Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
GRACE
T he text on my phone buzzes again. I’m too scared to touch it.
Where the fuck are you, Grace?
Joel.
Who else?
I have been ignoring his texts. But this is the first time he’s wanted to know where I am. The previous ones were him yelling at me, in all caps, about taking off with my own money. Come back to do my chores. He needs to get laid.
Blah blah blah.
Not my problem.
Until now.
Now, he wants to know where I am.
Shit.
What part of disappeared without contact does he not understand?
I hold the coffee cup in my shaking hands, sipping cautiously, like it’s the hot brown liquid’s fault.
A knock rattles the door. I freeze, swallowing down the last mouthful.
No.
That was way too fast.
Another knock. “Mackie-boy? Anyone home?”
Relief floods my body and I all but drop the mug onto the counter. Rushing to the door, I fling it open. A guy, older than Mackinlay and dressed like he just stepped off the city subway, stands on the other side of the threshold.
“You must be Lawson?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am.” His grin is almost as charismatic as Reed’s.
I chuckle and step back as heat floods my cheeks. I will never get used to this cowboy etiquette. The kindness bundled up with happiness, smothered in politeness. It’s overwhelming for someone who’s been living with the literal devil for almost three years.
“You must be Grace. I’m Mackie-boy’s older brother. One of them, at least.”
“Mackie-boy?” My face is twisted in disbelief that Mackinlay could have a lovable nickname like that.
“Oh yeah, he hates it when I call him that.” Lawson’s grin grows wider.
I hold a hand out to take one of his bags. He shakes his head and steps inside. “I know where I’m going, Gracie, but thanks.”
“Oh, okay.” I shut the door as he drops his bags and runs a hand through his brown hair. He’s stunning. “How was your trip?”
“Long. But I don’t have the chance to come home as much as I would like. So, any excuse is a good one, if you ask me. Plus, the county fair is soon. Can’t miss that.”
“Oh, I’ve never been to one of those.”
A voice clears at the start of the hallway. Mackinlay leans on his crutches, eyes boring into his brother’s. “Should have stayed in the city, Laws.”
“How’s those exercises coming along, Mackie-boy?”
“Fuck off.” He pivots and stumbles before stalking away from us as fast as he can go. I move to go after him, but Lawson rests a hand on my arm. “I got it, Grace.”
I force a smile, but I feel like this is my fault. I pushed him with the yoga. Pretty sure I caused that panic attack he had with the plate that slipped through my fingers and smashed to the floor. I can’t seem to get it right. I feel safe here. But I’m not sure I belong. Or that my presence is benefiting Mackinlay.
If I have caused a setback for him, I will never forgive myself. After all his family has done for me.
I crack the window as Lawson wipes the sweat from his brow. The machines are heavy lifting. I’m helping, but who am I kidding—he is doing the bulk of the grunt work. I have a layout sketched in my book, setting out the room in the order of the physio program Mackinlay is supposed to do. We are setting it up to suit.
“You think he needs another fan in here?” I ask.
Lawson glances up from the ground where he’s sitting, legs spread in his running shorts and t-shirt. He pauses, his hands mid-hex-key turn on the back of the weight machine. “I guess he will be exerting himself in here. Yeah, put it on the list. I’ll grab one in town tomorrow.”
The idea of Mackinlay exerting himself in any sense sends my blood thundering through my veins in a way it absolutely shouldn’t. Lawson interrupts the thoughts I can’t rein in.
“You should take a room for yourself, Grace. This house is huge. Make a craft room or a library or someplace for yourself. Hell, I bet he wouldn’t even notice.”
“I can’t do that.”
I pluck a towel from the linen hamper and fold it in half. Folding it in half again, I roll it up. Placing it on the small table in the center of the wall by the door, I bend down to pluck up the next one.
