Notes in Love

by Hetherington, Megan

  I haven’t seen Colt with his mother that often. I’ve been with them at the dining table, and sometimes in her room, but the attention he gives her as he walks around the horse fields is spellbinding. She leans on his arm and every few steps he slows to a halt, pointing out a calf or a repair to a building or a new ranch hand, disguising that really he’s giving her time to catch her breath, so she can enjoy the exercise without becoming weary.

  I hover at their side, ready to take her other arm should she need it and listen to their conversation. Although with Colt there, it seems unlikely I will need to shore her up.

  Also, I feel embarrassed now I’m sleeping with her son. I doubt he’s told her, and there’s no way I could reveal it to her. Although on one of her bright days, I’m sure she would cotton on. But it has changed the dynamic between us—she’s no longer just my employer.

  It’s strange how this sensitive side to Colt was something I refused to acknowledge when I first met him and I was too caught up in my paranoia. It was there from the very beginning. He gave me a lift up the track in his pickup and introduced me to Amber which I mistook as an act that had me owing him something. Although it may take a while, I hope I remember this kindness when I move on and not judge everyone instantly. The years of abuse I suffered at the hand of my assailants will be difficult to forget but this proves not everyone is like them.

  We stop at one of the horse corrals, and Mrs. Corrigan leans on the fence. Two horses walk lazily toward us, their gait long and relaxed, as if they are greeting lifelong friends. Mrs. Corrigan lets one of the horses nuzzle her neck; her pristine braids ruffled and pushed aside.

  I wish she wasn’t ill; she’s maybe in her autumn years but she has so much love to give. Which reminds me, I have to speak to someone about my research or tell Colt of my theory on her illness. Although, I’m no healthcare professional and wouldn’t want to give him false hope if there is none. But even so, it’s important for her condition to be checked again. Wrapped in that thought, I don’t notice them move off.

  “Lacey,” Colt calls out. “You coming?”

  I skip after them.

  “Mom’s tired. We’re gonna head back to the house now.”

  “But I’m not too tired that you can’t finish that book, lovey.” She pats my arm.

  Colt frowns at me.

  “We’re nearly at the last chapter,” I explain.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  I feel sorry for him as that activity would preclude him from joining us. “We can leave it until tomorrow, if you want? Let the anticipation build.” I suggest to her politely.

  “We could. However, I was hoping you’d take me to the day center tomorrow, Lacey.”

  “There’s no hoping about it, Mrs. Corrigan. It’s the official opening tomorrow and you’re the honored guest.”

  Her face lights up, and Colt bows his head with a shit-eating grin. He loves his mother to pieces, and making her feel special in any way is something he gets obvious joy from.

  “How about Colt reading to you today?”

  Colt stops walking, and I peer behind Mrs. Corrigan to catch him scowling at me.

  Mrs. Corrigan halts too and turns to Colt. “No offense, son, but Lacey has much better narration skills, and she doesn’t leave out the good parts.” She turns and winks at me.

  My mouth slackens. Colt reads to her?

  Those notes in the book. Could they be written by him?

  I remember the other night he used a word that seemed kind of odd. Trifled, I think. I need to check his handwriting against the book. That note he wrote to me that I stuffed in my jeans. I burrow two fingers into the small pocket, but it’s mush. Put through the washing machine without a thought.

  “Everything okay, Lacey?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” I clear my throat.

  Colt’s face reveals nothing and I can’t believe that he would read his Mom that kind of book. I mean, Jack put his hand up Coraline’s skirt while they sat around a dining table with forty other guests at a formal celebration; he took her, almost forcibly, up against a gnarled oak tree with the field workers in the next field. My face heats. Yeah, there’s no way Colt’s read any of that book to his Mom. I shudder at the thought.

  Fifteen

  Lacey

  Colt persuades me my brownies are good enough to take to the day center opening, and after stressing over the idea for a little while, I make some fresh batches and he even helps me cut them into bite-sized squares. I also trial some miniature caramel and chocolate chip cookie puddings, and I’m pleased with the result. The perfect combination of gooeyness and bite.

