Chapter 17
HONEY
I watch the marsh fly by as we bump down the packed sand road toward May Ranch. Monster presses his nose against the window, barking at a row of ducks paddling in the marsh. “You like those ducks, Monster?” I ask him.
John turns into an entrance with a high, sculpted wooden archway labelled May Ranch.
“We’re here?”
“That’s where Heathcliff, Danni, and Lacy live.
” He waves his hand, and I get a quick glimpse of a house with large sparkling windows and a sweeping deck leading off to a dock into the lake.
Then it’s gone, and we’re flying down a wide dirt pathway flanked by tall crepe myrtle trees packed with bright pink flowers.
The path eventually narrows, and John slows then stops in front of an A-frame with wide, tall windows and a wraparound veranda.
“That’s mine,” he says gruffly.
“It’s cute.”
He humphs. “Cute? A grown man lives there. It’s not cute.” He switches the ignition off and turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Wren.” Anxiety twists through me as the pause grows longer than a pause, and still, he doesn’t say anything.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him, before he can tell me that this is too much—this sticky, convoluted, messy situation he’s decided he doesn’t want to get stuck in with me. Of course he’d want to bow out. We barely know each other. “It’s an inconvenience.”
He brushes a finger over my cheek. “You’re going to stay with me. No pressure. I’ve got plenty of room on the floor for you.”
I choke out a laugh then cover my eyes to hide the tears prickling at them.
Monster pops his big muzzle between the two of us, and John chuckles.
“Yeah. You too, buddy. Room on the floor for you as well. But I need to give you two the house rules. Cowboy boots off at the door. Dirty plates into the dishwasher. No bugging a man when he’s sleeping unless the house is on fire and you can’t find the fire extinguisher.
And the most important one. And this goes for the both of you. No falling in love.”
He slips out of the pickup, rounds it and opens my door. Taking my bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he eyes Monster, who’s itching to scramble out. He holds a hand up. “You gotta’ learn some manners. Let the lady get out first.” He nods, and I slide out.
“I’ll try to walk.”
“No, you won’t.” He scoops me up and carries me, Monster at his heels. As soon as we walk into the house, I feel at home. The soft tones of the walls, the cozy mismatched furniture and the warm sunshine streaming through the floor to ceiling glass on one wall.
“Let me show you where you two are going.” He leads me to the back of the house, into a bedroom with a sloped ceiling and a hodgepodge of furniture. He sets my bag and my two boxes on a bed with an antique spindle headboard and footboard.
“I love this.” I run my hands over a spindle.
“Lacy picked it out years ago. She used to stay here once in a while when she was a kid. I haven’t changed the room much.
Ava uses it sometimes as well if she’s riding with Lacy early in the morning.
She’s the one who started painting the walls.
” He points at one lavender wall. Then at another, sherbet green.
“Bathroom’s next door.” He thumbs the direction.
“Towels, toiletries. Help yourself to anything. Bear is riding in from one of the far pastures, so it will be a while, but let’s wrap your wrist in the meantime.
” He returns with a first aid kit, points to the bed, and I sit and hold my arm out while he wraps it.
“If you want”—he looks at me sheepishly—“you can join me in the kitchen. Are you allowed to have coffee?”
My cheeks redden, remembering that he knows I’m pregnant and has known it since that very first night he visited. “It’s been a while since my last pregnancy. Good grief, I hope I can at least have a little caffeine. If not, this is going to be rough.” I sigh. “Do you have herbal tea?”
“Never.” He winks and leaves, closing the door as he goes.
I freshen up in the bathroom, then sit on the bed and open the lid to the shoebox and pull out the folded piece of paper on the top. In large cursive lettering on the front it reads, To you. Yes, you.
I unfold it, even though it must be for another you.
To you. Yes, you.
You’re doing the right thing. Say it out loud as many times as you need to so it finally sounds right in your ears.
Stay safe.
Stay strong.
You’re not alone. I’m somewhere out there in my new life, cheering for you.
I swear to you that I’m doing great and you’ll do great also.
Be patient because you WILL create a safe, happy life for yourself.
Your body will ease into a kinder, quieter, life where no one wants to hurt you just for existing within their realm.
Where you don’t have to be afraid to say the smallest, most benign things without suffering the consequences.
Obviously, you’re here, in this cottage, and you’ve found the secret compartment.
