14. Kindness

Chapter 14

Kindness

O akleigh leaned an elbow on the kitchen island as she sipped her morning coffee. Nugget had started the day early, causing the windows to rattle with his thunderous call for dawn. The dark circles around Oakleigh’s eyes betrayed her defiance on the matter of her newest favorite pet.

The frigid winters always felt a little isolating on the ranch. Their efforts outside consisted mainly of keeping the fenceline secure and their body temperature above freezing. Their lack of preparation for the early cold snap made it feel like the work around the ranch was stacking up at a pace they could barely maintain.

On top of it all, while Maeve poured herself a mug of coffee, she gently brought up one obligation that had nearly slipped Oakleigh’s mind.

“You know I don’t mind making cinnamon rolls—” Maeve nudged.

“I’ll do it,” Oakleigh sighed, running her fingers down her chin. She had gladly taken over operations of the shop, and the last thing she wanted was for Maeve to feel the need to pick up her slack.

“There’s something else I’d like you to take off my plate,” Maeve cleared her throat. She swirled her coffee around in her cup as though she were considering if the request she was about to make was a fair one. “Or someone, I should say.”

“Not going to happen,” Oakleigh fired back. “No way.” Her mother had not come down the stairs that day, and the house felt wonderfully peaceful again in her absence.

Maeve gave her a silent look that conveyed the matter wasn’t actually up for debate.

“Fine,” Oakleigh conceded, her words accompanied by a deep eye roll.

“Just please keep your cool,” Maeve replied. “Kill her—”

“Is that permission?” Oakleigh cut in, smirking as she drank down her last swallow of coffee.

“With kindness, Oakleigh,” Maeve emphasized. “Kill her with kindness .” Her amusement traveled to her eyes despite her attempt to hide it behind a long drink from her mug.

Oakleigh had something else on her mind as she bit her lip nervously. “How’s the church coming along?”

Maeve shrugged. “If the roads clear up, they’ll finish the final touches.”

“You think it’ll be done in time?” Oakleigh asked, her tone going high despite her efforts to remain casual.

“In time for what?” Maeve asked. Adjusting her posture, she raised a curious eyebrow .

“Oh, um—” Oakleigh corrected. “Nothing.” That morning, she had checked her latest update on the church. To her surprise, it had not only gone viral but was still trending. She couldn’t imagine anyone being foolish enough to show up in the middle of the harsh Montana winter.

Right?

“You and Dallas are supposed to be away and enjoying your time together,” Oakleigh pivoted. “Not worried about ranch work, and you know who .”

“Everything works out how it’s supposed to,” Maeve replied, taking a long sip of her coffee. “Really though, Oakleigh. Be nice to your mom.”

Oakleigh could hardly stand it anymore, flinging up her hand in frustration. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what, now?” Maeve asked distractedly while she went to the stove to top off her mug.

“She’s terrible, Maeve,” Oakeigh said, as though she were informing her of something she hadn’t already known. “Sometimes, I think you enable it.”

Maeve swirled the fresh hot coffee in her cup, considering Oakleigh’s statement. “Did I enable you?”

“I was different,” Oakleigh countered. “Unless, of course, there’s something you’re not telling me.” Maeve had always been noticeably reticent regarding the details of her life before she arrived at Callaway Ranch.

“I’ve told you everything that’s mine to tell,” Maeve stated .

“So, you’re saying there is more.” Oakleigh leaned her elbow on the marble countertop at the prospect of a juicy story.

“I’m saying,” Maeve interjected. “Sometimes the way people treat you isn’t about you at all — and a little compassion goes a long way.”

Oakleigh’s expression tightened, her past hurts rising to the surface. “I’m sorry if I don’t react well to disrespect,” she said, her voice running cold.

“Most people don’t,” Maeve offered an empathetic smile, entirely unphased by Oakleigh’s outburst. “But I’ve never cared to be like most people.” She took a long drink of her coffee, her expression growing thoughtful. “I’m free to love others despite how they behave.”

Oakleigh wanted to press the issue further but stopped short. She knew Maeve was right, whether or not she felt like admitting it. She breathed a long sigh, resigning herself to the fate of her day. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

Maeve raised her mug. “I’ve always found that a good conversation always begins with —”

“A great cup of coffee,” Oakleigh chuckled, unable to stifle her eye roll. “Yes — so I’ve heard.”

Oakleigh balanced two cups of coffee in her hands. Making her way up the stairs, she attempted to avoid sloshing any on the new floors .

“What am I even doing?” Oakleigh muttered to herself.

Maeve’s words from their morning coffee talk were etched in her mind as she went down the hall. Arriving at the guest room, she cradled the mugs carefully before knocking on the solid oak door. A moment went by with no answer.

Oakleigh steadied her nerves and knocked again.

Harper’s groggy voice came muffled through the door. “I’m sleeping,” she huffed.

Adjusting her grip on the mugs, Oakleigh felt sizzling hot coffee splash over the rim and onto her knuckles. “Mom, I have coffee — and it’s burning me,” she exclaimed. “Can you just let me in?”

“Do whatever you want, Oakleigh,” Harper replied, sounding equal parts tired and annoyed. “You always do.”

Taking the snarky comment as an invitation, Oakleigh twisted the knob and cracked open the door. The room was dark, with the window shades pulled tight, blocking the bright morning sunlight. The somber, miserable vibe reminded Oakleigh of her early days at the ranch, yet the mood was weightier than anything she had ever experienced.