  It’s a family outing to the day center and I ride with Colt in his pickup, with his Mom at my side and the boxes of treats in the back. Blue, Josie, and Amber follow in Blue’s truck.

  Everyone is equally nervous and excited as we drive down Main Street in Gunner Ridge and pull into the public parking lot, which is filling up fast.

  Colt carries the boxes of baked goods inside, unable to see over the top of them. Blue arrives at just the right time and takes the top two boxes from the stack before there’s an accident.

  They deposit them on a table and we all look around at the interior.

  The day center is a section of the bowling alley complex. The inside has been remodeled and although I’d not seen it in its previous state, it’s a stark contrast to the dim, artificially lit bowling alley on the other side of the entranceway. Several tables are arranged in pods with board games. There’s some relaxed seating around a TV and a half empty bookcase. The soft furnishings are floral and light. And in my opinion, the Corrigans have done an amazing job.

  There’s a formal ceremony where Mrs. Corrigan cuts a ribbon and we stand aside and watch as everyone files in.

  “We could bring some of those books from home,” Josie suggests to Blue. “I don’t think anyone reads them.”

  “No,” Colt says with a little more force than is normal. “Mom likes them to be read to her.”

  I smile at his protectiveness.

  “Okayyy.” Josie’s eyebrows lift to her forehead.

  I steer Mrs. Corrigan away from them to a table of her choosing. She seems to know some of the others sat around it. I leave her to chat while I unpack the boxes away from the professional looking spread provided by Alma’s Kitchen. Their items glisten with a glaze, whereas mine were cut with a bread knife and pieces around the edge have crumbled onto the plate.

  There are plenty of people already here, and plenty more are entering. All greeted by the Corrigans. The sense of community is powerful. Laughter. Light chattering. Scraping of dominoes on boards. Children run around, giggling and playing hide and seek in a new place for them to explore.

  I take a deep breath and inhale the warmth surrounding me. This is life—how a normal society acts together—and I don’t know if I can handle it. Against my better judgment, it’s drawing me in.

  Colt makes a beeline for my brownies, nodding with approval as he shoves a whole piece in his mouth at once. Then Josie walks past Alma’s display, with only a side glance at a cherry donut, to scoop up one of my caramel puddings. She dips a small plastic spoon in the gooey mixture and lets it melt on her tongue. It seems solidarity in family prevails and it makes my heart balloon with pride.

  Josie walks around with a plateful of my baked goods and my face goes lax when everyone she passes picks one up. Quickly, I grab a bunch of napkins for them to spit any on to. But it seems no-one needs them and I allow a faint smile to touch my lips. Then a middle-aged woman approaches Josie and after a brief conversation she nods toward me. I set down the napkins and bounce on my heels as the guest nears.

  “Hello dear, Josie tells me you made those delicious caramel chocolate desserts. They are divine and I know they would fill a hole in my menu at Alma’s Kitchen.”

  My eyes widen. “You’re Alma?”

  She laughs politely. “No dear, Alma is long gone. God rest her soul.” She crosses her heart with a curled finger. �
��I’m her niece, Carrie. And I’ve been meaning to introduce some new lines. Not too much, of course.” She leans in a little. “The townsfolk know what they like, and like what they know. So, a little at a time.” She pulls back and beams. “What do you think?”

  I blow air over my lips. “I don’t know.”

  “We could even call the line a Cup of Lacey or Lacey’s Cups.”

  I laugh politely, not sure I want any fame or notoriety, even if Lacey isn’t my real name.

  “How about you come over to the bakery one day next week? We can discuss it over coffee.”

  “Okay.” I’m part confused and part honored that she would consider this.

  “Great.” She reaches out to shake my hand. “Oh, you and Colt… you make a lovely couple.” Her other hand envelopes mine, and my face heats with embarrassment. And guilt.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s about time, Lacey. You must be one special girl to have him trust you.”

