Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The Ranch
The next morning, I tossed another sleeping bag into the back of the red vintage farm truck, and then checked it off the list on my phone.
Cas rode up on a stallion and dismounted before even coming to a stop. And I wasn’t ashamed to admit it made my stomach flip.
“Hey,” he greeted, a smile blooming across his face.
“Hi ya.”
“Getting ready for the girls’ night out, huh?”
“Yep.”
“I haven’t seen much of you since your friends got into town.”
“Yeah.”
“Or maybe you’re avoiding me,” he accused.
“Why would I do that?” I asked.
“Because the last thing you said to me was enjoy your hand. I didn’t, by the way. I mean, I did, but I thought of you the whole time.”
My lips trembled with the desire to smile.
He touched the corner of my mouth and forced it up. “There ya go. How easy is that?”
“Cas,” I warned.
“What?”
“Don’t flirt with me.”
“Why not? It’s killing me, you know . . . not being able to kiss you in public.”
“I know,” I said, eyeing him with all the lust I felt. “Believe me, I know.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like you’re only a fan of me when I’m naked.”
“I’m a fan of you when you’re naked and one of my body parts is in your mouth, thus rendering you silent.”
“If only you weren’t going on your overnight camping trip, you could take pity on me and let me into your bed again, and I’d render you silent,” he said.
“The idea does have appeal. But now that I know my grandmother knows we’ve been sharing a bed, it’s weird. And sneaky.”
He sighed. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Good.”
“Morning sickness?”
“No. Not really. I mean, I puked when Muddy confronted me about being pregnant, but I think that had more to do with nerves.”
“Okay. You haven’t gone to the doctor yet, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to when my friends are in town. I wasn’t planning on them coming early.”
“You’re happy they’re here, though. Last night at dinner, you were . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t know. It’s like everything in your world was right.”
“That’s a good way to put it.”
Hadley came up the driveway in her SUV and she parked next to the farm truck. She cut the engine and the driver’s side door opened. Wyn climbed out of the passenger side and Poet spilled from the back.
“Hey, Bowman,” Poet greeted.
“Ladies,” he said. “Have fun on your camping trip.”
“How’s the packing going?” Hadley asked.
“Just finished,” I said. “You get snacks?”
“Yep. Pregnancy-friendly snacks,” Hadley said with a wry smile. “But booze and cured meats for those that can partake.”
I saw Cas look at me out of the corner of my eye, but I pretended not to see him.
“I just want to say goodbye to Dad and Muddy real fast,” Hadley said. “And then we can go.”
“Me too,” I said.
“We’ll move the snacks into the truck,” Wyn said.
Dad had pitched a fit being cooped up in his room and was finally enjoying time downstairs on the couch. Muddy was croqueting in her chair, the TV on low.
“We’re packed and ready to go,” Hadley said, leaning over the couch and kissing his cheek.
“You’ve got bear spray?” he asked.
“Yep,” she said.
“And the revolver,” I added.
“Good,” Dad said. “Have fun.”
Wyn and Poet were in the truck bed when we came out. Cas was nowhere in sight and neither was the stallion. No doubt he’d taken him to the barn to give him a good rub down.
I could use a good rub down too.
Not seeing Cas for more than a few minutes at a time was making me ornery. I missed him in my bed. I missed sleeping next to him.
“Let’s get the show on the road,” Wyn said from the truck bed.
I climbed into the driver’s side and Hadley rode shotgun. I cranked the key and the truck rumbled to life.
I rolled down the window and let the warm air enter the cab. It teased the hair at my temples and I suddenly had a vision of what life would be like in a few years. Hadley and I, taking our tots to the hot spring, Cas and Declan going with us and camping under the stars.
I’d sleep out under them tonight. No light pollution. No city noise.
New York was a living entity of entropy and constant stimulation. I loved it. And not just because I found my footing there. But because it had given me a chance to go out on my own. Discover who I was and what I wanted to be.