“Sure you can. Since you’ll be the one making him do this routine three times a day, you’re going to need somewhere to hide out.” The grin that breaks across his face sends a chuckle up my throat. I toss a towel at him, and he catches it with one hand before throwing it back. I fumble the catch and fold the towel in half twice. Rolling it up, I glance to Lawson. “You really think he wouldn’t mind?”
“Nah, what did you have in mind?”
“Well, apart from a space for yoga, I—” I turn back and place the towel next to the first on the table.
“You what?” I can hear the curiosity in his voice.
“Paint. I paint. It’s kind of messy, though.”
“That’s what drop cloths are for. You need a hand to set something like that up?” He pushes from the floor and moves to the next machine, setting the adjustments.
“I can do it.”
“I have no doubt. Yell out if you want a hand, okay?”
“Thanks, I will.”
There is a comfortable silence between us as we go about our tasks. I roll the remaining towels and head to the kitchen for a jug and glass to add to the table. Mackinlay is at his doctor’s appointment with Reed, so we have a few hours to get his new space done. When I walk back into the room, Lawson is standing in the center, studying the layout against my sketched one.
“Looks good, Grace. He’ll like it, eventually .”
I scoff. “I highly doubt that.”
His blue eyes find mine. “He’s not like this, Grace. Nothing like it. I don’t know how long it is going to take for our Mack to find his way back. But this angry version of him is the complete opposite of the man who left six months ago for tour.”
A stone lodges in my throat. I’ve seen a handful of glimpses of the man Lawson is talking about. Little moments. Some I caught when Mackinlay thought I wasn’t watching. “I hope you get your brother back, I do. But I’m not sure I will be here to see it.”
“This arrangement is—” He shakes his head.
“What? Am I not doing what you all wanted?”
He squares his shoulders and rests his hands on mine. “You need to be here just as much as my brother needs you here.”
“I don’t understand, did your mom?—”
“She told us nothing. When Ma decides something is important, we listen. Ruby already tried to get her to spill, and she won’t. Not her story to tell.”
His hands fall from my shoulders. Louisa must have figured it out. Why a twenty-something woman would travel halfway across the country for a low-paying job with nothing but an overnight bag and a shiner on one-half of her face. Guess I wasn’t exactly subtle in my actions. The tug to leave and head to Montana overwhelmed everything else.
Now that I’m here? There is no way in hell I would ever go back to Raymond.
Not ever.
It’s like night—a very dark and long one—and day.
“I have an idea. How about I clear out that spare room beside your bedroom, and you run into town to pick up some supplies to create your space.”
“Are you sure? I mean, is there more to do here?”
He studies the room, a smile blooming on his face. “Think we’re done. Take off and have some free time before Sergeant Grump comes home.”
“Okay,” I say with a chuckle. I head for the door but hesitate, one hand on the doorframe. “Lawson?”
“Yeah?” He spins back and looks up to face me from checking his phone.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime, Gracie.”
I can’t help the warm feeling that washes over me. It feels like safety, and a semblance of belonging. Lawson is a blessing. He’s like the universal big brother. If I’m honest, having a buffer between me and Mackinlay for the past few days has been a relief. I don’t know what’s been happening, but every night is getting harder for me. I’m so tired. Every interaction Mackinlay and I have grates more than it used to. Joel’s texts have been messing with my head. The long stretches between them also make me anxious.
Surely, he wouldn’t bother to track me down this far from home. I am desperate to move on from that disaster of a relationship. But the last message sent me spiraling for hours. I am thankful for the workload of cooking and cleaning, medications and the physio routine. Busy hands, calm mind.
I’m clinging to that tactic for now.
I grab my bag and head outside to Blue. An hour later, I pull up in a free parking spot by the gift and craft shop. As I walk inside, the bell chimes and an older lady wanders toward me. “Well, hello there! What can I do for you today, lovely?”
“Ah, I am needing to pick up some painting supplies.”
“Wonderful, follow me. Which medium are you wanting?”
“What do you have?”
