He paused for so long that she wondered if they'd lost the connection.
Then, "You can take care of my brother, if he'll let you. Good bye, Molly-girl."
She stared at the phone for seconds before she hung it up. What a strange thing to say. Cord was a grown man. He didn't need taking care of.
Except... she'd seen the shadows in his eyes when he'd been confronted with both Iris and Jilly.Not a family legacy I want to carry on. He was shut down like a bank vault about Mackie and his years in this house.
And there was that unopened Christmas gift beneath the tree.
Maybe he did need someone to look after him. Not that he'd ask or allow it.
But that didn't mean she couldn't do it anyway.
It was the least she could do after he'd given her a place to hide.
Late in the evening,Cord sat at the kitchen table, listening to chips of ice crash against the window. He had a headache from staring at the papers spread in front of him. Stupid fine print.
He'd had to use the library's computer to print out a copy of the loan documents the attorney had forwarded him.
When the cold had driven him inside from the barn, he'd read through every page. There had to be a loophole somewhere, some clause he'd skimmed that meant he wasn't chained to the No Name.
It was hopeless.
Just like the barn.
He'd spent hours knocking out a few stall walls that were barely standing on their own. The entire structure was in rough shape. Worse than Cord had expected. It might need to be razed. He'd hoped to replace only the rotted boards, but some of the structural support beams on the west side were toast. They needed to be replaced, and soon.
Having a barn on the property definitely made it more desirable to potential buyers. At least that's what the realtor he'd spoken to on the phone had told him.
"Hey." Molly appeared in the doorway. Her feet were bare beneath the hem of her jeans. Her hair was wet, soaking the shoulders of her sweatshirt.
He forced himself to look away.Not compatible.
His head throbbed, and he rubbed the heel of his hand between his eyebrows. It didn't help.
He was aware of her moving around behind him. The oven door squeaked as she opened it. He should tell her not to bother cooking supper. He'd make a sandwich.
But she was already at his elbow. She put a mug in front of him.
"Oh, I—"
"It's not coffee." He didn't look at her but could hear the smile.
She couldn't seem to leave the coffee alone, even though she knew he hated it. Every morning she tweaked it with some spice or another. Or a dab of whipped cream.
A spoon clinked on the table next to his mug before she whirled away.
If it wasn't coffee, what was it? The savory aroma of chicken soup answered him before he could ask. And then she set a plate before him, right on top of his stupid contract. A grilled cheese sandwich. Comfort food.
He looked at her, letting his gaze trace the purple shadows under her eyes, the way her sweatshirt clung to her shoulders, the chapped pink skin of her hands. She'd been upstairs when he'd come inside from the barn, but he'd seen the old sheet she'd spread on the living room floor and the parts she'd laid out in neat rows. Seemed like she'd torn apart all three tractors during the hours he'd been working in the barn.
"You skipped lunch." She actually sounded offended by it.
He shrugged. "It happens."
She crossed her arms. "On a day like today, you burned more calories just keeping warm. You shouldn't skip meals."
He raised his brows at her. "Okay, Mom."
