Daring to Fall Page 2

  Lo forced a cheerful smile back on her face. “So how long are you in town for?”

  “For good, actually. I’m staying.”

  “What? But I thought you still had one more year of med school left.”

  “That’s a long story. And Sadie’s only sixteen, just started her junior year. She’s already taking Grams’s death pretty hard. If I pulled her out of school and dragged her up to Boston right now, I don’t think she’d ever forgive me.”

  Lo nodded, looking thoughtful. “Have you, uh…have you talked to Cowboy since you got back?”

  Harper had wondered how long it would take for Logan to bring him up. Seeing as he was her husband’s best friend and their current housemate, she was surprised Lo hadn’t mentioned him sooner.

  “No. Not yet.” She was tempted to ask about him but thought better of it. “Listen, I’ve got to get these groceries home so I can make dinner and hopefully get some cleaning done. Turns out Grams became quite the hoarder the last few years, and now the house is full of junk I have to weed through and decide if there’s anything worth keeping. Anyway, I should go. But we should get coffee sometime and catch up.”

  “That sounds perfect. I’ll take a look at my schedule and give you a call.” Logan gave Harper one last hug, squeezing her tight over the round belly between them. “And let me know if there’s anything I can do for you and Sadie.”

  “I will. Thanks, Lo.”

  Chapter Two

  Harper pulled up the short, gravel driveway and put the Jeep in park next to Grams’s old tan Buick. She stared at it a minute, remembering all those times her grandmother had driven her and Sadie to school or to her sister’s various school performances as a kid.

  Now it was just sitting here. Not that, according to her sister, Grams had done much driving in the last year since Sadie got her license. Harper could probably sell it for some extra money, or she could ask if her sister wanted it for her own. Just one more item on the extensive list of things she’d have to handle in the coming weeks.

  Harper grabbed the groceries from the trunk and made her way around the front of the large colonial house and up the front porch steps. Mercifully, the front door was unlocked, and she managed to get it open even with several heavy bags in her hands.

  “I’m home,” she called out.

  “That was a lot longer than a few minutes,” a deep, male voice called from the room to her left. Harper carefully made her way into the kitchen, navigating through a maze of stacks of newspapers, boxes, and whatever else her grandmother had collected and stored just in the foyer alone over the last several years.

  Inside the kitchen, she found the source of the voice—a tall, muscular man with tattoo-covered arms, full facial hair, and shoulder-length brown locks pulled back in a low bun, scouring through the contents of the refrigerator. He pulled out a container of yogurt, checked the expiration date on the side, and cringed before dropping it into the trash can beside him.

  He looked over his shoulder at Harper as she set each of her grocery bags on the kitchen counter. “Did you have any trouble?”

  “Aside from everyone staring at me and stopping to tell me how sorry they are? Everything was just peachy.”

  He sighed. “I told you I would go to the store for you.”

  “It’s fine, Aiden. I needed to get some fresh air anyway.” Harper looked around the kitchen while he turned his attention back to the contents of the small fridge. She had to hand it to him. In the hour since she’d left for the market, the kitchen had gone from a cluttered mess of papers, old mail, and stacks of coupons covering every inch of the white countertops and table, back to the neat and tidy kitchen she remembered as a kid. For the first time in days, the pale green walls and dark oak floors and cabinets were somewhat comforting.

  Memories of watching Grams move from fridge to stove to counter as she magically turned a pile of random ingredients into a masterpiece of Southern comfort cooking surfaced briefly in Harper’s mind before she pushed them back down again.

  “Okay, that’s the last of it,” Aiden said, letting a bag of what looked like fuzzy green cheese fall into the already packed trash bin. He let the refrigerator door close and started to pull the strings of the bag into a tight knot.

  Harper leaned back against the island counter. “Thanks again for helping me with all this. You didn’t have to come all the way down here just for me, but it means a lot that you did.”

  He shrugged, standing tall. “What are friends and roommates for if not to help each other out? Even if that help means throwing out foul, questionable, and expired food products.”

  “And offering to cook dinner every night?”

  “That’s more for my benefit than yours. I still remember when you tried to force feed me what looked like black hockey pucks that first night you moved in.”

  “It was corn bread.”

  “It was a choking hazard. And the last time I will ever let you try to cook anything.”

  That much had been true. In the years since Harper had moved into Aiden Weaver’s Boston apartment, he’d never once trusted her to cook anything more than toast. And even that tended not to end well. It was certainly going to make meals interesting when he finally had to get back to his job and med school classes up north.

  Harper was just about to remind him of the time she’d made almost edible pudding—granted, it was instant and from a box, hardly a culinary feat—when the sound of creaking floorboards and footsteps in the hall upstairs caught her attention. She walked over to the kitchen doorway just in time to catch Sadie coming down the stairs. Her hair, the same light blond as Harper’s, fell in perfect, manufactured curls down to the middle of her back. She had on skinny jeans, a black sleeveless blouse, and black, high-heeled, ankle boots.