“Hey, Mom,” Oakleigh’s tone swung high as though she were speaking to a child. “Here’s your coffee.”

Her mother’s blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she was clutching her pillow tightly to her chest. “Leave it on the nightstand,” Harper muttered. “And go feed pigs or whatever you do around here. ”

Oakleigh glanced down at her feet, wondering if the right words even existed. “Actually, I’m headed to the shop,” she revealed, attempting to sound cheerful. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Why don’t you ask Maeve to go,” Harper bit back. “That’s her whole thing, right?” She sat up in bed gingerly, propping herself up with her palm. Her injuries were evidently still smarting from the fall on the ice. She grabbed the handle of the coffee mug and took a long drink.

Now that her eyes were adjusting to the darkness of the room, Oakleigh noticed her mother’s broken nails, painfully ripped off to the quick.

“Your nails,” Oakleigh breathed out.

Harper leaned her head back on the headboard. “Don’t ever look at me like that,” she snapped. “Like I’m some pitiful little thing.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Oakleigh said, fumbling for the right words. “It’s just that — it looks painful.”

Harper shrugged. “It was those stupid bags you made me carry.”

The details were always slightly different from Harper’s perspective.

Oakleigh reminded herself that she wasn’t there to argue. In another chapter of life, she would have gone to war over the petty details. She hated to admit that it was a built-in tenacity she had inherited from her mother.

Oakleigh decided to pivot into what she deemed was the safest topic. “There aren’t any nail places in town,” she rambled. “It’s not for lack of trying, though, trust me.”

“For the love of—” Harper rolled her eyes. “Oakleigh, get to the point.”

Oakleigh took a deep breath, stuffing down the anxiety bubbling up from her mother’s impatience.

“Can I fix your nails?” The simple offer made her feel exposed, and she braced herself for it to be cruelly flung back in her face.

To her surprise, Harper relented. “If you’d like.”

Harper was clearly surrendering for the sake of annoyance, but Oakleigh embraced every smidge of an opportunity as an answered prayer. Going to her bedroom, she returned with a manicure kit and a little something extra she thought her mother would appreciate. Setting the items on the bathroom counter, she assessed her workspace.

“Do you mind if I let some light in?” Oakleigh asked, already heading to the window. “Just a crack.” She didn’t wait for an answer as she pulled the curtains back, letting the subdued winter sun pour into the room.

Harper winced as the light hit her eyes. “I thought you said a crack.”

Retrieving her kit, Oakleigh sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled out a little bowl and filled it with pungent acetone. Taking Harper’s hand, she placed what remained of her battered sparkling pink acrylics into the bowl .

“What are you doing?” Harper snapped, yanking her hand back. She glared at Oakleigh while examining her nails to see if her entire set had been ruined.

Oakleigh had been conditioned over the years to know her mother hated being touched. She braced herself for yet another outburst as she reached over and took her hand again.

“If you’re going to be here for a while,” she gently broke the news, “You’re going to have to get rid of these.” Oakleigh had learned the hard way, ripping off more than one nail over her years at the ranch.

To her relief, Harper didn’t react as she turned over her palm. It was then that Oakleigh noticed the superglued gashes on her mother’s fingers.

“Mom, what happened here?” she asked. It felt odd to feel concerned for her mother, something she hadn’t experienced for as long as she could remember.

“I — well,” Harper stammered. “I had a little accident. It’s nothing.”

“Did Dad — ?” Oakleigh’s voice trailed off as her eyes narrowed. “Was this one of your fights?”

Harper cleared her throat. “Oh, stop being so dramatic, Oakleigh,” she replied. “He wasn’t even there when it happened.”

Oakleigh knew there was more to the story.

There always was.

She also knew that if she pried too far, her mother’s walls would fortify .

“We’ll have matching scars, I suppose,” she remarked, presenting her own hands marred with the constant reminder of her broken relationship with her sister. “Maeve’s got some, too — they’re on her knuckles, though.”

For some reason, it felt important for her to remind Harper she wasn’t alone.

“Just ruining your body with this ranch work, I see,” Harper scoffed. “Let’s get on with this already, Oakleigh.”

Mentioning Maeve had been a mistake. Their broken relationship ran deeper than Oakleigh felt like she would ever understand.

Knowing that any opportunity for meaningful conversation was closed, she went to work on her mother’s nails. She soaked them until the glue under her acrylics softened. Quietly rifling through the limitedpolish colors, she chose a pink shade she thought her mother would like. Brushing a thin coat on each nail, Oakleigh couldn’t remember when she had held her mother’s hand for that long, even as a child.

Twisting the cap back on the bottle, she examined her work with a dash of pride. A part of her hoped that her mom would show even the slightest bit of satisfaction with her work.

“What do you think?” Oakleigh ventured to ask.

Harper’s nose crinkled.

“Hideous color,” she flippantly remarked. “But I suppose it’s better than nothing. ”

Oakleigh felt each sharp word pierce her armor. She steadied her voice as she zipped up her cosmetic bag. “If you’d like to join me at the shop, I’ll be leaving in an hour.”

Without another word, Oakleigh swept out of the room. Arriving in the safety of the hallway, she leaned her head on the doorframe and closed her eyes.

You did the right thing, Oaks. That’s what matters.