Heart of Grace (Return to Grace Trilogy #1) (12 page)

room tonight.”
Later, and after she had helped Cole deposit Michael into
the guest room, Angela wandered onto the front porch and sat
in the swing. The night was cool, the moon hidden behind
heavy clouds. The light from the fixture at the front door
barely reached her toes. She was content to sit in the darkness.
Cole came outside a few minutes later. He gestured to the
seat beside Angela.
She slid over to give him room.
He sat and rested a hand on his knee. “Michael’s out.
Nadine’s already planning the lecture she’ll give him in the
morning.”
“Your dad and I used to sit here for hours,” Angela said.
“Sometimes we wouldn’t even talk. Just sit.”
Cole nodded and leaned back, taking her cue. They said
nothing for a long time, letting the swing sway with the natural
motion of their bodies. The night air was too chilly for the
cicadas, but the crickets chirped all around them. Angela lost
track of time, and when the air cooled more, she pulled her legs
up onto the swing and curled against his side. He sighed and
hooked his arm around her, pulling her close.
“I wish Michael hadn’t come,” she admitted, closing her
eyes, his body warm against her skin. “I think he wishes it,
too.”
“And what about you? Do you wish you hadn’t come to
Grace?”
“I don’t know.” She stifled a yawn and rested her head in
the curve between his shoulder and chin. “The arena’s doing
well. We’ll make money on it by the end of the summer. I have
some of my old contacts working on finding us an investor.”
“You’ve done a fine job, Angie. Even without the Burberry
suits.” He nudged her. “But you know that’s not what I
meant.”
“I know.”
They swung in silence for a little while longer. Eventually,
she drifted to sleep, awakening to the feel of being lifted in
Cole’s arms.
“Come on,” he grunted, setting her on her feet, “don’t
make me have to pour a brother and a sister into bed on the
same night. I’ll walk you home.”
They walked down the porch steps and across the lawn
toward the guest house.
“I wonder if we can get around to finishing the
conversation we started earlier?” Cole asked as they stepped
onto her porch.
She laid a hand on his cast, and thought of what he had
said about wanting to be in Arizona. She supposed ending up
in Grace together was something, but they’d been here before.
It hadn’t been enough back then, and now there was a
mountain of pretenses and regrets between them.
“You want me to tell you I don’t want you.”
“No Angie. I want you to tell me you want me, that you’ll
let me make it right.”
“And if I can’t do that?”
“You mean ‘won’t’.”
She shook her head and backed up to the door. “Fine. If I
won’t?”
“It’s not a threat.”
“But it is,” Angela said, turning the knob. “What you’re
asking me to give, I can’t. I’m leaving in a few months. I’m
going back to New York. I already have my resume submitted
to a few firms.”
“Resumes? You quit your job to be here?”
“No.” She laughed harshly. “Goodness, no. I quit before I
decided to come. I also broke up with my boyfriend, slash, boss
and lost my apartment.”
Cole nodded, watching her without censure. His calm
acceptance was far more disturbing.
“I didn’t count on this,” she waved her hand between
them. “I didn’t count on you, the boy I wanted so long ago
finally coming to his senses.” The air thickened in her lungs.
She breathed in deep and held it for a few moments, then let it
out on a whoosh. “But I’m not that kid anymore. And it’s too
late to make it right.”
He said nothing, but his eyes stayed intent on hers. She
offered him a small smile, nodded, and went inside.
****
Angela had every intention of sleeping late that next
morning, but a strange sound pulled her abruptly from her
dreams. She could have sworn she heard her name being
spoken, but no one was there when she opened her eyes. She
sat up quickly, startled by the quiet. Sunlight streaked though
the window and across her bed. The tree branch Cole stole for
her still sat on the windowsill, the flowers long ago shriveled.
Curtains billowed in the breeze, bringing in the scent of her
dying dahlias from the garden outside.