  Harper crossed her arms in front of her chest, leaning against the doorframe. “You look nice. Got plans tonight or something?” Seeing as this was the fourth evening in a row her little sister had come down the stairs all dolled up and looking straight out of a magazine, it was more of a rhetorical question.

  Still, Sadie nodded as she reached the last step. She grabbed her purse from the hall table. “Margot and I are going to the movies, and then we might stop by a friend’s house after for a few hours.”

  “Oh, well…that should be fun. Do you at least have time for some dinner before you go? Aiden wanted to make you his famous spaghetti chicken and garlic bread. Seriously, it’s so good it might actually make you cry,” Harper said with a smile.

  Sadie shook her head while rooting through her tiny bag, not once looking up. “Not hungry. But I’m sure you two will have a great time without me.” She pulled her hand from the bag, the keys to the tan Buick dangling from her fingers. “I’ll be back in a couple hours. Don’t wait up for me.”

  “Okay then, drive safe,” Harper managed to get out before Sadie was halfway to the door. “We can just do dinner tomorr—” The door shut loudly, cutting Harper off midsentence.

  She turned back to the kitchen where Aiden stood with the same sympathetic look she’d seen all day. At least this one was about something other than her grandmother.

  “She hates me,” Harper determined as she slowly made her way back over to the kitchen island.

  “No, she doesn’t. She’s just grieving. Not to mention she has to get used to you being home again. It can’t be easy after three years.” Harper winced. Three years sounded like such a long time, but any time she’d contemplated coming back to Willow Creek, she’d known deep down she wasn’t ready. While she knew that distance from her hometown was the best thing for her, she clearly hadn’t considered what it would do to her and Sadie’s relationship.

  And she couldn’t even bear to think about what that time away had felt like to her grandmother. They’d talked on the phone every few days, and even Skyped occasionally, and Grams always swore she understood why Harper stayed away. But now all Harper could think about was how much she wished she’d sucked it up and made the tri
p home anyway, how she would give anything to see Grams again.

  Aiden put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. “Just give her some time. She’ll come around. And in the meantime, I took the liberty of hiding a bottle of vodka in the bottom of the freezer for you to drown your sorrows.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Now how about I take the trash out, get dinner cooked, and then you and I can curl up on the couch with ice cream and a Bones marathon?”

  She gave him a small smile. In her honest opinion, there really was very little that couldn’t be fixed with a pint of rocky road and hours of FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth. “You start on dinner. I’ll get the trash.”

  “You sure?” He looked at her like he thought this small act of exertion might finally break her. She ignored him.

  “Unless you’d rather take out the trash while I cook.”

  “No,” he said instantly. He grabbed the bag of trash and handed it to her.

  Chapter Three

  Harper heaved the massive trash bag up and placed it precariously atop the already overflowing bin by the side of the house then gave a sigh of relief when it stayed. After twelve or so hours and five bags of random papers and outdated mailers and flyers—and whatever else Grams had decided to hold on to in three years—they’d barely made a dent. Sure, the kitchen looked less like a recycling factory and more like an actual place to cook and eat now, but that still left the hallway, the living room, the foyer, and hers and Grams’s bedrooms. The only rooms that didn’t overflow with useless knickknacks and boxes and papers were the office, the spare room, and Sadie’s bedroom, all upstairs, and that was only because Grams had refused to go up there in the last five years. Harper didn’t know how she’d get it all done.

  She forced herself to take a deep breath before it could overwhelm her, feeling the influx of oxygen travel from her lungs and through her veins to her fingertips and toes before she released it. She just needed a plan, even just the vaguest formation of one, to ease some of the stress. She’d have to take it one room at a time and work her way through, starting with her own, of course. She also needed to get an assessment of the state of the house itself.

  Harper took a step back to look at the large colonial she’d spent half her life in. The white paint was chipping and dirty in several places, betraying just how long it had been since any maintenance or upkeep was done.

  Her eyes trailed over each imperfection as she took a lap around the house and created a mental checklist of all the work that would need to be done once she managed to find the time and the money: the roof had seen better days, the gutters were brimming with leaves and growing foliage, and she didn’t even want to think about what kind of condition the house’s foundation was in. She’d have to call an inspector first thing tomorrow to get an idea as to what kind of repairs she would need to make before she could even think about selling it.

  She felt a small tear in her chest. She and Sadie had lived here with Grams since Harper was in middle school and Sadie was still watching Dora the Explorer. This house had been home for most of their lives. It would break Harper’s heart to have to say goodbye, and there was no telling what it would do to her sister.

  But she’d done the math. They’d spent the last thirteen years living off their parents’ life insurance. Based on the numbers her grandmother had given her a few years ago, they had maybe enough to get them through the next couple months. Sure, there’d be some life insurance from Grams, but Harper wouldn’t know how much until she spoke with the attorney about the will. Grams had never been a wealthy woman, and Harper knew not to expect much. Certainly not enough to live off for too long. Dropping out of med school would help ease the financial burden for a bit, but that would only get them so far. Still, they could skate by for a bit while Harper got a job somewhere close by. That would hopefully tide them over until Sadie went off to college in two years.

