Heart of Grace (Return to Grace Trilogy #1) (16 page)

“Where’s her brother?” Cole asked Nadine over Angie’s
sobs. “Where’s Michael?”
“I haven’t heard him come in.” Nadine took a washcloth
from the counter and ran it under cool water. With the efficient
movements of a seasoned nurse maid, she wrung it out and
bent to swab Angela’s pale face. “She’s remembered
something, hasn’t she?”
Cole looked down at Angie whimpering in his arms. The
cool washcloth on her face calmed her some, but the tears
continued, her eyes wide and bewildered. He kissed the top her
head. “Yeah,” he told Nadine, meeting the woman’s eyes over
Angie’s head, “she remembered all of it.”
He picked Angela up and carried her back to the guest
room.
The storm dragged on throughout the night. None of them
slept. Angie stared into the distance, Cole praying at her
bedside. Nadine fetched tea that Angie refused to drink. The
thunder and lightning stopped some time near dawn, and it was
then that Angie finally gave in to sleep.
He watched her for a few more moments, the first hints of
daylight bringing color to her cheeks. Her chest moved up and
down steadily. What she remembered hadn’t broken her, but
she’d been bent to hell and back.
He kissed her temple. “I won’t go far,” he promised. He
straightened and turned to leave. Her brother stood in the
doorway.
****
Angela scrunched her face against the warmth of the sun
and groaned, stretching an arm over cold sheets. She pulled the
covers over her head, the weight of her body sinking into the
mattress, and breathed against the bile that rose. Her stomach
was hollow. There was nothing left. She took deliberate
breaths, burrowing within the cotton and wool cocoon.
When the air ran out she flipped the covers off and blinked
open her eyes, still gritty from tears. The balcony door had
been opened, muslin curtains fluttering into the room. She
stood, drawn to the cool, wet breeze and stepped onto the
balcony.
A remnant of the storm remained. Clouds huddled low
over the mountaintops, the sun struggling to rise above them.
Her bare feet sloshed in cool puddles. Water dripped from the
leaves of the oak rising tall beside the balcony, birds chirping
happily from their perches within the branches.
She stared out over Cole’s land – the land she had grown
up on – and allowed it to fill the emptiness. She had expected
the misery, but not this peace. Yet, there it was, as tangible as
the air that filled her, the impossible entirety of it swelling in
her chest. It was so complete that its source seemed to come
from everywhere and nowhere, all at once.
The memory of Cole's voice, as he had prayed over her
throughout the night, echoed in her head. She closed her eyes.
“Angie.”
She jolted and turned to see Cole hesitating on the balcony
threshold.
"Good morning,” she said, smiling a little as she stepped
back into another puddle.
“Morning. Did you sleep?”
She nodded. "A little. How’s Tina?”
“Mad. She’s at the mall with some friends.” Cole took a
step onto the balcony.
“Good,” Angela said, “that’s a nice, normal thing for her
to do. It’ll help.”
“And you? How are you, Ang?”
She looked away when her stomach clenched, worried she
would be sick again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping closer. “That was a stupid
question.”
She angled away. “I’d like to take the morning off. Michael
is leaving today.”
“Take as much time as you need. He’s here,” Cole added
quickly. “He and Sophie stayed out all night, but he's here now.
He knows.”
“Dammit, Cole-“
“He was worried about you. He thought you were sick. I
didn’t have to say much, Angie. He figured out most of it on
his own.”
“You shouldn't have said anything.” She hurried past him,
her wet feet making
tracks
on the carpet, and rushed
downstairs.
Michael met her at the bottom of the staircase.
“Hey lil’ sis.”
She took his cup of coffee and sipped, silently motioning
for him to follow her onto the porch.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said once they were outside.
Angela held the mug in her hands. It warmed her palms. A
cool breeze prickled her skin. She looked up at him, her chest
tight.
“When did it start?” he asked.
“It was just the one time. The night of Mom’s funeral.” She
sipped the coffee and passed it back to him.
“I was in Grace,” he said. “I went out drinking after the
funeral. I couldn’t handle it, Ang. I needed to get away. And I
left you with him. He said he wasn't home when you were
attacked. He went over to Chuck’s, but he came back, didn't
he? I left you with him. ”
Angela’s tears fell. She didn’t try to stop them.
“Mikey.” The feel of her brother’s childhood name on her
lips made the tears fall harder. In the fullness of day the
memories streamed in, as real as if they’d happened yesterday.
She slid to the porch step, both arms wrapped around the rail
post.
Michael let out a guttural holler and threw the coffee mug.
