His Small-Town Girl

by Lacy Williams

  Until now.

  13

  Back on the No Name later that evening, Cord hauled debris away from the barn's rotted corpse, separating it into two piles.

  He'd watched enough HGTV to know that there were some crazy folks who would like the weathered wood that had come from the destroyed barn. So he was tossing the best pieces into his truck bed, separating them from the broken and rotted. Those, he tossed in a huge pile away from anything else. He'd put a torch to them when he got done in a few days.

  The sun had gone down an hour ago, and he worked in the glare of the headlights from his truck. His breath fogged the air in front of him, and the cold air scalded his lungs. His muscles pulled and burned hot at the exertion.

  He welcomed the physical work.

  After visiting Iris's place with Molly, he felt raw, exposed. Unsettled.

  He'd needed space.

  He hadn't gone over there intending to lay his past out for Molly. Had never wanted Molly to know about Noah, about his part in the events of that day.

  Just remembering made him feel sick to his stomach.

  Noah hadn’t been able to forgive him back then. He hadn’t spoken a single word when Cord had showed up at the hospital to beg. Now he’d apparently shut himself away from everyone. A recluse, Iris had called him. What kind of life was that?

  Cord didn’t deserve forgiveness. He might’ve been a dumb kid—they all had—but that didn’t excuse him. He’d known better. He just hadn’t argued enough.

  One good thing had come out of the visit. Iris had taken in the mama cat and kittens and promised to find good homes for them. That was one less problem on Cord's plate.

  On the ride back, Molly had been quiet, reserved. She still hadn't opened up about what had caused her crying jag earlier, about what was plaguing her.

  He didn't know how to reach her. Talking about the past had been a blatant reminder that he'd ruined the relationships that meant the most to him. What did he think he could do to help Molly?

  What a joke.

  Now he was sweating through his coat, his muscles sore and aching from the work.

  He tossed an armful of good wood into the truck bed and let his gloved hand rest on the cold metal side. His head fell back.

  He'd forgotten what the stars looked like, way out here in the sticks. In Houston, there was too much light, too much pollution to see clearly.

  There was no comparing the city sky to this one. Each star sparkled like a tiny diamond against a velvet background. Seemed he could reach out and touch them, if he tried.

  As a teen, watching the stars had been a way to escape. How many nights had he and West lay on top of their sleeping bags in the bed of Mackie's truck and talked, looking up at the sky? Too many.

  You still want out? Iris's words from earlier played in his head.

  Heck yes, he did.

  He could feel the clock ticking. The mortgage payment was due in a week. Molly'd made good progress with the tractors. Two out of the five were running and just needed a paint job. They were waiting on Rick to come through with more parts. He'd promised to have them in sometime in the next forty-eight hours. Molly seemed sure she could rebuild the other three engines over the weekend. Rick had already contacted his friend who collected antiques in Honey Bend. She was ready to buy the tractors without the paint job, and her price seemed fair.

  Was it going to work, even if he and Molly could pull it off? So far, few buyers had shown interest. The tractors would cover the mortgage payment, but that would only float him one more month to find a buyer.

  A buyer who would no doubt lowball him because of the state of the house and barn—lack thereof, thanks to the fallen tree. What Cord really needed was another six months. Or three years. To do right by the house, put in a new barn, fix all the fencing, not to mention the drainage problem in the west pasture—the same swampy mess that'd existed when he was a teenager.

  Knowing how fickle the ranching business could be, it might take a lifetime to bring the ranch back to its glory days.

  And time was what he didn't have. The bid for the Howard job in Houston was exactly two days after the mortgage payment was due.

  He needed to be in Houston. He had a life there.

  Don't you mean a job? Iris's words from earlier.

  He had a life in Houston. It was just... disconnected. He didn't have close friends.

  Being back in Sutter's Hollow wasn't better. There were a lot of things to hate about this town.

