Kentucky Home (11 page)

The fencing took much less time than they thought it would, especially when Katie rode up, making four people to do a two-person job. Keith didn't think she was really interested in the fence, though (although to be fair, neither was he); she just wanted to talk about Mal.

“Her husband's a real jerk,” Katie said. “It sounds like he made her feel like shit all the time.” She relished the freedom of speech working away from the house gave her.

“So he abused her?” Chase asked, tipping his hat up to look at Katie.

Keith slammed the hammer down wrong, bending a nail. He cursed softly and started digging it out.

“Maybe. I mean, I don't think he hit her or anything. Keith, what the hell are you doing to that board?”

“Nothing. Fixing it.”

“Give it to me,” she said, taking the hammer. She brought the claw down hard and sharp and pulled the nail right out. She was always better at that than Keith was. “Even after they were separated, he still made her do his laundry. I guess you have to be pretty worn down to put up with crap like that. I don't really get it, but finally she couldn't take it anymore, so she ran off with Luke.”

“Luke does have a talent for getting girls to run off with him,” said Chase. He started throwing the tools and bent nails into the bucket.

“Yeah, but this is different. I mean, she doesn't have that gaga face that girls get when they talk about Luke. And thank goodness, because I have to sit across the table from her when I eat. I think she knew Luke from town or something. Just friends.”

“He also has a talent for being in the right place at the right time.”

“So, what, she just ran away? From her husband? And her family?”

Katie looked at Keith sharply. “She doesn't have a family. Just an asshole husband. You don't know what it's like for her, you don't know why she left.”

“Neither do you! You just said you don't get it!”

“Quit shouting at me, Keith! I said I don't get it, because why would someone let her husband beat her down like that! I don't get why she didn't stand up for herself! I'm not saying it didn't happen!”

“But why is she still here? What does she want from us?”

“She doesn't want anything, Keith. She has her space, Luke's gonna come get her, then she's going to get a divorce. Then she'll be gone. What do you think, that she's a spy? Coming to steal our secrets? How to run a horse farm into the ground with apathy and a complete resistance to change?”

“Watch it,” Chase warned as Cal approached.

“When you run a horse farm, you can do whatever you damn well please with it,” said Cal, stepping toe-to-toe with his daughter. “Stay out of my business.”

“Stay out of your business? That's fine, until you need help, then it's ‘that girl doesn't pull her weight around here.' I don't want to run a horse farm, Dad, I want to run
this
one.”

“Well, I'm still running it, so I guess you'll have to wait until I'm dead.”

“If you call this running it! Do you know why it takes Keith so long to do the books? Because
we don't make any money.
If you would just take a few chances—”

“Chances cost money, which you just said we don't have.”

“Dad, there are ways to make changes! You can get investors, or a loan. Chase said he would—”

“I'm not taking anybody's money to run my farm! The Carsons have always done for themselves!” Cal was turning red. Katie had pushed him too hard. As usual. “If you want to take money from strangers, go ahead, but like I said, you'll have to wait until I'm dead.” He turned on his heel, spat on the ground, and started walking his horse back toward the house.

Chase came up behind Katie and put a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off, kicked the dirt. “Even when he's dead I won't get a chance. He's going to leave the farm to you,” she said, pointing her hammer at Keith.

“Or Luke.” Keith shrugged.

“That will be the ultimate insult. Leaving the farm to a guy who hasn't spent two weeks here in his entire adult life.”

“Maybe Luke'll let you run it,” Chase said. Katie punched him in the arm. But she smiled when she did it. He threw his arm around her shoulders and all three followed Cal's path back to the barn.

 

 

Keith was putting up the tools in the work shed when he felt someone come up behind him.

“Hi,” Mal said. He didn't turn around. Maybe if he ignored her, she would leave him alone.

He heard her take a deep breath, let it out. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry for kissing you like that last night.”

That got him whirling around to face her. “What?”

She stepped back a little. “I'm sorry for kissing you. I know it was wrong because I'm married, but I just—”

“You didn't kiss me. I kissed you. Which I wouldn't have done if I had known you were married.”

“Technically, I'm separated. Divorce imminent.”

Keith raised his eyebrow.

“Anyway, are we really going to argue over who kissed who first? Even though it was clearly me and you're completely delusional if you think you're the one who started it.”

“You're memory's fuzzy, Mal.”

