Chapter Eight
By eleven, the bright sun beamed down with razor-sharp blades, and Gracie was still out there. Careful to stay unnoticed, Noah watched through the cottage’s screen door while Gracie and JJ cleaned out the chicken coop next to the barn. The chickens scurried around the run, a ten-by-ten fenced area, and waited for fresh hay as the duo worked.
Noah had tried to focus on his computer. An entire day to catch up on his work wasn’t something he could afford to waste. But he kept finding reasons to get up, pass by the door, and look out.
Gracie had collected the chicken eggs and even milked the goats with JJ’s help, though more than once Noah had to stop himself from running out there to help when she was moving fresh hay into the shed for Hannah and Lacy. Of course Gracie didn’t want his help, didn’t think she needed his help. Maybe she was right. Maybe he’d “helped” her enough seven years ago.
He needed to explain all that, his pushing her away. She hadn’t wanted to listen the other night, though he hadn’t tried very hard. He was a coward, afraid to face more of her wrath, more of her disappointment and hurt.
How in the hell was he going to tell this headstrong woman why he’d unilaterally decided what was best for them seven years ago? Could she ever understand? Would she even want to try? And if she didn’t…what then? He couldn’t let JJ go.
Maybe Nessie was right; maybe JJ belonged with him. No, that was the stupidest idea he’d had lately—and he’d had a lot, starting with agreeing to temporarily watch JJ until Gracie came home. Though Destiny Morson, JJ’s social worker, didn’t think it had been a stupid idea. In fact, she’d pushed the mounds of paperwork and his fingerprints through the system in days as opposed to weeks after a very extensive interview with him, then JJ, then the two of them together. He’d later found out she’d contacted a half dozen people from the reference list he’d supplied.
So maybe taking permanent responsibility for JJ wasn’t an outrageously crazy idea. But where would they live? They were about to get kicked out of the ranch. And his dad’s place was in escrow, with the money already committed to the nursing home.
The only real solution was to figure out a way to buy this ranch. Maybe his sister, Starr, could help—temporarily, of course. She had some ultra-fancy, ultra-rich boyfriend now. Had been traveling the world with him for the past year or so, in between ski competitions and training.
No, he was supposed to take care of her, not vice versa. He owed it to her. It was a debt he’d been repaying since that day down by the creek. The day she’d almost drowned because he hadn’t done what Dad had said. Don’t let your little sister out of your sight, Son. He could still hear the words he’d shrugged off as soon as Dad had left for his all-day pastor retreat. Noah’d finally been left in charge. No babysitter. He was the babysitter.
When he pulled Starr from the water, her face was bluer than the sky. And Dad’s was redder than a fire ember and smoking with anger when he got home from his meeting and learned about the near-tragedy. But the disappointment in his eyes hurt more than any words or punishment could have. Noah was supposed to have taken care of Starr, and he’d failed. He’d made it his motto to never fail like that again. And ever since, the needs of the people he cared for became priority. Starr, his dad, JJ. Gracie.
No, he’d figure out another way.
Noah watched Gracie pull her phone from her back pocket and check it for the hundredth time. She’d told JJ earlier that her work files still hadn’t arrived. Her face and arms glistened with perspiration, and her sweat-soaked T-shirt clung to her curves. His body instantly reacted to the view—he tensed, hardened, forgot to breathe. He shook his head. He’d be the one needing a shower if he kept this up.
After tapping the screen a few times, Gracie slid her phone into her back pocket and crossed over to JJ. “You about ready for a break, kiddo?” Gracie’s voice carried through the still air, barely audible. Noah leaned against the screen door, straining to hear.
“Did your email come?” JJ asked.
“Yep, just now, and I’ve got to send it back tonight. How about some lunch before I start working on it? You hungry?”
A familiar ache grew in Noah’s stomach. He was hungry, but not for lunch. He’d forgotten how much he craved her. Every movement of her body was familiar, every bend made him wish he was out there next to her, breathing her in.
“Okeydokey, pokey.” JJ giggled at his own rhyme, then looked down at the ground. “You did pretty good today.”
“You sound surprised.”
He giggled more but didn’t look up.
She lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “I guess I had an excellent teacher.”
JJ leaned toward Gracie and bumped against her affectionately. Purposely.
Noah’s heart stuttered. JJ initiated a touch. With Gracie. She’d connected to him by working on the ranch. Their ranch. Maybe her roots were digging in, holding on. Fighting back.
