “Margaret, I don’t think anyone has got you settled in with a beer yet.”
Margaret realized she was probably supposed to have brought her own—and, from the spread, a side dish, too. “Oh, thank you. I didn’t bring anything, and I don’t really drink….”
“Oh, nonsense. This is a birthday party, and if there’s one thing Joe’s barbeques never have a shortage of, it’s beer,” Nancy added.
Margaret accepted the dark cold bottle of beer. “Thank you.” She took a swallow of the bitter brew, thankful for the buzz it gave her, hoping it would at least boost her courage.
“Heard from Ryan that you’ve done some amazing things with Storm,” Vern, Nancy’s handsome redheaded husband, said. “There hasn’t been anyone for a while around these parts who’s worked with horses. Where did you learn to work with them, anyway?”
Margaret swallowed, because the way Vern watched her was familiar. “Grandpa always had horses,” she said. “He was good with them, taught me a lot about how to listen to them, talk to them, and be around them. Horses read every part of us and react to us. I’ve never had formal training, but Storm’s done well. He’s making progress. I’m building trust with him and hope to get him back to Ryan soon so he can start reconnecting. He needs to build trust with Storm and let go of his fear.”
“Do you really think that’s possible? I mean, I told Joe that horse has a mean look, and I was here the last time he threw Ryan, tried to stomp him.”
Everyone was listening to Vern, even Joe, who lingered in the background and was watching Margaret with unwelcome hardness. Good grief, why had she ever agreed to come?
“I can only try. You know, when you step into that ring and there’s something going on in your head, your horse is going to pick up on it and react to it,” Margaret said before taking another swallow of beer. “You need to figure out who you are before you get in that ring and be comfortable in your own skin. With horses, you need to go slow and give them time. If they believe they’re trapped, you need to first help them understand you’re not confining them.”
“Don’t you mind living alone way out here?” Sara asked, daintily taking a bite of salad as if she hadn’t heard a word Margaret had said. “I mean, what if something happened? Joe said you don’t have a phone.”
“No, I like it. I just haven’t had a chance to hook up the phone, is all,” she explained. That asshole, she thought. Why the hell was Joe telling Sara all about her business?
“Joe said you grew up and went to school here?” Sara said.
Margaret really didn’t like the way this conversation was going, because she thought Joe hadn’t remembered her, or at least she hoped he hadn’t. She didn’t want to be remembered as the awkward misfit who had been teased mercilessly. “Yeah, I lived with my grandfather,” she said.
“Oh, I knew I remembered you from school,” one of the guys said. He had dark curly hair and a soft belly, and he was holding a burger, standing behind the overweight bleached blonde sitting across from her. “You were that tall girl. Remember, Joe? You called her Stretch. That was the first time we saw a girl we all had to crane our necks to look up to.” The guy laughed, but Margaret wanted to cry inside. She’d hated that while growing up: the snickers, the laughter behind her back whenever she walked into a room or in class, all the ridiculous nicknames.
“Oh, please, Mike. You guys were all jealous, is all,” Nancy barked at the round-faced man.
“Wow, I can’t imagine,” Sara said. “That must have been awful for you. I mean, for girls it’s awkward enough, but Joe was telling me how you never fit in.” She spoke softly and sounded genuinely caring.
Margaret could feel the hairs on the back of her neck doing their Spidey-sense warning thing. It was something she’d learned to pay attention to, and she would have given anything in that moment to crawl under her chair and hide. She couldn’t shake the sense that things were about to get worse.
“Sara,” Joe said, but she didn’t look at him. She smiled at Margaret and then set her fork on her plate.
“Joe was just telling me about the time you turned up in class wearing a toque, and he yanked it off and your hair was bright orange, and your face went beet red. What was it you called her then, Joe, Carrot? Wasn’t that what you told me?” Sara giggled as if it was the funniest thing.
Margaret cried inside and felt the ache in her jaw from forcing a look on her face that said everything was fine. Yeah, she remembered trying to fit in, becoming a blonde, hoping that would be all it took for the guys to like her, maybe ask her out. She had failed miserably when the bleach turned her hair orange instead.
