Saturday, August 9th
A D D I E
Zac walked into the bedroom with a cup of hot tea and a cold flannel. I was still curled up against the headboard, ashamed and embarrassed of the scene that I must have made.
The bedside alarm clock read that it was three in the morning and I'd felt terrible for screaming the house down until Zac told me that his dad would sleep through a tractor driving through his bedroom and Zac himself woke at about four most mornings so it was no big deal.
That didn't stop me from feeling humiliated.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and handed me the cup. He was wearing a pair of black sweatpants and no shirt. If I hadn't been in such a state, I might have been able to appreciate the entire situation a little more.
"Here," he handed me the cold flannel. "Might help cool you down a bit."
My face and neck were drenched with sweat; tendrils of hair were clinging to my forehead and the white t-shirt that I was wearing was damp. I used the flannel and wiped my face with it, but I knew that I would need a shower to feel clean. Zac ran his hand across his jaw and looked perplexed.
"Is this about Margo?"
Sometimes I felt like my throat was being squeezed whenever I tried to say her name. And not in a metaphorical sense. It hurt. Real pain. When Zac said it, he was so casual. It slipped right off his tongue and his southern drawl licked at the roll of the R.
But I sort of loved that he called her Margo, rather than referring to her as my sister and nothing more. It was acknowledging and she deserved to be acknowledged.
I nodded and tried to expel the remnants of the nightmare that had become a regular occurrence.
"You were. . . there for her death?"
"I can't, Zac," I whispered and shook my head. "I can't."
"Alright," he took the flannel from me and threw it onto the dresser. "You want to get back to sleep? Or come for a wander with me? Figure I'll get a head start on the chores."
"Chores on a Saturday morning?"
"Every morning," he flicked his head toward the door. "I'll get something better to wear?"
"For me?"
He nodded and stood up, his skin pulling against taut muscles. "You don't have to come though."
"No no," I pushed the thin sheet back and stood up as well, his gaze was fast and fleeting, but it lowered and looked me over from my bare legs to the white shirt pulling tight against my thighs. "I won't be getting back to sleep. I'll come. I'll even help."
He smiled and turned around. "Back in a minute."
He gave me a pair of his mom's old farm pants after he made me promise that I didn't find it weird, a pair of her boots that looked as though they had never been worn and one of his hoodies. It wasn't cold outside, so the clothes were enough, and we trekked through the back garden and down towards the paddock.
The sun wasn't up but it can't have been far because there was a bright glow coming from the horizon and it lightened the night sky to a cobalt blue. Birds were beginning to sing, and I couldn't decide if I preferred dusk or dawn out here. It must have been an even tie.
"I'm sorry, again," I said as he opened a steel gate and waited for me to follow through before he closed it again. "For screaming and all that. Not the best house guest."
"Would you quit apologizing," he shook his head with amusement. "If I was bothered, I'd have left you alone as soon as I'd woken you up and told you to shut it."
I watched the ground, lightly laughing as my boots stepped over grass and dirt.
"I'm gonna get a real laugh out of you some time," Zac said, looking down at me with a side on grin as he sauntered with his hands in his pockets.
"That was a real laugh."
"Nope. A real big side aching laugh."
"Why, what's the big deal?"
He nudged me with his elbow and stared straight ahead. "Because that would mean you're really happy."
My hair fell around my face when I ducked my head and hid the blush crawling across my face. We walked a while longer until we came to the enormous barn. It had that classic peaked roof, red and white, roller door appearance.
There were thirty stable stalls in total, a grooming cubicle, a row of cupboards and shelving for equipment and even a tea break room. Zac said that it wasn't used too often as it wasn't the most inviting place to eat, what with the stench of horse manure wafting through the place and all.
"Rise and shine kids," Zac shouted as he pushed the doors wide open with one effortless shove. I knew first-hand how heavy they were, I'd tried to open one of them when we brought Lavender back yesterday. It was embarrassing. Zac whistled and clapped his hands. "Who wants a bite, huh?"
There were a few responses that came in the form of neighs and whinnies. But Zac must have felt that the enthusiasm was lackluster because he stood there with his hands on his hips and sighed.
"Not used to getting up for another hour," he laughed and wandered over to the left where there were sinks, buckets, bowls and bags of food. Lots of bags of food. We worked beside each other, filling up buckets with protein that would start the horses off right.
We split the stalls in half, and I took the front half while he wandered down toward the back of the barn. The instructions were straight forward, tip the food into the trough that wasn't full of water, give them a pet and then double check the door is latched properly.
