The Heartbreaker of Echo Pass by Maisey Yates

CHAPTER SIX

HEHADNOidea in hell why he had invited her to go riding. He really didn’t. But as he watched his plain little housekeeper mount the horse, as he watched a strange satisfaction flood her face and a smile spread slowly over her lips, he found he couldn’t really care less.

Whatever she said, she did want to do this. And she was enjoying it.

Out here in the sun, her brown hair seemed glossier, her eyes more green than brown. He noticed that she had a faint dusting of freckles over her pale skin, and that her lips, while such a pale pink it was hard to notice them against the contrast of her pale skin indoors, were quite full. Soft.

Everything about her was soft.

And he’d lived through a lot of hard, so he found it more compelling than he ought to.

Soft was an indulgence to someone like him. An indulgence he couldn’t afford. Because the soft and pretty didn’t change the shape of the hard and sharp. It only went the other way. He might be a bastard but not enough of one to inflict himself on her.

Her food, though, was enough to make a grown man weep. That was just the truth. That food was filled with flavor and spoke of hidden depths. But then, so had her walking up the mountain and shoving a plate of cookies in his face.

She was a strange little anomaly. And now, perched on the back of a horse, she looked like a pretty damn pleased anomaly.

It was normal, actually. For him to want to give her something when she’d made him nice food. It was like a social contract. She’d done nice things for him, he was happy doing something nice for her.

At least, that was sort of how he remembered social things working.

“This way,” he said, maneuvering Babe onto the trail that he knew would take them to the creek.

“What is this one’s... What is my horse’s name?” He could have laughed at the way she asked that.

“That’s Carl,” he said.

“Carl?”

“Are you maligning his name?”

“I’m not maligning his name. But I do question it.”

“He came to me with that name. I went ahead and kept it as it was to minimize confusion.”

“Well, that makes enough sense, I guess.”

“I don’t care if it makes sense to you or not, Iris. Anyway, why can’t a horse be named Carl?”

“I don’t know, it seems silly.”

“Maybe the horse thinks it’s weird you’re named after a flower.”

“See? Mean.”

He felt a smile curve his lips. “Not mean. Honest. I don’t have the energy to lie to people.”

Another funny thing. Because Griffin Chance, back in his heyday, would have smiled and lied to smooth over just about anything. He hadn’t been too shady, not as much as many people in his profession were, but if there was a situation that was difficult, he was more than willing to spread a little frosting over the details to make sure that he obscured the reality of the situation. Development was a hard game. And things were bound to go wrong, and landowners were volatile. Investors were always breathing down his neck. The one thing he was very good at was putting a smile on his face and BSing his way through a potential catastrophe.

And typically, he could make sure that it didn’t turn into one.

But making sure that nobody ever saw him sweat was one reason he’d gotten so good at what he did.

Was one reason he had so much success.

He’d blown off steam at his ranch, at home, where he’d been himself, and he’d put his suit on, and put his businessman face on, whenever he needed to.

Now, the very idea of engaging in that kind of nonsense made him want to lie down, go to sleep and never get back up.

It was stupid. He couldn’t see the merit in it, not anymore. It just... It didn’t feel like him. Those memories didn’t feel like him.

Not just another life. Another person.

“I guess that’s a good thing,” she said. “I don’t think that I would lie to people.”

“What do you mean you don’t think?” The trail dipped down, and he leaned back on the horse, as the animal navigated the incline, stepping carefully around the rocks that came up out of the hard ground. He turned back to look at Iris, to make sure that she was all right. She seemed to be handling it gamely, and he felt like her claims of not being a horse girl had been greatly exaggerated.

She was doing just fine.

“I’ve never had a real job.” He could almost feel her regretting that statement, the force of her embarrassment hitting him like a wave. “I guess I shouldn’t say that to the man who is banking on collecting the profits from my business.”

“Maybe not,” he said, laughing. “But you know, I admire your honesty.”

