turned back one more time, intending to tell Cody to help himself to a drink from the barn fridge if he needed one. But the words froze in his throat.
The light from outside slanted down just so, and in the uneven yellow glow, Cody stood out sharply in profile. He straightened up and hitched back his hip, stomping his foot down into the boot, a motion so familiar to Sam it was like looking in a mirror.
He leaned back against the door of a stall, feeling as if he’d just been sucker-punched. He couldn’t seem to grab a breath of air.
Slow down, McPhee, he told himself. Take it easy and think for a minute. Think think think. Think of the kid, and of Michelle’s cold manner, her nervousness. Think of the look of amazement on Edward’s face when he’d seen Sam and Cody standing side by side.
Think of the calendar, the years that had passed. Do the math.
Count the years.
Piece by piece, he put it together. The kid looked younger than sixteen, but Sam’s first impression had been wrong. Cody
was
sixteen.
“Holy shit,” Sam said under his breath. “Holy goddamned shit.” An icy wind blew over him from outside, but he barely felt it. He stood motionless in the doorway of the barn and watched Cody wield the shovel. His slim form bent and straightened; the light from the cracks in the eaves streamed down over him, down over the shining sandy hair and the clean profile and the unsmiling mouth and the eyes that were not quite blue.
“Holy shit,” Sam said again. Then he turned on his heel and strode away from the barn.
Chapter 7
S am McPhee’s kitchen appeared lived-in but not fussed over. Stainless-steel appliances, tile countertops, a garden window with a few tired-looking potted herbs struggling along. A coffeemaker hissed beneath a set of wall hooks with an array of mismatched mugs bearing imprints of various feed brands and drug names. Drug names? Atarax. Was that a veterinary drug?
Brad would know, thought Michelle. Brad the pharmacy franchise owner. Her “boyfriend,” Gavin called him.
Feeling like an intruder, she helped herself to coffee. She had a devilish urge to poke around the rest of the house, but she resisted and sat down at the table. A tabby cat leaped onto the seat of the chair next to her, peering solemnly through crystal eyes.
“Hi there.” She offered a finger for the cat to sniff, then rubbed its fur. It turned its head nearly upside down beneath her scratching finger. “I bet you wonder what I’m doing here,” she said, and sipped her coffee. “I’m wondering the same thing myself.”
Outside, the wind kicked up whirlpools in the snow. The Border collie pounced on the snow dervishes, making a joyous game of it. In her wildest imaginings, Michelle had never dreamed she would find herself sitting in Sam McPhee’s kitchen, drinking his coffee and petting his cat. He wasn’t the sort she even thought of as
having
a kitchen, much less a cat.
It took all her self-control to stay seated, to keep from running outside, grabbing Cody, and driving away, not stopping until Seattle. She dreaded telling Cody the truth. She wasn’t stupid; she knew her kid. Sam represented the sort of dad—the fantasy dad, the Disneyland dad—Cody had been secretly wishing for all his life. The swift ride, the cheap thrill.
What Cody was too young to realize was that the minute he gave himself to a guy like Sam, he was a goner. Sam would break the boy’s heart the way he broke Michelle’s so long ago.
But she was going to stay in Crystal City no matter what her instincts urged her to do. Because when it came to self-control, Michelle Turner was an expert.
On some level, she might even savor the visit, she told herself, watching the cat curl into a ball on the braided seat cover of the chair next to her. This morning she had awakened early to sunshine and new snow that had come silently in the night, covering every flaw of age and softening all the sharp edges of the world. The landscape looked as
The light from outside slanted down just so, and in the uneven yellow glow, Cody stood out sharply in profile. He straightened up and hitched back his hip, stomping his foot down into the boot, a motion so familiar to Sam it was like looking in a mirror.
He leaned back against the door of a stall, feeling as if he’d just been sucker-punched. He couldn’t seem to grab a breath of air.
Slow down, McPhee, he told himself. Take it easy and think for a minute. Think think think. Think of the kid, and of Michelle’s cold manner, her nervousness. Think of the look of amazement on Edward’s face when he’d seen Sam and Cody standing side by side.
Think of the calendar, the years that had passed. Do the math.
Count the years.
Piece by piece, he put it together. The kid looked younger than sixteen, but Sam’s first impression had been wrong. Cody
was
sixteen.
“Holy shit,” Sam said under his breath. “Holy goddamned shit.” An icy wind blew over him from outside, but he barely felt it. He stood motionless in the doorway of the barn and watched Cody wield the shovel. His slim form bent and straightened; the light from the cracks in the eaves streamed down over him, down over the shining sandy hair and the clean profile and the unsmiling mouth and the eyes that were not quite blue.
“Holy shit,” Sam said again. Then he turned on his heel and strode away from the barn.
Chapter 7
S am McPhee’s kitchen appeared lived-in but not fussed over. Stainless-steel appliances, tile countertops, a garden window with a few tired-looking potted herbs struggling along. A coffeemaker hissed beneath a set of wall hooks with an array of mismatched mugs bearing imprints of various feed brands and drug names. Drug names? Atarax. Was that a veterinary drug?
Brad would know, thought Michelle. Brad the pharmacy franchise owner. Her “boyfriend,” Gavin called him.
Feeling like an intruder, she helped herself to coffee. She had a devilish urge to poke around the rest of the house, but she resisted and sat down at the table. A tabby cat leaped onto the seat of the chair next to her, peering solemnly through crystal eyes.
“Hi there.” She offered a finger for the cat to sniff, then rubbed its fur. It turned its head nearly upside down beneath her scratching finger. “I bet you wonder what I’m doing here,” she said, and sipped her coffee. “I’m wondering the same thing myself.”
Outside, the wind kicked up whirlpools in the snow. The Border collie pounced on the snow dervishes, making a joyous game of it. In her wildest imaginings, Michelle had never dreamed she would find herself sitting in Sam McPhee’s kitchen, drinking his coffee and petting his cat. He wasn’t the sort she even thought of as
having
a kitchen, much less a cat.
It took all her self-control to stay seated, to keep from running outside, grabbing Cody, and driving away, not stopping until Seattle. She dreaded telling Cody the truth. She wasn’t stupid; she knew her kid. Sam represented the sort of dad—the fantasy dad, the Disneyland dad—Cody had been secretly wishing for all his life. The swift ride, the cheap thrill.
What Cody was too young to realize was that the minute he gave himself to a guy like Sam, he was a goner. Sam would break the boy’s heart the way he broke Michelle’s so long ago.
But she was going to stay in Crystal City no matter what her instincts urged her to do. Because when it came to self-control, Michelle Turner was an expert.
On some level, she might even savor the visit, she told herself, watching the cat curl into a ball on the braided seat cover of the chair next to her. This morning she had awakened early to sunshine and new snow that had come silently in the night, covering every flaw of age and softening all the sharp edges of the world. The landscape looked as
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