“No! I know I'm right. You tripped, then I fell on top of you, then you stared into my eyes and brushed back my hair—”

“And then I kissed you,” Keith said softly.

“No, then I kissed you,” Mal replied, taking a step forward. He looked into her brown eyes, seeing, what? Regret? He wanted to brush back her hair and kiss her again.

“You're married,” he whispered.

“I'm very sorry about that,” Mal said, not breaking from his gaze.

“On many levels.”

They stood there for a long moment, staring. “Keith—”

“No, forget it. It's fine. You successfully took advantage of the hillbillies. You win.”

“Do you think that's what I wanted? I wanted to tell you the truth, it was Luke—”

“Yeah, yeah, Luke. You seem to be pretty good at getting Luke to do what you want. But that only works up to a point, right? So you got your way with one brother, why not try the other one?”

Mal flinched, then said quietly, “Is that what you think of me?”

Seeing her flinch like that, as if he'd hit her, as if he was the one who'd hurt her, made his gut drop. He wasn't the bad guy here, so why did he feel like one? “What the hell am I supposed to think? You show up out of nowhere, then you tell me you're
married
and you're just here for, for what?” He knew he was yelling; he should stop yelling. “Is this a damn vacation for you? Just a little trip until you go back to your real life? Why are you here, Mal?”

Even though he couldn't control himself, his anger seemed to shift something in her. She looked at him solidly. “I'm here to muck out the stalls.”

“Oh! Thank goodness you're here!” Billie Monroe stood in the doorway of the shed, looking flushed and out of breath.

“What's wrong? Is Dr. Monroe all right?” Keith started to brush past Mal.

“No. I mean, yes, he's fine. We're fine. I need Mal,” she said, reaching out her hand. Mal took it and stepped forward out of the barn. “At the fair, when we were in the wagon thingy? You said you were a bookkeeper?”

“Yes,” Mal said, hesitating. “I was a bookkeeper.”

“We need you.
I
need you. Our bookkeeper quit to go have a baby.”

“Linda?” Keith asked. “Linda had her baby months ago.”

“I know. I've been doing the books for almost a year now. I'm not an accountant, Mal. I hate math. Guts and blood, fine, yes, no problem. But numbers give me hives.”

“Why do you need me now?”

“Because I'm going crazy! Vendors are calling looking for their checks, but I swear I sent them. And this afternoon, I was looking for an invoice under the desk and a pile of papers just fell on my head. It's a health hazard! And I'm hung over from the beer garden and my dad won't hire someone else in case Linda wants to come back—even though she said she wouldn't! She quit a year ago! And I remembered what you said about being a bookkeeper. And I think maybe you are a nice person, and you like to help out people who are going crazy, right? So will you? Will you help me, Mal?”

“Help you organize your books?”

“Yes, please.”

“Will there be filing?”

Billie looked sheepish. “There might be a little filing. But I'll help with that part!”

“Oh, no way. That's all mine,” Mal said, her face lighting up. She turned to Keith. “Do you think that's OK? If I go with her?”

The way she was looking at him—it made something happen in his chest. Her smile was wide and real, it reached all the way to her bright eyes. Paperwork, he told himself. She's looking at you like that because of paperwork.

“Yeah, we don't need you here.”

The second he said it, he wanted to take it back. He didn't mean it like that. He meant it like, they could handle the chores on their own, the way they had been doing for years.

She looked crestfallen all the same, and that look was a punch in his gut. His poor guts were taking a beating from this woman. But they didn't need her; not to be cruel, just a fact.

Anyway, she was married. Not that they would need her if she wasn't. They didn't need her.
He
didn't need her at all.

“I'll have her back by supper. You can tell Libby I swear it,” Billie said, not feeling the tension radiating between the two people standing on opposite sides of the shed door. She grabbed Mal's hand again, practically pulling her toward her waiting truck. Mal climbed in, put on her seat belt, and didn't look back as Billie pulled out, kicking up dirt as she sped down the road.

“You OK?” Billie asked. Mal was looking silently out the window.

“Was there something else you should be doing? I didn't mean to take you away from—”

“No, that's OK. Keith was right. They don't need me there. I don't know anything about horses anyway. I'm sort of a pain in the butt to them.”

Billie laughed. “I don't think that's it.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Look, are you sure about this? It's a lot of mess. Papers everywhere, I'm telling you. Although I should also warn you that if you say no, I've got a shotgun.”