  Putting gas in his truck while he got the side-eye from a middle-aged man who'd been a parent back then. Feeling the same shame when he drove past the tiny county courthouse where his life had unraveled. Out here on the No Name, he could feel Mackie's disdain and belief that he'd never amount to anything.

  Molly was the only thing that made it bearable. Molly, who cooked for him even though he told her not to. Who played guitar, but only in her room when she thought he was outside. Who smiled behind her coffee mug every morning when he tasted her coffee. Who made him so crazy he couldn't see straight.

  He couldn't stay here. But maybe she would go with him. To Houston.

  He got in the truck and tossed his gloves on the seat beside him. Fired up the engine and slowly made his way up the rutted path toward the house.

  Molly had the place lit up like a Christmas miniature. She must’ve turned every light in the house on.

  His stomach grumbled. He'd pushed well past suppertime, and she'd been cooking when he'd left.

  When Molly cooked, it made him feel things, things he hadn't felt since before his parents died. She was an amazing cook, but that wasn't it. It was that she cared enough to do it.

  Mackie had been an open-the-can-of-beans-and-pour-onto-plate kind of cook—when she'd cared to do it at all.

  He was tired of running from his feelings for Molly.

  Tired of trying to pretend he didn’t care.

  And if he cared, and if he wasn’t going to hide it anymore, what did that mean?

  The question sent his heart to pounding as he came in the mudroom door.

  The kitchen was quiet, empty. The scent of something savory hovered in the air. A foil-covered plate rested on top of the stove. His dinner.

  Molly was playing her guitar in her bedroom, so softly that he almost couldn't hear it.

  His need to see her drove him from the kitchen and up the stairs. He hadn't even approached her room—West's old room—before now, hadn't wanted to spook her more than she already was. She deserved her own space, somewhere safe.

  She had the bedroom light on, the door wide open. He knocked on the doorjamb to let her know he was there. He didn't go in, even when she looked up at him from where she sat on the edge of the bed, the beat up acoustic tucked against her middle, one leg bent on the bedspread.

  Her fingers moved in a rhythm he'd never learned, real music floating from the piece-of-junk instrument.

  She looked back down at the bed, her hair falling in front of her face. He didn't know if she was hiding from him or just playing.

  It was a sad song. Haunting. Beautiful.

  * * *

  Molly couldn't look at Cord as her fingers danced over the strings.

  He'd been quiet after sharing about his past at Iris's. Hadn't stayed in for supper. He'd left, gone off to who knew where.

  The barn, or what was left of it, judging by the state of his boots and his mussed shirt and hair.

  He doesn't need my drama.

  She'd promised to stay and rebuild the tractors, and she would. Was she putting Cord in danger by staying? Toby had been vocal with his threats toward her roommate, her friends, anyone she dared to see who wasn't him.

  Or was she simply imagining the danger? She hadn't actually seen Toby, just a red Mustang like the one he drove. What if she was freaking out over nothing?

  Tears blurred her vision, distorting the quilted bedspread she'd been staring at.

  She tapped her palm against the strings, stopping the music
instantly.

  "Don't quit on my account," Cord said quietly from the doorway. "That was pretty."

  She sniffed and then gave a wobbly, "Thanks."

  She liked Cord. Too much to put him in harm's way just because he'd been kind to her. What was real?

  More tears burned in her eyes, and she wasn't strong enough to hold them back. She wiped them away with the heel of her hand.

  "You mind if I come in there?" His voice from the doorway was gruff.

  She shrugged and, her head still down, heard him stride into the room.

  She felt him standing over her, almost vibrating with tension. She wished he’d pull her close again, like he'd done out by the tractor earlier.

  The guitar would make that difficult, since she still held it in her lap.

  And he didn't pull her up off of the bed.

  He sank down to sit on the floor, his back to the bed, his shoulder pressed into her leg. And one warm hand wrapped around her ankle, heating the bare skin between the hem of her jeans and the collar of her low anklet sock.