With a sigh, she stood from bed and dressed in yoga pants
and a t-shirt, taking just a moment to lament on her nearly
empty closet. Weeks ago she’d had her suits shipped from New
York. They had decorated her closet for two days before she
had sold them to a secondhand store for money to pay her
rental car and credit cards. Only t-shirts remained.
Angela closed the closet door and went out to her garden
to try the fertilizer she had bought. Perhaps she could squeeze
another week or two of life out of her flowers. As she worked,
her thoughts flittered back and forth between the work at hand
and wondering over Jeffrey’s reaction to her proposal. Her
flowerbed concerned her far greater than knowing
the
outcome, but she kept an eye on the time and decided she
would call Jeffrey after lunch.
The morning
slipped away.
Dew
dried and shadows
shifted. The breeze kicked up, a relief to the sweltering heat.
Angela knelt in the dirt, drenched in sunlight and sweat.
A distant melody piqued her attention, but then she turned
back to her task, deciding it was just a bird chirping. After a
minute or two the sound came back, louder and more distinct;
she was certain now that it came from a guitar.
Sitting back onto the grass, Angela gave herself over to the
tune, the air cooling around her. She closed her eyes and turned
her face toward the breeze. The sensation she had felt in the
bar the night before rushed back in. It filled and lifted her. She
looked up to the sky.
And wondered.
The past washed over her, taking her over like a rogue
wave. She dropped her head onto her knees. The images in her
mind’s eye centered on her dorm room during her first
semester of college.
“Nineteen’s too old to be a virgin. Loosen up.”
She gave in, fighting glimpses of horror too vague to understand.
Afterward, she curled herself onto the bathroom floor while he slept, his
satiated snoring keeping rhythm with her quiet sobs.
“No.” Angela squeezed her eyes tighter, the heels of her
hands at her temples to push out the memory, to keep it from
rising to the surface.
“You killed her. She couldn’t fight the cancer knowing you were
leaving us. It’s all your fault, girl! You shoulda gone to the grave with her.
It shoulda been you I buried today!”
She opened her eyes, struggling to force her focus out of
the past
.
She rocked back and forth, her gaze on the dying
flowers. The soft music continued. The light around her faded
into the shadows, the colors dimming. Just as they had the
night the paramedics had taken her away in an ambulance and
hooked her up to machines.
“
Do you remember what happened? Do you know where you are?”
She wanted to stay in the darkness, but a woman’s quiet voice pulled
her back into a world she did not want to be in. She fought it, turning
away from the voice and into a pillow. Pain seared over her skin and
through her bones. She wept. Her hand came up to her face, a bandage
beneath her fingertips.
“It’s okay,” the nurse said, “you’re pretty banged up. Take it easy.”
“Don’t touch me.” Angela pushed the woman’s hand away and sat
up, her eyes darting about the sterile room. She remembered. She knew
what he had done. She screamed.
Angela shook her head to edge out the echoing memory of
her own screams, and took up her hand rake. “No,” she hissed
through clenched teeth, frantically scratching and patting the
dirt of her flower bed. She still couldn’t remember what her
father had done, but she remembered waking up. And she
remembered knowing.
The music stopped. Angela dropped the rake and sat back.
She let the tears fall, urging her pulse to quiet. She looked to
the sky, to the God who
let
this happen, but left the angry
words on her tongue.
“Good morning.”
Angela jolted at the voice behind her and quickly wiped
away the tears, turning as Michael jogged toward her.
She gathered her gardening tools, pushed her shoulders
back and cleared her throat. “Hey. Hung over?”
“Nah, just slept it off late.” He took the tools from her and
set them in the plastic bucket by the porch steps. “And I wasn’t
that drunk.”
Her hands shook, so she riffled them through her hair to
keep him from seeing, avoiding his gaze so he wouldn’t notice
her swollen eyes.
“That Sophie is a piece of work. Then again, she always
was,” Michael said. “There wasn’t a thing I did to encourage
her, but she…Angie, have you been crying?”
