As You Were (20 page)

24

THE DISTINCT AROMA OF BACON AND COFFEE NUDGED BRITTANY from her slumber, and she raised up, the sunlight from the window warm on her face. The digital clock on the nightstand read eight forty-two, and she threw the covers back, rescuing her robe from the floor by the bed.

She found Tru in front of the stove, stirring a pan of gravy. “What a great way to wake up,” she observed, smiling at Tru.

“I thought you’d like that. We’re having eggs and bacon and biscuits and gravy.” Tru opened the oven door to slide in the pan of biscuits. “Did you sleep well?”

Brittany advanced on the coffeemaker, pouring herself a very full cup. “I fell asleep reading.” Dropsi wandered into the kitchen and found Brittany’s legs. The feline writhed in and out between them, her fur a soft tickle against Brit’s skin, exposed below the long flannel shirt and robe.

“I know. I turned out your light when I got back from town with the lumber, and tucked you in.” Tru turned the flame down low beneath the gravy, wiped her hands on a towel and filled her own cup, joining Brittany at the table.

The puzzle had been returned to its box, at the edge of the table near the wall. Awkwardly, Brit spooned cream into her coffee, stirring. “I feel like I should say something about yesterday —”

“Let’s don’t start that again,” Tru smiled. “You don’t have to explain.” She added cream into her own coffee, and stirred, turning to peer out the bay window, perusing the back yard, the barn, the feeding birds.

“Well, I mean, I don’t want you to think—”

“I don’t think that,” she said smoothly, looking at Brittany. “I underestimated the strength of your spine.”

Brittany thought back to the challenge the night before, tapped her dripping spoon on the edge of her cup and placed it on the table, glancing up at Tru. “I’m not sorry I did what I did. I don’t think I can handle any more on top of that, you know? That’s why I had to go off and be alone.”

Tru nodded. “Don’t worry about it.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I thought we’d take the horses out for another ride after breakfast, if you’re game.”

Brittany’s uneasiness seemed to fade. “I don’t know about that,” she grinned. “I’m still suffering over the last time. You and your shenanigans.”

“Well, now you know which horse is which, what have you got to lose?”

Brittany took a long sip. “Well, if that damn whistle was the reason the horse had an attitude, then I guess I wouldn’t mind a ride...that is, as long as you leave the whistle in the house.”

Tru got up, smiling. “I think that can be arranged.” She stirred the thickening gravy, tasting it and adding more pepper. “Juts and Wheezie get lazy during the winter. They need some exercise.” She turned on the oven light to check the biscuits. “How do you want your eggs?”

“Since this is the first time you troubled yourself to make us breakfast, perhaps you should tell me, I don’t remember, remember?”

Tru chuckled. “Over easy...with a bunch of Tabasco.”

Brittany picked up the pot-holder on the table, and flung it at Tru like a Frisbee. “Don’t even try it, Morgan.”

When they had cleared the dishes, Tru went to get their coats and the two of them headed for the barn.

Tru leaned into the stall and whistled out the open back door for the Morgans. Moments later, the two animals trotted in, blasting clouds of fog from their nostrils, happy to see Tru with a couple of carrots. As the horses munched on the treats, Tru went to the tack room, asking Brittany to follow her. “You get to saddle your own mount today. Aren’t you excited?”

Brittany’s gaze took in the saddles on the sawhorse stands with their belts and straps, and shook her head. “Would you ride a horse that I put a saddle on?”

Tru went over to the black one, and heaved it off its perch. “Normally, yes. Now, no. But I’ll help you, okay?”

Brittany followed her back into the main room, where she watched Tru drop the saddle on the floor and take down a bridle from the hook by the stalls. She opened the stall door and led Wheezie out, slipping the bit into the mare’s mouth easily, and poking her ears through the looped straps on top.

“See? That wasn’t difficult, was it?”

Brittany stepped over to rub the mare’s cheeks. “Looked easy enough.”

Tru took another bridle from a hook on a post and handed it to Brit. “Here ya go.”

Brit took hold of the strapped and stitched contraption and held
it aloft. “You mean, I have to
—”

“Yup.” Tru folded her arms and waited, holding the end of Wheezie’s reins.

