After the Rain

  “I cut my hand.”

  “Why weren’t you wearing the gloves? Here, let me see,” she said, pulling me inside of the cabin. I didn’t have time to look around; I followed her straight to the sink. She turned the water on, forced my hand under it, and left, returning a moment later with the bottle of whiskey.

  My hand was gushing. I was trying to act tough, but frankly my hand was pulsing so hard that I couldn’t stop gritting my teeth.

  “Gosh, you’re really bleeding,” she said. She unscrewed the whiskey, took a swig, and then held it to my mouth. Placing her other hand on the back of my neck to brace me, she tilted the bottle up so I could take a sip. Her small hands were warm and soft but strong.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She pulled my hand out of the water and dumped whiskey on it.

  “What are you doing?” I yelled. She cowered immediately. “I mean, why would you do that?”

  “Oh, I . . . well, it’s just that there was a wild animal in that cage. Who knows what kind of diseases it was carrying. The alcohol will sterilize it.” Her voice was small.

  “I’m sorry I raised my voice at you, it’s just that, isn’t there . . . some antibacterial ointment lying around somewhere?”

  At that point she was applying pressure to my hand with a paper towel. “No, I don’t have any, but Dale probably does . . . something he uses on the horses.”

  My eyes shot open even wider. “No, that’s okay.”

  She looked at the cut, which was still bleeding. “I can fix this.”

  She held my hand but rummaged through a drawer to her left with her other hand and found a little tube.

  “What is that?”

  “Super glue.”

  “No.” I shook my head.

  She looked up at me with determination on her face. There was more than a distant memory of a fiery woman in her. “I have a needle and thread if you think that would be more enjoyable.”

  I held my hand out as she squirted the sticky liquid right into my wound and forced the skin together. It burned for several moments and then she released it and the cut was sealed.

  “See, good as new.”

  “I will probably die of some kind of toxic poisoning from this stuff.”

  “There’s a hospital about fifty miles away. I can take you there so they can put some ointment on that itty-bit cut, but I’ve been drinking so your chances of living are higher if you just stay here and settle for the glue.” She smirked.

  “Ha ha,” I mock-laughed but thought about her words for a moment—stay here—and wondered if it was an invitation. “Maybe I should stay here tonight in your cabin so you can nurse me back to health.”

  She laughed lightheartedly until, like storm clouds quickly gathering in the sky, her expression turned dark. Something in my words hit a nerve. It looked like she was trying to talk herself out of the feeling.

  “I’m kidding,” I said. “I think my hand will be fine, barring some strange Montana-specific infection.”

  She smiled again finally then walked me to the door.

  CHAPTER 7

  These Boots

  Avelina

  Nothing is more adorable than a man trying to mask the pain of a tiny cut. Nate’s hand had bled a lot because of the nature of his injury, not the depth. It was like a large papercut and definitely didn’t need stitches, but he looked horrified by my methods nonetheless. He walked toward the front door to the cabin while he inspected the cut further. Turning, he said, “Thank you, Ava. I appreciate this. It seems the glue is holding.”

  “Of course, no problem. Oh, I have something for you.” I ran into my room and grabbed a box that housed a new pair of boots, size ten and a half. I had bought them for Jake but he was never able to wear them.

  When I handed the box to Nate, he searched my face for some indication of my meaning. “What are these for?”

  “Well, you needed boots and these are your size—the same as Jake, but he never wore these so don’t worry.”

  “Thank you. I mean it. This is really thoughtful of you.”

  “It’s no biggie. You’ll have to break them in a bit.”

  He peeked under the lid. “Wow, I like them.” They were dark brown in a very understated design, something I knew Nate could pull off even with Levi’s after he left the ranch.

  “I think they’ll look really good on you.” The whiskey was making me feel braver than usual. I studied Nate’s lips. They were full but not puffy. When he finished a sentence he would purse them a tiny bit and then smirk on one side. It was a subtle but charming habit.

  “We should hang out again like this.” I nodded and smiled. “You fixed me all up with a new pair of boots and a super-glued hand.”

  I got lost in thought for a moment once again, wondering what it would have taken to fix Jake up. Why couldn’t I fix Jake? My eyes started to water. “I have to get to bed,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, I’m just . . . I had a lot to drink tonight and I think I need to get to bed.”

  He swallowed. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  How could he read my mind? It was my fault. Just as I didn’t believe him when he said it wasn’t, I could tell he didn’t believe me when I said, “It wasn’t yours either . . . with your patient.”

  “Good night.” His hands were full with the box so he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. I felt the stubble from a day or two of growth covering his sharp jawline. He still emanated that rich smell but it was mixed with an earthy spice from being outside among the trees.

  “Good night,” I managed to get out just above a whisper.

  After a long night of drinking, I fell into a deep slumber. There were no dreams of Jake lying in a pool of blood when I slept that deeply. I awoke to the sound of sharp knocks on the door. The clock read five a.m. I rushed to put on sweats and then hurried to the door. Swinging it open, I found Dale on the other side, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Hey kid, it’s time. Rosey’s in labor.” She was a gray mare we’d had for a few years and everyone was anticipating the birth of her foal. It was always a little brighter on the ranch with a baby horse trotting about.

