6. Soren

6

SOREN

M y day passed without the drama of the night before. After a morning ride, in which the weather cooperated, providing sunshine and no wind, although the air practically sparked with crispness.

Two young guests were in the barn when I returned. They asked if I would give them a lesson in removing the saddle and bridle, checking for sores or chafing, and then using a soft brush to remove sweat, dirt, and hair from the horses' coats. Finally, I taught them how to clean the horses' hooves of any stones, dirt, or debris.

The children were both boys around nine or ten and loved every minute of it, grinning from ear to ear as they brought the horses water and fed them hay.

"How can I be a cowboy?" one of them asked me.

Spend your life doing backbreaking work for very little money. That would have been the truth. However, even I knew that would crush them. "If you love horses and working hard, you can be a cowboy. Tell you what. When you're old enough and if you're still interested—look me up. I'll get you a job right here on the ranch."

They looked at each other with what could only be described as utter glee. "Let's go tell Dad we have jobs when we're older," the taller one said. "He's going to be so psyched."

The other boy looked up at me with serious eyes. "He's very concerned we're going to turn out spoiled and worthless like our cousins."

I hid a smile by taking off my hat and running a hand through my hair. "God forbid, we can't have that."

I chuckled as they ran off before I headed back to the tack room to talk with my guys. Seeing brothers that age brought back memories of my own childhood. I was only five when my father died and had just turned six when Mama married Jasper Moon. Few memories emerge from the time before my father's death. Of the five of us, Atticus and Caspian were the ones with the most concrete memories. From what they've told me, it's probably good I don't remember much.

Regardless, Jasper Moon was and is the man I consider my father. Sometimes, I think about what kind of man agrees to marry a young mother with five little boys and a failing ranch. Only love could bring a man to that decision. That said, he was given the most wonderful woman in the world as his wife. My brothers and me? I can only be grateful Jasper Moon loved us despite our similarities to unruly puppies.

I finished up for the day and headed toward home. My stomach fluttered with nerves at the thought of my new roommate. Only because it was new, and new situations didn't agree with me. Not because I was developing a huge crush on her. That would be a ridiculous thing to do. And I was the opposite of ridiculous.

The dog greeted me with a friendly wag of his tail when I entered the mudroom. I shrugged out of my jacket and knelt to give him some attention. He seemed better this afternoon. Had Arabella been by?

I rose to my feet just as Finley appeared in the doorway. She wore one of Mama's old aprons over jeans and a sweater. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed as if she'd been working hard in the sunshine. No makeup, I noted. Not that she used a lot normally, but there was something about her fresh face that made my fingers itch to reach out and feel the texture of her skin.

Why did she have to be so pretty?

"Hey there," she said. "Did you have a good day?"

"I did, actually. You?"

"Dog and I have had a productive day." She filled me in on Arabella's visit and that she'd unpacked already. "And I have a surprise." She bounced on her toes. "I've cooked dinner."

I sniffed the air, noting the aroma of garlic and onions. "Really? For me?"

"No, I'm going to eat it in front of you. Of course, it's for you. I wanted to do something to thank you for inviting me here. I'm not the greatest cook in the world, but I figured who couldn't make a little beef stroganoff?"

"Sounds great to me. Do I have time to take a shower?" I asked, worried I smelled bad after working all day.

"Yes, whenever you're ready, I'll cook the noodles. No rush."

Finley seemed so delighted that I found myself smiling back at her. She brightened up the place that was for certain.

As I passed through the kitchen, I did a double take. Apparently, a tornado had followed Finley into my home. There were dishes and pans everywhere. Flour and remnants of onion and garlic littered the counter. Water had clearly boiled over more than one pot, as an opaque film covered the cooktop.

Finley had followed me and was now by the sink. "I'll clean up, I promise."

"Sure. Yeah. I can help."

"No, you go shower and change for dinner. You've worked hard all day and deserve a warm meal."

