Читать книгу Rodeo Family - Mary Sullivan - Страница 13
ОглавлениеZach stood in his stable and let the cool, soothing darkness wash the heat of embarrassment from his cheeks. He’d made a fool of himself lunging at Nadine to make her sit for those damned boots.
Smooth, Zach.
His campaign hadn’t started well. He was better than this. Experienced with women. Not awkward and—lunge-y? Damn it, Brandt, you screwed up already.
He should have known she’d bring her own boots. She might be fashionable and perfectly turned out every day, but she was smart. She wouldn’t walk his fields in high heels.
How long would it take her to follow him in? He grinned. On the one hand, she’d pestered him for an interview about his painting, clearly motivated to be here. On the other hand, he knew she was proud. She might drive off in an indignant huff. He wouldn’t blame her. He liked that feisty part of Nadine and wanted to see her riled—anything other than the neutral, blank expression she wore too often since coming home.
He also admired her boundless curiosity, except when she applied it to him. He didn’t want to do this interview. He wasn’t comfortable talking about himself. Never had been.
He wasn’t verbal. His paintings said all there was to say about him.
So why had he given in to her? To get her out on his ranch once more. Zach Brandt, you are so pathetic.
Again, he grinned. Pathetic, yeah, but also smart like a fox. If he had to submit to being interviewed, so be it. He hadn’t pursued her back in high school because he’d known she had ambitions and would leave town for good eventually. For some reason, she’d come back home. She was free. As far as he knew, and he’d asked around, she had no significant other in her life. He was available since his divorce three years ago.
But what would this new adult Nadine think of his ranch? Would she like it any better than she had when she was younger?
There was no point in asking a woman out on a date if she hated what you did for a living.
Where was she?
She had her pride, and he wasn’t going back outside to get her. Her curiosity would get the better of her. Any minute now, she would give in and come to get him.
By the time he’d greeted all of his horses with nose rubs and baby carrots from his shirt pocket, she still hadn’t shown up. She was tougher than he’d thought. Still biding his time, he stepped into the back room that was his studio in the summer months.
Spotless, the room welcomed him like a long-lost buddy, the smell of paint as familiar here as hay, manure, dust motes and horses.
He stared at the canvas sitting on the easel, an unfinished landscape that had been giving him fits. It was a study of his mountain at sunset, and he hadn’t yet gotten the red right where the light reflected on the tip. He mixed too bright or too dull, too orange or too blue.
An old enemy—frustration in his lack of ability—ate at him. Buyers might praise his talent, but he knew better. He knew how far he missed the mark of perfection. He knew how arrogant he was to even try to reproduce what Mother Nature had already presented with such unadulterated splendor.
Still, he strove to interpret and produce his love of the land. He couldn’t stop painting if he tried. The canvas, the paint, called to him.
There had to be a way to mix that particular red. Maybe if he tried adding a little...
With the flash of an idea that just might work, he picked up his palette and mixed. Close. Closer. When he applied brush and paint to canvas, he lost track of time. He lost himself.
Burdens, worries, conflicts fell away. All was peace.
* * *
NADINE WALKED TO the barn with slow steps, the too-large boot hitting the ground with a thunk every time. Funny how much guilt weighed. Tons.
Find out that family’s secrets.
The inside of the barn was empty save for a few horses. Maybe Zach had fooled her and left by a back door. But why would he? He’d agreed to the interview. She hadn’t forced it on him.
Where had he gone?
A faint sound reached her from the back of the building. She followed it to an ancient wooden door standing ajar with sunlight streaming through the gap. She peeked inside.
Zach stood in front of an easel, painting. He’d forgotten about her! Nadine didn’t have a huge ego, but people didn’t tend to forget her. Her looks alone had garnered all kinds of attention in the city. Well, her new, refined looks had.
It had taken a massive makeover to even be considered by a TV station. And finally, one had hired her. She had mattered then, to her bosses and to her audience.
Apparently, she didn’t mean much to Zach. Or perhaps, to be realistic, his painting mattered more.
Why should she be important to him? She was just a girl he’d gone to school with. Not even that. Two years younger than him, she hadn’t shared classes with him. He probably hadn’t even noticed her back then.
