COTTON
WHENIWOKE A SHORT WHILE LATER,ISETTLED IN TO TRY TO GET A FEW HOURS’ WORK IN.I had decided against the technical writing position in D.C. and was instead freelancing. My projects ranged from deadly dull tech reports to daily blog posts for various companies. When my head was in the right space, it was great work—interesting, varied, and flexible.
I was definitely not in the right headspace today, though. Not after that news cast. While the nap had refreshed me somewhat, I was still distracted and unable to focus, my thoughts continually turning to what I suspected to be true.
Brodie had something to do with Justin’s death. Whether it was by his hand or by his will, I knew it, as surely as I knew my own name. It had been his ‘one regret,’ after all.
With a sigh, I closed my laptop and gave up on work, deciding to take Aria out for a ride, instead. She could soothe me better than anything. I changed from the sweats I was wearing into a pair of jeans and thin sweater.
After grabbing an apple, I walked the short distance to the barn, where Aria greeted me with a soft whinny. I gave her the remainder of the apple and stroked her mane for a few minutes before saddling her and leading her outside the barn.
I gave her the lead once we were away from the barn, and with a toss of her head, she settled into a trot.
Time passed with the thud of her hooves over the greening fields. I rode without destination, with no thought to how long or how far. Gradually the movement of the animal beneath me, the endless hills around me, the cool breeze in my hair all worked to level my emotions and restore some semblance of the peace I’d worked so hard to attain over the past few months.
Leaning forward, I patted Aria’s neck. “How about we run it out on our way home, hmm? Sound good?”
Turning her head in the direction of the barn, I clicked my heels against her flank and gave the horse her head. She sprang eagerly into a canter and I laughed as the wind hit my face.
We had relaxed into an easy rhythm, following the fence that ran parallel to the road leading to the house, when I heard the hum of an engine. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a distant motorcycle approaching, its driver helmeted but familiar.
My heart clawed its way to my throat and sat there as he pulled abreast of me, tailoring his speed to fit Aria’s. I faced forward, refusing to look at him and acknowledge his presence, impossible though it was with the rumble of the motor. Aria, intelligent female that she was, ignored him save for a tiny prance to the side, as if to warn him not to cross that fence.
I slowed the horse as we grew closer to the house, conscious of him slowing beside me. In my peripheral I saw him facing ahead, making no attempt to get my attention. It was as though we were driving beside one another on a busy highway, aware of each other’s presence but doing nothing to acknowledge it.
Aria could sense my emotions were in turmoil, her normal placid demeanor wary and skittish. Anger was sparking. Tears threatening. Hope spearing.
When we grew closer to the house, I veered off to cross the field to the barn. Brodie stayed on the road, which forked to the left and then curved around the back of the house to arrive at the same spot. As we separated, I risked a look back and saw his head turned toward me, before he revved the engine and kept going.
At the barn, I was off the horse and handing off the reins to Jacks, a man who had worked for us since I’d been a child, before Brodie’s bike made an appearance. I normally brushed Aria and took care of her after a run, but that wouldn’t be happening today. Without waiting, I stalked forward to meet him where the gravel road met the barnyard. He pulled smoothly to a stop, removing his helmet and setting the kickstand as he climbed off.
Several feet divided us as we stood, facing each other, uncertainty rolling from both of us in waves. He had trimmed his beard to a close stubble that darkened his jaw and was dressed like I had first seen him, in faded jeans, a tee shirt, and a black leather jacket. I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from reaching for him.
“What are you doing here?” The words emerged, low and antagonistic.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I told you I’d be back.”
“Mmm. You did. I hadn’t anticipated three fucking months.” Bending, I scooped a handful of gravel into my palm, more for something to do than anything else. The stones were chalky feeling and fairly large, rather than the pebbly, ground-up kind of gravel. I rolled several of the rocks in my hand, weighing them.
“I’m so sorry, Em. Donegal…he wasn’t going to let me go without making damn sure I’d learned a lesson. I learned later that he had planned to arrange a marriage between me and a young woman from the Italians in New York. He wasn’t happy that I had taken things into my own hands and sent me to Ireland—”
I held up a hand. “I get it. You’re mob. You don’t have a lot of options. Your boss sent you to Ireland because you’d gone against orders, so obviously you couldn’t go against orders again. The thing that bothered me, Brodie, is that you never once contacted me in all that time, You never let me know what was going on, how you were doing, if you were okay. Are you telling me that in all that time, you couldn’t pick up the phone and call me?”
His response was simple and forthright. “No.”
“Why the hell not? What if I’d been pregnant, Brodie?”
His eyes widened and dropped to my belly. He stared, as if he could coax it to give up its secrets by sheer will, and one hand reached out hesitantly. “Are you?”
“No. But what if I had been? We weren’t careful; you know that. How difficult would it have been to pick up the phone and send me a message?”
His hand dropped and he looked away briefly, blinking. “Harder than you think,macushla.I was being watched. Assessed, for any signs of rebellion.” The corner of his mouth quirked up and the dimple that got me every time deepened in his cheek. “You were my rebellion. He couldn’t allow that to go unremarked.”
With a swallow, I looked away. “So what you’re telling me is that while Donegal permitted me to live, your life was still in question.”
“Exactly that. I had to prove my loyalty all over again.”
“And now what? You’re back, but why? What do you want from me?” I plucked a piece of gravel from my left hand and hurled it at him. It hit him in the chest, and he glanced down, surprised. “What’s the surprised look for? I’m mad at you, Brodie.” I threw another rock, and this one beaned him in the shoulder.