It shattered across the wooden porch. Coffee splashed her
arm. She braced against the post, squeezing her eyes shut as
Michael sat beside her. He pulled her away from the post and
into his arms.
“I should have known,” he said, his tears wet on her hair.
His hands clenched her shoulder, the top of her head. His
muscles trembled and strained. “I watched him hit you enough.
I should’ve known he was capable of this. I should’ve been
there.”
Angela curled her fist around the fabric of her big brother’s
sleeve, as she had done as a child during Henry’s drunken
rages. She’d forgotten all the times Michael had protected her
from their father, and how he had comforted her. Those
memories rushed in now, along with everything else. “It’s not
your fault, Mikey.”
“He almost killed you.”
“But I’m still here.” She pulled back and dried her eyes with
her sleeve. “He didn’t kill me.”
Michael shook his head slowly, the understanding seeping
through. “No. What hedid was far worse.”
He watched her with watery eyes, searching her face as if
waiting for her to crumble.
She took a shaky breath and stood, reaching for her
brother’s hand.
He wrapped his hand in hers and stood, sniffling. “Will you
ever forgive me for leaving, for not stopping it?”
“Yeah. I forgive you.”
And she knew that this time, she meant it.
Fifteen

Cole followed Angie’s laughter through the house and into
his den. She gripped the phone to her ear and leaned back in
his chair. Her hair was twisted into a bun and held in place with
a pencil. Frizzy tufts escaped.

“I appreciate the extra effort, Todd. This was a last minute
sponsor; otherwise, I’d have gotten the order to you much
sooner. You’re sure you’ll get the banners done it time?”

She looked up and waved Cole into the room.
“Hopefully by this afternoon,” she said into the phone.
“Tell Sheila I owe her a few dinners for making you work late
the next couple of nights. Okay…take care…bye-bye.”
Angie hung up the phone and smiled down at her hand on
the receiver.
“We need the print for the banners ASAP,” she said to
Cole, steeling her expression as she glanced up at him. “And
preferably they’ll give it to us already formatted. It’ll make
Todd’s job easier and we’ll get the banners by Thursday,
instead of Friday morning. That’s cutting it way too close as it
is. Next year we’ll refuse to accept sponsorships less than thirty
days out from the event.”
“Next year?”
“Sure,” she said absently as she noted the time and date of
the call on the inside of the file. “I won’t be here, but the arena
still will be.”
She glanced at the open laptop and then turned the screen
so he could see the balance sheet.
“Indeed it will be,” he smiled. “But I’m not sure those
numbers will look as good once you take that magic wand of
yours away.”
Angie averted her gaze from his, busying herself with
stacking and straightening papers on the desk.
Cole pretended to study the balance sheet.
Her time here was almost up. She and Cole had not spoken
of the night of the July Fourth picnic in the three weeks that
had passed, and this was the first time they had been alone
together since then.
Angie had thrown herself completely into planning the
annual pro rodeo event, and she had managed to dig up
enough sponsorships to make it a successful one. It should
have been an exciting time, but something important had
passed between them, and all this unfinished business still hung
in the air. He knew she was angry with him for sharing her
secrets with her brother, but there was more to it than that.
She could never forget what she had remembered, but she
could leave it all behind, just as she did fifteen years earlier.
And he wondered if she had even thought about any of it since
the night she remembered.
His time was almost up, as well. The cast had been
removed and replaced with a brace. He'd started physical
therapy. He had no desire to be involved in a pro event after
all these weeks away. There’d be famous cowboys, television
coverage, and the excitement of a competition that mattered.
Everything he had been trying to pretend he didn’t miss.
He looked at Angie and realized she had been watching
him. He didn't want her to leave, but he could tell by the look
in her eye that she was already half out the door, just biding
her time.
“If it’s too hard to get this done by the event, we can always
tell them we don’t want their money.”
Angela knitted her brow. “It’s money we need. I just wish
I knew who our last minute benefactor was. Have you had any
luck reaching them?”
“Yeah.” Cole took a folded piece of paper from his pocket
and handed it to her. “Sykes and Steeple. An investment firm.
I had to work it out of them, but they’ll get us the formatted
print by this afternoon. Now why do you suppose they’d send
us money from an unnamed account, and then give us flack
for wanting to give them some advertising in exchange?”
Angie stared at the folded paper for several seconds before
taking it from him and unfolding it. Her eyes widened as she
scanned the page.
“Because it’s not about the advertising.” She slammed the
paper on the desk. “What a little weasel…”
“I hope you don’t mean me.”
She ignored his comment and picked up the letter again.