It didn't take long before we met in the middle and emerged from two stalls, side by side. Zac had a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and he'd ditched his hoodie, now down to a black tank top. We double checked our stall locks and then turned to each other, still holding our now empty buckets. He gave me a slow nod and tilted his head to peer past me. "You work fast."
"It was sort of. . . fun," I confessed, feeling strange at how true that was. It was hot, it didn't smell great and I had sore arms from tugging a full bucket of food to and from the stalls fifteen times. Still, the brief chit chat with the horses was more fulfilling than I'd imagined a one-sided conversation to be. "You do this alone in the weekend?"
He nodded and started back toward the front of the barn where the buckets lived. "Yeah but there's less work during the weekend. It's just food and letting them out into the paddock. Perhaps a brush. During the week is the big stuff. Friday is the busiest. We do a full clean out of each stall and a decent groom. It's not hard to keep on top of it if we do a bit each morning and afternoon."
"When do we let them out?"
He looked at me as he switched the basin faucet on and raised his brows with a small smile. "Uh well, we can let them out whenever. Most mornings I let them out at six."
"How do you intend on keeping Lavender in from now on?"
Zac laughed at the playful inquiring. "Ray, the neighbour, fixed the gate lock while we were having a beer last night. I sent him a text and had him pop over. He's up for doing odd jobs for dad. Dad saved his farm from being 'repossessed' a long while back."
"Aw that's sweet," I handed him my bucket when he was done rinsing his. "I didn't realize there were neighbours around here."
"Not neighbours in the sense that you might be used to. You could walk over to his place, but it'd take a while. I get there in ten minutes on the dirt bike."
"Right. So, what else does a weekend around here consist of?"
"Well," he used the detachable faucet head and sprayed the basin to wash down the food scraps that splashed up the edges. "Once I'm done here, I go and have breakfast- I have to work up an appetite before I can eat- and then I shower, do some work out in the shed, go into town. Just whatever needs to be done I suppose. Changes week to week."
"What do you have for breakfast?"
He switched off the faucet and turned to me. "You ask enough questions?"
I winced. "Sorry."
He wiped his hands dry with a rag. "You're alright."
"Can I attempt to explain something?"
"Of course," he put his back to the wall and leaned with his ankles crossed and arms folded, his expression intent and focused on me and me alone.
"Well. . . up until three weeks ago. . . I had. . . a life. I had a routine and a home- I mean, I still have a home- but I was at that home. I had. . . Mar-m-"
"I'm following, Addie. Go on."
I took a deep breath and gave him a grateful smile. "So, I had all of that. Work that kept me occupied, books that filled in the spare time. A sister with her own. . . stuff happening. There was always something to think about and now, whenever I think about those things, it feels like I'm going to be sick. It hurts so much. So, I think I'm trying to think about. . . anything else. Whatever can distract me and help me feel like this is real and all of that other stuff. . . isn't."
He didn't respond but he continued to watch me with thought.
"That doesn't make sense, does it."
"I think it makes perfect sense."
For some reason, that was a huge relief.
"Can I be honest about something?" He said with a cautious tone. I nodded. "Is that. . .entirely healthy? Isn't there some benefit to dealing with. . . the truth?"
It was hard to answer. The main reason for that was because he was right. I knew that denial wasn't going to help me heal. But that didn't mean that I was capable of dealing with the truth either.
"But I suppose I was a bit the same when mom died," his tone was distant, his gaze unfocused. "I couldn't face it for a long time. It's been two weeks since you lost Margo. You can ask me all the questions that it takes to distract your thoughts."
There it was again, the one brief moment where Margo's memory didn't equate to a vice like grip throttling my heart. Instead it was sweet and honouring, even if it lasted no more than the second that it took for her name to leave his lips.
"Alright," I exhaled, releasing the tension on my clenched jaw, a newly formed habit of grinding my teeth was giving me headaches like nothing else. "I have another question."
"Please," he gestured to go ahead.
"How did your mother die? And, you don't have to answer that."
"She was thrown off a horse and snapped her neck."
"Shit," I breathed, feeling lightheaded.
"Ironic, right," his eyes shifted over the stable. "I couldn't stand the horses after that. Hated them and then I remembered that mom loved these creatures with her entire soul. She dedicated her life to training horses. Even aggressive wild ones that didn't have a damn hope. She didn't give up on a single one and I know that she'd never have blamed them for what happened to her. She'd have said it was poetic to be honest. If I had continued to hate these animals, she'd be devastated. That might have been the biggest moment for me, remembering that. It was. . . therapeutic."