“No.” She stood and blinked away the grittiness in her
eyes, her blood quickening again. “It’s the flowers.”
“You don’t have allergies.”
“Drop it.” She finally looked at him, but quickly looked
away when she saw the concern in his eyes.
“How about some lunch?”
“This is really not a good time.” She bent to pick up a
trowel and tossed it into the bucket with a loud clank. Her
hands at her hips, she turned to face her brother fully. “Quit
trying to play big brother, okay? Why are you here?”
“I just wanted to check on you. After last night-”
“Not here, now.
Here
. In Grace.”
“First of all, I’m not playing, I
am
your big brother. Mr.
Bradley told me you were staying. You wouldn’t take my calls,
so I came in person. I didn’t want you to do this on your own.”
“I got through a lot on my own. You saw to that. I’m
sorry,” she said quickly, biting back the spite in her voice. “It’s
not your fault. It’s been a…rough morning.”
“I shouldn’t have left, Ang.” He swallowed hard. “But I
had to. I was selfish and I had to get out. I’m so sorry, sis.”
A thousand reprimands came to mind, but she held them.
“I told you last night that I don’t want to talk about it. Let it
go.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you want?” She raised her voice. “Do you want
me to tell you that it’s all right? That I didn’t need you? Well, I
did need you, but you left. And I survived. I got out, too, and
I moved on. It makes it harder for me to dwell on it. Can’t you
see that? Can’t you see that I am doing everything in my power
to keep it behind me?”
“That’s gotta be hard when the memories are all around
you.”
“Don’t look at me that way,” she said. Don’t pity me. Once
I get the arena on sure footing I’m going to make a lot of
money, then I’ll go back to New York and start again. This is
all just temporary.”
“So why the garden?”
She glanced at her flowers, then back at Michael. “Heck if
I know. Maisy Markey.”
“Oh.”
“And I’ve forgiven you,” she said, “is that what you want
to hear?”
“Yes.”
“Then there it is.” She wrapped her arms around her
brother’s ribs, feeling the tension in him build up and then
release as he accepted her words and hugged her back.
“I want to fix this,” he said, “I want us to be close again.”
The pit in her stomach deepened and she held her breath.
The shame of her lie overwhelmed her.
She knew nothing of forgiveness, least of all how to grant
it.
Twelve

Angela hadn’t planned on helping with the arena cleanup,
but after her conversation with Michael that morning she’d had
to get away. It felt good to do something with her hands, but
by evening, and with plenty of work left to do, she laid down
her bag of empty hot dog wrappers, pulled off her gloves, and
walked to the corrals.

She found Trina brushing Moonstar. Jeremy sat on the top
fence rung, watching her.
“Come on,” Jeremy pleaded, his gaze angled over the back
of the horse, “come with us, T. We’re all going. The old
theater’s only got two shows left. Oh, hey Miz Donnelly.”
“Hi guys.” Angela walked through the gate. Tina looked up
from her task, her eyes wide and pleading. Taking the hint
Angela said, “Jeremy, I think Reed and Cole need help taking
down the banner out front. Do you mind?”
Jeremy sighed and jumped off the fence. “Later T., let me
know if you change your mind and wanna come. See ya, Miz
Donnelly.”
After he had left, Angela picked up a brush and started on
Moonstar’s other side. “He’s a nice boy,” she said.
“I have a boyfriend,” Tina reminded her.
“Why don’t you go with them to the theater? Your shift’s
almost up, so go ahead and take off early.”
“Billy wasn’t invited.”
“So? Go without him.”
“He wouldn’t like that. We have other plans anyway.” Tina
untied her apron and set it on the hook. “Can I still leave
early?”
“Sure.” Angela took the brush from Tina. “Be good.”
“Always.” Tina smiled and hurried through the gate.
“Thanks Angela!”
Angela turned to the horse after Tina left. Moonstar
snorted and shook her head.
“What is it?” Angela ran the brush along Moonstar’s mane.