“This is the firm I work for…Worked,” she corrected. “Past
tense. I asked Jeffrey –my boss…ex-boss – to shop the arena
for me, try to find an investor. I didn’t expect this.”
“Maybe he just wants to help you out.”
“Jeffrey only helps himself.”
“I take it he’s the boss, slash, boyfriend you told me
about?”
She moved her shoulder and evaded his gaze.
“He hurt you, didn’t he? Is that why you quit your job
before coming here? Is that why you stayed?”
She steeled her gaze and said nothing.
Cole wondered if Angie had it in her to sleep her way to
the top.
“Do you want me to tell him where to stick his money?”
Angela chewed on her lower lip and considered. “No,” she
said after a moment, “We could use the money, so we’ll take
it. And we’ll give him his advertising. But he’ll get nothing
else.”
“Good.” Cole smiled hesitantly. “Because I’d guess he's
already taken enough from you.”
****
Angela sat on top of the announcers’ stand after a long day
and looked out over the hollow arena. She had meant to keep
her distance from this place, from the memories. She was
immersed in both. With her legs dangling off the edge of a
wood-planked platform, she tried to imagine what it would be
like to walk into the corner market in the Village, or to order
the usual at her favorite coffee shop. But the images wouldn’t
hold. The scent of fresh dirt stole her focus and she thought
only of bulls and horses and the excitement that would fill this
space when the pros came to town.
It was only a few weeks away. After that, she'd be gone.
Her muscles ached from overwork and her head ached
from thinking too much. She jumped off the stand, her
sneakered feet clunking on the old wooden bridge that crossed
over the main chutes.
Across the arena she saw Jeremy talking with Tina. The girl
held onto Jeremy’s arm and laughed at something he had said.
It reverberated throughout the arena, the sound like a salve to
Angela's ears.
She smiled and walked to the parking lot. Her phone
beeped. Angela reached into her purse, smiling as she unlocked
her phone. She expected a text from Tina, saying something
like “Can you believe it?!?! Isn’t he cute?”
But the text was from Jeffrey. “I’m in town. We need to
talk. Where are you?”
****
Angela walked into the café in town. It was late, and there
were few patrons. Someone had put on jazz music, which
clashed with the bright glare of fluorescent lights. He sat at a
small bistro table by the window, one leg crossed over the
other. His tie was still knotted tight against his throat, although
it was well past ten o’clock at night. He stood, deliberately
taking in her appearance, and then motioned to the chair across
from him.
“I had to come see for myself.” His gaze followed her into
the seat. “It appears you’ve been led astray. Coffee?”
Angela refused to look down at the mug he offered.
“Your favorite,” Jeffrey said, “nonfat vanilla latte with an
extra shot of espresso.”
“What are you doing here?” She fought the urge to shake
out her ponytail and sneak into her purse for some lip gloss.
“I had to come see this for myself.” He laughed. “Maybe
my curiosity got the best of me. I just had to come find out
why you would choose slumming over a career.”
Angela bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself
from saying something she would regret. When she finally
spoke her voice was cool and measured. “I’m not slumming.
You know why I left the firm. As for my appearance,” she
gestured to her messy ponytail and unadorned face, “is what
hard work looks like.”
He wrapped his hands around his coffee mug. He had very
pretty hands. It had been one of the first things she had noticed
when she had first met Jeffrey, the son of the firm’s managing
partner for the first time. She had fallen in love with him
several weeks later, while working together late into the
evening. He had reached across the conference room table to
take her hand in his.
She looked at his face across the café table.
Another late
night. Another table.
Thousands of miles away from where they had been.
Yet, there was something in the way he looked at her that
made her remember, made her hope.
“I miss you, Angela. The firm misses you. Come back.”
Jeffrey took her hand. She intertwined her fingers with his.
“I can’t.” She looked down at their joined hands, indulging
herself in the familiar feel of his touch. “I’m going back to New
York, but not to your firm, Jeffrey. I have interviews lined up.”
“I know. Wilshire Moore and Greenlee Financial, is it?”
Jeffrey pulled his hand away and leaned back. He frowned
thoughtfully. “Good firms. I play golf with Malcolm Moore.
Oh, and Arthur Greenlee belongs to my country club. We meet
for drinks inthe lounge once a week. Didn’t you know that?”
He tsked and tightened his tie. “What a shame, Angela. I
thought we knew each other better than that. Surely you know
that I make it a point to keep acquaintance with other
executives in the industry. It’s the only way to maintain the
upper hand.”
Angela
straightened her
spine. She
wished she
were
wearing a suit and heels.
