Heart of Grace (Return to Grace Trilogy #1) (9 page)

They both laughed. A spray of flowers rained down on
them. Angela reached up and grabbed some out of the air. “I
love these flowers,” she said, sniffing them in her hand before
releasing them to float to the ground.
Cole flashed a mischievous smile and hoisted himself onto
one of the tree trunks. He snapped off a small branch. “Here,”
he said, handing it to her, “now you can put it in some water
and enjoy it for a while.”
Angela took the branch and felt the warmth of a blush
creep over her cheeks. She’d been given dozens of roses over
the years. Jeffery had sent her insanely expensive exotic flowers
on a weekly basis. Another man had once filled her office with
roses of every color imaginable. None of these gestures
compared to Cole’s.
She sniffed the flowers. “Thanks, but are you allowed to
do that?”
“Probably not.” He shrugged and they continued walking.
“How late did you work?”
“Until about…” she glanced at her watch, “fifteen minutes
ago.”
He whistled. “A little late, isn’t it?”
“I consider this an early night. There were times in New
York I’d go home at midnight only to be back at six the next
morning. Don’t look at me like that,” she added when he
frowned. “Tonight I am going to soak in a warm bath and
drink some tea, and I fully intend on sleeping in until at least
seven tomorrow morning.”
“Now that’s an image. The beautiful tycoon in a bathtub,
surrounded by bubbles. Monocle and all.” He winked.
Angela shook her head and linked her arm in his. “There
you go, being all cute and charming again.”
Cole stopped and turned toward her. He looked both
dangerous and adorable in the wash of street lights amidst the
gentle shower of fading spring blooms.
“You got real pretty, Ang.” He looked up and exhaled,
then laughed at himself.
Every cell in Angela’s body warned her to step away, but
his hand was at her waist and he smelled of soap and leather.
He looked back down at her, his reticent laugh fading as a
fierce intensity sparked in his eyes.
“Ah hell,” he muttered, bringing his lips to hers and pulling
her close. He threaded his fingers through her hair and
deepened the kiss. Angela sighed, hypnotized by the coolness
of the breeze, the scent of the flowers and the feel of his lips
against hers.
“Angie.” Cole ended the kiss, but he stayed close. “You’ll
be my undoing.”
“I think you have that backwards.” Her heart slipped to
her stomach. The butterflies fluttered up her throat. She was
afraid to pull away, terrified of what she might see. Would his
eyes turn cold, as they had done all those years ago by the
pond?
She moved out of his grip, refusing to look at him.
“Angie…”
She walked away, ignoring him as he called after her. The
kiss still lingered on her lips, the flowers he’d given her still in
her hand. Angela glanced up at the moon through the trees.
She once found comfort in the moon. It changed daily, but
those changes were predictable; something she could count on.
Tonight it taunted her, its crescent shape like a crooked smile.
Nine

Cole walked into the arena stables after a restless night. He
was in a fit of a mood and had a mind set on picking up a tool
and getting straight to work.

He would have preferred to faceoff with a bronco, but he
was met with only the quiet sounds of docile livestock and the
low voices of the workers. Horses neighed and calves chewed
audibly on their cud. Even the air was still. All that would
change in a few days, when the broncos and bulls arrived
before Friday’s event. Their presence would charge the air and
quicken every particle of steel and dirt, but for now he would
have to settle for the quiet and a bit of hard work.

He grabbed a pair of rubber boots from a hook and pulled
them past his knees. A few young men walked by and Cole
curtly returned their nods.

“You might wanna tell your girl to buy some boots,” said
his ranch hand Jeremy.
“My girl?”
“Miss Donnelly.” Jeremy smirked and pointed to where
Angela stood in a gray suit and stiletto heels. She clutched a
leather notebook to her chest, watching one of the horses as if
she were trying to figure out what it was.
The impulses that tempted him the night before hit him
like a shovel to the back of the head. She raised her eyes to
meet his across the distance. Surprise flickered across her face,
but then she flattened her expression and looked down at her
notes.