  They had to sell it, Harper told herself with firm resolve. She loved this house, but if she had to choose between her past and Sadie’s future, there really was no question. She’d never forgive herself if she let her own selfishness get in the way of Sadie’s education. They’d find a cozy little two-bedroom, just big enough for the them to rent, and Harper would find a job and start saving up for Sadie’s tuition fund. It would be a lot less space than they were used to, and money would be tight. But at least they’d have each other, which was really all Harper needed.

  She just hoped her little sister felt the same way.

  Harper rubbed at her temples, trying to alleviate the ache and tension growing there. She set aside thoughts of money and turned her attention back to the state of the house.

  She lapped the house again, this time studying the grass and bushes that wrapped around the front and sides. At least Grams had hired someone to keep up the lawn maintenance. It looked like the grass was going to need to be cut again soon, but the bushes were well trimmed in front of the porch and around the sides of the house. And there didn’t seem to be a single weed that she could tell.

  She slowly traveled the concrete walkway leading from the road to the front porch and smiled while she imagined her grandmother’s face lighting up as she picked out the bright orange and yellow flowers that lined the path.

  A throat cleared behind her.

  Harper turned, her heart fluttering and her stomach sinking as her eyes found a tall, bulky blond in a T-shirt, faded jeans, and a black UGA baseball cap. Somehow, he managed to be both the best and worst thing she’d seen in three years.

  He looked the same for the most part. His tan was darker and his hair lighter and looking shaggy under his hat, as it usually did at the end of a long, hot summer. But the look in his eyes had changed. The carefree and vibrant light that had once emanated off him was now replaced by a somber, dark cloud.

  “Hey.” The side of his mouth curled into a small crooked smile, but it was nervous and unsure. Nothing like the confident smile that had lit up her days three summers ago.

  She knew she was staring but was incapable of finding words. She’d imagined this scenario so many times, practiced the speech that usually ended in her yelling or slamming a door in his face.

  A glimmer of hope began to shine in Cowboy’s eyes, like he’d also expected her to yell at him and was downright relieved when she didn’t. “You look good.”

  She thought distantly of her dirty, messy bun, unflattering yoga pants, and baggy T-shirt but couldn’t bring herself to care. Or maybe she did care but tried desperately to deny it even to herself. She was finding it difficult to pinpoint what exactly was going through her mind at this moment. Part of her wanted to walk over and slap him; the other wanted to run into his arms.

  She shook the thought away, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “What are you doing here?” she finally asked, forcing her voice to stay even. She glanced at the street behind him where the landscaping truck she hadn’t heard pull up was now parked.

  “Lo told me you were back in town. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Grams.” He waited for her response but pushed on when she remained silent. “I would have come to the funeral, but nobody could give me any details.”

  “We did a small service up in Kentucky where my grandfather is buried.” Harper crossed her arms in front of her, and she noticed for the first time the small, potted plant in Cowboy’s hands. “What’s that?”

  He looked down at the planter and studied it like he couldn’t be sure how it had gotten there. “Oh,” he finally said, “it’s a baby gardenia bush.”

  Harper nodded, eyes on the tiny pot. “Gardenias were her favorite.” Our favorite.

  Her lip trembled, and instantly the tears she’d fought so hard all day came bursting forth. Cowboy set the potted plant on the ground at his side and took several steps toward her.

  “Hey,” he whispered, his voice so gentle it made her heart ache even more. He stood nearly a foot over her as he bent to place his hands delicately on each of her cheeks and rest his forehead again
st hers. “Please don’t cry.”

  Her hands went instinctively to his sides, gripping the fabric of his cotton shirt as wave after wave of sobs and tears and loss passed through her.

  He kissed her forehead. “It’s okay, Midge. Everything will be okay.”

  Harper’s stomach clenched, and she pushed Cowboy away as reality came crashing between them. She wiped at her eyes beneath her glasses. “No. Don’t call me that.”

  “Can we just talk for a second?”

  “No, Cowboy, we can’t.” She sniffed. “Thank you for the plant, but I think you should go.”

  He took another step forward, forcing her to take one back to keep some distance between them. His eyes filled with anguish, his hands falling to his sides. “Look, I know I screwed up—”

  The front door opened behind her. “Garlic bread is in the oven, and the chicken and spaghetti are on the stove.” Aiden appeared on the porch. He took in her tear-streaked face before setting eyes on Cowboy. His smile vanished. He came down the porch steps and stopped at Harper’s side, snaking a tattooed arm around her waist and pulling her close.

  “Everything okay out here?” he asked Harper, though his attention was glued to the man in front of them who rivaled him in height and size. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Aiden, this is Russell Hart.”

  Keeping one arm on Harper’s hip, Aiden reached his hand out in offering for Cowboy to shake. Cowboy looked pale as his eyes drifted down to the arm around Harper’s waist and then to Aiden’s hand extended in front of him. In a flash, the pain she’d seen earlier was gone, replaced by the lighthearted smile he wore for everyone else. He grasped Aiden’s hand firmly, both sets of knuckles turning white in the other’s grip.