  "I got to thinking," he said. "After we sell the tractors and bring the mortgage current, I have to go back to Houston. There's a job I'm bidding on."

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't think about leaving the No Name. She'd been focused so hard on the tractor repairs, and wishing like a fool that he'd change his mind about selling...

  Emotion rising, she lifted the guitar's leather strap over her head and laid the instrument carefully across the bed.

  With him pressed so close, she felt the deep, slow inhale he took. "And I was thinking, what if you came with me? To Houston."

  What if you came with me?

  His words were slightly strangled. As if he'd forced them out.

  Hot emotion lodged in her throat, and she had to clear it before she could speak.

  "I don't know if I can go back to a big city," she said. "And you don't need somebody with my baggage around."

  She tried to move away, but Cord held her ankle more firmly than she'd expected.

  She wasn't frightened. Not of him.

  Because he'd made every effort to make sure she knew she was safe. Even now, sitting on the floor instead of on the bed next to her.

  "What if I need somebody around who can put up with my baggage?" he asked.

  For one shining moment, she saw it. The future he was offering. A new start in the bustling city, where they could fade into the crowd.

  And then Toby's cold, glittering eyes and malicious smile overlaid the image.

  A whole-body shiver sent her off the bed. Cord let her go.

  She was aware of him pushing off the floor, rising to his full height.

  She kept her back to him, faced the closet door, wrapped her arms around her waist. "I don't think it's a good idea. We're not compatible, remember?"

  Cord stepped close. She felt heat radiating off his powerful body.

  And she still wasn't scared.

  "I think we both know that's not true. No matter how much I wanted it to be."

  What was he saying?

  "Tell me what's going on, what’s got you so spooked," Cord demanded softly. "I care about you—"

  "That's the problem." She whirled to face him, her arms flailing.

  And he was right there, his hands enclosing her upper arms, thumbs rubbing soothing strokes down her skin. His eyes were filled with compassion.

  And she broke.

  "Toby said he'd kill anybody I got close to." The words rushed out of her like steam from a teakettle. "I can't—"

  He pulled her in. Cradled her against his powerful chest. One hand cupped the back of her head.

  "I saw a red Mustang in town.” Her words were muffled against his shirt. “If it's him—"

  “Don’t.” He ducked his head close to hers, his voice low and calm as he spoke right into her ear. "We're in this together."

  They were the words she’d uttered from when he'd been so violently sick.

  And then, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

  She wanted to believe him, wanted to weep at the wave of relief that swept through her.

  But…

  His jaw brushed her temple as he spoke again. "You're holding all of this so close. Let me carry some of it for you."

  She knew what it cost him to make the offer. Especially after today.

  She tilted her head back. They were so close that she could've counted his dusky eyelashes.

  His gaze fell to her lips and then back to her eyes. Did he want to kiss her?

  Her hands rested on his shoulders, and she used them to steady herself as she rose on tiptoe, seeking his mouth.

  Closer. Closer.

  Her upper lip brushed his lower lip.

  And he tipped his head back until he was looking at the ceiling.

  Oh. Oh no. Had she misread him? Her face burned.

  She released his shoulders, but he kept his arms around her waist.

  "Molly... You're vulnerable, and I don't want to take advantage."

  She felt the rise and fall of his sigh. "No matter how much I want to kiss you right now."

  He did want to kiss her. Her heart fluttered, and a little of her humiliation disappeared.

  But his statement was so Cord. Wanting to protect her.

  She wasn't sure it was necessary. She was already falling for him.

  Which is why she raised up on tiptoe again and brushed a kiss on his Adam's apple.

  That’s when he stepped away.

  * * *

  Molly sat beside Cord on a rickety folding chair in the sheriff's office. She was huddled in her coat, arms folded over her midsection. She couldn't stop her foot from jiggling where she'd crossed her legs.