“Taking inventory?” Cole asked as he walked up to her.
“Just getting a feel for things.” She smiled blandly, tapping
her fake fingernails on the notebook.
“You’ll break your ankles in those shoes,” he said, stepping
into the empty stall beside her.
“I assure you, I’ve worn heels for most of my adult life.”
She scribbled something on her notepad. “I haven’t broken an
ankle yet.”
Cole nodded and reached for the broom leaning against
the wall. “Might want to take a step back. I wouldn’t want your
pretty suit to get dirty.” He gave the broom a quick push
against the concrete floor, forcing the muck into the open
trench behind the stall with an echoing swish.
It felt good to get back to manual work after having spent
so much time on the road. Part of him wished Angie weren’t
there. She was just chock-full of complications and he’d come
to the arena to get away from all that. He pushed on the broom
a few more times, more forcefully than necessary.
“Cole.”
He stopped his work, irritated with the pain that shot up
his arm in waves. He sucked in a breath of manure-tinged air
and turned to her.
She’d stepped to the rail, still holding the notebook as if it
were a shield. “About last night...”
The expression on her face was as serious as a bronc ready
to rear. He walked out of the stall, took the notebook out of
her hands and shoved the broom at her. She stared at it for a
moment, and then wrapped her pretty fake-tipped fingers
around the splintering wood, holding it at arms’ length as if it
were a snake.
Cole
set her notebook on an overturned barrel
and
grabbed another pair of boots from the hook on the post. “I
assure you,” he said, mirroring the tone she had used with him
moments earlier, “I’ve kissed plenty of women and I’ve not
been broken yet.”
Angie narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe that for a
second.”
Sighing, Cole’s gaze inadvertently shifted to her soft pink
lips. A strip of sunlight came through an opening in the
corrugated tin roof above their heads. Specks of dusk sparkled
around her head, the freckles across her nose made noticeable
in this light. For a moment he saw her as he wanted her to be,
as she had been that night they went riding.
“At least not broken beyond repair,” he added carefully.
“You made your feelings clear on this matter. Point taken.”
Angie raised her eyebrows, her hand still on the broom
handle. Cole thrust the rubber boots at her. She gathered them
clumsily against her chest.
“Start with the end stall over there,” he said, pointing.
“You’ll wanna make sure you get as much of it into the
trenches as you can, and then we’ll hose down the rest.”
“You want me to muck stalls?” she asked, a mixture of
horror and humor in her eyes. “I’m hardly dressed for it.”
“Didn’t I say your suits wouldn’t work here?”
“I didn’t come out here to do this.” She pushed the boots
and broom back at him, and then reached for her notebook.
“I’m just going to make a few more notes and then I’ll be
heading back to the office.”
“Angie,” Cole said coolly, “this is part of what we do here.”
“I’m not mucking stalls…”
“If you wanna get that profit from selling off your half,
you’re gonna have to pitch in and get dirty. We’re understaffed,
sweetheart.”
She sighed and shook her head, looking heavenward. Then
she let loose a surrendering smile and snatched the broom
from him. “At least not willingly.”
“Good girl,” Cole chided, grinning when Angie looked
down at her shoes.
“Tina’ll be here in a few minutes,” he said. “She’s training
on Moonstar this morning, so I’m sure she’s got a spare outfit
you can borrow. Next time come prepared.”
****
Angela watched him walk away. She couldn’t blame him
for his impertinence; after all, she was a city girl dressed for the
boardroom. She had needed to dress this way, in hope that it
would somehow connect her to the calmer and slightly less
neurotic Angela; the Angela who could control a business
meeting with ease and who refused to put up with anyone’s
neuroses, including her own.
As it turned out, none of that was a match against a cowboy
and stalls filled with horse poop.
She looked at the stall next to her, empty except for the
layers of dirty hay. Control, she thought irritably as she set the
broom aside, was something she could never claim in Grace.