She stops in front of the painting section. Shelves of brushes, pots, all sizes of canvas, and a large easel. The bell on the front door chimes again. “You holler if you want a hand, okay?”
“Sure, thanks.” I run a hand over the smooth fabric of a canvas, not looking back as she moves to help another customer. I slide out a medium-size one and flip it over, hunting for the price.
My eyes widen.
It’s obviously been a few years since I paid for supplies. I slide it back in and move along the shelf to an A3 sketch pad. The paper is thick enough for oil-based paints. I pluck one out and track down a brush set and a packet of twenty-four oil-based paints. Basic colors. Since I want to save most of what I earn at the moment, it’s enough.
I daydream all the way back to the ranch about the setup I can make. I don’t have any furniture. Maybe I can find something from a charity store and upcycle it. That would make another fun painting project. My mind wanders to what I could create. As I drive into the ranch, I look up to the mountains. What I would give to have the chance to paint them, or to be up high in them looking down and painting the landscape below.
Maybe one day.
If I stay that long.
If Mackinlay still needs me.
I kill the engine and haul my new stuff up to the porch. The front door bursts open, slamming against the wall. Mackinlay stands leaning on one crutch, face stone, brows down, and hand gripping the doorframe. “Where have you been?”
His hard tone stops me in my tracks.
“I was just in town.” I nod to the items in my arms.
Where is Lawson? Why didn’t he tell him where I went?
“When did you get back from your doctor’s appointment?”
His jaw feathers. “An hour ago. The house was empty.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you needed to keep track of me.”
He waves something around in his hand. “You left this behind. What if something had happened?”
My phone.
Shit. I forgot it, I was so excited at the prospect of painting again I literally ran out the door without it.
“I’m sorry,” I say, walking up onto the porch. “I forgot it, is all. Where’s Lawson?”
“Ma’s.”
He shoves my phone into the bag I’m holding and spins on the spot. He winces as he moves inside. When I get to my room, I drop the bags on the bed with a sigh. I can’t tell if he’s worried about me or pissed I wasn’t here when he got home. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I walk back to the kitchen. He isn’t there. Sitting on the sofa, his head is in his hands, his elbows planted on his knees.
Something in my chest twangs. Its sharpness drives me to where he sits.
“I’m sorry, I should have been here when you got home.” I stop a few feet from him.
“Who’s Joel?” he says from behind his hands.
“What?”
“Your phone. You have three messages from Joel.”
My breath stops.
More texts.
The notifications that Mackinlay saw must be on the lock screen. Fear heats low in my spine and my hands clam up. Mackinlay lifts his head, and his eyes meet mine. His face is unreadable.
“If you need to be somewhere else, Grace, say so.”
All I can do is shake my head.
He pushes to his feet, and for the first time since I have been here, it’s without his crutches. “Go home, wherever that is. I can manage on my own.” He raises a hand, moving closer. But his hand falls. His chest cycles through deep breaths.
I move closer, glancing him up and down, taking in the fact that he has no crutch. That he’s a solid head taller than me. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, eyes searching mine. I open my mouth to tell him I’m not going anywhere.
He steps back abruptly. “Go home. Leave and have a life. There’s nothing good for you here.”
“I can’t leave until you’ve recovered,” I say breathlessly. The absence of him from my space hits acutely. “You’re not getting rid of me until then.”
His face tilts back a little, his shoulders square, mood changing in an instant. “If you say so.”
He leans down and snatches up the crutch and hobbles away, the toll of standing without it evident. This man is always walking away from me. We are always fighting. Over everything. Maybe he’s right, I should go. But I promised Louisa to help him. To do what she couldn’t.
And deep down, I don’t want to leave until I meet the real Mackinlay. The man his family is so desperate to get back. Because I’m invested now. I need to see for myself the man so incredible that he has each one of their hearts in a stranglehold, on tenterhooks as they patiently wait for him to find his way home.