Chapter 9
9
T wilight fell as Callum stood at the corral railing. He'd intended to go into the barn and take a look at Iris and Jilly's horses, but residual pain had kicked in, and, by the time he'd gotten across the yard, he'd needed a place to lean.
Supper had passed in a blur of chatter from the boys and a quiet, withdrawn Iris. Jilly had been missing from the table. Iris had tucked in the boys after his good-night kiss. That had been an hour ago. He hadn't seen her since.
Now, stars peeked through the navy-gray sky. Cicadas buzzed in a lullaby as familiar as breathing. Soft sounds of the horses settling in for the night emanated from the barn, and a far-off engine hummed from the state highway, then faded. Two animals whickered softly to each other nearby, their silhouettes barely visible in the darkness.
He felt worn and frail from a day spent immobile. And still upset by the phone call from Wade Tatum. He'd called an attorney shortly thereafter. It would take some time to sort things out.
The weathered wood barn door creaked as it opened. Iris slipped outside. When had she gone to the barn? Obviously sometime after she'd tucked the boys in. What if one of the boys woke up, like they had last night?
His worry dissipated when he realized she was holding a familiar object. A baby monitor, like the one he hadn't used since the twins were tiny. The green light meant it was activated. It was a relief to know she'd thought up a plan before she'd gone out to the barn.
He was hit with a surge of guilt. On a normal day, he guessed her barn chores would've been finished much earlier. But she'd been caring for his children, which meant she was burning the candle at both ends.
He was surprised when she didn't head for the house. She didn't seem to have seen him. Or at least she didn't acknowledge him as she turned toward the corral.
Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't for her to stand up straight and tall with the toes of both feet pointed outward in opposite directions. She did a series of knee-bends, her hands resting gently on the top rail. Was that some kind of ballet stretch?
He wished he could see more clearly. Across the yard, the porch light was on, but it didn't reach far enough out here to illuminate her. The stars did it for him, bathing her in dim silver.
He was captivated as she lifted one leg and rested her ankle on the top rail. She must've changed into sweatpants sometime after supper, because jeans did not stretch like that.
She stretched out one arm over her head and then contorted her body in a way he didn't think was possible as she bent over her straight leg on the rail.
He must've made some kind of noise, because she startled. He heard the soft inhale of her gasp. She dropped her foot to the ground.
It had been stupid of him not to say something in the first place. He was awkward and uncoordinated with the crutches. There was no way he could maneuver back to the house without making a racket.
"Don't stop on my account. Was that some kind of stretch?" He crutched a couple of steps in her direction.
She didn't tell him off, but she didn't answer him immediately either.
She wrapped her arms around her middle. He'd wanted only to alert her to his presence, but something about her posture made it seem like she was barely holding herself together.
"I haven't done a barre warmup in years," she said softly. "I guess I wanted to see if I still could."
"It's a shame," he said. "I know how much you loved it."
She stared out at the darkness past the corral.
He stared at her, or what he could see of her in the dark.
Which meant he saw when she grew uncomfortable under his gaze. Her feet shifted.
"What're you doing out here anyway?" she asked.
"I was restless. Tired of being indoors."
The soft exhale she gave might've been a snort of laughter, or maybe just a sigh. "It's only been one day."
"I know." He was made for the outdoors. He was itching to explore every inch of his new property. See what was the same as he remembered. And what nature had changed in the past decade.
He had to ask. "How long has Jilly been sick?"
She went still. Somehow folded in on herself, though she didn't visibly move. "She was diagnosed eight months ago. It's been a whirlwind of surgery, chemo, and juggling meds." She said the words almost emotionlessly.
Eight months. More than half a year of worrying for her sister and helping manage doctor's visits.
"How bad was it?"
"They diagnosed her at stage three. But the chemo is working. I can't help but worry about her mental state sometimes, after losing Mom."
What about Iris's mental state? Who was worrying about her?
She turned her head to the side, looking at the dark silhouette of the barn.
"Some ladies from the book club have taken us under their wing. They bring us food, help drive Jilly to doctors' appointments if she's in a good mood."
She made it sound easy when he knew it was anything but. He'd seen the sparkle of tears in her eyes just that morning.
Iris remembered that ticking muscle in Callum's cheek. Even in the low light, she could see his tension in the set of his shoulders and the way his jaw was drawn tight.