The horse backed away. Deciding the animal just didn’t like
her, Angela unlatched the gate and set down the grooming
tools.
Moonstar neighed and stomped her feet.
“I’m leaving, isn’t that what you wanted? So stop it.”
Angela continued her path out of the corrals, the horse
whinnying at her back.
“She wants to run,” Jeremy said, coming down the alleyway
from the main floor. “Want me to tack her for you?”
“I don’t think so,” Angela laughed, “that horse has an
attitude problem.”
“I know. Beautiful, isn’t she?” He smiled. “Come on, she
only had one run today. She could use another.”
“No,” Angela said sternly. “I thought you were helping
with the banner.”
“They were done when I got there.” Jeremy spread his
arms wide and backed away. “So if you don’t need anything,
I’m taking off.”
“Go on. Have fun tonight!”
He saluted and hurried down the alleyway. “Moonstar’s
saddle is on the red stand,” he called back over his shoulder.
She watched him leave, thinking he looked a lot like her
brother at that age. Left alone in the corrals among the
shadows cast by the fading sun, Angela took the brushes into
the tack room. As she walked out she caught a glimpse of
Moonstar’s saddle on the red stand. The horse whinnied and
flipped her black mane when she saw Angela step back into
the alleyway.
She stopped short and could have sworn the horse tilted
her head, as if daring Angela to ride her. “You do have an
attitude problem, you know that? But what they hay…so do
I.” She grab the horse’s tack and carried it to the corral.
Moonstar pranced excitedly as Angela tightened the saddle’s
cinch and positioned the bridle and bit.
She led the horse to the ring. The house lights had been
dimmed, and the clanks and chatter of the workers echoed
through the steel stands, but the main part of the arena was
vacant. The barrels were still in the center, the ground still
unsettled from last night’s rodeo.
Angela took a deep breath and mounted Moonstar. The
horse looked back at its rider, waiting for permission to run.
Angela obliged and clicked her tongue, but she pulled back on
the reins to keep the pace slow.
She walked the horse in the cloverleaf pattern of the barrels
three times, her thoughts scattered. The earthy scent of damp
dirt brought her back to her dying garden and the things she
had remembered there. She recalled the image of Michael
silhouetted against the sunlight, asking for forgiveness she
could not give. And she thought of Cole, kissing her beside a
bale of hay, their attempts at avoiding each other having failed
miserably.
It had been like a lit stick of dynamite tossed into a bucket
of fuel. He had waited weeks for that kiss; Angela had waited
years
.
Something close to anger shimmied through her bones.
The horse – strong and stalwart beneath her – obeyed Angela’s
command for gentleness. Angela found peace in this quiet
walk, as she had found peace on the back of Dixie that first
night Cole convinced her to ride again.
Unlike that night on the open plains of Cole’s ranch,
tonight the air was stale and dusty. There were no meadows or
fireflies in the distance; no crickets chirping or a full moon
hanging over the tree tops. And no Cole.
Nothing holding her back.
“You wanna run, don’t you girl?” Angela
rubbed
Moonstar’s neck. She loosened the reins and tightened the grip
of her knees. “Me too, let’s go!”
Moonstar took off at a full run, her mane and Angela’s hair
trailing behind. Angela picked up the horse’s shoulder and
added pressure with the inside leg to lead her around the first
barrel. Adrenaline surged as they circled it and raced for the
second, and then the third, a cloud of dust at their heels.
Angela inhaled the fresh dirt and rounded the barrels once
more, smiling into the wind they created. She sensed figures in
her peripheral, but she moved too fast to identify them.
As she came around the third barrel she saw Cole, her angle
just right for only half a second. It was enough to throw off
her focus. Moonstar clipped the barrel and sent it to the
ground. Angela nearly slid off the saddle.
“Whoa. Whoa. Easy.” She pulled on the reins and the
horse slowed to a trot, and then a full stop.