JJ leaned into Gracie again as they walked, and she tugged affectionately at his hat. Maybe it wasn’t too late to hope.
As they neared the house, the two separated. Noah pushed open the cottage screen door, not wanting the moment to end. “You guys want to help me wash the truck?” he called out.
“I was going to put some sandwiches together,” Gracie said, motioning toward the house.
“We’re starved!” JJ added.
“How about you give me twenty minutes of help, and I’ll grill us all burgers for lunch.”
He watched Gracie process the request, weigh the deal. She was going to say no. She’d had enough togetherness for one day.
Her shoulders slumped. “Sounds like a plan.”
It took a minute for her words to register. She’d said yes. He couldn’t contain his mile-wide smile. “JJ, grab the hose, bud. I’ll get a bucket and soap.”
A half hour later, the truck was clean, and a sopping-wet Noah had taken control of the hose from JJ, squirting him until he ran around the barn giggling. Then he turned toward Gracie.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, staring down the barrel of the hose. He squeezed. She squealed and ran for cover behind the flowering plum tree.
“You can’t hide forever,” he taunted, squirting on either side of the tree trunk.
She charged him, pushing through the gush of water to wrestle him for the hose handle, re-soaking them both. Noah tripped and fell backward onto the dirt—now mud—driveway. Refusing to let go of the hose, he took down Gracie, too, and she landed on top of him.
“You need a bath,” Gracie said, smirking as she moved to get up.
He quickly rolled over, pinning her under him. He wiggled them both into the mud, ignoring her half-hearted protests. “Now you do, too.”
She laughed. For the first time since she’d arrived, at least with him. The sound was musical and so carefree. God, he’d missed it.
Her face was inches from his, and his eyes held hers, wide and confused—and without the harshness he’d come to expect. His eyes dropped to her lips. They looked soft, too. Kissable. He felt her body tense under him.
“I need to find JJ,” she said, pushing at him. He shifted off, and she scrambled up. “We need showers. JJ, too, I’m sure,” she said, avoiding his gaze, looking around like a mouse caught in a maze. “I’m just going to throw together some sandwiches real quick. Let’s rain check the burgers, okay?” She beelined for the house without waiting for an answer.
Noah watched her go, wanting to follow. Forcing himself not to. She hadn’t come back because she’d wanted to, and of course Noah regretted the circumstances, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t glad she’d returned. Still, he wouldn’t push her too hard. Like Daddy used to say: “If you’re lucky enough for a second chance, don’t waste it.”
…
Grace sat at the kitchen table with her laptop, scrolling through the hundreds of wedding photos she’d taken of the Marcos. It had been a beautiful ceremony at the Boathouse in Central Park. Even the early May weather had cooperated. It had been a sunny day, just like today. Dear Lord, Noah had looked yummy in that wet T-shirt. Concentrate, Grace. Beautiful ceremony. Boathouse. Beautiful bride—and Winifred Marco had definitely been one of the less monstrous brides Grace had worked with.
She shifted in her chair, and her muscles protested. JJ had worked her to the bone all morning. The quick shower she’d taken after lunch had done nothing to untie the knots in her hard-worked muscles—or her nervous stomach. What the heck was she thinking, washing the truck with Noah? She wasn’t here to rekindle their relationship, not even a friendship. Not with him. She had enough friends.
Shuffling to the kitchen counter, she popped two ibuprofens from the bottle near the sink, then forced herself to concentrate on her work. Even though Claire had taken a day and a half to send the files, the deadline hadn’t changed. Grace still had to organize the best hundred or so photos into a unique and hopelessly romantic love story, complemented by cropping and collages and appropriate background designs.
With JJ watching TV in his room, the house was quiet, thank goodness. Even Noah had gone MIA after going to take a shower. He wasn’t even hovering through the cottage’s screen door like he had been all morning. No doubt he thought he’d been discreet. All it had done was infuriate her, him watching instead of helping, messing with her concentration.
Not that shoveling goat poop took much concentration. Still, it was annoying—the goat poop and Noah. Then the whole need-to-wash-my-truck fiasco. Her fingers tingled remembering the feel of his hard muscles as she’d pushed him off her.
Stop. Thinking. About. Him. She had work to do. Real work. Paid work.
Grace stared at the photos and tried to focus. The cottage screen door squeaked open and slammed shut. Any moment now, Noah would show up on her porch. How was she going to get anything done with him bothering her all afternoon?