Touched, I nodded and headed upstairs. Not long thereafter, I returned to the kitchen. Finley hadn't made what I would call a lot of progress on the dishes. In fact, she stood over a pot of boiling water, a concerned expression on her face.

"Are the noodles supposed to stick together like that?" Finley asked, looking over at me.

"I think Caspian always puts oil in the water. Did you do that?" Other than dishwashing duty, I'd rarely done anything in the kitchen. Between Mama, Pop, and Caspian, there were home-cooked meals every night, as if by magic. Given the state of the current situation, I'd have to guess preparing dinner was harder than they made it seem.

"Oil? No, I haven't done that." Before I could stop her, she grabbed a bottle of uncapped olive oil and dumped at least a half cup into the boiling egg noodles.

"Do you think that's enough?" Finley asked.

"It's supposed to be more like a tablespoon. I think."

She made a face. "Oh, well, too late for that. Will it be ruined?"

"I don't rightly know."

"They're all kind of attached." Finley pointed at the steaming pot.

"Did you stir them?"

She raised her head, clearly perplexed. "You're supposed to stir them?"

"Have you never made noodles?"

She flushed red. "Not really. It's harder than I thought. Everything's happening at once."

I took hold of a wooden spoon and went to stand by her side. The noodles had glommed together into what looked like an alien brain in a horror movie. I pushed them apart as best I could, but instead of separating, they broke apart. By the time I'd finished, we had bits of noodles rather than ribbons. "They're not supposed to look like that," I said.

A saucepan on the other burner contained a beige-colored concoction. Glue? From the looks of it, glue was a distinct possibility. However, I knew she wouldn't be making glue for dinner, so it must be the stroganoff.

The timer on the oven beeped. Finley grabbed hold of the handles of the boiling pot with our noodle shards without mitts. She immediately yelped and dropped the pan, the contents of which scattered over the cooktop.

Without thinking, I turned on the water at the sink and grabbed her by the wrists, thrusting her hands under the cold stream.

"How bad is it?" I asked.

"Not too bad. It stings a little, but I'm okay."

She smelled really good, I thought, absently, although mostly concerned about her hands. "I'll get some ice." I hustled over to the pantry and grabbed a plastic bag, filled it with ice, and then led her over to the kitchen table. "Here, wrap both hands around this."

She did as I asked while I turned off the burners before we set something on fire. I sat next to her at the table and inspected each of her hands in turn. They seemed to be fine, if not a little pink, which could have been from the ice or a burn.

"I'm fine. Really," she said softly. "But thank you."

"You must never do that again." I would not soon forget the sound of her yelp.

"I don't know what I was thinking. This whole thing has me flustered. I'm no good at anything domestic. Sammie always makes it look so easy."

"Yeah, I know."

She unfolded from her chair and went to inspect both pots, with me right behind. It was difficult to decide which looked worse—the cloudy water with its lump of pasta or the glutinous sauce. I peered closely at the stroganoff. What were the brown chunks? It took me a moment to realize they were cubes of beef and not what I'd be picking up later from the grass after taking the dog out for a restroom break.

"I'm supposed to put the sauce and pasta together, but how can I when the noodles are clumped up like that? This is a total failure." Finley trudged back over to the table and sank into a chair, folding over to rest her forehead on the ice pack before returning her gaze to me. "I wanted to do something nice for you, and it's all ruined."

"You don't need to do anything nice for me," I said gruffly, touched. Miss Sunnyvale might talk a lot and be overly chipper, but she was sweet as could be. "Are your hands okay?"

"What? Oh, yes, they're fine." She held them up for me to see. "Between the cold water and ice, it's nothing but a little sting. Thank you for your quick thinking, by the way."

"That's good."

Shoulders slumped, she got up from the table and returned to the scene of the crime. Her eyes darted between pots. "Should I toss it all in the dumpster?"

"What? No. I'm going to try some, even if you don't. Caspian says some of the best dishes look a mess."

Her face lit up. "Really?"

I took the pasta pot from the burner and dumped the clump of egg noodles into the strainer Finley had set in the sink.