Mal smiled. She must really be getting used to Kentucky if shotgun jokes were funny to her. She shouldn't do that, though. There was no sense getting used to being here, since she was going to leave as soon as Luke came back. “I'm sure. I seriously do love filing. It's a sickness.”

“Maybe, but I'm not going to complain.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, and Mal contemplated the giant weight on her chest that had not gone away when she let her secret out, but rather had shifted into a new kind of pain, the dull, heavy weight of the Carsons' disapproval. What did it matter? she thought. She would be leaving. She watched the country turn into small neighborhoods, then mix with a few businesses, until they were on the one street that comprised downtown Hollow Bend. Billie pulled up behind a small, freestanding brick building with animal drawings taped to the windows.

“Kids do those,” Billie explained. “To say thanks to my dad for saving their pets. He was so tickled by the first one, he hung it in the window, and now it's sort of a tradition.”

“How do you see out?”

“There are strategically placed gaps in the artwork. Anyway, then I don't have to deal with curtains. Mal, you don't know what a huge help this is,” she said, leading Mal into the office through a side door. They walked past rows of cages, most of which were empty except for a few thankfully sleeping dogs, and a cat nursing tiny, tiny kittens. “I'll give you the grand tour later, but I want to show you the office first, get it over with. Then if you decide to run, I'll disarm you with kittens.”

Mal laughed, then peeked around Billie's shoulder into the office.

It was a disaster. There were papers all over the floor—they really must have fallen on Billie's head. Drawers were open in the tall filing cabinets against the wall. Overflowing files were stacked haphazardly on a long, low cabinet under the window. There was a desk, sort of, and a computer, barely discernible under the envelopes and invoices and what looked like a library book called
Accounting for Dummies
. It was such a mess there was barely room to step into the office, and no clear way to start.

Mal was in heaven.

Three days later Mal was still digging her way out of Dr. Monroe's paperwork, but she was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. She had set up a filing system that would manage the different bills and invoices, and downloaded long-overdue upgrades to their accounting software. She was putting the finishing touches on the vendor database when Billie poked her head in the office.

“Oh my gosh, we have furniture in here! Mal, this looks amazing.”

“Thanks. Is it time to go? Hang on, I'm almost ready.” Mal would stay there all night finishing if she could, but Billie had been faithful to her word and drove her home every night for supper. Not really home, though. Back to the Wild Rose.

She definitely would have stayed in town if she could. Libby was as kind as ever, and Mal could tell that she and Katie were trying to understand her situation, but there was still that tension, like they were dancing nervously around a river when they should just be getting into a boat and crossing it.

It didn't matter, Mal told herself. Luke would be back soon, and after she was done killing him, he would drive her back to DC, maybe hold her hand while she got a divorce, and she'd be done with the Carsons forever. They would just be a fond memory of some people who had once showed her kindness.

“I can't take you home tonight. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I've got a date,” she said with a sly smile.

“Oh!” said Mal, wondering how long it would take her to walk back to Wild Rose. If she left now, she could be there by dinner. Tomorrow. Still, she couldn't begrudge a small-town girl her love life. “That's great.”

“I have to go home and change, obviously,” Billie said, indicating the Big Bird scrubs she was wearing. “Trevor's not coming to get me until eight, but it's going to take me a while to start looking like a girl again.”

“I'm sure you'll look gorgeous.”

“Coming from you, that means a lot.” When Mal looked confused, Billie continued. “Because you're gorgeous. You've got that city confidence.”

Mal patted her fake blond hair knotted into a ponytail with a pencil. “Yes, it's very chic. This is what all the women are wearing at the country club.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not really.”

“Sure you do. You're wearing jeans and a T-shirt just like everybody else, but they're just a little different. More stylish.”

“They're from Target.”

“Listen, Mal,” said Billie, laughing, “I'm not going to argue with you about how gorgeous you are! I have to get gorgeous myself. Keith will be here in a few minutes to pick you up.”

Keith. Keith was like dancing around whitewater rapids, when all she really wanted to do was jump right in. They had been avoiding each other as much as Libby would allow. Mal wasn't even sure she had convinced him that she had kissed him first. She wasn't sure why it continued to matter.

“Listen, when he gets here, don't tell him I'm going out with Trevor. He gets all protective-older-brother and I don't need that right now. I just need to get laid, and I'm pretty sure Trevor puts out on the first date.”

Mal laughed. “OK. I won't tell him. Be careful.”