The moments ticked by.
Was he coming or not? She didn’t have all day.
The silence echoed in her ears louder than footsteps. Where was he? She went to the door and peered through the screen. The yard was relatively quiet, almost peaceful. Except for the chickens in their run, there was no activity. No Noah.
JJ tapped her on the shoulder, making Grace jump. “How’s your work, Gracie?”
“Oh, uh, hey, JJ. I thought you were in your room watching TV.”
“Nothing’s on.” He ambled over to her computer on the kitchen table. “Whatcha doing?”
“Putting together a wedding book proof,” she said absently, looking outside again. There was no sign of Noah anywhere.
“Proof?”
“Like a draft of a report. I put it together, and then the client tells me what they like and what they want me to change.”
JJ’s finger glided over the computer’s touchpad.
“No, JJ, don’t touch that,” she said sharply. Too sharply.
His hand retracted faster than a tape measure. “I’m sorry, Gracie.” His voice squeaked as he looked down at the ground.
Dang it, Grace. Calm yourself. She took one last glance out the screen door and turned toward JJ. “Want to see the photos I took?”
“You took them?” His head bopped up to look at the computer, his eyes lit with excitement.
She nodded.
He sat down at the table, careful not to touch the laptop again. His eyes scanned the screen filled with photo files. “All of them?”
Grace laughed. “It was a long day.”
“What do you do with them now?”
“I’m going to organize them and make a really cool album.”
JJ leaned into the screen and stared at a photo of the bride dancing with the groom, laughing, her white dress flowing around her. “She’s beautiful.”
Grace sighed. “Yes, she is. All brides are.”
“I remember when my mom married George.”
Grace’s heart plunged to her stomach at the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. Of course JJ remembered her father’s and Sheila’s wedding. At the time, he was six years, not six months, old. But what was Grace supposed to say? She hadn’t even attended the event. Lord, she wished Noah were here to give JJ the comfort he was clearly seeking.
“You didn’t come.” He said the words as a matter of fact, not an accusation. Still, a cinch of shame tightened around Grace’s chest.
“I…I had to work.”
“Mom’s dress wasn’t long and puffy. But she was still pretty,” he said.
Was she supposed to respond, or just sit and listen?
“I got to call George ‘Dad’ after that.” JJ’s words came out in a whisper. “He was a nice dad.”
A nice dad? That was true for Grace, too, a long time ago. She slid into the seat next to JJ and searched through the hurt in her brain for the right words. Instead her thoughts filled with memories—of her father pushing her on the tire swing he’d hung on the sycamore behind the barn, of them cooking together and then surprising Mom with breakfast in bed. Snapshots flickered through her mind, over and over.
JJ looked up at her with glossy eyes, waiting. Like he wanted her to say something profound or comforting, something an adult was supposed to say. The code-red moment swelled her throat, constricting her airway. They shouldn’t be having this conversation. No ten-year-old boy should have to have this conversation.
She sucked in a breath of air, held it, and then let it out. “Yeah, he was a nice dad.” Her tone was quiet but filled with conviction.
He nodded, his eyes now glued to the photo of the dancing bride.
Grace straightened her back and blinked through the tears that had collected in her own eyes. “Come on, let me show you what I can do with these photos.” She slid her fingers over the touchpad, the familiarity of the action soothing the strange chaos swirling inside her. “I can frame them.” She tapped the touchpad, clicking at a photo of the dancing bride and instantly framing it. “Or change the color.” Tap. The bride’s gown turned hot pink.
JJ giggled. Relief loosened Grace’s throat, then her lungs. Code red averted.
Over the next twenty minutes, Grace showed him how to manipulate the photos. JJ was curious, like all kids probably, but she was surprised at how quickly he picked things up. “Now watch this.” Tap-tap-tap.
“Cool! You made a collage. We did collages in school last month. I made one of the horses. I put Socks in the middle, like he should be. He’s never in the middle of the band.”
“Oooh. I’d love to see it. You like art class, huh?”
JJ looked away, shrugging. “It’s okay.”
“Why just okay?” With JJ’s interest in drawing, it should be one of his favorite subjects. She couldn’t wait for sixth-period art class back in high school.
“There’s too many rules. I can’t remember them all. She says I do everything wrong.” His sad voice pinched a raw nerve near Grace’s heart. She could feel her defenses kick in, get ready to guard and protect, and maybe even attack. The force of her instinctive response surprised her—and sort of scared her.
