Thirty-Nine
With the doors at either end flung wide, the barn aisle at Briar Hall was icy cold, horse breath pluming like smoke in the bright afternoon light.
“This must be dedication,” Sam said, “because usually I can’t even get her to take out the trash if it’s this cold.”
Emmie was wearing a long down jacket that made her look even tinier, usual baseball cap crammed low and covered over with a beanie. She blew the steam off her coffee and said, “Yeah. She’s really putting the work in, and she’s doing well.” She glanced over with a smile. “In my experience, horses have the power to make girls do things they never would ordinarily.”
“Thank God for horses, then.”
In the wash rack in front of them, Erin was busy unsaddling Sherman, crooning and talking to him, absorbed in her task in a way Sam had never seen.
“And thank you,” Sam said in an undertone. “Emmie, seriously. I was so afraid she’d end up in some kind of alternative school or something. And her grades are better, and she’s making her bed, helping around the house.”
Emmie waved off the gratitude. “Nah, it’s not me. Like I said, it’s the horses. Who knows where I would have ended up if it wasn’t for this place.”
Tack set off to the side on all the proper racks and hooks, Erin selected a brush from the box and began to curry Sherman’s thick winter fur, putting her whole arm into the effort, until the horse’s chestnut coat stood up in sweat-damp cowlicks.
Sam had no real desire to take up riding herself, but she could watch her sister groom one all day. It had that lulling, fish tank effect, the regular strokes of the brushes, the quiet sound of the horse breathing, like bellows working. She’d come to love their trips to Briar Hall, Erin’s lessons peaceful hours of escape, when the various worries of the day were overtaken by the scents of hay and sawdust. Emmie was good company, when she wasn’t delivering calm, competent instruction. Sam had come to realize that she and Walsh’s wife had more than just bikers in common – they were both teachers, in their own fields, both consumed by knowledge that they then wanted to impart to the next generation.
But as lovely as it was, the world of Briar Hall could only hold back reality for so long.
“Emmie, can I ask a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Will you give me Tonya Sinclair’s home address?”
Emmie gave her an assessing look. “You really want it?”
“Yes.”
~*~
Aidan clenched his teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter as he swung off his bike. No matter how many layers, or how thick his gloves, or how much coffee he drank beforehand, riding in this kind of weather always ate through the leather and sank into skin and bone. It was a dry cold, the sky bright, Dartmoor windswept. He’d used his lunch break to run an errand, and was glad to see that Mercy and Carter were still out, only Tango inside. Good. He could kill two birds with one stone…so to speak.
The roll top doors were half-closed against the cold and Aidan ducked beneath one, stepping into the relative warmth of the shop bays. They had big radiant heaters plugged in, and they took the chill out of the air.
Tango sat on a stool beside a client bike, bundled up in a hoodie and fingerless gloves, hair hidden under a stocking cap. Even in profile, he looked like shit. Like he didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, and didn’t care about anything. His broken fingers had healed, and his bruises had faded. But mentally? He was still in bits.
“Hey,” Aidan greeted, taking the stool opposite.
“Hey.” His look was one Aidan hadn’t seen in years, laced with a caution that hit Aidan like a shove to the chest.
He decided to ignore it, push past and see if he could draw the guy back. So far, Tango hadn’t wanted to talk about anything that had happened, clamming up when anyone broached the subject. It was unhealthy; he was a powder keg ready to blow. But they couldn’t force him.
“I wanted to show you something,” Aidan said, reaching into his pocket for the velvet box he’d just picked up at the jeweler’s. “What do you think?” He opened the lid and showed him the modest white gold band with it’s even more modest diamond solitaire. “The saleslady tried to get me to look at one of those round ones, with all the little diamonds around it, but damn, everybody has a ring like that now. And I wanted…” He trailed off, feeling stupid.
Tango’s mouth twitched, a pathetic smile. “You wanted it to be special. Like Sam.”
“Yeah.” He blushed; actually felt the warmth and color come up in his cheeks and ducked his head.
“Hey.” Tango’s expression was absolutely haunted when Aidan looked at him. “You deserve to be happy. And she deserves a ring.”
Aidan said, “Any hope of you being happy?”
“No. None.”
~*~
Tonya was trim and fit, and so her baby bump was just that, a bump beneath her sweater, her arms, legs, and hips still slender. She took a seat in a plush cream chair by the fireplace of her parents’ palatial family room and invited Sam to sit in the chair opposite with an elegant gesture.
Aware that she’d come from the barn, she sat carefully on the edge of the chair, hands clasped in her lap. “You’re engaged.”
Tonya lifted her left hand so the sunlight glinted off the massive rock adorning her third finger. “For about a month now.”
“And you really don’t want the baby?”
“No. Is that why you’re here? To threaten me the way his stepmother did?”
“I happen to know that Maggie Teague doesn’t threaten people,” Sam said, voice hardening. “Please don’t cheapen the woman’s confidence that way.”
