Mouser muttered under his breath the entire way to the front door. When the latch clicked behind him, Everleigh picked up the shortbread, finished it, and washed it down with some coffee.
She turned to me and sighed. "I'm sorry, Shepherd. Please accept my apologies on behalf of my father."
"First, I don't need an apology from you. Second, that was awesome. And third…” I held up a finger with each point, "I need to fix the mess I made."
"Then let's fix it."
After hours of planning with Charlotte and Everleigh, I went back to the Inn, but I couldn't relax. I tried to call Clara and, again, it went straight to voicemail. I paced the room. Outside my window, crews were piling snow into jumps on the street for the skijoring competition. When the beeping from dump trucks reversing finally overwhelmed me, I got in my SUV and drove.
First, I crossed the railroad tracks and drove past my childhood trailer. The car that was on blocks when I was a kid was still there, covered in snow. Clara's trailer was empty and looked like it had severe fire damage. We had both come so far from those days.
When the sun set, I found myself on my way to the old Fallingbrook ranch property. By the time I reached Clara's cabin, twilight had given way to night. Her truck was in the driveway, but no lights were on inside. Dash started barking the second I stepped onto the porch.
I knocked. "Clara? It's me."
More barking.
"If you're in there, I know you're mad." I leaned my head against the door. "Please, Clara. I have so much to tell you."
Dash had stopped barking, but the house stayed dark. If she was home, she wasn't going to open the door.
I waited for ten minutes, but nothing changed. I found a receipt in my pocket and wrote a quick note on the back: I'm going to fix this. I'm not leaving. - B.S.
I wedged it into the doorframe and walked back to the car.
17
CLARA
Dash had been followingme around the cabin for two days. The only time I'd left was to take him for a ski in the morning and a walk after dinner. Every time I sat down, he pressed against my legs, leaving fur all over my leggings. The same pair I’d slept in, worn skiing, and cried myself to sleep in. Every time I stood, Dash was there, his nose bumping my hand.
"I'll be okay, Dashie-boy." I scratched behind his ears. "I'm so glad you're here with me." He yawned and stretched, then rested his head on the pillow next to mine.
Rolling over, I pulled aside the plaid curtain to look outside. The sun had risen, casting a tutu-pink haze over the Windswan range to the east. Today I needed to crawl out of my hole for the kids. It wasWizard of Ozday at the Christmas Classic.
My phone had died and I'd left it that way. The constant calls and the ding of text notifications were jarring to my nervous system. I'd blocked Beck, but that didn't stop me from looking to see if his name was on the screen. I was pathetic.
I rooted through my nightstand to find the charger and plugged it in, bracing myself for the barrage of notifications.
Dash went outside just far enough to pee, then returned to my side. I hopped from foot to foot in my bare feet as I waited for him. The floor was freezing. My woodpile was exhausted and I'd been too tired to fill up the metal bin.
Something fluttering in the cedar tree next to the door caught my eye. I plucked out a scrap of soggy paper, a disintegrating receipt with words scrawled on the back. The ink had bled so badly I could only make out a few words:fix; not…B.S.
B.S. was right.
I tossed it into the wood-stove and puff of cold ashes floated into the air.
My phone buzzed.
I wanted to ignore it, but I couldn't. It was Mr. White, Maddie's dad. People were depending on me.
Maddie has the flu. She's devastated, but she can't walk, let alone skate. I'm keeping her home today.
Shit.
The entireWizard of Ozroutine was built around Dorothy. Without her, the star of the show and the best of the subsidized skating kids, the show was screwed. All those rehearsals, for nothing.
Dash licked my hand. "I know, Dash. It looks like I'm lacing up my skates."