“She who?”
“My art teacher.”
Art teachers were inherently creative, right? That meant they were passionate and empowering. Criticizing a kid’s creativity would suffocate his soul. “Listen to me, JJ. There’s no right or wrong when it comes to art. None.” Grace would make sure to have a word with that teacher tomorrow when she went to the school.
“Maybe that’s how it is in New York.”
“No, that’s…” Wait. This was an opening, a way to introduce the move to JJ. Grace took a deep breath and plunged in. “The schools in New York have some great art programs. I bet you’d like it there.”
JJ’s body froze. “I can’t leave here. The animals need me. And Noah. Noah needs me.” JJ popped up from the chair. “I gotta check on Hannah.” He ran from the kitchen and out the back screen door.
Nice going, Grace.
How was she going to explain the move—and the boarding school—to JJ? She glanced at her watch. Almost one o’clock. She could grind this project out by dinner if she focused. She would figure things out with JJ later. Tomorrow, for sure.
The sun had fallen behind the mountain by the time Grace clicked send on the email to Claire, with the draft file attached. Then she spent another thirty minutes searching the internet for information on boarding school financial aid, with limited success. Frustrated, she stood up and stretched her crinkled muscles.
She checked the kitchen clock; it was almost dinnertime. She’d heard JJ slip into his room over an hour ago. He must be hungry. Did Noah expect them all to eat together? She didn’t want to set that expectation. That’d be way too much togetherness. Besides, she was too tired to raise a fork tonight, let alone chew and swallow.
“Honey,” she called, knocking on JJ’s bedroom door.
JJ swung the door open. “Did you make your deadline, Gracie?” His eyes focused just past her shoulder again, though all traces of discomfort from their previous conversation were gone.
“Yeah, I did. And I’m exhausted.” A hot shower and a soft bed beckoned. It was going to take a hundred roosters to wake her tomorrow morning. “What are you, uh, hungry for?” Something easy, hopefully.
“Noah said he’s gonna order pizza, if that okay with you.”
Thank God.
“That sounds perfect.” She smiled, then turned toward her bedroom. “You guys go ahead without me, okay? I’m going to hit the sack early after taking a shower. A long one.” She could almost feel the hot water pulsating on her skin.
“You sure? You missed last night, too.” Worry vibrated through his words.
Grace stopped. She wasn’t used to someone fussing over her, especially not a pre-pubescent boy. It felt odd. Not bad odd, but squishy odd. She turned back to him and his blue eyes, cloudy with concern. “I’m sure.” She forced another smile. “We’ll do dinner tomorrow night, I promise.”
“Okay,” JJ said, jumping off his bed and passing her at the doorway. “I’ll tell Noah.”
He was already in the kitchen when she realized she might have just committed herself to dinner with JJ and Noah tomorrow. When had food become so complicated?
Hours later, Grace lay on her bed, wrapped in a silk robe, wide awake. If this morning was a typical morning, even with JJ’s help, which surprisingly was a lot, she couldn’t take care of everything every day, not if she wanted time to pack things up, find a buyer for the animals, and go through the junk she knew was lurking in the attic. Who was she kidding? It was all too much.
She raised her aching arm and focused her eyes on her wristwatch. Almost nine thirty. The house was quiet now. Noah had said good night at least twenty minutes ago. JJ was probably watching TV in his room, maybe even asleep by now.
She forced herself to sit upright and stand. Ouch. She eased into the kitchen, her muscles complaining with every step, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The front door was wide open, a screen door the only protection from robbers. In New York, she’d have been cleaned out before she could say 9-1-1, let alone find her phone to call for help. But she wasn’t in New York. She was worlds away from New York.
Still, she went to lock up—better safe than sorry—and reached for the front doorknob with her free hand. The wooden swing squeaked on the porch. She froze.
“You guys did a lot of work this morning,” Noah said from outside.
Dang it. She didn’t want to see him. She was too tired to go another round with him. Plus, she probably looked like a mess. But if she ran away now, he’d think she was too weak to handle the ranch—and him.
Grace pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. “Wish I could say it felt good.”
“There’s pizza in the fridge.”
“I’m fine.” She should have been starving after all that work today. But her stomach was too tired to digest food. Yes, it was only exhaustion bothering her stomach.