Tonya’s brows lifted.
“And no. I’m here to tell you that I won’t be intimidated by you. We aren’t little girls anymore, Tonya. And because I needed to see you in person, to see if you were being honest.”
Tonya gave her a measuring look.
“I need to know you won’t renege and pull some stunt after the baby’s born, try to keep it.”
“The paperwork’s already been signed. Aidan’s oh-so-charming father and his lawyer actually put together a contract.” She snorted. “Rest assured. You’ll get your baby, Samantha.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Aidan. I’m just looking out for him.”
Tonya’s head tilted, beautiful dark hair cascading down her arm. “You really do love him, don’t you?”
The woman’s expression, and her question, struck Sam as beyond odd. She returned: “And you’re not capable of love, are you?”
Tonya shrugged. “Maybe. One day. Maybe I learned to suppress it.” Her smile was cool, bitter. “More power to you, then.”
~*~
In truth, Sam wasn’t sure what she’d been searching for, going to see Tonya. To reassure herself, perhaps. Deep down, she was anxious about the baby. The birth was still a ways off, and though things had been good with Aidan – things had been wonderful – she felt the distant pressure of his little girl’s arrival, growing stronger by the day.
His little girl. A lump formed in her throat every time she revisited her mental picture of the child – which was often.
Last night, when Aidan was still inside her, as they’d lay gasping together, hot and slick with sweat, she’d closed her eyes and imagined the baby, little wrinkled pink features and tiny fingers and toes. She thought her womb had tightened, a deep longing that echoed through her whole body. I want a baby. Well, she was going to have one. And maybe one day…
But all of this was shadowed, still. She didn’t know why, couldn’t put her finger on it, but some small seed of worry kept growing roots in the back of her mind.
Maybe because Don Ellison was still alive out there, slinking around the underworld, eluding the club’s tracking efforts.
Yes, that was it.
Probably.
She’d dropped Erin off at home after her lesson, told her to hit the books, and checked the soup in the crock pot before heading to Tonya’s. As she pulled back into the driveway, she was surprised to find Aidan’s bike parked alongside her mother’s car. They hadn’t made plans for tonight. In fact, he’d been evasive over the phone earlier, and she’d chalked it up to him being distracted by Tango.
Poor Tango. To Sam’s knowledge, he hadn’t cracked a smile once since his rescue.
“Mom?” she called when she stepped through the back door.
“In here,” Helen’s voice came from the living room.
Sam found her mother and boyfriend sitting side-by-side on the couch. Helen had a crumpled tissue in her hand and dabbed at her eyes. Aidan looked slightly nauseas.
“What’s wrong?” Sam’s heart leapt behind her breastbone.
“Oh nothing.” Helen got to her feet, blowing her nose. She shook her head and gave Sam a watery smile. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She came to Sam and hugged her.
“Mom, you’re freaking me out.”
“Don’t pay any attention to me. You stay here, and I’m going to check in on Erin before dinner, okay?” Another tear-filled smile before she left the room.
“Mom…” But Helen was disappearing up the staircase. So Sam turned to Aidan. “What’s going on? Is somebody hurt? Is there–”
He grinned, the movement sudden, and even if she didn’t know what was going on yet, the way his eyes crinkled up allayed her immediate fear.
“Aidan?”
“Do me a favor, and keep standing there just like that.”
“Okay…”
Still seated on the couch, he looked up at her, and his face became tight with some emotional strain, smile plucking hard at the corners, the lines around his eyes deepening.
“Aidan,” she repeated, concerned anew.
“Just stand there,” he urged. “And bear with me as I butcher all kinds of grammar, like Ava always tells me I do.”
Her heart rate picked up another fraction.
“This year has been…insane,” he began. “And a lot of bad shit happened. A lot.”
She nodded.
“But the best thing happened, too.”
That was when she saw the box in his hands. The little black velvet box.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Aidan’s eyes looked too bright, his smile almost apologetic. “Aw damn, I had this whole speech planned out, but it was stupid. So…” He heaved a deep breath. “Sam, I can’t live without you. I’m a smarter, stronger, better person since you came into my life. I love you like hell, and I want to wake up with you every morning, and I want you to be the mother of my baby. She’s gonna need a mom. My real mom wasn’t worth a shit, but my stepmom – she’s my mama. And that’s what I want. I want you to be my wife, my old lady, and her mama.” In a rushed afterthought, voice thin with fear, he said, “If you want to. If you can stand it. I know I’m not…”
She leaned forward, framed his face with her hands, and kissed him. She felt him smile against her lips; felt his fast, startled breath. “That sounded like a speech,” she said as she pulled back, eyes filling with tears. “And it wasn’t a bit stupid.”
He opened the box, and it was a pitifully small ring. She’d never seen anything more beautiful.
“Will you marry me?”
Her hand shook as he slid the ring onto her finger. And they were both shaking when he stood up and hugged her tight to his chest.