  “Okay, I’ll be right there.” When he turned to walk down the steps, I added, “Did you tell Nate? I bet he’d like to see it.”

  Dale looked back up at me with a warmhearted grin and said, “Sure, I’ll tell him, sweetie.”

  In the barn, Redman was sitting on a bench while Bea and Trish peered over Rosey’s stall door.

  “Morning, Red.”

  “Morning, kid. Why you girls get such a kick out of that scene, I’ll never know.” He puffed his pipe.

  I smiled. “It’s a new life, Red. Doesn’t everyone dream of one of those?”

  He made a huffing sound and then looked away.

  “Get on up here, girl. I think it’s going to be soon,” Trish said to me.

  Dale and Nate came walking up just as the mare began straining harder. She was lying on her side and we could see that she was delivering the placenta and not the foal.

  “Shit!” Dale yelled. “Nate, get my bag and get back in here. We have to help her.”

  Nate left and returned quickly with Dale’s medical bag. Both men rushed into the stall to assess the situation. “What do we have to do?” Nate asked.

  “We have to cut the placenta and help deliver the foal.” Dale threw Nate a pair of long gloves, which we were all familiar with except for Nate. “Put those on.” Nate eyed them warily. I’m not sure his vacation plans involved reaching up inside of a writhing horse and pulling a foal out but he followed Dale’s orders with diligence and before long that was exactly what he was doing. Dale cut the placenta and maneuvered the horse by pushing on her belly. Nate reached in and pulled the front legs, bringing the foal’s head with it. After a few short moments he dragged the slimy creature toward the mare’s head. Nate instinctively knew to pull the placenta away from
the foal’s mouth and nose. It came away like cellophane.

  When the baby attempted to stand on her shaky front legs, everyone let out a huge sigh of relief. After lifting the foal’s back legs, Nate raised his hands in triumph and announced, “It’s a girl!” He was smiling with such joy that it made me smile, too. Trish actually cried happy tears.

  “You did good, Nate,” I said.

  Everyone turned and looked at me and then Dale said, “You’re right, Ava, he did good.”

  We watched the mare clean up her foal and then the moment came when the sweet little baby finally stood on all four legs and took her first steps. We were all leaning over the corral, squinting through the bright sun coming up over the intimidating mountain peaks in the distance. “So precious,” Trish said under her breath. The vision made me feel alive, at least in that moment, and that was more than I had felt in a long time. I knew Trish was so moved by the births of the animals because she could never experience it herself, which saddened me.

  Nate watched in awe as the tiny horse very quickly learned how to walk and then run. When she went to feed from her mother, we all turned toward the house. Each one of us was exhausted except for Nate, who looked thrilled.

  He came up next to me. “That was amazing.”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” he said as he continued walking with me toward the cabin.

  I stopped and looked over at him. “Where are you going?”

  His smile was shy for the first time. “I was going to walk you back.”

  “Oh. You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.”

  “I’m probably going to take a nap; I have a lesson at three.”

  We continued walking. “Thanks for telling Dale to come and get me.”

  “He might have anyway. What did he tell you exactly?”

  Approaching the door to my cabin, Nate stopped and smirked. “He said you didn’t want me to miss it.” His eyes squinted slightly. It was that look that made me feel like he was searching for a way past some invisible force field that protected my soul.

  “It’s true. I didn’t want you to miss it. It’s amazing to see that in real life.”

  “You’re amazing,” he said in a low voice.

  My fingers were tingling. Heat began spreading from the center of my body out to my limbs. I took a hurried breath. He looked down between us at our feet and then reached for my hand. He brought it to his mouth and, without looking up, he kissed it like some chivalrous fifteenth-century knight paying respect to his queen.

  He looked up and shook his head. “I’m not this guy. You make me feel . . .” He searched for the words. “You make me feel. That’s it. I haven’t felt anything for anyone like this.”

  “What do you feel?”

  “I feel like I want to be around you all the time and . . . I just . . . I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

  “About what?”

  “About your mouth.”

  Before I knew what was happening, I kissed him instantly. He responded equally fast, returning the kiss and pressing me hard against the door to the cabin. Gripping the back of my neck with one hand and moving the other to my hip, he closed any empty space left between us. His lips were soft but his motions were urgent. I let myself forget for just a little while about all of the pain. His mouth moved to my jawline and kissed a trail to my ear. His warm, rough skin sent shivers down to my core.

  We were both breathing hard. His mouth went to mine again and that’s when it hit me. Jake was lying in a grave, rotting, because of me, and I was making out with a doctor on our porch. I pushed him away, almost angrily.

  He looked hurt. “I need more,” he said, breathing heavily.

  “You can never do that again.”

  His faced scrunched up. He jerked his head back in shock and then stepped forward again. “But I want you. And you want me.”

  “No.” I turned, opened the door quickly, and locked it behind me. I slid against the wall and fell into a boneless pile on the floor.

  Through the door, he pleaded with me. “I’m sorry, Ava. Just let me in. Just let me hold you.” A few moments went by and then in a lighter voice he said, “You kissed me.”