Some of the ranch boys hung over the rails, clapping and
whistling. She dismounted and walked Moonstar through the
gate opposite from where Cole stood.
He walked over to her, anyway.
“If you hadn’t knocked over that barrel I think you
would’ve gotten fourteen seconds. Maybe even thirteen.” Cole
took the horse’s reins from Angela and asked one of the ranch
boys to settle Moonstar in for the night.
“Yeah, but I did knock over the barrel, so take five seconds
off for that.”
“Still, it’s not bad. You’ve missed your calling.”
Her adrenaline was still pumping, her breathing heavy. The
last thing she wanted to see was Cole in his crooked hat and
button down shirt, smiling that adorable half-cocked smile of
his. “I’ll untack and settle my own horse. Thanks, Paul, but I
got it.”
“What was that, Ang?” Cole said to Angela’s back as she
led the horse down the alleyway. “What are you out to prove?”
She kept walking, sensing him staring after her. Her
footsteps were soft and muffled on the dirt, the air still infused
with dust. Without stopping or turning, she said, “That I can
still run if want to.”
****
Cole stood in his work clothes, his hands at the waist of his
old jeans. He looked forlornly at the engine of his truck, its
hood raised.
The oil needed changing, the spark plugs wanted replaced
and he’d see if he could play with the timing to make her run a
little smoother. She was an old beast of a truck, but of all the
things his Daddy left him when he died, this truck was the
thing Cole treasured most. They had bought it together when
Cole was sixteen. It had been missing most of the guts and
they’d had to tow it home. It had taken six months to get her
running, and now at nearly sixty years old, she could still turn
a few heads.
Cole patted her lovingly and leaned under the hood. As he
reached to loosen a bolt, he wondered if he should paint the
truck and give the old girl some true beauty.
A pair of feminine voices drew his attention toward the
guest house. He watched as Angie and Sophie Alexander
loaded Angie’s car with picnic baskets, blankets, and other
items in preparation for next week’s Fourth of July fair.
Sophie had befriended Angie, and Angie had little choice
about it. Still, he wasn’t sure it was such a bad thing. Angie
seemed to enjoy it well enough. Both women chatted right up
to the moment the car doors shut and they drove off.
“Is Sophie gone?” Michael came out of the main house and
shuffled down the porch steps, his hands in his pockets.
Michael had spent the last two days avoiding Sophie, while
Angie avoided Cole. They both watched the car drive away and
disappear down the backside of a hill.
Cole positioned himself on the wheeled creeper and
gestured to the tool box sitting on the gravel. “Can you get me
a three-eighths?” he muttered, sliding beneath the truck.
“What are you working on?” Michael asked, sifting
through the box for the wrench.
“Right now I’m changing the oil.”
“Can’t believe you still have this old thing.” Michael
squatted down and handed Cole the wrench. “How long have
you been restoring it?”
“Going on sixteen years.” Cole worked the nut free and
put the drip pan in place. Once he had the oil draining, he
wheeled himself into the open air. “Don’t get as much time to
work on her as I used to. Usually I just take her up to Hal and
have him give her a go.”
“Why take the time to do it now?”
Cole shrugged and stood. “It’s Sunday, nothing much else
to do.”
“And I’m betting you’re wanting to take your mind off my
sister.” Michael smirked, but it was not without a hint of
censure.
“Among other things,” Cole said offhandedly, “does it
worry you, me with Angie?”
“Guess that would depend on your intentions.”
Since Cole was unsure of that himself, he simply wiped his
hands on a towel and frowned. “I have no intention of hurting
her.”
“No one ever starts out wanting to hurt someone,”
Michael said, his voice low. “If I had even a suspicion that you
purposely wanted to hurt her, you wouldn’t be standing right
now.”
Cole didn’t know whether to be insulted or impressed by
the threat. Deciding
that Michael
was
simply
doing
the
brotherly thing, Cole nodded appreciatively. “You and I were
friends when we were kids, and I consider you a friend now.