I admired that, I admired that more than he knew. "When did this happen?"
"When I was fifteen. Dad was never the same. He's still a great man. Loves to talk about mom. Smiles a lot and all of that. But he doesn't go down to the paddock unless he has to. He just keeps it running from a distance. He keeps it running for her."
"I feel sort of bad about leaving the business in Beverly Hills now."
"Oh na," he waved a dismissive hand. "Not the same thing. Did Margo love her job?"
"Yeah, she did," I said, lip quivering when I remembered our last argument. "I didn't do much of the hands on. That was her. I did the books. We inherited the business from our parents. Well, she did. I was thirteen. She was twenty-nine."
"Oh wow. Bit of an age gap then."
"Yeah. Different mom's," I explained and focused on breathing.
"You should keep at least some of the hobbies from your 'old life'," Zac said, standing up straight again. "Like the reading. Don't give that up."
My light laugh came out with a hitch. "Where's the closest library?"
"Zac? Addie?"
We both turned around to the sound of Raine approaching with her brows pulled tight and her lips parted with surprise. She looked down at the pants that used to belong to her mother and for a moment, I worried that she was going to flip out. But instead, she smiled and folded her arms.
"I didn't realize you two had hit it off at brunch."
I looked at Zac and found him watching me. He quickly turned his attention to Raine and put a small step between us. "I hadn't seen her until last night."
"And that was a coincidence," I added, not sure why we were so jittery about explaining ourselves. "I was out, and the foal got out and then Zac was there, and he invited me here and it got late. So, I slept-" I pointed up- "in the spare room and we got up, like, really early, to do the chores."
"That's a true but sort-of-horribly-told story."
Raine nodded with a brow raised so high that it was beginning to blend in with her hairline. "Yeah. Sure."
I knew how this must have looked. It must have looked like Zac and I had been in contact since brunch and I'd slept with him last night and now I was wearing his mom's clothes while we stood close and, in each other's space, first thing in the morning. Yeah, I wouldn't have believed what I said either.
But even if she was right about her assumptions, would that be an issue? It's not like Raine and I knew each other well. It wouldn't be violating girl code. Or perhaps he had a girlfriend? Ugh it didn't matter what it looked like. We knew the truth. There was nothing going on.
"We're just about to grab some breakfast," Zac said and picked his hoodie up off the ground. "You joining us?"
"No, I was just dropping something off for dad," she said. "I need to get home and get some sleep."
"Just hang out and have something to eat," Zac insisted and we all walked over to the gate. "I'll come back and let the horses out after."
That last sentence must have been for me since I was peering back at the barn over my shoulder. I gave him a small smile and Raine agreed to have something quick to eat. That something turned out to be scrambled eggs and orange juice.
The scrambled eggs were the best that I've ever had. I could have sworn that I'd had them at brunch, but I couldn't recall how delicious they were. Raine said it was because their chickens were able to roam free in big open spaces as opposed to caged eggs where the chickens were in distress their entire lives.
I hadn't even realized there were chickens on the farm. I wondered how far their land went before it became someone else's.
The farm kitchen was beautiful. It was all distressed white paint and wood with polished surfaces and brass handles. The oven, while brand new, was a large retro design. It reminded me of the sort of oven that could be found in old western farm films, just more modern. Copper brass pots and pans hung above the kitchen island and antique teapots and teacups lined a stack of shelves above the sink. It was very much French country vibes and I loved it.
While we washed up, Zac turned to Raine who was mid, tonsil baring yawn, and asked her a question. "You could give Addie a ride back to the hotel?"
Oh no. I asked too many questions and now he's sick of me.
"That's if she wants to go," he looked at me. "You're welcome to hang around for as long as you want."
What was I doing? I was stressing out over whether this tall, gorgeous, well-built man wanted me around or not. How selfish was I? Margo hadn't been gone for more than two weeks and I was thinking about men? Or, well, one man. I felt sick.
"I should go back to the Inn," I dropped the dish towel and stood in front of Zac who had a hand leaned on the lip of the bench. "Thanks for having me last night and I-" he told me to quit apologizing, so I didn't mention the three am wake up call- "Well thanks again. I'll return the clothes if that's alright? I promise that I will. Or I can take the pants off now?"
"Don't stress," he chuckled. "I trust you'll bring em back. And no need to thank me. You paid the favour back this morning."
Raine made a choked noise with her throat and I felt red hot when I thought about how that sounded.
"Alright. I'll- goodb- see you later, alright?"
"Yeah. Goodbye, Addie."