  A cold sensation shudders through me at her observation and I glance across at Colt, who stands with Blue and Josie, and looks straight at me. He smiles, unaware of how I’m feeling right now. Confused. Ashamed. Cornered.

  And I don’t know what to do to make this feeling go away.

  Sixteen

  Lacey

  The next few days are busy. The pregnant heifers have finished calving and Colt catches up on all the usual chores set aside during the time he looked after them.

  Amber spends most of her days and nights with groups who want to experience summer night camping on the Corrigan lands with the horses. The events are so popular with city folk wanting that authentic experience, that Amber complains she may have got her prices wrong.

  I meet up with Carrie at Alma’s Kitchen and she asks me to make my first batch for sale. I wasn’t too thrilled about using her kitchen, overwhelmed by all the fancy gadgets and fierce industrial sized ovens. It’s not like I’m an experienced or a trained baker, it’s just something I’ve tried out since coming to the Corrigan ranch. Previously, food wasn’t really a thing. So, I’m making some brownies today using some smaller batch equipment Carrie loaned me and some tips she gave me on presentation. It’s a new challenge, and it keeps my mind occupied while Mrs. Corrigan sleeps and Colt is busy.

  I dump the last bag of flour into the mixer, standing on the tips of my toes to look inside the large mixing bowl. It’s so big, it hardly fits on the counter and once it churns, my heart is in my mouth, waiting on it to finish without breaking a whisk or jostling off the counter onto the floor.

  Colt bursts into the kitchen, full of energy, which seems to be his way right now. Our nights spent making love and hard days on the ranch don’t have any detrimental effect on him, at all. “Wow, it’s freakin’ hot in here.”

  I turn to him in a fluster, sweat beading on my forehead. “I’m trying to scale up my recipe, it’s taking forever and the oven’s been on for over an hour already waiting for my mix. And I can’t open the window otherwise flies will come in.” I rip a piece of paper towel from a roll and dab it across my forehead.

  He stalks to me, seemingly not listening to my lament. “I’ve finished up for the day and was going to grab a shower, but seein’ as you’re already sweaty…”

  “Um… don’t think so, Romeo. I’ve got a batch of brownies to make. And it’s my first time getting to grips with this.” I flick my thumb at the mixer.

  He rolls down his bottom lip. “But you look even sexier when you’re flustered and…” he pushes his body against mine, “if you’re stressed, I have a perfect remedy for that.”

  His shirt sleeves are rolled up and there’s a sheen across the v of his chest on show. His jeans are marred with dust from an honest day’s work. And I find all that irresistible. Seriously. This man. He’s turned me from a nervous wreck around men to a woman whose body purrs for his slightest touch. My back arches over the island as his hot lips press onto mine. They are slightly salty with sweat.

  “Hmm,” he moans into my mouth. “You taste so good.”

  “It’s the baking mixture. I had to try it, I wasn’t sure of my calculations on the larger amounts.”

  His hand pushes up my shirt and into my bra. In a matter of minutes we’ll be naked because he’s on a roll and we’ve been in this predicament so many times over the last couple of weeks, I know where this will end. And actually, I’m as bad as he is.

  “It’s so hot in here, we need to get rid of these clothes,” he rumbles.

  “No, we can’t. Not here.”

  “I’ll have to open a window then.” His eyes tease—he knows how much I would hate spending the next half hour chasing flies and fretting there will still be one left somewhere.

  “Colt,” I pant, on the verge of giving in.

  “Uhum.” Blue clears his throat to announce his arrival.

  I gasp, pull down my shirt and wriggle my breast back into my bra. Colt doesn’t show the same level of embarrassed urgency, staying between my legs and lowering his hand to my knees as Blue strides into the kitchen.

  “Don’t mind me,” Blue opens the refrigerator and takes out a carton of milk.

  Colt places a final kiss on my lips. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” His eyebrows repeatedly lift above his sparkling eyes. “A long one,” he murmurs, then turns and paces out of the kitchen.