 

 

Keith was not, by nature, a curious person, but he hated secrets and he hated Mal's secret most of all. Married. Who was this guy she was married to? What the hell was wrong with him that he could just let her go? He wasn't sure he bought Katie's story about how this Michael was a jerk so Mal ran. If every woman who thought
he
was a jerk ran away, well, he'd have . . . just about as many women around him as he did now. Women who put up with him only because they were related.

Vanessa had put up with him. In his memories, she always had the patience of angels, she walked on clouds, she doled out kindness with a virtuous hand. The truth, he knew, had a few more shadows. She'd wanted Keith to take over Dr. Monroe's practice and grow it, but she'd hated that he worked so much. She'd hated living at Wild Rose, although she liked the little cottage well enough. She'd wanted to live in town, to raise their kids in a neighborhood with other kids and neighbors close enough to wave to.

She'd tried to get Katie to wear lip gloss.

Keith would give anything to have her back. Missing her was a constant dull ache in his heart, one that flared up unexpectedly, when he was working, when someone turned their head just so. He needed to move on, he knew he needed to let her go, but then the sun would slant through the trees and he would remember standing in the kitchen while she explained the difference between cooking oils and why it was important that the next time he go to the store for her, he get her the one she actually asked for. There were so many things he couldn't do without her. He couldn't cook. He couldn't laugh. He couldn't have kids.

What if their baby had been his only chance to have a family?

Bob nudged him in the shoulder, snapping Keith awake. He was running a few of the horses around in a pen, but Bob was in a mood, which meant she wasn't going to run unless someone sat on her back and made her.

“Are you really doing this today, Bob? I've got a lot of work to do.” No, he didn't, but he didn't want to ride. When he rode, he had time and space to think about things and he had done enough thinking already.

Plus, he had to pay bills.

That was enough to send him to the barn for a saddle.

Maybe he should do what Libby said and ask Mal for help. Billie Monroe sure seemed happy with her work, and Mal would probably be happy to lend a hand—she seemed to have some sort of calculator for how much she owed them for . . . harboring her, or whatever they were doing.

Still, the less he interacted with her the better. He had managed to avoid speaking more than three words to her since she'd started with Dr. Monroe. It was rude, no doubt, but he couldn't handle more. When he talked to her, that dull ache lifted. She made him smile.

But she had lied to him—to all of them—about who she was, which was someone else's wife. Maybe not for much longer, but that didn't change the lie. He needed her to just go back to where she belonged so he could forget about her and go on with his pathetic life, pining for a family he would never have while not ever talking to anyone he wasn't related to. Then he would be happy again.

He shook his head as he pulled a saddle down off the rack. He was delusional, he knew that, but it was better to be delusional than to go crazy trying to reconcile warm feelings toward a woman who pretended to be his brother's fiancée but turned out to be someone else's wife. It was better to be delusional than to admit that, in these three days he had been avoiding her, he'd missed her smiling at him and laughing at him and the way she sort of scrunched up her mouth when she was concentrating on something. The way she jumped headlong into things she had no idea how to do. And those jeans. They weren't particularly tight or fashionable, but they sure fit.

Much better to be delusional.

He heard a high-pitched beeping coming from the tack room. He knew what it was. Mal had left her cell phone in a pocket of one of the barn coats, which he'd discovered the first time it went off at seven that morning. He had been ignoring it, but not ignoring it well enough to know that this was at least the tenth time it had rung, and he hadn't even been in the barn all day.

He pulled it out after it stopped ringing. Seventeen missed calls. He should put it back and walk away, he knew that. But he clicked on the button that showed him the numbers anyway. He scrolled down. Seventeen missed calls from the same number. He stared at the number for a bit; an East Coast area code that looked familiar from one of their tack suppliers, the expensive one that Katie used to buy fancy stuff for kids who were doing show jumping. He should maybe call Mal at Dr. Monroe's. Maybe it was an emergency. But he would be picking her up in a few hours, and he didn't like the idea of interrupting her bookkeeping high (surely, she had an illness) to have her call someplace she didn't want to be.

He was lost in his deliberation, and he nearly jumped out of his boots when the phone went off in his hand. Without thinking, he pressed the OK button and started to say, “Hello.”