But it wasn’t a place I wanted to raise a child.
Once I had stripped away the loss of my mother, I realized I didn’t hate the Ridge or Huckleberry Hill. But sometimes it took leaving home to fall in love with it.
“Oh my God,” Poet exclaimed when she saw the hot spring. “This is going to be so much fun!”
“I can’t believe you never told us about this place,” Wyn said.
“Did we really never tell you the story?” Hadley asked as she went to the back of the truck and pulled out the tent that slept four.
Wyn shook her head and grabbed the tent stakes.
“Our great-great grandfather built a cabin a few hundred feet from the spring. It’s why he settled here,” Hadley explained.
“Oooh, story time,” Poet said.
“This valley is known for its silver mines,” Hadley explained.
“Our great-great grandfather was an Irish prospector and struck it rich in the early 1880s. He homesteaded the first 160 acres, and he kept buying up land until the mine went dry. Salem actually still has a nail from the original cabin.”
“You do?” Wyn asked. “That’s really cool.”
“I keep it in my jewelry box,” I said. “Nails were hard to come by back then. People would literally burn down their houses or cabins and take the nails, and then go settle someplace else and rebuild.”
“No kidding,” Poet said. “I bet the history of Huckleberry Hill is fascinating.”
“No doubt,” Hadley said. “You should write a book about it.”
“Me?” Poet laughed. “Write a book? I have no interest in writing a book.”
I helped Hadley spread out the tent. “We should tell them about the myth.”
“Myth?” Poet asked. “What myth?”
“About the hot spring,” Hadley said. “Supposedly it has healing powers. Eamon cut his leg so bad he thought they’d have to amputate it—but when he went to the hot spring and soaked his leg, it healed. Poof, myth created.”
“Okay, yeah, Poet should definitely write a book,” Wyn added.
“I’m not a writer,” Poet insisted.
“But you love stories,” Wyn said.
“Yeah, other people’s stories,” Poet said.
“This would be other people’s stories,” Wyn fired back.
“Stop pushing me,” Poet snapped.
Wyn looked like she wanted to respond, but I saw the expression on Poet’s face.
“Come on,” I interrupted. “Let’s get this tent set up so we can get into the hot spring.”
“Do you believe it?” Wyn asked as she shoved one of the stakes into the tent loops.
My brow furrowed. “Believe what? About the healing powers of the hot spring?”
“Yeah,” Wyn said.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It seems a little . . . out there.”
“I believe it,” Hadley said. “Wholeheartedly.”
“Yeah?” Poet asked. “I’m struggling with this stake.”
I went over to her side and took the stake from her. “It’s bent. Gotta use brute force.”
“Because I have so much of that,” she said with a laugh. She lifted her arm up and flexed it. “I’m like Bugs Bunny when his arm sags.”
“Why do you believe it?” Wyn asked, picking up the thread of the hot spring having magical healing powers.
“I don’t know. Just a feeling,” Hadley replied. “The two weeks before Mom died . . . Dad carried her to the truck and drove her out here. I didn’t know that. Not until Muddy told me.”
My throat thickened with the memories of that time. I’d known. The scent of pine and sulfur had clung to her skin.
Our friends stopped their actions to look at Hadley, waiting for what came next.
“I used to think the hot spring failed. She died anyway, you know? But now, I think the hot spring did what it was supposed to do. Because it was never going to heal Mom. Not the way we wanted her healed. But it healed something between my parents. I don’t know, it sounds insane.
But the two of them, those two weeks, it was about them.
Under the night sky. Talking. Wishing. Saying their goodbyes. ”
I turned away so my friends and sister couldn’t see the tears that gathered in my eyes and fell down my cheeks.
She’d died.
But that didn’t mean she was forgotten. She’d never be forgotten.
“It’s nice,” Poet said quietly. “Having something to believe in.”
“Amen,” Wyn murmured.
I cleared my throat, hoping that destroyed the emotion that was threatening to choke me.
Gone. But never forgotten.