Chapter Thirteen
Nora
Firebrook Valley
Just like every other morning, Sunny met me at the pasture fence with the offended expression of a horse who had clearly forgiven me but wanted it noted that I’d been an idiot.
I was beginning to suspect healing might not always arrive looking profound.
Sometimes it came with horsehair on your shirt, mud on your boots, and Harper pretending not to watch too closely from the barn doors.
“Look at that,” he called as Sunny nudged me hard enough to nearly knock me sideways. “It’s like you never left.”
I laughed and shoved at Sunny’s shoulder. “It’s all the treats I’ve been giving him.”
Sunny immediately searched my jacket with the focus of a seasoned criminal.
“You’re going to get fat,” I warned him.
Harper leaned one shoulder against the post, arms folded. “Not if you start riding him again.”
I looked over at him. He held my gaze exactly long enough to let me know he wasn’t judging me—just telling the truth.
I exhaled slowly. “I intend to.”
His expression softened. “You’re here now.”
He wasn’t wrong.
And the more I put it off, the more anxious I felt. Ridiculous. I’d ridden Sunny every summer I could remember, save the last two. He was surefooted and even-tempered, and if I did fall off he’d stop and wait for me to get back on.
I didn’t need to leave the property like I used to or go off alone as my mother had. We owned enough acres with enough safe trails that the adrenaline rushing through me was unfounded. I gathered my courage and led Sunny toward where Harper had hung his halter.
Sunny slid his nose in with all the trust we’d built over the years. I clipped the reins and climbed onto the fence. A snap of my fingers had him moving over so I could easily hop onto his back.
We moved off slowly. My legs gripped Sunny’s sides in a way that had him dancing, reminding me that riding was a two-way conversation. “Jell-O,” I reminded myself. “Easy like Jell-O.”
Not since I was young had I ridden with my ass cheeks clenched.
As soon as I realized what I was doing, I relaxed them.
We made our way toward the far field where the grass was high and the ground rolled gently toward the tree line.
Untouchable de Clasico followed at her own stately pace, ears flicking, my mother’s beautiful mare somehow managing to look dignified and forgiving at the same time.
Sunny wanted speed. Untouchable wanted connection. I needed both. Harper had kept Sunny in shape. I was the one who was out of practice, but being on him felt so much more right than wrong. So did making the kiss sound that had always been our cue for him to open up and go.
Before doing so he glanced back as if to check that I was ready. I leaned forward and buried my hand in his mane. With a snort and a shake of his head he increased his footfalls, then the length of his stride until I could have been convinced we were flying.
Untouchable kept pace with us and for a moment it felt like my mother was there with us, joyfully racing. By the time I brought Sunny back to a walk, my thighs were burning pleasantly, my cheeks were flushed, and another broken piece of me had healed.
I brought them in, brushed them down, then spent some time simply sitting in Sunny’s stall with him, updating him on what I’d been up to while I was away. Harper checked in, saw me speaking to my horse like he could understand every word, nodded in approval, and walked away.
Untouchable whinnied to me when I stepped out of Sunny’s stall, so I spent some time with her as well.
The sun had climbed by the time I left the barn, changed my shirt, and headed to Cookies and Coffee.
I expected the usual restaurant chaos—coffee, lunch rush, locals with opinions—but halfway there I got a text from Palila.
Mabel needs “extra hands,” at her house which means she wants us all here for dinner.
A second text came immediately after. Also Emma says we need to talk about Brady. She doesn’t think you’re dating him.
I smiled despite myself. Then another arrived. And that there’s something you want to tell us.
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and barked out a laugh before continuing on. My friends were as crazy as I was.
Mabel’s house welcomed me, warm and familiar, with flower boxes under the windows and the back door propped open. As always, there were shrieking children and the cadence of Mabel telling somebody not to put sticky fingers on her clean tablecloth if they valued their life. Home, basically.
I stepped inside to find exactly the cheerful domestic chaos that had made Mabel’s house feel safer than my own when I was young.
Two grandchildren were chasing each other with celery sticks.
One of Mabel’s sons was carrying in bags of groceries while pretending not to notice that his toddler had stolen a cucumber.
Emma was at the kitchen island slicing tomatoes with clinical precision.
Palila was pulling apart a head of lettuce.
And Mabel, queen of all she surveyed, stood at the stove stirring something that smelled like garlic, butter, and everything delicious. She looked up when I entered. “There she is. Our horse girl. With that big smile, I can’t say I even mind the hay in your hair.”
I chuckled. “Hi to you too.”