  I stood, feeling the heavy weight of my decision as I opened the door. “Stay there.” I put my hand out.

  His arms were crossed over his chest. “I won’t touch you, but we should talk about what just happened.”

  I held up my hand and showed him my wedding band still firmly on my ring finger, cemented in place by guilt. “I’m married.”

  He was speechless. He looked down and let out a breath through his nose as he shook his head with disappointment.

  “I’m married,” I said again.

  When he looked up his eyebrows were pushed together in a look of pure pity. He uncrossed his arms and held them out. “Let me hold you for a moment. I can’t imagine that Jake would mind having someone look out for his wife and comfort her . . . just for a moment.”

  I moved into the warmth of his body, my arms clutching him around his waist. He ran his hand into my hair at the back of my neck and guided my head down to rest against his chest. I fell into quiet sobs. Tears ran steadily down my face and onto his clothes. Rocking back and forth, he whispered, “Shh. It’s okay.”

  I had broken down to Nate twice in a short amount of time. I had fallen into his arms like a helpless child, hungry for affection. My pain over Jake was surfacing again because my feelings for Nate were growing stronger. I tried to convince myself that nothing would make sense about us, and there was no way we would ever work. We came from two totally different worlds, and he would leave to return to L.A. eventually.

  Sniffling, I asked him, “Why do you want to be around me?”

  “Because I like you.”

  “But what does it all mean?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t necessarily want to analyze it. Why don’t we just enjoy each other’s company? I’ll be here for another couple of weeks. We can fish and ride and try to forget about everything else.”

  “And then you’ll leave?”

  “Yes. I have to go back. There’s an investigation and I have to meet with the hospital board.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I knew the answer. Nate would go back to his life in Los Angeles and I would be left with my guilt and the memory of my dead husband.

  “I don’t think that I can . . . be with you. I mean, be with you in that way.” I glanced up to gauge his expression. I could tell he knew what I meant.

  “I understand. We’re friends though, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He kissed my forehead and then let me go, gently spun me around, and pushed me toward the door. “Get some rest.”

  I turned back and looked him in the eye. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Of course.”

  “Can we go swimming tomorrow? There’s a swimming hole. We can ride there?”

  He gripped my chin with his thumb and index finger, tilting my head up toward his face. With a small, sincere smile, he said, “I would love that.”

  Lying in my bed that day, I thought back to the kiss and Nate’s words. How he wanted more. If I was being honest with myself, so did I. But then I turned and curled up on the pillow next to me . . . Jake’s pillow. I cried myself to sleep, begging for someone to save me.

  It must have been only hours later when I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it Trish was there, holding out a pan of banana bread. “I know you can’t say no to Bea’s banana bread.”

  She was up to something. “What did Nate tell you?” I opened the door farther to let her enter. She walked past me into the kitchen and began making coffee.

  Standing behind her, I wondered if she was there as part of some intervention or something. “Did you hear me?” I asked.

  “I heard you. Nate didn’t tell me nothin’. Let’s have some coffee and some of this delicious bread, made wi
th love just for you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  She put her hands on her hips and huffed. “Where’d you learn your manners? I live in the cabin right next door to you and you’ve never asked me to come over for a visit. You rarely eat dinner with us in the big house, and in the last few years I’ve scarcely heard you mumble more than five words to anyone at any given time.” She reached out and braced my arms. “I’m here for you, baby.”

  I sat down hesitantly. “Thank you?” I said, like a question.

  “I want you to talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  “About why I saw you twisting tongues with my nephew on the porch one minute and then crying in his arms the next?”

  I planted my face in my hands over the table. “I kissed him.”

  “Good for you!”

  “What?” At first I thought she was scolding me for the kiss. I peeked at her between my fingers.

  “Listen, sweetie, it’s okay for you to kiss Nate. Maybe Redman thinks differently, but who gives a shit about what that old man thinks.”

  I laughed in spite of myself, and she laughed, too. When we quieted, the heavy weight of my guilt returned, dragging my expression down. Trish looked past me out the window. “You thinkin’ about Jake?”

  “Yes.” I bit my lip hard to numb the pain in my heart.

  “You still love Jake?”

  “No . . . I hate him. I hate him so much, and that tears me apart because maybe I always hated him.” I began to cry. “Maybe I always hated him and that’s why he killed himself because I couldn’t love him enough.”

  The pain ran so deep in me, though I remained quiet and still on the surface, like an eerily calm lake. No life to ripple the water, no color to show the depth, just a black void. The kiss was like finding my way to the surface and breaking through for a moment, breathless and struggling. I wanted more air but taking it in was painful. I was used to the suffocating darkness. It seemed easier to sink back down into the pain because at least it was quiet in the depths of my hell.

  She reached across the table and took my hands in hers. “Jake was a cowboy through and through, not like your California boys.” I shook my head but she went on quickly. “He was raised by a mean drunk and neglectful mother. His only sense of self-worth came from his work and his love for you.” Both of us were sniffling and trying to ward off more tears. “You were more than any man could ask for. Jake knew you loved him but he thought he couldn’t love you back. He didn’t know how, and that’s what killed him. He was dead long before he fired that gun.”