“Okay. So I’ve never had a job outside of my house. You know, like I said, I’m kind of the... The cook. For the ranch. Not a housewife.” She made a small gagging sound. “Obviously. Because I’m not anyone’s wife. But you know. It’s actually like a job. Or, it was. Because we kind of ate communally as a family still, and now we do that less. And now it’s Sammy’s kitchen. My sister-in-law.”

“Right. So you kind of got edged out.”

“Yes. But I guess... I haven’t had much of a social life. I haven’t had a lot of situations where it had to be tested. I had friends, don’t get me wrong. But it’s gotten really difficult. I had friends in high school, and a lot of them went away to college, and I couldn’t.” She didn’t elaborate on that, but he imagined it had something to do with money. In the world he’d grown up in, college was a given. An expected thing. But he’d learned that wasn’t the case everywhere.

“Some of my friends came back, some never did. Some got married right away and started having children. You know, I have friends with kids in middle school. And that boggles my mind.”

“Right,” he said. His chest felt tight just then.

“But you know, that makes it harder to maintain friendships. Because they are busy. And they’ve made new friends from parent groups, and things like that. And I don’t work outside of my house, and I don’t have a built-in group of people that I have something like that in common with. So... I just... I found that my social life just kind of crumbled and fell away, particularly in the last four years. And I just kind of feel lonely. Aimless. Isolated.”

“Yeah,” he said, feeling almost guilty that he couldn’t contribute more to the conversation. But he was isolated on purpose. And it was difficult for him to see it as a bad thing.

“Anyway. I guess that’s going to change with the bakery. I should hopefully meet some people?”

“I would think.”

“I’ll actually be out there, in the world, in the community. I’ll have something in common with people. I’ll own a business.”

It sounded to him like Iris had a secure world with a lot of people that cared about her. And while he could definitely understand why she felt like she had a failure to launch, or whatever, he also didn’t feel that sorry for her.

It sounded like she had a lot.

“You’re close to your family, though.”

“Yes,” she said. “I love them. But they’ve managed to be close to me, while having distinct lives of their own.”

“Fair enough. No boyfriend, then?”

She laughed. The woman honest to God laughed like he’d told the funniest joke in all of creation.

How long had it been since he’d heard another person laugh? A real laugh.

He hadn’t laughed like that in years.

And he hadn’t shared laughter in just as long.

He’d heard it, he was sure. At parties he hadn’t wanted to be at. Before he’d come to the conclusion that home wasn’t home anymore. It had grated on him. It hadn’t...made it feel like his lungs were full.

“No,” she said. “Not even close.”

It struck him as strange, right then. Because she was a pretty little thing, actually. He’d come to that conclusion out here in the sun. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe nobody looked at her for long enough to notice.

Because he could see how in a bar somewhere your eye might skim over someone so deliberately plain. Her long hair captured in a tight ponytail, or a braid. Her face completely free of makeup. Her clothes were serviceable, and that was about it. Long skirts and simple T-shirts. Or jeans, and the same simple T-shirts. He’d seen her a few different times, always in a variation of those things.

But there was a strength to her that was uncommon. A sort of deep stubbornness that was more than a little bit fascinating.

She was kind of incredible.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Just... I’m not the kind of person that gets noticed.”

“Maybe you should start bringing plates of cookies with you when you go out.”

She laughed again. “You know, I probably should. That might bait them a little bit.”

“You don’t need to do that,” he said. “I’m sorry. That was a bad joke.”

He really did feel guilty now. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel guilt. It was just that he lived with it all the time. Though, actually noticing it was a strange thing. It was there like air in his lungs, so he took it for granted. Actually, having it change enough, shift enough for a moment for it to be apparent... That was weird.