Because there was nothing else to do until Tina arrived
with a change of clothes, Angela wandered into the tack room,
the familiar scent of old leather as potent as she remembered.
She was certain many of the saddles hanging there were the
same that had been there when she was a girl. She trailed her
fingers along the aged leather straps and holsters.
It was a room filled with restraints. As a child she had been
terrified of it.
“Put the rabbit through the hole.”
Angela jumped at the sound of Reed’s voice. He came into
the room with a smile as big as his belt buckle. She looked
down at her hands and realized she had been holding the D
ring in one hand and the cinch strap in another.
Reed had taught her how to tack up a horse. He had also
been the first to coax her onto the back of one. He’d been like
a kid himself, sneaking Butterfield into the practice ring as he’d
tried to keep Angela from giggling. By the time they’d gotten
her onto Butterfield’s back they were both laughing hysterically
and Angela had barely been able to hold onto the reins.
“Put the rabbit through the hole,” she said, repeating the
words he had taught her long ago, “and under the branch, then
cinch it tight.” She pulled hard and held out her masterpiece to
him. “How’d I do?”
“A little rusty,” Reed admitted.
Her thoughts drifted to a twilight meadow a few nights
earlier, where she had ridden Dixie through a cloud of fireflies.
Shaking off the memory, Angela set the saddle back on its
stand.
“What happened to Butterfield? I don’t suppose she’s still
here?”
“Ah, now,” Reed said, “she was an old horse when you
knew her, Angie. We had to put her down about ten years ago.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Part of life is death,” Reed answered easily. “You
remember your mama’s face when she saw you up on that
horse the first time?”
Angela smiled at the memory. “You’d have thought I was
on top of a rocket ready to launch into space.”
“I never saw her move as fast as she did when she jumped
over that rail.”
Laughter bubbled in Angela’s throat. “And then she carried
on with such a fuss she made the horse ninny and prance. Oh,
that made Mom frantic.”
“She didn’t let me forget it for a very long time.”
Sobering, Angela leaned against one of the saddles. “Me
either.”
Reed reached out and rested his hand on the saddle. He
frowned and looked down at his boots. “I was always real fond
of your mama. She loved you fierce, you know.”
“She loved me?” Angela felt her heart tighten. “I’m not so
sure about that.”
“No one knew,” Reed said. “I hated her for a long time
after we found out what Henry really was. I hated her for not
telling me or anyone else. Your mama was already gone by
then, though I still had some harsh words for her. But it was
the kinda hate that doesn’t hold, because whatever the reason,
it was her reason and she woulda believed in it. Doesn’t mean
it was right, but your mama did the best she could, Angie. ”
Angela frowned, wondering over the tears in Reed’s eyes.
Memory lane, Angela mused, was a treacherous road. She
pushed away from the saddle.
Tina popped into the tack room.
“Super Tina to the rescue,” the girl chimed, oblivious to
the uncomfortable discussion she was interrupting. “Cole said
you were gonna try to muck stalls in a two thousand dollar suit
and shoes that probably cost half as much.”
Angela took the backpack that Tina held out to her.
“Shows how much he knows. I had no intention of mucking
stalls at all. And the shoes weren’t that expensive.”
“Still,” Tina said as she hoisted a saddle off its hook, “I’d
love it if I could borrow them sometime, so borrow my
sneakers and don’t ruin yours, okay?”
Angela lifted the bag over her shoulder. “I’ll be changing
in the locker room if anyone needs me. Thanks, Tina.”
“No problem.”
Angela nodded to Reed. His gaze held hers for a moment
before he broke away and turned to help Tina. “You training
on Moonstar?” Angela heard him ask the girl, his voice already
fading away as Angela walked in the opposite direction.
Tina responded with an excited “oh yeah” and Angela
heard the old man’s laughter before she turned completely out
of earshot.