“Sara, that’s enough,” Joe barked, but Sara continued.
“Oh my, and then Joe said how everyone laughed at you, including the teacher, and every day you had to―”
“Sara,” Joe interrupted, his tone filled with warning. Everyone was staring at Margaret, the men looking away awkwardly. Some blushed, another cleared his throat, and no one laughed now. It was one of those moments where she would have loved to be an ostrich and shove her head in a hole, but she couldn’t. She sat frozen, her untouched dinner balanced on her lap.
“It was a home dye job that went bad,” she said. “Thought I’d try blond. Didn’t work, though, and my grandfather made me live with it. Going to school every day was my punishment until it grew out, all because I had used his peroxide without asking.” She tipped back the last of the beer and stood up, staggering a bit. Her burger slid off the plate and landed on the ground, and she stared in horror. Could it get any worse? she wondered.
“Let me get that,” Nancy said, grabbing the plate as Margaret bent over to get her burger.
“I’m sorry…” Margaret stuttered.
“Vern, get Margaret another burger. I’ll give this to the dogs,” Nancy said, tossing it in the grass.
“Thank you for inviting me, but I should go,” Margaret began. She moved past everyone, Nancy beside her, and dumped the paper plate in the garbage by the table. Joe had pulled Sara away from the others, and he was holding her elbow. Whatever he was saying, she didn’t seem happy, and he appeared even unhappier.
“Margaret, stay,” Nancy said. “Don’t go. Don’t mind Sara. I could never have believed how mean Joe was then, yanking off your hat…. That’s horrible.” Nancy stared at her with the first bit of remorse Margaret had seen from anyone here.
She winced and touched Nancy’s hand. “No, I need to go. This is Ryan’s party. Besides, I have work to do.”
She hurried away before anyone could say something. Even though Nancy called after her, she kept going. As soon as she passed the line of trees on the driveway, hiding her from everyone, she started running, letting all her hurt drift away, relieved when she reached the end of the trail beside the mud bog,
where her car was parked on the side of the road. She froze, slapping her hand to her side. Her keys were in the beige cloth purse she normally didn’t carry, sitting under that plastic chair in Joe’s front yard. She had two choices: Suck it up and go back, in the biggest walk of shame she would ever experience, or walk the five miles home.
Margaret started walking.
Chapter Eight
Joe couldn’t believe it. When he turned around, the damn woman had already taken off. Everyone was quiet, with open mouths, staring and shaking their heads.
Vern took a huge bite of his burger. “Spooks easily, doesn’t she?” he mumbled.
Nancy smacked his arm and cast narrowed eyes at Sara and Joe. “She was embarrassed. For the life of me, I did some awful things growing up, but it’s not right for an adult to embarrass someone like that. You’re supposed to have some respect and understanding. You guys were awful to her in school,” she said, crossing her arms and tossing the remains of Margaret’s dinner into the garbage.
“Well, why’s everyone looking at me? I thought what you told me was hilarious, Joe. Doesn’t she have a sense of humor?” Sara said, as if she were the wounded party.
Joe couldn’t believe the little chit. As he stared at her, he wondered what could have possessed her to blurt the story out in front of everyone. Maybe he shouldn’t have shared with Sara the little he had known about Margaret in school, but he was ticked off with her and thought she needed to be knocked down a peg or two. Sara now had a look about her as if she was wondering why he was so mad. Well, hell, he was mad at himself for trusting her to be discreet. The only reason he had told her was that she made it too easy to share, but now he felt like crap, especially as he relived the wounded look in Margaret’s eyes. No matter what he thought of her, he knew it was cruel, what Sara had said. He was just thankful he hadn’t shared what Hazel had told him about Margaret being fired from her position as a prominent surgeon. No, there was something about it that would have made him embarrassed to mention it to anyone.
The One (Book 1, of The Wilde Brothers, A Contemporary Western Romance) Page 5
