Did they even
have
the internet out here? She hadn’t opened her computer once yet, and she realized that this was the longest she’d gone without staring at a computer screen in years.
It wasn’t a bad feeling.
She double-checked that everything looked okay with Merino and Tussah, tried to touch them again—which they roundly rejected—and went to deal with the dog.
The dog had seemed to love her on the drive over. They’d made a fast friendship, the dog drooling and licking her face ecstatically while she drove. Abigail knew it was good, this was right. Her new best friend. A dog to keep her company while she tried to avoid Cade as much as possible.
A dog to keep her safe. A dog that would bark and growl and bite if she needed it to. Abigail remembered falling asleep some nights in San Diego, hearing noises outside her apartment. She’d just lie there terrified, convinced it was Samuel out there, creeping around again, trying to peek in windows, but she’d been too afraid to even walk across the room to call the police, let alone look outside. She had wished for a dog then, a sturdy dog with a loud, frightening bark.
But now her new dog was freaking out, and Abigail knew she herself was not long to follow. Every time Abigail approached the side of the truck, the collie barked ferociously and threw herself at the window, snarling, baring her teeth.
“It’s okay. Remember me? We were pals a few minutes ago. I swear.”
Abigail put her hand on the passenger door handle and then jumped back two feet when the frothing mouth hit the glass, coming at her.
“No! Stop it!” This was definitely not the way it was supposed to be. The dog, whom she hadn’t even named yet—Mort hadn’t had a name for her—was supposed to love her, like she had on the drive over here.
The barking and thrashing intensified, and Abigail realized the dog was going to hurt herself.
“What’s wrong with your dog?”
Startled, Abigail screamed and jumped, tripping over her own feet, landing on her backside in the dirt. God, she had to quit screaming every time he startled her.
“You scared me! What are you doing? I don’t want your help.”
“You don’t want my help, I can see that.” Cade had to yell over the din of the dog, who had now escalated to howling. “But you might need it.”
Abigail stood and brushed herself off, turning to try to see if she was covered in dirt, hitting her jeans with her hay-scratched hands. Muttering to herself, she said, “I don’t need any damn cowboy to help me, I can handle this myself, thank you very much.”
While she was talking to herself under her breath, Cade went around to the driver’s-side door, popped it open and released the dog.
“No!” yelled Abigail.
“Hi, baby. Oh, who’s a good girl?”
The dog, traitorous thing, clambered all over Cade, trying to climb up him in her eagerness to lick his face. What had looked like vicious, rabid slaver turned out to be nothing more than eager slime. Abigail watched him kneel in the dirt as the dog hurled herself into his willing arms.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Were you really scared of this puppy? This cute little thing?” Cade rubbed the dog’s head and scrunched her ears. “Who could be afraid of this, huh? Huh?”
He glanced briefly at Abigail, and then turned his full attention back to the dog.
“What’s her name, anyway?”
“She doesn’t have one yet.”
“I think she’s a Clara.”
“No, she’s not.”
“Clarabelle. Clarabellerina.” The dog danced in front of him and returned for more love. “Is that you? Is your name Clara?” The dog barked in happiness. “Yes,” Cade said, rubbing it in. “Yes, I knew that.”
“For Pete’s sake. Give it up. Give me the dog.” Abigail jerked the leash out of his hand and started to walk up the steps of the cottage. She was glad she’d moved the treasures she unpacked earlier back inside. Cade didn’t need to know about her find just yet.
“Do you have food for her?” Cade asked.
Abigail’s footing slipped a bit on the step. She clutched the stair rail. “Weak step,” she snapped. “Of course I have food for her.”
“And food and water bowls?”
She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t bear to admit that she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Crap. She’d have to drive out again, and find a pet supply store. It was as if she had moved in and left part of her mind at the gate, as if she’d used her brain up in getting here and hadn’t gotten it back yet.