Accepting the challenge with sudden courage, Brittany went to Juts, lifting the bridle awkwardly, the process taking on the quality of a flailing, as the mare tossed her head in confusion at Brittany’s unusual lack of finesse. Confused, the horse refused to take the bit. Frustrated, Brittany dropped her arms to her sides, and looked helplessly back at Tru, who squeezed her lips closed with one fist, mirth watering her eyes as a shrill sound of amusement came from her throat.

“Well don’t stand there laughing like a hyena, tell me what I’m doing wrong!”

Tru cackled and stepped forward, taking the bridle from Brittany’s hands and slipping the bit into Juts’ mouth in one smooth movement, shoving it over the ears, pulling them out, and buckling the strap. She turned back to Brit, expectantly.

Brittany put her hands on her hips. “Okay, laugh it up.” When Tru obeyed with a burst of giggles, Brittany added, “I don’t remember, remember?”

Tru hoisted the saddle from the barn floor. “Wait until you try this part.” She tossed the blanket onto the horse’s back with one hand, then heaved the saddle into place on top of it. She gave Brittany a look of sheer pomposity.

“Oh, my,” Brit crooned synthetically. “you’re so strong!”

“I told you Morgans were strong...
and gentle...” Tru lifted the stirrup onto the horn and stooped to reach under the Morgan’s wide belly, caught the swinging girth, and cinched it under and up. Brittany stepped in for a closer look. “Now, see,” Tru pointed to the strap attached to the ring at the side of the saddle. “The strap goes through this girth ring, then over the ring on the saddle, and down, like so. Then over here on this side of the ring, under and through the loop. Then you tighten it...” Tru struggled the slack out of the girth, patting Wheezie’s side. “Exhale, Wheezie—” The mare snorted and Tru was able to tighten the girth again. “—like...
this. And—ta da! You’re finished.”

Brittany frowned at the saddle, as Tru lowered the stirrup. “Maybe y
ou should do that for me, Tru.”

Tru looked at the finished product, grabbed the horn and shook it to test its snugness, then looked back at the still doubtful expression on Brit’s face. “Maybe you’re right.”

They rode down the trail behind the barn, following the descending path leading to the creek bank. Once at the water’s edge, Tru reined up and shifted in the saddle to look at Brittany, whose face had turned ashen. Tru’s eyes went back to the creek in front of them as it rushed by, driven by the weight of melting snow, and then brought the heel of her hand up to smack her own forehead. “Jeez, I’m dense.” She reined Wheezie around to face Brittany on Juts. “I’m sorry, Brit...
the water...
I wasn’t thinking—”

Brittany swallowed dryly. “Can we go somewhere else?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tru answered quickly. “Turn Juts around and take that path to the right up there. I’m right behind you.”

Brittany cast one more uneasy glance at the rushing water and then reined the horse around.

Tru kept Wheezie closely behind Juts. “I’m sorry, Brit. Really—”

“It’s okay,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m...
I’m sure you didn’t realize. Let’s ride. Show me the rest of the land.”

Tru obliged, and together they explored the woods on their corner of Castle Mountain.

A few hours later, they were both more than ready for something warm to drink, and a hot fire to drive the chill out of their bones. Tru led them back to the barn where they unsaddled, curried, and brushed down the Morgans.

Once inside, Tru built a fire and Brittany made them some Cinnamon Vienna tea. “You know,” Brittany said, handing Tru her cup and sitting down next to her by the hearth. “It’s not hard to see how much I must have loved living here.”

Tru held her tea between both hands and stared into the flames. “That’s a refreshing change.”

“It’s that I feel like it’s all familiar, but like it was a past life or something. I can even picture myself—”

The phone rang, and Brittany looked over at it on the wall outside the kitchen, but did not move.

“You gonna answer it? It’s probably Max, with an offer you can’t refuse.” Tru sipped her tea, singeing her tongue and breathing in and out frantically to cool the burn.

Brittany laughed. “Serves you right for that smart remark.” The phone continued to ring, and Brittany sighed, then scanned the room hastily as if in search of something. Her eyes landed on the microwave inside the kitchen doorway and a wicked smile teased her lips. Hurrying to the kitchen, she pressed ten seconds on the oven and started it before she picked up the phone, carrying the portable receiver back with her to the front of the microwave. “Hello,” she began

artificially into the receiver. “We’re not in right now, but leave a message, and we’ll get back to you.” She kept her eye on the digital number digressing toward zero. “Wait for the tone.” She held the receiver in front of the microwave and two seconds later, it beeped, and she pressed the stop button before it could beep again, then lifted the receiver to her ear, listening. Seconds later, she hung up.