"He says food doesn't have to look like it should be in a magazine to taste good," I said.

I grabbed two pasta bowls from the cupboard and set them aside, then carved two chunks from the noodles that resembled a pasta loaf, if there was such a thing, before dousing them with a ladle full of the sauce.

"Come on, let's sit. You've done a ton of work, and we're going to enjoy it." I carried both bowls over to the table and was stuck with an idea. "We should have wine."

"To wash it down with?" Finley asked, sounding desolate, as she sat at the table and stared glumly at her dish.

"To enhance the flavors." I quickly located a bottle of merlot and opened it, pouring us each a small glass.

After I was seated across from her, I raised my glass. "Thank you for cooking. It was…nice to come home to a warm house and a hot meal. Especially after a long day at work."

We clinked glasses. I picked up my fork and took a sniff. "It smells great."

She tented her hands under her chin and watched me with hopeful eyes.

I dived in, taking a generous bite and chewing. Spicy. Really spicy. My eyes watered, then gushed, and I started to cough. I reached for my wine, wishing it were water, and took a drink. It did not help with the taste in my mouth, but at least my coughing stopped.

"What's happening?" Finley asked, her voice squeaking. "Why are you crying?"

I wiped my eyes with my napkin. "They're not tears. This is really spicy. Does it have chili powder in it?"

"No, just paprika. They said it was optional, but I noticed you like spice, so I put it in there."

"How much paprika?" I asked. Enough for an elephant?

"I did just what the recipe called for. One cup."

My mouth dropped open. "A cup? Are you sure?"

"I think so." She sounded suddenly skeptical as she bounded to her feet. "I'll look." I watched as she pulled the recipe up on her tablet. She gasped. One hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God. It's a teaspoon, not a cup. I got the sour cream and paprika mixed up. I put a teaspoon of sour cream and a cup of paprika. I'm such an idiot." She bowed her head, shoulders and back shaking.

I leaped to my feet and rushed over to her. "There's no reason to cry. It's not a big deal. We can run over to the kitchen, and Caspian will put together something quick for us. It's the thought that counts."

She looked up at me, wiping her eyes. It was only then that I realized she hadn't been crying but laughing. Thank goodness. "I should have known not to try something with so many ingredients," she said.

"How many are there?"

"Thirteen."

"That is a lot," I said. "You can't be blamed for a gratuitous number of components."

"Right?" She sighed. "But I am really hungry."

"You want to go into town?" I asked, surprising myself with the question. "We could go to the grill and get a burger or something."

"What about all this mess?" She swept her hand toward the disaster of a kitchen. "I can't leave it like this."

"Good point. How about I just run over to the restaurant and get us something," I suggested. "When I get back, I'll help you clean up."

"I'll get started while you're gone." Her bottom lip quivered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's the thought that counts."

"That's what people always say to epic fails."

"This isn't an epic fail, just a few wrong moves. Any requests from the restaurant?"

"Surprise me. I like anything. Except for this." She pointed at her plate.

I headed for my jacket, stopping only to scratch the dog's ears before heading out into the cool evening. Darkness had fallen since I'd been inside, but lanterns placed along the paths provided enough light to see clearly. Walking in the crisp air cleared my head but did nothing for the bitter taste in my mouth. Not that I cared. I'd meant it when I'd said it was the thought that counted. What a sweet gesture, albeit poorly executed, I thought, chuckling to myself.

I returned to the house with two of Caspian's Kobe beef burgers and truffle fries on the side. When I walked into the kitchen, I was amazed to see that it was nearly back to normal. Finley was at the sink, scrubbing up the last of the pans. The dishwasher had been loaded and the counters had been wiped.

"You work fast," I said.

"I happen to be very good at cleaning things up. Not cooking."

"I brought burgers." I held up the to-go bag that wafted good scents into the air.

"That sounds amazing. I'm starving. I was so busy today that I forgot to have lunch."

We returned to the now-clean table and tucked into our food. Between bites, she told me how she'd gone to the store after Arabella's visit and bought a few things for the house. "Staples, like milk and bread." Her eyes twinkled as she reached for a fry. "We could starve in this house."