So trust me when I say that Angie matters to me. But it’s all
moot. She won’t have me.”
“She’s changed,” Michael said reflectively, leaning on the
truck. “I don’t know what I expected. Angie and I haven’t seen
each other in over five years, and even then things were bad.
Last I saw her was when I went up to New York to visit. It was
awful; she was cold and hard. I thought it’d be worse once she
came back here and had to face all of this. I was wrong.”
“She’s trying to convince herself she can leave like she did
before.” Cole tossed the towel onto the truck bed. “But the
past is right there in her face and she ain’t facing a cottonyarned thing.
“Arizona,” Cole muttered, putting the wrench back in its
place. He lowered himself to the ground. “I should be in
Arizona right now. Lord knows those broncs ain’t half as
difficult as your sister.” Since he was only half joking, Cole
frowned and pulled himself beneath the truck.
****
Cole and Michael wound down the day by taking in a
baseball game on the big screen at The Water Hole. After a day
of being in grease up to their elbows, there was nothing better
than chicken wings and shooting the breeze with an old friend.
“So when are you gonna take Sophie out?”
Michael ripped a strip of meat from the bone and tossed
the remains onto the tin plate at the center of the table. “Not.”
Cole shrugged and picked up a wing.
“She’s impossible,” Michael continued, even when Cole
had dropped the topic. “Could you imagine being married to
her? She’d be a bossy nag. Who wants that?”
“Never said anything about marriage,” Cole bit into the
wing. “But it sure seems to be on your mind.”
Michael scowled into his drink. “I’m leaving in a week or
so, anyway. Gotta get back to work.”
“You’re sister’s got a similar philosophy.” Cole turned back
to the television. His team was losing by three runs and they’d
put in a relief pitcher. Bad move.
When the game went to a commercial, Cole leaned forward
and shook his head. Look at us,” he said, earning a grunt from
his cohort. “You pretending you don’t want Sophie and me
telling myself I don’t care if your sister’s been avoiding me.”
“I’m not pretending I don’t want her, I don’t.” There was
little conviction in Michael’s claim and he knew it, so he pushed
back from the table. “I’m getting a refill.”
Cole tossed a bone onto the plate and picked up his drink
as Michael walked away.
“That bone’s still got meat on it. Don’t pitch it just yet.”
Cole winced at the familiar voice. Jack, his true nemesis in
matters of the heart, took the seat Michael had just vacated.
“I suppose it does.” Cole raised a finger and singled the
waitress. “What’s it to you?”
“I wasn’t talking about the chicken wing.”
“Yeah, I figured that.” Cole stretched out his long legs and
raised his gaze to the waitress. “Whiskey. Straight up.”
“How long’s it been since you had a drink?” Jack asked.
“Too long,” Cole answered, already craving the burn in his
throat.
“What would your daddy have you do?” Jack pointed
upward.
The waitress came back with the whiskey and set the glass
in front of Cole. He picked it up and smiled crookedly at Jack.
“It ain’t like he can answer that, now can he?”
“Why should he have to answer? You need an army of
angels to tell you what you already know?”
Cole defied him by tossing back the whiskey.
He sucked
in a sharp breath and slammed the glass down. “I don’t know
squat.”
Jack laughed hysterically, letting it out as if he had been
holding it for hours. Cole, patient now that the whiskey shot
stabs of solace through his system, just sat back and waited for
him to finish. He signaled for another shot.
“Oh boy.” Jack wiped his eyes and leaned back. “Oh, I tell
you, what you said wasn’t all that funny.”
“Then why’d you laugh?” Cole downed the second drink
when it was brought to him.
“Because, my surrogate prodigal son,” Jack said, standing,
“you’re a fool. I’ve never seen you so worked up. Not even
Jenna could rile you like this. The whole town’s talking about
you and Angie and how you two ought to be together. Instead
you’re sitting here drinking when you should be snuggling up
to something that tastes a lot better and won’t leave you sick
in the morning.”