Sweet Justice (12 page)

Instantly she was the one all out of breath—as she obediently walked backward for a few steps, watching Andrew. His smile lit up his face and erased all traces of the suspicious doubts he seemed to harbor about her. What would it be like to be the sort of girl who could make Andrew Monroe lose his breath?

The sort of girl...

Carole's words came back to her, about Andrew's past girlfriends and how he'd never seemed to find a way to make any of those relationships work.

The bubble of joy inside her grew a touch smaller, not quite gone, but not the great big levitation device it had been. She turned around and walked toward the barn.

“What?” Andrew protested behind her. “Was it something I said?”

No. Something I'm not. I'm not one of your glamour girls who can flirt and make small talk. I don't spend all my days having mani-pedis or going shopping. These days, the idea of a shopping spree is turning me loose with ten bucks in a Goodwill thrift shop.

Another thought dogged that one: the thought that it wasn't fair to either one of them to get tangled up in so much as a flirtation. Even if Chad was wrong about what motivated the Monroes to be so nice, Mallory needed a clear head so that she could look out for Katelyn's interests.

She hadn't been there for her when Katelyn had needed her. Mallory owed it to her to be there now.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A
NDREW
COULDN
'
T
QUITE
believe it. He actually had Mallory Blair on a horse, in riding boots, and she'd managed to ride around the paddock in a slow walk.

Sure, the horse was Pogo, who wouldn't have cared if somebody held a dance party atop his back, and the boots were a spare pair of Maegan's. But you couldn't ignore the fact that Mallory was on a horse.

She was trembling, though. “It—it's pretty high up here. How tall is this horse?”

“Pogo? Kind of on the shrimpy side. Joker's three hands taller. You're telling me you're afraid of heights and you walk around on those stilts you call shoes?”

“Those stilts, as you call them,” she quipped, “won't actively try to buck you out of their soles.”

“Trust me, the last time Pogo even thought about bucking, people considered subprime mortgages a great investment. Are you—”

A squeal of delighted surprise came from the other side of the fence. “Andrew! You got my sister on a horse!”

Pogo stayed still as a stone and didn't make a liar out of him by so much as even offering to startle at Katelyn's shout. Andrew watched as Mallory, beaming with accomplishment, turned the old horse toward Katelyn, who sat in her wheelchair, Maegan behind her.

“We wondered where you guys were,” Maegan called. “I saw Mallory's cute little car, so I knew she was here.”

“I take it you two are finished with Katelyn's session?” Mallory asked. “I guess I'd better call it quits.” For a moment, she looked around, her face tense, obviously considering something. She twisted in the saddle and stared below at the thick rye grass covering the pasture. “Uh, how exactly do I get down from this thing?”

Katelyn let another peal of laughter escape her. “Andrew, why didn't you videotape this? I've never seen Mal so unsure what to do. She
always
can figure out how to boss me around.”

Mallory took the ribbing good-naturedly. “Katelyn, I'm glad you got to see me out of my element. And I'm
really
glad Andrew didn't have that video camera you were hoping for.”

Andrew admired her willingness to be made fun of, almost as much as the courage that it taken her to climb on Pogo to begin with. He knelt down and offered a knee.

“Woo-hoo, Andrew! Popping the question already?” Katelyn teased. “You move fast!”

“Uh, no— I—” Above him, Mallory had reacted with the same embarrassment at Katelyn's juvenile teasing that he had. He shook it off. To Mallory, he said, “Give me your hand and slide down until your feet touch my knee. And you, squirt,” he called over his shoulder at Katelyn. “I'm sure Mallory's got some embarrassing photos of you when you were, say, eight. We'll post them on every social media site we can think of.”

Katelyn blew a raspberry. “Maybe you can, but I'm safe if you're depending on Mallory to think up where to post it. She's above all that social media stuff.”

That surprised him. He figured Mallory would be like his other girlfriends—posting every nanosecond of her life online.

Andrew's stomach flipped.

His other girlfriends.
He'd actually thought that.

He cleared his throat to cover his discomfort. “I can only be a gentleman so long. This grass may look soft, but a pebble's digging into my knee.”

“Oh! Sorry!” Without a moment's hesitation, Mallory slid off the horse and into Andrew's hold. For a beat or two, he held her there, the two of them close enough for him to get another intoxicating whiff of the strawberry shampoo that had so enchanted Joker.