Tru had been watching the whole performance and started laughing. “I can’t believe you!”

Brittany came back and sat down on the hearth. “It worked, too.”

“Who was it?”

“No one special,” she said, cooling her tea. “I think a Max-somebody.” She winked at Tru.

25

WHILE IT MISTED OUTSIDE, BRITTANY STACKED THE DISHES next to the sink as Tru brought them from the table, the strains of classical piano music wafting into the kitchen from the stereo.

“So, how did you enjoy Spaghetti-From-Hell?” Brittany asked, rinsing remnants of sauce from the plates into the garbage disposal.

Tru gathered the soiled napkins. “Oh, come on, it was really good. I should let you cook more often.”

A gentle rumble of thunder traveled over the mountain, as Brittany opened the dishwasher to insert plates, and pulled the rack off-track and tried to adjust it with a good deal of banging around.

“Be careful with Brittany’s dishwasher!” Tru cracked.

“Oh, this is mine?”

“Yeah, you bought it because you refused to stand at a sink and do dishes by hand.”

“Good thinking on my part.”

Tru paused at the bay window with their empty tea glasses in her hands.

“I’m not sure where I got that recipe. Did the French bread have too much garlic?”

“It was great...” she murmured, studying the line of trees by the barn.

Brittany squirted the yellow detergent into the reservoir and looked over at Tru who leaned close enough to the window to fog the pane. “What are you looking at?” She closed the detergent receptacle, and joined Tru at the window, drying her hands on a towel.

“Do you see what I see?”

Brittany followed Tru’s line of vision to the edge of the trees. “What?”

“I know I saw someone out there—” She set the glasses back on the table, and moved back to the bay window, as Brittany picked the glasses up and went to add them to the dishwasher. “It looked like the same guy. The coat is the same...it’s sort of an off-white—there!” she pointed. “See him?”

Brittany leaned over Tru’s back and squinted into the dusky evening picture-postcard that was the barn and surrounding trees. A lump of snow moved sideways and stopped behind a spruce. “Hey—I do see him now...
what the hell is he doing?”

Tru straightened and turned quickly, side-stepping to miss Brittany, and headed for the hall.

“Where are you going?” Brittany watched her disappear around the corner, and went to get the sponge to wipe off the table. When she had finished drying the table with the hand towel, Tru reappeared in the kitchen with a winter-camo jacket, mostly white, a matching hat, and gloves. She was holding a lever-action rifle.

“What the hell is that for?” she asked, indicating the thirty-thirty with her sponge.

Tru zipped up her jacket, and moved for the door. “It’s for whomever is out there prowling on our land.” She opened the kitchen door.

Brittany tossed the sponge and towel at the sink. “I thought you said he was probably a hunter?”

Tru grabbed the boots she’d discarded after their ride. “Hunters carry rifles and wear hunter-orange. This one is not a hunter.” She sat down on the steps of the patio to put on her boots, then paused at the back door, studying the tree-line until the right moment. Then she crept out and galloped through the snow to the right, until the barn blocked his view of her. Brittany closed the kitchen door securely behind Tru, and went back to the bay window.

Tru made a wide circle around the right side of the barn where the stalls opened into the corral, and peeked around the corner, squinting to focus through the sleet which coated the bill of her cap and dripped in front of her face. She saw him standing behind a tree, his attention on the bay window, careful not to show himself to Brittany, whose attention was trained in his direction. Tru leaned back around the corner against the red cedar of the barn wall.
Who is this guy?
She released the safety on the rifle and, holding it barrel-down to keep the sleet out of it, she moved closer to his position, careful to keep herself and him parallel to the house so that Brittany would not be in the line of fire, should she have to pull the trigger.

The blanket of snow muffled her steps and soon she peeked from behind her own tree at his back. He moved swiftly to the edge of the workshop and watched the bay window from around the corner. That’s when Tru saw his face. She shook her head in wonder and stepped away from the tree, raising the rifle to him. “Well, now.” He jerked around, startled, and saw the rifle leveled at his chest. “The name is Max, isn’t it?”