  Cord had his arm around her shoulders.

  He'd insisted on telling the local sheriff her concerns. He'd phoned and asked for a deputy to come out to the house to talk to them, but the sheriff's office was stretched thin, and they wouldn't send someone.

  So she'd shored up all her courage and told him she'd go to the station if he'd go with her.

  And here they were. She'd told the deputy about the restraining order and the Mustang. He'd listened to her story and then excused himself to make a call. Presumably to the Austin precincts where she'd made the first report on Toby.

  Cord was tense but trying to hide it. He'd been terse and quiet as they'd spoken to the deputy.

  No doubt being inside this cold, sterile building was bringing back bad memories for him. Had he been arrested after what'd happened that night? She could imagine his awful grandmother leaving him in jail to prove a point.

  Maybe they shouldn't have come.

  She'd slept terribly last night. Nightmares had plagued her, but when she'd woken in the early hours, wrapped around Hound Dog, she couldn't remember any of them.

  She was terrified, being away from the No Name. So much more than the day they'd attended the Winter Festival. What was wrong with her? There'd been a moment in Cord's truck as they'd turned onto the state highway that she'd felt so violently ill, she thought she'd lose what little breakfast she'd been able to manage.

  And then, Cord had taken her hand. He'd laced their fingers together and held on the entire ride to the station.

  And once inside, he'd known how much she needed his arm around her.

  The deputy hung up the phone at the desk further back in the station. With the distance between them, she hadn't been able to make out his conversation.

  He approached the desk, and her jiggling foot went into overdrive.

  "I spoke to Officer Jimenez at the University precinct. He confirmed what you've told me and was able to give me a plate number for the suspect's vehicle."

  The deputy settled one hip against the desk. She couldn't take her eyes off the handgun holstered at his waist. "I can tell you that there are a couple of kids in this county with red Mustangs. It's possible the car you saw belonged to one of the high schoolers out on a joyride, ditching classes."


  A teenager skipping school. Could the answer be that simple?

  She exhaled shakily. Raised one hand to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "So I was just imagining that it was Toby I saw?"

  She didn't know if that made it better or worse.

  He tapped a pen against the desk. "Maybe. Maybe not. We don't take too kindly to someone threatening one of our own." His gaze fell on Cord.

  Molly felt the flex of his fingers against her shoulder, the way his breath went shallow and tight.

  "Are there any surveillance cameras near the grocery store?" Cord asked. "Maybe somebody in town got a shot of the license plate."

  The deputy frowned, like he didn't want Cord telling him how to do his job. "This isn't the big city, Coulter. Couple of the businesses in town have cameras inside. The bank's the only place that has cameras outside."

  She swallowed hard. "So there's no way to know whether it was Toby or not."

  The deputy's turned his cool gaze on her. "We're a long way from Austin."

  That wasn't an answer.

  Cord stood, so Molly followed on shaky legs. Even without touching him, she could feel that his tension hadn’t lessened.

  "We'll circulate the vehicle's plate number," the deputy said. "If somebody in town sees it, we'll let you know."

  That didn't sound promising.

  Cord didn't thank him or say good-bye before he ushered her back out to the truck.

  He tucked her into the passenger seat, and she shivered in her coat until he'd gotten in the driver's side and cranked up the heat. A cold front had come in overnight.

  "If your stalker has been hanging around town, chances are someone's seen him," Cord said slowly. "We can stop in at the diner. Maybe the motel. Ask around."

  Apparently, he'd gotten the same impression from the deputy that she had. The man hadn't seemed to take her seriously. Or maybe… Well, the deputy had seemed fixated on Cord. Was there an old grudge behind his indifference?

  It wasn't right. But she didn't have it in her to take it up with the sheriff.

  Her teeth chattered just thinking about being seen around town. Being out in the open made them vulnerable.

  Cord looked at her, his gaze calm and steady, one hand resting over the steering wheel.