Still, what held his attention even more than the feel of her waist in his palms was the way her eyes sparkled and her chin lifted up. Confidence—Mallory Blair had conquered something, even if it was just poking around a paddock on Pogo.

Something he had helped her achieve.

“Well, if you two are all done...” Andrew couldn't miss the teasing note in Maegan's voice. He let go of Mallory as though she were molten iron.

“I'll see to Pogo,” Andrew said and tugged at Pogo's lead. Pogo, stubborn old mule of a horse that he could be, didn't cooperate. He jerked his head in protest, pulling so hard that the lead came out of Andrew's hand. Then he stepped back smartly and nudged Mallory.

“No, you old thing,” Andrew snapped, embarrassed at the horse's rebellion. “No apples for you, not until we get you groomed.”

“Are you sure I don't need to help you groom him?” Mallory asked. As he shook his head no, she reached up and stroked Pogo. “I'll bring you some next time, okay, old boy?”

Next time?

He hadn't dared to hope for anything beyond today. Maybe he was reading too much into Mallory's willingness to try riding a horse. Still, it showed that she trusted him. And if she trusted him...

Maybe she was beginning to trust him about Katelyn, too. Dutch had said that every day that went by without a lawsuit being filed meant the odds went down that she'd actually file.

Mallory climbed over the fence and joined Maegan and Katelyn on the other side. She rested one hand on Katelyn's wheelchair.

“Ma says she's got plenty of supper if you want to join us,” Maegan offered.

Andrew found himself looking forward to another meal with Mallory—especially this relaxed and easygoing side of her—but his hopes were dashed.

Mallory shook her head slowly. “I'm sorry, but...I'm going to have to pass you up on that. I have falafels that I've already made at home. Will you give your mom my regrets?”

“Oh, Mal! Don't be so stiff-necked!” Katelyn protested. “Ma's a better cook than you are. I hate falafels!”

Mallory's mention of a food Andrew had heard of but had never tried served as a reminder of her citified ways.

Maegan chuckled and patted Katelyn on the arm. “Boy, do I know what you go through,” she said. “Daniel's the same way. Ma says she wishes she could have convinced him to eat more vegetables when he was six and refusing to eat his cabbage.”

Mallory arched an eyebrow toward Andrew. “Some of us are way past six but
still
refuse to eat our cabbage,” she commented.

Katelyn negotiated her chair toward the house. “Well, I'm going to check in with Ma and see if she's got any pie or cake for a snack. Mallory never buys any junk food.”

A flare of irritation arced across Mallory's features. “Katelyn, you know we can't—” She cut her words short, glancing in Andrew's direction. What had she been planning to say?

Whatever it was, Katelyn was in full little-sister mode, not listening to a thing her older sister had in mind. She was powering the wheelchair toward Ma's porch and back door, her thin arms pumping up and down to move the wheels.

“Katelyn!” Mallory trotted after her. “Katelyn Blair, you stop this minute— How do you think you'll even—”

By dent of an incline and Katelyn's wiry muscles, the girl had reached the bottom of the steps. Now she was leveraging herself out of the chair, pulling herself up first the bottom step, then the second, then the third.

Maegan was impressed to the point of letting loose a long, low whistle of approval. “I need to use sibling squabbles and Ma's baking for motivation more often.”

Relief more than anything else pulsed through Andrew. Katelyn was getting stronger, better, every day. In the beginning, she didn't have the balance and coordination or muscle strength to make the trek across the yard, much less up those steps. He allowed Pogo to wander over and nibble on grass while he joined in with Maegan's clapping.

Ma pushed open the back door and poked her head out. “What on earth?” she asked. And then she spotted Katelyn, who was clinging to the banister post at the top of the steps with shaky determination.

Andrew called out, “She's doing tricks for cake. You got any?”

“No cake, but will a coconut pie do? I just got a double-size one out of the oven. C'mon in, and, land sakes, help that child before she falls over from grinning so big.”

The screen door slammed shut, and Maegan rushed forward to assist Katelyn. Andrew walked over to retrieve Pogo, tugging him away from another hillock of grass and starting for the barn. Behind him, he heard Maegan's effusive praise of Katelyn's effort. He craned around for a second look, and that was when he noticed it.

Mallory was frozen in place. Her face was shut down, her fists clenched by her hips.

Of the four people who'd been watching Katelyn, Mallory was the only one not over-the-moon happy about the girl's achievement.