Maybe you’re still figuring out the area, walking the paths, exploring Heaven.
If there’s any part of you left that can trust people, I want you to know that you can trust Ned.
He’s a good guy. Talk to him. He’s on your side.
There’s a small beach down the path next to Cottage 12. It’s shaped like a crescent and it’s peaceful and quiet, and I swear to you that it’s healing me. Go there at night, just to float in the water and look up at the stars.
You can experience peace and happiness again. Keep telling yourself that because it’s your truth.
You can do this! I’m so proud of you.
Katrina
I fold it back up and pick up the letter underneath. On the front, it’s labeled in neat, blocky script that’s different from the first letter. To you. Yes, you. And the same on the next letter. To you. Yes, you. Except it’s a pencil scrawl and achingly tiny.
I hear Monster’s bark—an excited one, not a warning. I look out the window. It’s facing the pasture. John’s striding down a path cutting through the pasture and Monster is bounding past then stopping and looking back at him expectantly.
I tuck the letters back, Katrina’s letter pressing heavily against my heart as I do. Maybe, somehow, these letters are for me to read. Or someone like me. Someone who sought privacy and safety in Cottage 15. I’ll return to the shoebox of letters later, when I’m in bed and the house is silent.
Favoring my good ankle, I leave the bedroom and wander into a cheery, bright sunroom.
Books and ranching magazines are strewn on the side tables and some of the chairs.
There’s a shelf under one window packed with healthy, pampered potted plants—trailing pothos, caladium, string of pearls, and heart-shaped philodendron.
A large, round table with small puzzle pieces strewn everywhere is pushed to the side to make room for what looks like a gym mat spread from one wall to the other.
I step over the mat and fiddle around with the puzzle pieces until Monster runs in, his eyes bright, his tail wagging happily.
“Hey, you.” I rub her head. “Did you like your walk?”
“She did.” John is standing in the doorway, running his hand through his hair, and I notice the streaks of silver at his temples. Could this man get any sexier? Each time I look at him, I notice something new that makes my knees weak. “You like puzzles?”
“If I get started, I have a hard time pulling myself away.”
“As you can see, I do not. That’s been sitting there for a year now. Have at it.”
“Until she caught the puzzle bug, my sister used to make fun of me because—” I stop as disappointment clogs my throat.
Cat.
I was supposed to call her today. And now it’s way too late.
“You want to tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” I look up at him, his words breaking through my mini-meltdown.
“Pretty. Little. Head?” I lift an eyebrow.
“If you think I’m being politically incorrect, I just want you to know that I say the exact same thing to Bear. And his head is neither little nor pretty. So, take it like a man, Tiny.”
I roll my eyes, and he steps toward me and lifts my chin up. “Tell me what you’re stewing about. You mentioned your sister.”
“I try to call her every day. Even though we could go days or weeks without talking before, it’s what we decided on. Same time—on her commute to her yoga studio—to check in, so…” I cover my face with my hands and try to breathe. It’s just one day. It’s okay. We told each other that it might happen.
“Wren.”
I look up at him. “The calls are for her and me both. So I can talk to someone who loves me—so I don’t feel so alone, and so she can hear my voice, and she’ll know I’m okay. She’s my big sister and”—I choke out a sob—“I swear she thinks she’s my mom.”
“You can’t call her now?”
I shake my head. “I can try later. Around the time she would be driving home. She keeps her flip phone in her glovebox.”
He wraps his arms around me and holds me.
I lean into him and accept his comfort. “You’re not alone, Wren,” he whispers against my hair.
He holds me until I pull away, and then he takes my hand.
“Let’s keep you busy until you can call Cat again.
” He leads me to the kitchen. It’s open to the sweeping windows of the great room on one side and the sliding glass doors that open to a patio on the other.
The great expanse of the pasture beyond is a swash of green with dots of yellow, white, and red.
I walk to the windows and take it all in.
As if he’s reading my mind, he says, “This isn’t even the best time to see it.
The sun rises right over that pasture every morning while I have my coffee. ”
I turn to him and see the pride and joy in his eyes. “You love it here.”
“I do. But I don’t own this property. I take pride in my work, and the Mays are my family, but I have my own property, and maybe someday that’ll be my home.” He crosses his arms. “With my wife.”
“You… have a wife?”