He said slowly, “I’m sure you have all that, that you’re all prepared. But if you find you’ve forgotten something, there are some extra old food bowls in the back of the big barn, by the grain storage. There’s dry food in a plastic bin. Help yourself.”
Sure. He welcomed the
dog
. Too bad
she
wasn’t a dog. He’d have been happier to see her then, wouldn’t he?
He walked away. Again. Leaving her with a dog who was pulling against the leash, straining to follow him, with two alpacas in the back that she had no idea what to do with, with a cottage that was probably falling apart.
She didn’t want to overreact. This was all wonderful, on the surface. An inheritance! A home of her own, away from San Diego. Sure, the man didn’t want her here. But she had a tougher skin than that, didn’t she?
Even when her little apartment had that fire, years ago when she was in college, when she had been sleeping on friends’ floors, keeping her toothbrush in her backpack and having her mail sent to a post-office box, she hadn’t felt as homeless as this.
Home was everything to Abigail. She had to know where her things were, which direction the bathroom was when she awoke in a strange place. She unpacked in hotel rooms, using all the drawers. She unpacked in tents, laying her clothes out for the next morning. Even as a teenager, after her mother died, when her father was moving them around every year or so for work, she did the brunt of the packing and unpacking because she liked it. If she had to move around so much, at least she always knew where everything was.
And she did have a lovely room upstairs in the house. In the house that wasn’t hers, that she was sharing with someone who liked a strange dog better than her. Honestly? If she had a home that she was suddenly forced to share with a stranger, she’d hate them, too.
But she’d be nicer about it.
Well, he
had
offered the dog bowls and the food.
Offered them to the dog, who was pulling her through the boxes, through the house.
“Clara! Stop pulling!”
Clara looked up at her and gave a happy little bounce.
Great. Now she’d done it. The dog’s name was apparently settled.
“Clara?” A lick on her hand was the answer.
“I really meant to name you myself. I was kind of looking forward to it, actually.” Abigail paused, looking around the living room. It was still dark in here, even with the curtains pulled back. The windows needed washing. It smelled funny—musty and old.
How would she make this home?
“Let me show you something,” she said to the dog. “It’s upstairs.”
Abigail led Clara, panting and slobbering with excitement, up the narrow staircase into the rooftop room. Without being encouraged, Clara ran through the clutter to the center of the room and hurled herself onto the little divan, looking intensely out the windows at the trees.
Abigail sat next to her. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” She looked around the little room. No bats. She took a deep breath. “And oh, it is mine. It’s mine.”
Clara licked her cheek.
She spent several more hours out in her shed, before the sun went down, working on making the alpacas comfortable. They were nervous about the dog, so she left Clara tied up on the other side of the fence, and Clara watched their every move with fascination. Abigail had a rudimentary set of tools out in her truck and had discovered the immense satisfaction to be gained in hammering fence boards. Even though Cade had checked the fence line, she walked every step of the small outside pen area, pushing and pulling boards. When she found one that wiggled a little, she smacked it, hard, with the hammer until the old nails sunk back into the weathered board.
Only once had she hit her finger, and even then, she hadn’t cried out. She lived on a ranch now. She owned livestock. She was tough.
She could so do this.
She managed to get close enough to Tussah to pat her on the side. She was as soft as she looked. Neither looked like they’d been shorn anytime recently, which, on the one hand, was a good thing, because she’d be getting their fleece that much sooner. On the other hand, she’d have to learn to shear them.
She wouldn’t think about that now.
After making sure and doubly sure that her new livestock wasn’t going anywhere for the night, she led Clara around to the house. They went up the stairs quickly, Clara nosing into corners, Abigail pulling her so they’d keep moving. “I know, we’ll explore when he’s not here. Keep going, baby.”
True, he’d been nothing but nice this afternoon, offering information on the mating habits of alpacas, and helping her get the dog out of the car.
But he’d been mocking her, she was sure of it. He’d enjoyed telling her that not only had she bought two animals that she didn’t understand, but she’d let herself in for progeny, too. Great.
