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Authors: Rachel Hauck
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glow. “Careful.”
He held on to her. So tight. With such . . . care. A foreign sensation, for sure. And it swallowed up her hand, firing a warm sensation up her arm. Haley slipped her hand from his, shaking it in the cold, freeing herself of his touch.
What was that feeling?
“I’ll just jump over.” She flew from the porch over the rotted steps to the ground. Cole followed, walking with her around front.
Haley paused at her bike, clicking off her flashlight, letting the darkness settle over her. Then caught a glimpse of Cole as he paused by his bike—which was identical to hers.
“You drive a Harley 750?”
“Yep.”
She regarded him for a second, then said in time with him, “Weird.”
He laughed. “This entire night is kind of weird. But in a good way. Hey, w-we should, you know, ride sometime.”
“Maybe,” she said. “When it warms up. I’m freezing on that thing tonight.”
Familiar words. Dax taught her to ride so they could “ ride together .” She dropped a chunk of her savings on this bike only to have it sit in the garage. Dax never wanted to ride. At least not with her.
“Tell me about it. I rode my bike to the date. Should’ve taken my truck.”
Their conversation stalled and Haley shivered, ready to get home and warm. “Well, see you around.”
“See you around.”
She fired up her bike, then glanced at Cole. “You’d be married now if she’d lived.”
“Yeah . . . yeah, guess so.” His voice faded.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Talking about it is how we heal, right? Or so the infamous they tells us.”
“Are you healing, Cole?”
“I am. I really am. What about you?”
Haley shifted into gear with a glance at the looming dark old wedding shop. Between Dax and Tammy, she had a long way to go.
“I don’t know,” she said, motioning to the shop. “But I think this is the place to start.”
Chapter Five
C ORA
C offee, please.” Cora shuffled into the kitchen, the day’s early light filling the window, making the room bright. She pulled out her chair and collapsed down with a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the breeze that drifted through the screen door with the scent of freshly plowed soil.
“Goodness . . . you want coffee?” Mama moved to the stove, reaching for the percolating pot with her hand wrapped in a thick dish towel. “You look wrung out. Didn’t you sleep?”
“Restless is all.” Cora fixed on the dark flow of coffee streaming into her cup. She didn’t care for the black brew, but sleep had eluded her until the morning’s early hours. When she finally drifted away, she’d awoken shortly after, her heart racing, dawn painting new-day hues on the walls of her room.
Taking her first sip, she winced. The hot bitter taste matched her memory of yesterday, of seeing Rufus. Of being mistaken.
“I can make you tea,” Mama said.
“This is fine.” But really, was it necessary? To drink the bitter dregs?
“Then you’d better eat. Your stomach isn’t used to the grounds.”
“I’m not hungry.”
No matter, Mama was at the stove, filling a plate with the pancakes and sausage warming in the oven.
Before dressing and coming down to breakfast, Cora had slipped Rufus’s latest letter from the top of the packet bound by a red ribbon. It was from early March. Because she’d read it so many times, she could recite each word. She just needed to hear his voice.
Dearest Darling Cora,
I long to see you. Business has kept me away from you, moving north, and it’s tearing me apart. You mustn’t think I’ve forgotten you. Impossible. I think of you night and day, day and night.
I’m near a phone this evening, and while the roustabouts unloaded our cargo I sought permission to use the phone. But the boathouse boss refused me access. Even after I pledged to pay the long-distance fee.
So I’m back to writing you again while we’re docked on the northern Mississippi. The night is cold and quiet,
He held on to her. So tight. With such . . . care. A foreign sensation, for sure. And it swallowed up her hand, firing a warm sensation up her arm. Haley slipped her hand from his, shaking it in the cold, freeing herself of his touch.
What was that feeling?
“I’ll just jump over.” She flew from the porch over the rotted steps to the ground. Cole followed, walking with her around front.
Haley paused at her bike, clicking off her flashlight, letting the darkness settle over her. Then caught a glimpse of Cole as he paused by his bike—which was identical to hers.
“You drive a Harley 750?”
“Yep.”
She regarded him for a second, then said in time with him, “Weird.”
He laughed. “This entire night is kind of weird. But in a good way. Hey, w-we should, you know, ride sometime.”
“Maybe,” she said. “When it warms up. I’m freezing on that thing tonight.”
Familiar words. Dax taught her to ride so they could “ ride together .” She dropped a chunk of her savings on this bike only to have it sit in the garage. Dax never wanted to ride. At least not with her.
“Tell me about it. I rode my bike to the date. Should’ve taken my truck.”
Their conversation stalled and Haley shivered, ready to get home and warm. “Well, see you around.”
“See you around.”
She fired up her bike, then glanced at Cole. “You’d be married now if she’d lived.”
“Yeah . . . yeah, guess so.” His voice faded.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Talking about it is how we heal, right? Or so the infamous they tells us.”
“Are you healing, Cole?”
“I am. I really am. What about you?”
Haley shifted into gear with a glance at the looming dark old wedding shop. Between Dax and Tammy, she had a long way to go.
“I don’t know,” she said, motioning to the shop. “But I think this is the place to start.”
Chapter Five
C ORA
C offee, please.” Cora shuffled into the kitchen, the day’s early light filling the window, making the room bright. She pulled out her chair and collapsed down with a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the breeze that drifted through the screen door with the scent of freshly plowed soil.
“Goodness . . . you want coffee?” Mama moved to the stove, reaching for the percolating pot with her hand wrapped in a thick dish towel. “You look wrung out. Didn’t you sleep?”
“Restless is all.” Cora fixed on the dark flow of coffee streaming into her cup. She didn’t care for the black brew, but sleep had eluded her until the morning’s early hours. When she finally drifted away, she’d awoken shortly after, her heart racing, dawn painting new-day hues on the walls of her room.
Taking her first sip, she winced. The hot bitter taste matched her memory of yesterday, of seeing Rufus. Of being mistaken.
“I can make you tea,” Mama said.
“This is fine.” But really, was it necessary? To drink the bitter dregs?
“Then you’d better eat. Your stomach isn’t used to the grounds.”
“I’m not hungry.”
No matter, Mama was at the stove, filling a plate with the pancakes and sausage warming in the oven.
Before dressing and coming down to breakfast, Cora had slipped Rufus’s latest letter from the top of the packet bound by a red ribbon. It was from early March. Because she’d read it so many times, she could recite each word. She just needed to hear his voice.
Dearest Darling Cora,
I long to see you. Business has kept me away from you, moving north, and it’s tearing me apart. You mustn’t think I’ve forgotten you. Impossible. I think of you night and day, day and night.
I’m near a phone this evening, and while the roustabouts unloaded our cargo I sought permission to use the phone. But the boathouse boss refused me access. Even after I pledged to pay the long-distance fee.
So I’m back to writing you again while we’re docked on the northern Mississippi. The night is cold and quiet,
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