She waved a spoon in my direction. “Wash your hands and help make salad. Ethan, Nate, and Leo dropped in. You know what that means.”
“We’re adding the extra leaves to the table?” I asked.
“You know it.”
Palila looked over and grinned. “Emma and I have been talking.”
I stopped by the sink. Emma didn’t even look up from the tomatoes. “And we’re going to give you a chance to come clean.”
“Emma, your brother might be the Chief of Police, but this isn’t an interrogation. We’re going to do this delicately,” Palila shot back.
I turned on the faucet, trying to keep my face neutral. “Am I under house arrest?” I joked.
Mabel snorted from the stove. “More like an intervention.”
Wide-eyed, I joined them at the island. I had a cutting board, a knife, and the uneasy feeling that I wasn’t as hard to read as I liked to think I was.
Palila handed me a bowl. “Cucumbers.”
Emma slid over a stack of plates. “And honesty.”
I narrowed my eyes. “About?”
“A certain Holliston,” Emma said calmly. “And it’s not Brady.”
I nearly sliced my finger, then shook my head and forced my panic down. “Bella?”
“Think older and hotter,” Palila said.
Mabel, without turning around, added, “If any of you make me regret opening my home to this nonsense, I will throw you all out before dessert.”
“Noted,” Palila said.
We worked for a few minutes in companionable chaos. It was impossible not to relax in a house like this—impossible not to feel how deeply woven into Firebrook Valley I still was.
“So,” Emma said casually, ripping lettuce with unnecessary violence. “How’s your brother?”
I knew instantly what she meant. Not How’s Drew? but How’s your relationship with the person who broke your heart and didn’t mean to?
I sliced a cucumber. “He’s okay.”
Emma looked up. “And you?”
“I’m okay too.”
Palila made a low, skeptical noise. Mabel muttered, “That answer’s as thin as this soup would be if I listened to the internet about butter.”
I laughed and reached for another cucumber. “They’re still traveling,” I admitted. “And we’ve been talking.”
Emma softened. “Is he coming back?”
I paused. “Not yet.”
Palila nodded slowly.
“Which makes sense,” I said, keeping my eyes on the cutting board. “He and Bella need time to figure out where they want to build their new life.”
Mabel turned then, spoon in hand, watching me with that warm sharpness she reserved for moments that mattered. “While you deal with the mess he made.”
I shook my head. “Drew didn’t make this mess.”
Mabel conceded that point with a tilt of her head.
Emma continued to pile lettuce into an enormous bowl. “Still, dealing with your father alone is a lot to carry.”
“At first.” I smiled a little, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “But it’s getting easier.”
Palila frowned. “Are you lying to us or yourself?”
I looked at her. That one landed. Maybe because I’d just spent the last couple weeks learning how much of my so-called strength had really just been avoidance dressed in nicer language. “I don’t know.”
That was the truth at least.
Emma must have seen the shift in my face because her voice gentled. “Did you ride today?”
The room quieted. Everybody leaned in. I rested both hands on the counter. “I did and it was amazing.”
“You look lighter,” Emma said.
I exhaled slowly. “I feel lighter.”
Mabel nodded as if that was exactly the right answer. Grief didn’t vanish; it just shifted shape until you could carry it differently.
Palila returned to the chopping. Then, so casually it almost didn’t register, she said, “And how is Brady?”
My knife stopped. Emma closed her eyes briefly. Mabel reached for salt and said nothing at all, which was somehow more dangerous. I stared at a cucumber.
“Good, I think,” I said carefully. “I haven’t seen him more than the rest of you have.”
Palila looked up immediately. “I believe you.”
“Good, because it’s the truth.”
Emma coughed to hide a laugh. “Palila thinks I sound like law enforcement, but she’s grilling Nora.”
I sighed. “Brady is kind. And funny. And dependable. And he checks on me because we’re friends.”
“Friends,” Palila noted.
“Yes.”
Mabel, still maddeningly calm, asked, “Does he know that’s what he is to you?”
The directness of it almost made me choke. “Maybe?”
Three heads turned toward me and I was pinned beneath their sustained attention.
I cleared my throat. “I care about Brady. A lot. He knows that. But we’ve never shared anything romantic.”
Palila blinked. “Ever?”
I shook my head. “Ever. He’s sweet. Kind. I’d go to battle to protect him, but he’s not someone I . . .” I groaned and covered my face.
Emma leaned on the counter. “Not someone you want to sleep with?”
“It’s a valid question,” Mabel added in a dry tone.