Even through the sleet and distance between them, she could see his eyes darting about nervously. Then he smiled. “Oh. Hi. I thought I was alone.”

“Apparently.”

He laughed spasmodically, and made an almost casual move in her direction. His steps halted when he heard her chamber a shell with the lever.

“I think you’re close enough.”

He tried to be flippant again. “Oh, there’s no need to get all riled up. I’m not here to cause trouble, or anything.”

“What the hell are you here to do, then?” She held the rifle steady with both hands at waist-level.

He looked back toward the bay window and then at her and the gun she held. “It’s a little hard to uh...
explain...”

Tru stepped closer. “Why don’t you head for the back door and I’ll let you explain inside?”

He seemed relieved, but uneasy. “Sure. No problem.”

Tru gestured with the barrel of the rifle for him to start walking.

At the back door, Brittany greeted them with trepidation. “Max? Was that you out there all those times?”

He looked back at Tru, careful not to move suddenly. “Uh, yeah. I’m really very embarrassed about all this—”

“Go on in,” Tru ordered.

Max took off his gloves and nestled them under his arm while he rubbed his red hands together.

Brittany folded her arms and regarded him with dismay. “Are you stalking me?”

Max swallowed, and released a long breath, eyeing Tru as she leaned against the wall by the door, the .30-30 supported in the crook of her arm. He turned back to Brittany, who stood with one hand on the counter. “Um...
I’m really embarrassed, as I said.” He threw a quick glance Tru’s way and continued. “The truth is, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I’ve wanted to see you—I...
tried to call, but got your answering machine.”

Brittany smiled immediately and looked at Tru, who no longer found the whole thing amusing. Tru took off her jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door. “Yes. I got that hang-up. You didn’t leave a message.”

Max moistened his chapped lips and smiled with one corner of his mouth. “You probably think I’m some sort of lunatic—but, well, you remind me so much of my late wife...
I miss her, and when I look at you, it’s like...like she’s here again...
I like you, Brittany, and I wondered... wanted to ask you to go out with me, but I didn’t know quite how...
how to do that—”

“So you thought that skulking around in the woods would be the solution?” Brittany folded her arms, and chewed her bottom lip. “I understand...
I guess, Max, but—”

Tru spoke up. “Why don’t you...
tell him.”

Brittany seemed puzzled. “What?”

“Tell him why you can’t go out with him, Brit.”

Brittany recalled the conversation the first day they rode horses, and looked at Max. “I...
I think it’s better if we don’t see each other—” she fumbled.

Tru thought she might say something like,
and you remind me of my dead husband,
but instead she just fidgeted. Tru cleared her throat and moved over next to her. “Go ahead, tell him why.”

Max was looking from one woman to the other, completely lost. “I know about your—your amnesia, and, really, I—”

Brittany rose to full stature and looked him directly in the eyes. “Max. I can’t go out with you because—” She sought help from Tru, but it was clear there was no hope of it. “—because Tru isn’t really my sister...
she’s...
she and I...
well, because I’m...
gay.”

Max’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked them both over. “You and—?”

Brittany grabbed Tru’s hand and stroked it awkwardly. “We’re a couple,
we’re...” She swallowed. “We’re
...
lovers.” Then she sighed, nodding, as if to confirm this tidbit.

Tru pressed her lips together and looked at her shoes, suppressing the mirth bubbling in her throat.

Max continued to stare at them, then a light of something like understanding went over his features. “Oh, I get it. This is a big brush off, isn’t it?” He smiled broadly. “Gay,” he snorted. “Right. You? Give me a break.” He folded his arms and became smug.

Brittany dropped Tru’s hand like a yo-yo, and put her hands on her hips. “I am a lesbian, dammit!”

Max laughed aloud and moved toward the door. “No problem. Damn! The things women tell you to get rid of you!” He put his gloves on and opened the door. “Don’t worry,” he said to a red-faced Brittany. “I get the picture. I’m out of here.” He stepped outside and closed the door.

Brittany rushed to the bay window and watched him trudge around the house toward the road. Tru’s laugh began to slip out in an obnoxious fashion, as Brittany turned around. “Don’t you dare laugh, Tru Morgan!”