  I ignore his hint for me to join him. On purpose. I’ve got dessert to make.

  “You guys getting on okay, then?” Blue asks, drinking half a glass of milk in one long gulp and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Yeah.” I scratch at my head, trying to remember where I was with the baking. I wash my hands and switch the mixer back on.

  “And everything okay with Mom?” he leans in so I’ll hear him over the mixer.

  “Sure,” I say, still distracted by my need to get on with this baking.

  “You would tell someone if there was anything wrong wouldn’t you, Lacey.”

  I stare at him, trying to replay his words, decipher his tone, and read his facial expression at the same time. I want to ask him what he’s getting at, but I’m afraid of the answer, so I chicken out and tell him, “Sure, I would.” A sweet smile forms on my lips.

  He tops up his glass with milk and turns to leave. “Smells delicious by the way.”

  “Thank you,” I call after him. My words fade with worry.

  I rest back on the counter, the vibration of the mixer pulsing through me. I hate myself so much right now. These people. They are so beautiful in every way, and I lie to them every goddamn day. But if I tell them who I am, what I did, they will hate me so much more. Won’t they?

  Seventeen

  Lacey

  Something’s not right. Colt and I have had two months of bliss and that’s too perfect for my world. I’ve always believed I’ve done something to someone in a former life, and this time around is my punishment. Proven, again and again, by things that have happened to me. All of which I’ve hidden from Colt with one simple lie—I left El Paso and my past behind. And he’s accepted that.

  I should have left way before now, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Losing myself in the minuity of life on the ranch.

  Colt hasn’t pushed me for any details about my life before I came to the Corrigan ranch. Not asked about my scars. Why I don’t have any family. Former boyfriends. Friends. It’s like he knows we’re on borrowed time too and doesn’t want to ask anything that would jeopardize it. Laid here in the crook of his strong arm, listening to his soft snores should feel like the safest place on Earth. But it’s not. It can’t be. This is not my destiny, and the anxiety bubbling in my chest cavity reminds me of that.

  Three nights in a row, I’ve woken in a cold sweat. Running. My perpetual nightmare. Running to escape a large snarling mythical creature that lurches toward me on all fours. The stench of its fur makes me nauseous as I suck in air, and it’s as if it intoxicates me as my lungs close up and are unable to circulate enough oxygen to my trembling le
gs. Predictably, I wake with a start as the beast makes its last pounce, and I bolt upright.

  It’s obvious who that beast is. What I can’t work out is why he’s haunting me now.

  Slowly, I rise, making sure not to shift the mattress too much. I replace my form with a pillow and slide from under the bedspread.

  A shaft of moonlight from partially open drapes draws me to the window. It’s three am and dark at ground level, but I can imagine the scene below. The barns. The vehicles. The horse corral. The cows.

  I wrap my arms around my chest and hug the back of my triceps. But I can’t shake this unsettled feeling.

  The bedsheets rustle, and I glance at Colt who rolls over and cuddles the pillow. A sliver of light glistens on his tanned skin. If only I could climb back into bed and hold him close and make all my fears disappear. But I can’t. I have to reassure myself that it’s only my mind playing tricks on me. And that means checking where I hid my ride.

  Quietly, I slip into some jeans and after searching the floor for my shirt, I settle for Colt’s, pulling the soft fabric that smells of him onto my arms. Carefully clicking the door closed, as I creep out to the hallway, I take a moment to listen to the sounds of the house. Nothing. No-one stirs. Buttoning the shirt as I pad down the stairs, I pull on my boots and step out through the kitchen to the backyard.

  It’s a long distance to cover in the dark, and I’m unsure of my footing as I trudge up the hill toward the high road—the one that only leads to town. I catch my breath when I reach the asphalt, looking down at the silhouette of the ranch and the farm buildings where security lights glow from the apex of each roof. It has taken longer than I thought to reach here, and for a second I consider running down the hill back to the ranch and checking on the hiding place some other day. But I have to follow through. I’m here and putting it off won’t resolve my anxiety.