“No, it wasn’t. I’m realistic, Griffin. My sister Pansy, the one who is with the police department, she is adorable. Like a pocket-sized stick of dynamite. She scares men a little bit, don’t get me wrong. I mean, she can arrest them. Or tase them. And would. But she’s not somebody that you can ignore. My sister Rose is incredibly beautiful. Stunning, actually, and she has the kind of personality that men notice. She tried to set me up with someone a few months ago. But it turned out that he was hung up on her. And you know, I wasn’t even surprised. Because anyone who gets in her orbit tends to be taken in by her spell. Some of us just don’t cast spells.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he’d ever had with a woman. He tried to rack his brain to remember if he’d ever had a casual conversation with somebody like this. Regardless of gender.

He’d had friends. But then, there had been a time when things had turned into business partnerships, and everything had centered around work, and the kind of small talk that laid the sort of inroads that you needed for business relationships. Everything had been centered around that.

This was just conversation. For the sake of it. Getting to know somebody. It had been a long time since he’d gotten to know anyone.

Yeah, he could remember the last time.

He didn’t want to.

“Spells can be broken,” he said. “That’s all I know.”

After that, they didn’t talk much. They came to the edge of the creek, and he dismounted, leading his horse to the water. Iris did the same, copying his movement and bringing Carl to the edge of the water too.

“This feels a bit like a cliché.”

“Well, you won’t even have to try to make them drink, because it’s hot.”

She laughed, and a lock of hair fell into her face. He saw that it shimmered, gold hidden in the brown.

He just stood there for a moment, struck by the fact that he was noticing something like that. It was strange. And so unlike his experience over the last few years. Where people had been kind of transparent. He just looked through them.

He was looking at Iris.

“If men don’t notice you in this town, then they’re fools,” he said.

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide, and he could see how they were more golden brown than mud, shot through with green. It was just that inside, it all sort of landed together, and out here he could see them clearly. “I... I...”

He had successfully stunned her into silence. “I haven’t seen your sisters. But I don’t need to. And you don’t need to compare yourself to them.”

“I don’t think that I do. It’s just that I try to be practical about these things.”

“You’re not being practical, you’re wrong. In fact, I bet plenty of men notice you, and they don’t think they can approach you.”

“Why?”

“Because a lot of men would find you intimidating.”

She laughed again, and this time she doubled over, putting her hands on her knees. “Me? Intimidating? I’m basically the least intimidating person on the planet. What am I going to do? Stab someone with a knitting needle? Hit them over the head with a pan?”

“No. You’re trying to compare yourself to the kind of strong your sister is. The police officer. That’s not the only kind of strong there is. You’re the kind of strong that actually scares people, I think. Let me guess, men always want to challenge your cop sister to arm wrestling, or something?”

“Well, yes, I guess that is true.”

“Because they want to test themselves against her physical strength. Deep down, they think that they’re superior, and they want to prove it. But they can’t read you. And I bet you sit in the corner of the bar and don’t talk to anybody. You just have your drink, and you watch everybody. And I bet you nobody can figure out why you’re so happy to sit there by yourself.”

“Because I feel awkward,” she said. “And how do you know what I do in bars?”

“I don’t think you feel awkward. I think you don’t see anything compelling enough to move you from your seat. You’re close to your family because you like them. But when you wanted to change, you marched yourself up the mountain and you found me. Not very many people would do that. And, I didn’t scare you away. That would be true of even less people, let me tell you.”

“I don’t find you scary,” she said.

“You don’t?”

She looked away then, and he could see a flash of fear. She did find him scary, but maybe not in the way they were talking about. And that made his stomach feel tight. That felt a little bit like hunger. Hunger, which was such a foreign concept to him. He had lost it so long ago. Survival, that’s what everything had been about. And appetites had gone away, completely.

But she had reminded him of what it was to be hungry for food that tasted good. To be hungry for the way it could comfort you.

And this felt like the slow-growing echo of a different hunger altogether. One he would rather not remember at all.

“No,” she said, meeting his gaze again, having collected herself. “I don’t.”

“Maybe you should.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. You know, I’m not very good at being told what to do.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” he said. “You’re not weak. You’re strong, and I bet it’s the kind of strong that people can’t quite figure out, and it scares them.”

“Well, bully for me.”