"I know. Since Sammie moved out, it's been lean around here. She kept us in groceries and cooked for us almost every night. It was great." I pushed away slightly from the table and poured us each another glass of wine. "Not that I expect you to do that," I said hastily.

"Oh, I know. It was fun to play in the kitchen today, even though it turned out awful. I promise not to poison you every night."

"It wasn't poison, just a very bad taste. That lasted a long time."

She laughed, flushing red. "I'm so sorry. Here I was trying to show my appreciation, and I caused you to nearly choke to death."

"On my own tears," I said, teasing.

"Before my parents died, my mother used to tell us we should learn to cook, but I was too busy with school…and my sister, well, who knows what she was doing. Nothing wholesome, I can assure you."

"May I ask what happened to your parents?"

"Car accident. They hit an icy patch on the motorway and were killed instantly. We'd just turned eighteen when it happened."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. It's devastating to lose a parent, as you know."

"I don't remember much about my real father. From all accounts, he was a real peach."

"Yes, I've heard some of the stories," Finley said. "That must be hard."

"Jasper's my father, and he's the greatest, so no, I'm fine. I feel sorry Mama had to go through that. Atticus and Caspian got the brunt of it, not us younger boys." I peered at her from across the table. In the soft glow of the pendant lights, she looked almost angelic. A man would have to be blind not to see how pretty she was, but the more I got to know her, the lovelier she appeared.

Finley ate one last fry and then pushed her chair away. "Can we agree never to speak of this to anyone?"

I laughed. "I don't know. I may keep it as leverage in case I need it."

"What would you need leverage for?" Her eyes widened, and she looked a little frightened.

"I'm only teasing."

"Oh, okay." She flushed and looked down at her lap. "I can't tell when you're joking or serious."

"I've heard that from others."

"Other women?" She stood and gathered both of our plates to take to the sink.

"A few, now and then. Not in a long time. I haven't dated much."

"How come? You're a catch. I'm surprised you haven't been snatched up."

"There aren't enough women here to do any snatching."

"Have you had any long-term relationships?" Finley asked. "Is that too personal to ask?"

"We're roommates now. Isn't this what we're supposed to do? Sit around drinking wine, sharing our secrets?"

She narrowed her eyes. "See, right there—I can't tell if you're being funny or mean."

"If you can't tell, then I really need to work on my delivery." I grinned and crossed my eyes, a move that had always caused Thad to double over in laughter. Of course we'd been six and seven then, so it may not work with a grown woman.

She laughed, though, warming my entire body with its honey tone.

"To answer your question, no, I haven't been in a long-term relationship. You?" I asked.

Her expression darkened. "I had one. He didn't stick around after I got arrested. Everyone thought I did it, even my close friends. No one has ever been able to tell my sister and me apart except my parents. And even they would get confused sometimes."

I fiddled with a hole near the knee of my jeans. "That must have been rough. Knowing you were innocent and no one believing you."

"There were some dark days, believe me."

I waited, hoping she would say more. Strange, since this was Finley, and she normally had a lot to say about everything.

After a few seconds, she nodded. "As trite as this sounds, the only way to survive was to take it one day at a time. Whenever I thought of the number of years to my sentence instead of just dealing with whatever the day brought, I got really low."

"God, Finley. That's awful."

"I've always liked to be busy, so the boredom was the hardest part. There was a library, thank goodness. I read a lot. We all had jobs, and I was assigned to the laundry room. Having a job which required routine and using my hands helped to pass the time. I made friends with a few of the women I worked with. After a few months, they asked me to tutor some of the women taking various academic courses. There weren't that many women with higher educations in there. Most of them never had a chance in life. Not everyone believes this, but in my opinion, poverty helps to create criminals. Some get out and find a way to improve their lives, but many don't."

"It's the same here in America. It's hard to break the cycle of poverty."