She'd known she wouldn't be able to hide her fear and emotion from him. He was too perceptive. And he was concerned about her, she realized.
It would be so easy to lean into him. To take a step closer, then another. If she got close enough, he'd hug her.
And it wouldn't be enough.
She steeled her spine and kept her arms wrapped around her middle. She turned her eyes on the sky.
She couldn't help the awareness that shivered down her spine when Callum's crutch scraped through the long grasses and he drew up at her shoulder.
She didn't want to feel anything for him, not after so much time had passed. Not when she didn't have answers.
Her shoulder brushed his biceps, and she panicked, needing to put some distance between them. She took a step back.
"How did you meet the boys' mother?"
His posture went tight as a wire.
Then he sighed.
"We didn't exactly date. It started as a one night stand."
She didn't respond at first. Couldn't. The grief was fierce and visceral.
The Callum she'd known had been loyal, independent and aloof, and...well, not a one-night-stand kind of guy. On the other hand, what did she know? The Callum she'd known would never have disappeared without a word. Maybe she'd seen him only through the rosy glasses of first love.
"Did that happen a lot?" Part of her couldn't believe she'd just blurted out the question, while the other, larger part was curious enough to wonder if he would answer.
"No." There was finality in the word. "Most weekends, after my rides were over, I'd drink myself into a stupor. But there were a handful of times that I took a buckle bunny home."
"Why?"
He shrugged.
There was a beat of charged silence between them, but she didn't retract the question. After how desperately she'd loved him, a shrug wasn't good enough.
"We shouldn't even be talking about this?—"
"Why not?" she returned, spine straightening. "Is there something you don't want me to know? Were you sleeping around on me when we were together?"
"No! Never."
"So why?—"
"I was lonely," he burst out. One of his crutches leaned against the fence and his hand pushed through his hair, a sign she remembered that showed just how agitated he was. "So lonely it was like a black hole inside me. Eating everything."
Lonely.
The word deflated her righteous anger. She remembered the boy he'd been in high school—a young man afraid to trust.
But remembering didn't erase the grief that still trembled through her. It didn't change things.
She gripped the corral railing until her knuckles went white. Bowed her head and squeezed her eyes closed until the wave of emotion passed.
"If it was a one night stand, how did you find out she was pregnant?" she finally asked.
He sighed. Maybe relieved that she'd let the ugly parts of his past go for now.
"It wasn't that hard for her to track me down. The bigger rodeos publish the names of top competitors once we register to try and draw even more competition. She found me at a rodeo in Wichita."
It wasn't a romantic story at all, not like she'd imagined.
"After what I went through as a kid, I wasn't going to let my son or daughter grow up without a dad. So Rachel and I got married."
The statement was flat, almost emotionless. No mention of being in love. It sounded like how he might describe a business transaction.
"Did you always plan to come back to Sutter's Hollow?"
He laughed, almost a desperate sound. "I planned to stay on the circuit, but when she died during childbirth, it changed everything."
His voice was soft but rang with finality.
And then he turned it back on her. "What about you? You're not married."
She shook her head.
"No boyfriend?"
She squeezed her arms tighter around herself and turned to face him head on. "I don't think that's any of your business." There was no way she was telling him about Georgio.
He was closer than she'd thought, his shoulders blocking what little light reached them from the porch. The evening breeze carried his scent, simple smells of soap and man. He shifted his feet, and grass crunched underfoot.
"It's not. I just want to know who's taking care of you."
Her insides responded to the roughness of his voice.
Her eyes darted to his face; his gaze was stormy with emotion.
"I'm an adult. I don't need someone to take care of me."
The set of his jaw proved he didn't believe her words. He vibrated with tension.
And then he was leaning toward her.
Something inside her responded, and she found herself swaying toward him. A roaring filled her ears, blocking all other sounds.
His free arm came around her waist, possessive and familiar.
Heat streaked up her spine. She couldn't seem to help herself. She tipped her head back...
And his crutch slid against the fence railing and banged against her hip. She jumped back, breathing as if she'd just done a set of twenty fouettes , her equilibrium spinning.
He gripped the rail to catch his balance, consternation painting his features, his forehead creased like a thunderhead.
"I'm going to bed," she said, voice trembling as badly as the rest of her.
She escaped inside before she could do anything foolish. Like turn around and kiss the man.