* * *

M
ALLORY
'
S
HEART
SLOWLY
ratcheted down from its rat-a-tat, and she drew in a long, slow breath. Maegan had reached Katelyn's side by now and was yanking the wheelchair up to the porch, then easing Katelyn down into it. Mallory took a step forward, relieved that the spell that had frozen her to the ground had broken.

When she'd seen Katelyn pull herself out of that chair and cling to that railing, she was sure her sister would come crashing down. She could visualize broken bones, torn muscles, an instant setback to the gains Katelyn had so painstakingly achieved over weeks and months. And yet Mallory couldn't run to her. Couldn't move. Couldn't save Katelyn from herself.

What kind of sister was she?

And what kind of people were these Monroes that they rewarded such heedless action? Oh, she knew the answer to that. Mallory had seen enough pictures around Ma's house to recognize that the Monroes from childhood on had engaged in all manner of heart-stopping activities—bucking horses, bungee jumping, high diving, even a parachute jump. Apparently what passed for a fun family activity was anything that could give them an adrenaline buzz.

What did she expect anyway? They were a family of firefighters.

How on earth could they ever see the risk Katelyn was taking by shinnying up some steps?

Mallory trudged up those same steps and entered the kitchen, which was now humming with laughter. Katelyn sat at the table, inelegantly wolfing down a piece of golden-brown coconut pie, with Maegan and Ma enjoying the spectacle of a hearty appetite.

Great. Mallory dropped into a chair beside Ma and felt distinctly sorry for herself. Now Katelyn would not have an appetite and most likely would refuse to eat the falafels Mallory had made for supper: cheap, filling and nutritious.

She didn't want them to feel sorry for Katelyn and her...not because of money. The only “sorry” she wanted uttered was from Andrew: a simple “I'm sorry I left her there” would have been a great start.

Katelyn's accident had been another before-after line of demarcation for Mallory, just like her parents' death. Before the accident, things were fine, stable, they were doing okay.

After the accident?

Mallory had lost her job and run up her credit card balance. They'd had to move, and she'd had to figure out how to pay for the thousands of dollars in bills. And those were the fixable things.

Thinking about money reminded her of the wedding dress she'd been working on for Kimberly. She cleared her throat and managed to squeeze a question into the hubbub of conversation. “Wasn't Kimberly supposed to be down this week?”

“Sure is,” said Ma. “They have some days off from school. She said you had something ready for her to try on.”

Mallory hedged, “It's only the muslin. Before I start to work on the dress proper, I need to check for fit.”

Katelyn piped up, “If she worries over the real dress any more than she does that muslin, I won't be able to live with her. She's like ‘don't touch that, Katelyn,' and ‘watch your glass of milk, Katelyn,' and ‘you moved my scissors three-quarters of an inch to the side—'”

Mallory gritted her teeth to keep the defensive retort bottled up. When Katelyn had an audience, she could be twice as ruthless as she was now.

Any laughter she netted from her teasing would only encourage her, Mallory knew. Katelyn was getting revved up for the snarky, cutting remarks that always seemed to cause people to roar at Mallory's expense. Katelyn never failed to portray Mallory as a dull, boring stick-in-the-mud. Any sort of defense on Mallory's part only served to emphasize the point.

Then something unexpected happened to short-circuit the whole cycle: Ma reached over and patted Mallory's hand. “We seamstresses can get mighty tetchy about our scissors, can't we?” The solidarity she felt through Ma's touch warmed her.

“Oh, yeah,” Mallory conceded. “Katelyn can't seem to understand that it's impossible for me to cut anything if my scissors aren't where they're supposed to be.”

Ma nodded in agreement. “Tell me something I don't know. One of the times I got the maddest with Andrew is when he got hold of my best scissors, the ones I saved
only
for cutting cloth—”

Maegan slapped her palm to her mouth. “Oh. My. Word. Mallory, I came the closest to not having a little brother—” She dissolved into gales of laughter.

Beside Mallory, Ma's shoulders shook, as well. “Oh, that poor dog...”

“What dog?” Mallory and Katelyn asked in unison.

Ma swiped at her eyes, and, instead of answering, sliced and cut a generous piece of pie for Mallory. She managed to put the plate down before covering her mouth again to prevent a peal of laughter.

Maegan took up the story. “Ranger—he was a collie. Beautiful old fella that Dad just adored. Every night when Dad got home, he'd brush out Ranger's coat. Of course, Ranger was actually our dog, and we were supposed to be the ones feeding him and training him and brushing him. You know how kids are.” She giggled again.

Ma put her face in her hands and shook her head. “The look on your father's face—”