“Jesus Christ, finally. Mal, I have better things to do than wait around for you to pick up your phone. Do you know how many times I've called? I don't appreciate—”

“Mal's not here right now,” Keith said, trying to relax his grip on the phone. It wouldn't do to break it, especially since it wasn't his. “Can I take a message for her?”

“Are you kidding me? Where the hell is she? What does she have to do that's so damned important she can't talk to her
husband
?”

Ex-husband. Almost. The guy she'd been running from. Keith switched the phone to his other ear and shook out his hand. Took a deep breath. “She's at work.”

“Work? Are you kidding me? That woman hasn't worked a day in her life.”

“Well, she's working now.”

“Unbelievable. Do you know how many years I had to support her? Even when I was going through medical school, I had to carry her financially. Now she leaves and she suddenly develops a work ethic.”

“That's not how I heard it.”

“What?”

“I'll tell her you called.”

“Wait, hold on a minute. Who the hell is this?”

“Keith.”

“Well, who are you, Keith? Are you her new boyfriend?”

“No.”

“What the hell are you doing answering her phone?”

“She left it behind.”

“Of course she did. That girl can't do anything on her own. Did you know that I had to show her how to iron my shirts? It was like she'd never seen a can of spray starch.”

Keith wasn't sure what spray starch had to do with a forgotten cell phone, so he didn't say anything.

“Listen, Keith, is it? I'm sorry you've been saddled with her for, what, it must be weeks now. I know she's high maintenance and she can't get anything done on her own. She's been a real drain on me. Did she tell you I'm a doctor?”

He seemed to want a response, so Keith said, “Yeah.”

“Pediatric oncology. Heartbreaking stuff, but it's really important work. I'm saving lives, Keith, and it has been so hard for these last seven years to go to work all day, try to cure cancer—cancer, Keith— and come home to find no food in the house, mess everywhere. She's a drain, Keith. She's sucking the life out of me. I'm still young, I still have a lot to offer a woman. But does she see it? No. She barely even speaks to me! I deserve more than that, don't you think?”

“I think you'll get whatever you deserve,” Keith said.

“Exactly! And she leaves without any word about where she is. Where the hell are you, anyway?”

“Kentucky.”

“Kentucky, Christ. What the hell is in Kentucky?”

People with manners,
Keith thought.

“I still can't believe she just up and left. How selfish can you be? Didn't she think that people would be wondering where my
wife
is?”

Ex-wife. Almost. “Sounds like it might be a relief for you.”

“Oh, don't get me wrong, Keith. It's opened my eyes to a lot, to how much better my life will be without her. I just don't appreciate having to go to hospital functions on my own and having to field questions about where that charming—ha—wife of mine is. Those looks of pity when I have to say ‘trial separation.' But I have to tell you, aside from that, my life has been much easier, really eyeopening. That's why I've got these divorce papers here, just waiting for her to sign, and I can't wait around for her forever. I've got a life to lead, you know?”

“Sure.”

“Write it down, please. Mallory is useless at remembering things. Write this: Dear Mallory, pull it together. You wanted this divorce and, for once, you got it right.

“Am I going too fast?”

“I'll tell her,” Keith said. Before Michael could thank him kindly for relaying the message, he hung up.

 

 

Keith pulled into the parking lot behind Dr. Monroe's office promptly at five. It hadn't changed a bit, and apparently neither had he; on instinct, he pulled into the doctor's spot. He wasn't a doctor here anymore. He was starting to pull out to find a spot on the street when Billie came out of the office wearing some of the most ridiculous scrubs he had ever seen in his life. Was that Big Bird?

“Hey, you can't park there—oh, hi, Keith. I didn't recognize your truck.”

He turned off the truck and got out. “I traded with my dad. Didn't need that big diesel anymore.”

“No, I guess you wouldn't when you're not hauling medical equipment around.”

They stood there, just looking at each other.

Billie sighed. “OK, I won't give you a hard time about coming back to work here if you don't give me a hard time about going out with Trevor tonight.”

“Trevor! That guy—”

Billie held up her hand. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Keith grumbled. Then he pulled Billie close and gave her a noogie.

“Hey! Quit it!”

“Are you okay? I heard—” Mal stopped abruptly when she saw Keith with Billie in a headlock. “Um, I heard shrieking.”

“Yes,” Billie said in a muffled voice from Keith's armpit. “Keith is just being a—” She pulled her elbow up, aiming for his groin. He saw her, though, and released her just in time. “Good reflexes, old man.”

“Not too old to kick Trevor's—”