He painted with his whole body. Considering he held himself still except for the brush in his hand stroking red paint onto a mountaintop, she wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Understanding came quickly. Zach’s passion for painting was so deeply ingrained, his brush was being wielded by his soul.
Was there anything in Nadine’s life to compare?
Yes. Her writing. When she was involved in a story, she forgot everything else around her. Now, because of her boss, that process had been tainted. Lee had turned it into a distasteful job.
A ray of sunshine poured from a small high window onto Zach’s head like a benediction. Like the hand of God. And here she was, an instrument of either a very unkind god, or the devil, to destroy him.
Hyperbole, Nadine. Yeah, but knowing the little bit she did about the man and his character, this story might very well destroy him. What secrets could there be in his family’s past?
Lee had intimated that there was a huge, ugly, significant secret. Nadine couldn’t imagine that and had told him so.
Oh, yes, Lee had countered, secrets abounded on this ranch, but the townspeople had never gotten the full story. That was her job. The Brandts were, and always had been, respected in Rodeo. They were known throughout the state. Hadn’t Zach’s grandfather run for governor at one point? She had a lot of research ahead of her. And a lot of dirty delving.
Nadine watched Zach while he painted and found it magical.
Even in high school, she’d sensed he was a person of great integrity. As far as she knew, Zach had lived a good, blameless life in his first thirty-one years. Whatever Lee thought had happened in this family must be big, or he wouldn’t be so fixated on her getting the info. Which meant that when it got out, it could very well damage this family.
Nadine had to bring down an honest man.
* * *
ARISING OUT OF a misty internal landscape, Zach became aware of his surroundings...and of the paintbrush in his hand he’d barely realized he’d picked up. That’s how it was with his painting, captivating him in unguarded moments.
His skin prickled. Someone was watching him. He glanced to his right.
Standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, stood Nadine. He’d forgotten about her, not an easy feat considering her vibrant beauty and strong personality. Or what used to be a strong personality. Something had happened to her in the city. Something had dampened her enthusiasm.
Zach wanted to know what that was.
One rubber-booted foot rested across the other, out of harmony with the deep green dress wrapped across her flat stomach and tied in a discreet bow at the side, that small flare the only spot of decoration on the garment.
The finely tailored dress outlined her figure without showing too much, tasteful while still displaying trim assets. She must lift weights or work out, he guessed, because her biceps looked strong. So did her calves. But then, he’d already felt how fit her legs were when he’d put the boots on her feet.
Inside of those boots, he knew, were pink toenails to nearly match her pink fingernails. A connoisseur of color, he’d already noted that they were two different shades of pink. As though her body were a canvas, Nadine took the time to choose different colors for her feet and hands.
His gaze caressed high cheekbones and a strong jaw. How difficult would her face be to paint? Being easy on the eye didn’t always translate onto the canvas.
The green of the dress did amazing things to her green eyes. Shadows hovered in those eyes. She had been private back in high school, but now she was downright shuttered. Locked up tight.
Nadine had been hiding inside of herself since coming home. How he knew that when he’d barely had contact with her in that time was hard to say, but he observed, constantly, everyone and everything around him. He would love to breach her defenses to learn the woman beneath her sophisticated exterior. With an artist’s sensibilities, he knew her beauty was more than skin-deep, but why did she hide what was inside of her?
What drove her extreme need for privacy?
She watched him steadily but without anger at being abandoned, as far as he could tell.
“How long?” he asked.
She understood him right away, glancing at her watch, a tiny bit of filigreed gold on her left wrist. Could it even be called a watch?
“Forty minutes.”
Forty minutes!
Zach wasn’t prone to blushing, but heat traveled up his chest and into his cheeks for the second time that morning. He hadn’t meant to be rude. Well, not this rude. Nor did he like people watching him while he painted.
The act of painting was a deeply private enterprise for him. He made only the finished product available for public consumption. But he had, in effect, invited her to look for him back here by abandoning her in the yard and expecting her to follow him to the stable.
Then he’d forgotten himself enough to start to paint. What would she write about it?
Funny, the guy seemed to go into a trance while he left me waiting to interview him. Rudeness must be Zachary Brandt’s middle name.