****
Her triceps hurt. So did her shoulders, biceps, quads and
hamstrings. And her butt and inner thigh muscles still hadn’t
recovered from the ride on Dixie. Apparently, working with
horses required muscles different from those she used for
yoga. Angela looked down the row of stalls she had just
cleaned. Jeremy was already hosing down those on the far end.
By Friday they’d all be messy again and the work would start
anew.
That thought was just too much to bear. Angela groaned
and leaned against the stable guard. She would be hungry if she
wasn’t so disgusted after handling all that horse crap for the
last two hours.
Her hair was a mess, she stunk, and she felt silly wearing
the clothes Tina had brought her. The low-rise, jewel-studded
jeans and form-fitting T-shirt were not exactly her style. Add
the aching muscles to the mix, and Angela felt like an old
woman pretending to be young.
She stepped out of the stall and removed the thigh-high
rubber boots and elbow length gloves, grateful to be rid of the
bulk. With the air now able to reach her legs and arms, she also
felt about ten degrees cooler and the strain of her muscles
eased a bit.
She left the boots, gloves and mucking tools on the floor
beside the last stall she had cleaned, per the instructions left to
her by one of the hands, who had balked at the idea that Angela
should wash her own boots. She had been more than willing
to oblige and let someone else do it, but as she walked out of
the stables she wondered if she should have insisted on doing
it herself. She supposed they all thought of her as incapable.
She couldn’t blame them, given how she had dressed for work
that day.
The ache
in
her shoulders
reminded her that
being
humbled was a heavy burden to bear.
Partially expecting Henry to come out of his old office as
she walked past it, she wondered if he would find great joy in
the fact that all her efforts to run had brought her right back
to where she had begun. He would think it was a punishment
she deserved. As Angela walked into the central arena, toward
the sound of trotting hooves, she wondered if he would be
right in thinking it.
Cole stood on the outside of the ring as Tina practiced the
barrels on Moonstar. She wasn’t as fast as the seasoned barrel
racers, but she had excellent form.
“What do you think?” Cole asked. “She looks good,
doesn’t she?”
“She looks great. How long has she been training?”
“Couple of months.”
Tina came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the ring. The
cloud of dirt that had been trailing behind her settled to the
ground. Cole jumped the rail and jogged out to her.
“That last turn was too wide,” he told Tina, resting a hand
on Moonstar’s neck. “Don’t be afraid of clipping the barrel.
You won’t. You’re not even close to it.”
Tina nodded and smiled, looking down at Cole as if he
could rope a raging bull and solve all of the world’s problems
in one single breath.
Angela had once looked at Cole’s father that way.
She thought of Doug Jordan, and of Reed Sanders; the
men who had been more of a father to her than her own. She
had left them behind without a single backwards glance. One
of them was dead, and the other filled with pain.
However she tried to fit in now, fifteen years was a long
time to stay away. She was the one on the outside of the ring,
wearing clothes that did not belong to her.
****
Her flowers were wilting. What else should she expect
from a garden she’d planted on a whim?
She crouched and lifted a finger beneath a frail blue petal.
When Maisy had given her the flowers, Angela hadn’t
considered the maintenance it would require. Now she was
stuck with her garden and she refused to let it die.
She lifted the pitcher over the flowers and winced when
the dying plants crumbled beneath the thick stream of water.
Deciding she would need to find a proper watering can, she
leaned down to shake off excess water from some of the leaves.
A tiny plant stuck out from the soil, struggling to break
through the dirt. The larger plants
protected it. Angela
swallowed the urge to cry and turned from the garden.
She walked to her car and drove to the gym, wondering if
there was hope for her little garden, after all.
****
The Maple Street Gym was not as sophisticated as her gym
in New York. A glass wall separated the yoga room from the
rest of the space, the fluorescent lights obnoxiously bright.
Trying to keep an open mind, she unrolled her mat and sat
down. Others filed into the class. Angela ignored them, closing
her eyes against the glare of the lights.
“Angie Donnelly, is that you?”
Angela opened her eyes and looked up. A brunette beamed
down with a toothy grin and bright blue eyes.
“Sophie?”