Alpaca sex. She couldn’t even think about what that looked like.
And he’d gloated when he’d released Clara from the truck. Abigail’s face must have been terrified. How stupid she’d been. Clara’d only been excited. On any other day, Abigail would have known that. But today, well, a lot had happened today. And she was still jumpy.
She would have remembered the dog food. She felt stupid for not having thought of it earlier. It had been kind of him to offer some. He had a soft spot for dogs, that was all…
Abigail brought up some of the offered kibble, and a bowl for water. Clara ate as if she’d been starved all her life and then jumped up onto the bed. She was asleep on her back and snoring within minutes.
Abigail got under the covers and pushed Clara to the edge. The two of them didn’t really fit in the old twin bed, but it was nice. Warm. Abigail put her arm around her dog and waited for sleep to find her.
Making stitches twist around themselves, making them cable their way up the body of a sweater, is the knitter’s alchemy.
—
E.C.
I
t was a good morning for a drive: clear and cool, the fog hanging back as if reluctant to push onto the land.
Cade hadn’t been to Tillie’s Diner for two weeks, not once since Abigail arrived. He hadn’t wanted to leave her alone on the property. He wasn’t sure what he thought she might do, but it had taken this long to trust that all she was going to do was avoid him in the morning and then spend the rest of the day cleaning the cottage. Then she’d avoid him at night, too. He’d been aware of her presence in the house, but it was like living with a ghost—she was always just around the corner, or he’d just missed her and could only smell her perfume still lingering in the room she’d just vacated.
It’d be good to get to the diner. He’d missed Tillie’s.
As he passed over the long, curved bridge that went over the river, he drummed his fingers on the wheel. Stupid tourist in a rented RV in front of him was driving too slowly, like they always did here. Mills Bridge was a frightening and magnificent spectacle. It curved so much that while driving over it one could look ahead and see the bridge curving to the right, the river rushing underneath, the sea below the far side.
The waves out there were high today, he noticed. Promise of more bad weather, even with the clear skies. He felt pleased. At least it would match his mood, which was swinging like the bikes hooked to the back of that RV. It was one thing to have lost some of his land to that girl. He was
really
trying to reconcile himself to that. What choice did he have? But then he’d remembered the damn alpacas on his way out. Alpacas!
Everything would be better at the diner.
The local ranchers hadn’t acknowledged him at first when he’d started coming here fifteen years ago. Wouldn’t even nod to him at the feed store. But he kept it up, having coffee near them at Tillie’s. He never jumped into conversation, just listened.
After a few years of Cade’s stubbornness, they started giving him a little bit of ground, nodding their heads a bit when he came into the diner instead of outright ignoring him.
It was when they began teasing him that he knew he’d made it. They took bites from his toast as they walked past his table, they teased him about the latest waitress that he was seeing. They seemed to delight vicariously in his conquests, and they laughed if he got dumped, which was rarely. They complimented his flock and deferred to his opinion when it came to Corriedales, since he was the only one running that breed in the valley.
Cade tore past the RV at his first opportunity, gunning the engine to its maximum. He sped down the canyon, around the big curve, and into town. Traffic was suddenly heavier, and he remembered, as he always did, that Cypress Hollow was and always would be a touristy beach town. A pleasure destination, not just a place for him to get groceries.
Tillie’s was located on Main Street, a block from the beach. Surfers and farmers alike loved the diner for its cheap eats and good, strong, plentiful hot coffee. Old Bill had run the place for just about forever and never aged. Some of the oldest regulars swore that he’d been leaning heavily on the cash register since they were youngsters. He manned the register every moment of the day, never appearing to take even a bathroom break. He wasn’t married, had no kids, and lived above the diner in an apartment whose windows faced the breaking waves. “Not a bad life,” he’d say, when people asked him. “Not bad at all.”
Cade parked in a free spot and strolled in.
“Bill,” he said. “They back there?”
“’Course,” said Old Bill, leaning on the register. “Might be surprised to see you though.”