“How come you’re not used to being told what to do?” He didn’t know why he was compelled to find out more about her. Only that he was.

“Because I’m the one that told everyone else what to do. I’m the oldest girl. And... I spent a significant amount of time raising my sisters. That’s the thing. I took care of them. And I’ve been independent for a long time. I use my independence to accomplish things on my own, though. I know a lot of people who would have gone a little wild. Actually, my cousins were kind of like that.”

He sensed that he was missing a big chunk of her story. But he didn’t really want to push for more. Because it would end in conversations he didn’t want to have, and that he was certain of. That it would be far too easy to end up stuck there with Iris. And there was just no point.

“But not me. I used it to make sure that I can take care of myself. That I didn’t need anyone.”

That he understood.

How badly you could need to prove that you didn’t need a person or thing to get by.

To shake your fist at the sky, and declare that you wouldn’t be struck down.

That you could live, however grim it was. That you could go on.

“Anyway. I’ve never had any practice with being... With being a child, I guess. So, you can tell me what I’m supposed to do all you want, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do it. I’m going to do whatever I please.” She frowned. “I never really realized that before. Sometimes I feel so domestic and boring that I think maybe I must be a pushover. But I’m not. I kind of just do whatever I feel like, and now I feel like making a change, so I am.” The entire set of her shoulders changed then. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For telling me that I was strong. So that I could see it.”

He didn’t want her to thank him. And he didn’t know what to think about the warm sensation that spread through his chest. He hadn’t interacted with another person in so long that it was strange to have this now. Strange to have her react to him. To have her act like it meant something to her.

Stranger still, that it managed to touch something inside of him.

Mel would be happy about it.

He didn’t know where that thought had come from. And he didn’t like it, anymore than he liked the warmth in his chest.

“Well. Don’t worry about it.” He headed back over to his horse. “Are you ready to go back?”

“Well. If you are,” she said.

“Yeah. More than ready. I got more work to do.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

He wasn’t going to talk about the house. He wasn’t going to talk about anything. Already, things had gotten strange. Already, he had gotten in deeper with her than he had intended to.

There was no point.

Not for her. And certainly not for him.

He couldn’t think of anything to say on the ride back, and Iris seemed determined to fill the silence. A sweet, melodic voice filled the air, as she began to hum.

And it took him only a minute to recognize the tune.

“Could you not do that?”

“Sorry,” she said. “That song has been in my head lately. I don’t know why. We used to go to mass when I was a child, but Ryder was never all that intense about taking us, so I can’t say why I’ve had a steady stream of hymns going through my head the last week.”

“I don’t like them,” he said, his chest going tight.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he bit out.

Because he could hear another voice singing that song. “How Great Thou Art.”

For all the good it did you, Mel. For all the good.

But now, he couldn’t shake it out of his own head. And if he needed another reason to hurry Iris along, he’d found it.

“Thanks,” he said, when they got back to the paddock. “I’ll put the horses away and you can head on out.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You should get the keys today or tomorrow. Feel free to head over. You don’t have to come over here.”

“When do you want me back?”

“How much food did you bring?”

“Enough for the next couple of days.”

“Then come back Saturday.”

“Have you liked anything particularly well?” Her brow creased, as she looked up at him from where she stood on the dusty ground. She looked young, and he didn’t think she was all that much younger than he was, but there was something about her that was fresh, new in a way that he simply would never be able to be again.

“Meat loaf,” he said. “And mashed potatoes.” And in spite of himself, he wanted to smile. “I hadn’t had that since... My mom used to make it.”

She smiled, and there was something sad in it. “So did mine.”

“My mom probably still does,” he clarified. “It’s just I don’t go around for dinner.”

“Mine doesn’t.” That smile again. She didn’t offer any more information, and he didn’t ask.

“I’ll see you Saturday, Griffin,” she said.

“See you.”

And more concerning than any of the other feelings he’d had in the last several minutes was the fact that he felt regret watching her walk away from him.

Regret that meant nothing, and could turn into nothing.

Best remember that.