She held up her hand. “We already covered this. I’m not leaving. Not until the lawyers sort this out.”
My plan to play nice instantly evaporated.
Anger flared. I had been pulled out of my little bubble of solitude to take care of Walt. Not that I minded, but getting back into it was proving harder than I thought, and it would be made worse by this woman flitting around my house. “Whydoes this mean so much to you, anyway? I lived with Walt for almost a year, and we’ve never met. You only show up now that there’s something in it for you.” I regretted the words before they were fully out of my mouth.
Walt had talked about Kara as if she hung the moon.
Hank had told me not to be an asshole. That she was grieving and so was I, but here I was biting her head off, anyway.
Hurt flashed across her face, and my gut twisted painfully.
“I know, okay? I know. I was knee-deep in an ugly divorce. I was drowning, and all I thought about was surviving it. And now…” She looked around the cabin, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Now it’s too late.” Her voice was low and pitiful.
I wasn’t great with crying women—crying anyone, actually. Luckily, Tuck padded over and pressed his side into her leg. She dropped to the floor, burying her hands in his fur.
I hesitated, then sank down beside her and petted Tuck too. This was a person who was trying to take something that was mine. But she was also someone who understood what it felt like to lose Walt. We were quiet for a few minutes. “The first time I met Walt, I had my truck stuck in the mud,” I said. “I was out scouting for some good timber, and I took a corner too wide on an old dirt road.” I focused on scratching Tuck behind the ear. “I had this chunk of two-by-four I was trying to wedge under the tire when Walt pulled up in that old green pickup.”
“I remember that truck,” she said, softly. “It didn’t matter where we went; that truck always made it.”
I nodded. “It had started raining, and I was soaked and pissed off. He winched me out in two seconds flat. I invited him for coffee to say thanks, and we became friends. Once he got sick…” I swallowed hard. “I checked in on him more and more. Eventually, I just moved in and gave up my place.” I paused. “After he passed, I sold my truck and started driving his. Still never fails.”
She nodded. “Thank you for taking care of him. I wish I had been here.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I whispered. “And for going off on you.”
She blew out a breath. “And I’m sorry for barging in on your naked coffee drinking.”
“I wasn’t naked.”
“Your top half was.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
A small smile tugged at her mouth, amusement dancing in her green eyes, and something unknotted in my chest.
She looked around. “Do you think we could go through Walt’s stuff? Donate some things. I think he’d like that.”
“He would,” I agreed.
We both stood, brushing dog hair off clothes. Tuck pushed himself to his feet, shoving his wet nose into my hand.
Kara crossed to the bookshelf first. “He used to read these western paperbacks all the time.” She picked one up, thumbing through the yellowed pages. “I always tried to read them when I was visiting, but they were so boring. I liked to tease him about that.”
I laughed. “He re-read the same ones over and over.”
“I don’t know if I can part with these,” she said, putting the book back where it belonged.
I nodded. “How about some of his clothes, then?” We went into his room, and she ran her hand over the row of flannel shirts. There were a dozen or more of them in every color. Some looked practically new; others were threadbare and worn at the pockets and sleeves.
I glanced at Kara. She was biting her lip. Walt had been gone for a month. I’d had all that time to get used to his absence. To see his things and have it hit all over again. She may have known he was gone for all this time, but this was probably her first time really feeling it. Seeing his things without the man himself.
I stepped in front of her. “Some of these have barely been worn. Why don’t we donate the new ones and keep the ones with the memories attached?”
She sucked in a breath and nodded. Together, we managed to fill an entire bag with shirts, pants, and jackets.
“We can probably get rid of some shoes,” she said, pulling a box down from the top shelf. The lid dislodged as she moved, and what fell out wasn’t shoes, but pictures.
We sat on the ground and started sorting through them. A young Walt holding a freshly caught trout. Walt grinning beside his faithful truck. Walt flipping off the camera with both hands.