She didn't say anything for a moment, her gaze directed downward. "The hardest part was staying under the radar of the dangerous inmates—and the lack of care by the guards." She smiled brightly, but I could see that it was hard for her to speak of that time. "I had my own cell, but I had trouble with a few bullies. Just like in school, factions develop. It's important to align yourself with those who can protect you. Especially if you're someone like me. I was like a baby lamb ready for slaughter."

That wasn't hard to imagine. Petite, pretty Finley behind bars with a bunch of real prisoners was not something I'd like to contemplate for long. "Were you hurt often?"

"Yeah. I was beaten up bad enough one time that I ended up in the infirmary." Her voice caught. She pressed her lips together, clearly trying to keep herself from crying.

"You're here now. Safe."

"Right. I was only in a year before my name was cleared. A lot of the women at Copperfield aren't so lucky—that's the women's prison I was assigned to. It's a rough place. A woman in the cell down from me gave birth in the middle of the night and no one would come, even though she and others rang for help, including me. She and the baby died. The guards blamed a faulty system."

"You don't believe that?"

"No way. The way the inmates are treated should be criminal in itself."

"I'd lose my mind pretty fast if I were imprisoned and restricted from going outside except for a few minutes a day."

"It's funny about that," she said. "We're always stronger than we think we are. I didn't think I'd make it more than a few months before someone killed me or I gave up completely."

"Meaning?"

"There were many times I thought about ending my life. In the end, though, hope always won. I kept praying and wishing for exoneration, and one day it came."

She went on to explain that a lawyer who took on cases pro bono for those he considered falsely accused had believed in her innocence. He'd found a woman who could give Finley an alibi.

"Why wasn't she found during the first trial?" I asked.

"The nice way to say it? My first attorney was a public defender with too many cases to do anyone justice. He simply didn't have enough resources to help me as he should have. During my less generous moments, I would say he was simply lazy and coldhearted."

"Mama always says there are more good people than bad," I said. "At times, it's hard to believe that's true."

"She's right, though. Someone with a pure heart came to my rescue," Finley said. "I wish I could say I'd done something to pay it forward, but so far, I've just been surviving and healing."

"You suffered a major trauma. Expecting much more of yourself is unrealistic. You've done very well considering everything you went through."

She stared at me, blinking as if she'd never seen me before. Clearly I'd surprised her.

"That's a very thoughtful thing to say. Thank you." Her mouth puckered into a prim smile. "I've had quite a bit of therapy."

"Do you think you'll ever see your sister again?"

She took her time before answering. "I would be surprised if we ever cross paths again. I purposely moved halfway around the world to stay away from her. At this point, I have no idea what she's doing or with whom, but I suspect she's on the run and will be for the rest of her life. Unless they catch her, of course."

"Doing that to my brothers is incomprehensible. Although so is robbing a bank."

"Or pointing a gun at another human," Finley said, shuddering. "Even now, after I know for sure what she did, it's hard to imagine my twin doing such a thing. I blame the drugs and the boyfriend, but I don't know. Maybe she always had it in her."

"Hard to say," I said.

"Do you mind if we talk about something else?"

"Sure."

"I had an idea I wanted to run past you." She went on to tell me about her conversation with Mrs. Galloway, including how much help she needed. "So, I thought maybe we could host a fundraiser at the festival. People could buy raffle tickets to win a prize, and all the money could go to her. She needs a new roof and other house repairs. If she could fix up her house, she wants to sell and move closer to her kids."

A lump developed in the back of my throat. It occurred to me that the world needed people like Finley, willing to help others simply out of the kindness of their hearts.

"I love the idea," I said. "My brothers will too."

She clapped her hands together. "I'm so glad. I'll put everything together so you and Thad don't have to do a thing. We need a really good prize, though."

"I'm sure we can come up with something." Before I knew what I was doing, I squeezed her shoulder, then snatched my hand away as if she'd been hot. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I don't mind." She looked straight into my eyes, causing all kinds of strange sensations in my belly and other places.

Fortunately for me, the dog wandered into the kitchen, or who knows what I might have done to further embarrass myself.