Noah raised the beer bottle in his hand and motioned her to sit next to him. The swing was the only seat on the porch. Still, her eyes did a one-eighty, hoping for something to materialize out of thin air, a la Star Trek. Finally, she sat.
As soon as she did, she regretted it. He smelled like soap and spearmint. And him. His scent filled her nostrils and messed with her already exhausted, fuzzy brain.
“Did you get your work done this afternoon?” he asked.
Work? Oh yeah. “Barely.” She sighed. “I don’t know how you do all this”—she waved her hand to indicate the barn and everything else—“plus have time for websites and marketing plans.”
“It gets easier, once you know the animals and they know you.”
They both knew she wouldn’t be around long enough for that. Silence hung between them like fog on the Sierras.
“JJ was a lot of help,” Grace said, searching for a conversation topic.
“He said you kept up pretty well. Sounds like he’s warming up to you.”
She cleared her throat. “He’s a good kid.”
“Yeah, he is.” Noah swigged his beer and pushed the swing with his legs.
Watching him, she remembered how they used to talk into the wee-hours. More than once they had fallen asleep on this swing, and her father—and his—almost took Noah’s hide for it. But the days of talking so easily were gone. Now she struggled to find words, struggled to get them out. “I’ve got that meeting tomorrow, the one at the school,” she said. “And I need to start going through stuff. The attic’s packed full of God knows what.”
She waited, hoping he’d take the hint and change his mind about helping her. She couldn’t do it all herself, not in two weeks, maybe not even in two months.
“We need to tell JJ about that school, the one in New York,” he said. It wasn’t surprising he wouldn’t say the words boarding school. They tasted like cardboard soaked in turpentine to her, too.
“I…I started to.” And it went swimmingly. “We were too busy. But tomorrow…” Her voice trailed off.
The swing stopped. “Have you told the school about JJ’s autism yet? What if they can’t take him?”
The more pressing question was: Could she afford the school? Maybe. Barely. By draining her emergency fund and subsisting on ramen noodles until he graduated. But she wouldn’t admit to Noah that she didn’t have things under control. He’d grab onto that like a starving dog with a bone.
His judgmental gaze made her want to run back to her room, though she doubted her aching muscles could even handle a moderate hustle. It didn’t matter. That same gaze, the weight of the eyes of a forever optimist, held her down. Even in the dark, Noah’s eyes sparkled with hope, with promises of things she’d thought she’d never see again.
“They’ll take him,” she said with as much confidence as she could. “But I’m calling them tomorrow to confirm.”
Noah stood up and turned away, but not before she saw the spark in his eyes go out.
“Try to understand, Noah. I can’t take on a kid I barely know. What kind of life would he have in New York, in an apartment, with me? Not even with me. I’m never there. It would never work. I’m just trying to do what’s best.”
He swung back around. The light in his eyes had turned into a raging fire. “Best for who, Gracie? Him, or you? You’re twenty-five. When are you going to stop acting like a child and step up?”
A windstorm of pent-up hurt and anger whirled in her chest. How dare he! She’d tried to step up with her father; Noah knew that. Her father wouldn’t accept her help or the doctors’, not any of them. It wasn’t until he met Sheila, a home healthcare nurse, that he’d recovered. It wasn’t until Sheila that he’d wanted to live again.
Maybe Grace should have been happy for her father’s recovery and thankful to Sheila. But deep down inside her, the truth burned. She’d failed as a daughter. A stranger had been able to do what she couldn’t. And now she was being asked to try again. Step up. Be responsible for someone else.
Grace gritted her teeth. “I am stepping up. I’m an adult making hard decisions like adults have to do.” She pushed through the mucky, sinking feeling in her stomach. “That boarding school will give JJ a good education.”
Noah held up his hands like a shield. “Never mind. I forgot, you’ve got it all figured out. You don’t need my help.” He looked out to the property, his back to her.
“You’re right. I don’t.” The pride-filled lie stung her tongue, even as the rest of her treacherous body wanted to run to Noah, throw her arms around him, and beg him to help her figure things out.
But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let him in. That would mean trusting him and allowing him to influence her. Allowing herself to rely on him. He’d proven himself unreliable, to her at least. Maybe he thought he was making up for it, first with her dad and now with JJ. He thought wrong.
She pushed herself out of the swing and toward the front door. “I have to get an early start. Lock up when you leave,” she called over her shoulder.
She’d figure everything out by herself. She always did.