“Don’t look so crushed. It’s a compliment. You’re worth
enough for me to make the effort. Here, drink.” He pushed
her untouched coffee across the table and glanced at the
fluorescent light overhead. “These conditions aren’t ideal for
negotiations, but it’ll do. I’ll give you a thirty percent raise and
you can have any apartment in the city you want. No lease, it’ll
be yours for good.”
“For what?”
“Excuse me?”
“What are you giving me the raise for?”
“Incentive. A job well done.”
Angela shook her head and pushed her coffee mug away.
“A job well done? In the boardroom, or as your girlfriend?”
“We make a good team, Angela. At least when things were
good. And you know they were good. In the boardroom
and…elsewhere.” He smiled into his mug and took a sip,
reminding her of when they’d tasted that apple cider from a
street vendor in Vermont, sitting on a park bench with fall
leaves drifting all around them. His eyes flicked back to hers.
“Can you deny that?”
She looked around the café, needing to pull herself out of
her own thoughts. Mitzi tended the counter. Sensing Angela’s
stare, she looked up and narrowed her eyes, then cleared some
dishes and shoved through the kitchen door.
“You don’t want to stay here.” Jeffrey said, drawing her
attention back to him.
“No,” she said, resigned to honesty. “I don’t. My time here
is almost up. The arena is making money, and I’ll be selling my
portion soon. Your money helped.”
Jeffrey laughed. “I always thought you were cute when you
scrunch your face up like that, but don’t look so despondent.
There are worst things than accepting my help.” He spread his
fingers on the table. “When I couldn’t find an investor I knew
I still had to do something. Believe it or not, I had no other
motives.”
“Yet, here you are.” She signed and leaned her arms on the
table, her shoulders hunched. “You can’t expect me to pick up
where we left off, there were reasons we broke up. You hurt
me.”
“When you come home,” he said excitedly, leaning over
the table, “we’ll go to that lighthouse we found in Maine. Do
you remember the lighthouse, Angela? It’ll be like it was,
before we screwed it up.”
The lull of his voice brought her back to New York. For
just a moment she inhaled the scents of street carts and
bakeries, heard the voices rising all around her. She felt the
energy of a city of people terrified of slowing down –
everything contradictory to Grace. She thought of herself as
she had been just a few months earlier, existing in this fast, but
limited world. She had been getting by; living only for the sake
of breathing.
“I’m going back to New York,” she said stiffly. “But not
for you.”
“So you keep saying.” Jeffrey chuckled and sat back in his
chair, absolutely pleased with himself. “And you have no
contractual obligations to the firm, nor to me. But you and I
both know that not all contracts are in writing. I invested in
you.”
“And you’ll get your advertising. The rodeo will be
broadcast on television; perhaps not the major networks, but
we guarantee nationwide exposure.”
“What of my other investments?”
“I owe you nothing else.”
“You owe me your career, Angela. I lifted you.”
It stung to think he helped her along the way because they
had been sleeping together. And everything she knew about
the business, all the smarts she had gained, were whittled down
to nothing in the expanse of those few seconds, under Jeffrey’s
condescending stare. There was a time this would have made
her roll over in surrender to him.
But she was sick of surrendering.
“I’d still be something without you, Jeffrey. Don’t give
yourself so much credit. I’m something now, even without
your help. I have my rodeo arena.” And she knew that was
true, even if she chose to give it back.
The anger flashed in his eyes. His mouth contorted into
something between a smile and a scowl. “Neither Greenlee or
Moore will hire you, not after they hear what I have to say.”
She started to bite something back at him when an empty
chair plopped into the open space at the tiny table. Cole sat
down in it, flashing a mouthful of teeth.
“Evening,” he said cheerfully and tipped his hat.
Jeffrey smiled thinly, irritated with the interruption. “And
you are…?”
“Cole Jordan. Angie’s partner.” He shook Jeffrey’s hand,
his arm straining through his shirt. “And you would be…”
“Jeffrey Sykes.”
Realization dawned and Cole’s eyes hardened. His grin
waned.
“I was just speaking with Angela about the rodeo arena,”
Jeffrey said. “I came by to see what my sponsorship is paying
for. My firm is very pleased to support a business venture that
is so well run.”
“Well,” Cole said, drawing out the word purposely, “we got
by just fine without your money, but more never hurts. As I’m
sure you’re aware.”
“Of course. It’sall about the bottom line, isn’t it?”
“Depends on where the line is drawn.” Cole raised his chin.
The small muscles in the side of his jaw flexed.
“Interesting you should mention that.” Jeffrey smiled.
“Miss Donnelly seems to be sitting on the middle of a line, you
and I on either side. It’ll be interesting to discover where her
loyalties lie.”