Would Nadine say things like that about him? Maybe. Maybe not. He might think he knew her, but what he knew was an old version of her. That Nadine might well be obsolete by now.
She didn’t look put out. She looked curious, avidly drinking in the details of the room. She stepped forward and studied the work in progress while Zach held his breath.
Though his paintings might be so personal that he didn’t care what people thought of them, Nadine’s opinion mattered.
“It’s magnificent,” she said, and he believed she meant it. She wasn’t just buttering him up to get a better article out of him.
The warm feelings flooding his veins disconcerted him. He stood abruptly. “Let’s go,” he said and left his studio, judging that she’d follow him this time.
In the larger room with the horses, he asked, “Do you ride?”
“Yes. Why?”
“We could ride out on the land while we talk.”
“You mean, while you talk and I listen. This is an interview, Zack, not a conversation.”
He glanced at her dress. “I guess we won’t be riding today unless you want to borrow some of my clothes.”
“They wouldn’t fit.”
“Why did you come out to a ranch dressed like that?”
“Because I’m here as a professional.”
“Wouldn’t a professional dress appropriately for the situation?”
By the displeasure on her face, he knew his barb had hit home.
“You wanted to avoid getting out on the land, didn’t you? Why?”
* * *
ZACH SCARED NADINE.
No, that wasn’t quite right. He intimidated her. He saw too much. His question was fair.
He had hit the nail on the head, exposing and smashing the arguments she’d used for why she hadn’t worn pants and a simple shirt today. A pro would dress for the situation and the terrain. She had tried to keep control of the interview by not wearing practical clothing.
She’d thought she could get away with photographing him and interviewing him only in his studio by wearing a dress. The boots she’d thrown into the trunk had been an afterthought.
That’s not all, Nadine. As much as she knew her readers would love to know more about Zach, she didn’t want to get anywhere near him. She’d worn her professional outfit as a shield.
The resounding answer to his question was—drumroll, please—that she wanted Zach to see her only one way: as a professional and not as a woman.
Given what she was about to put him through in the course of writing this article, she didn’t welcome her attraction to him. She wouldn’t welcome his attraction to her. If there was any. She thought there used to be, but that was a long time ago, in a different life.
In New York City, she’d learned a lot about makeup and good clothing and putting her best foot forward. Plenty of men had found her attractive. The men of New York liked this version of her.
But Zach...it was like he saw through her and that unsettled her, even as she reasoned that there was nothing to see through. In New York, she had simply learned to be a far, far better version of herself. Her thoughts, her emotions, her justifications for any and all decisions in her life were hers and hers alone. They were none of his business.
Still, he waited with that unnerving stare.
Let’s keep things light and on the surface, she thought.
On the other hand, wasn’t she here to get to know him better? Wasn’t the point of her interview to find out as much as she could about the man?
Zach had never been the kind of person to give much of himself away. Even in high school, he’d been intensely private. And though they’d grown up in the same town, and they both lived here now, he remained a mystery.
Who was Zach Brandt?
Oh, well, what she couldn’t get from him, she would get from others. She would talk to his buddies in town. She would interview his father.
Nadine always got her story.
“Okay, we can’t ride today,” Zach said, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t answered his question about going out on the land. “We’ll go for a walk.”
He obviously assumed she would do anything he wanted.
“You didn’t dress for riding,” he continued, “but you will the next time you come out.”
The next time? Yes, of course, there would be a next time. She couldn’t get everything she needed in one visit. If only she could and then never have to face Zach again.
Detach, Nadine. Detach.
While maintaining objectivity might be a normal part of journalism, it had never felt more important than today. She built her barriers brick by brick.
“Do you ride well?” he asked.
“Not well, but I can ride enough to see some of the land.”
“Okay, one of the things we’ll do in this whole interview process is to get out there together on horseback.”
“Do we have to? Why can’t we just talk?”
A corner of Zach’s mouth kicked up. “Do I seem like much of a talker to you?”
A laugh burst out of her. “No.”
“Exactly.”
She liked this self-aware joking side of the man.
One by one, Zach led his horses out of the stable and into a corral along the side of the building. Nadine followed him out of the barn to watch them prance in the sun. Thank goodness it wasn’t raining. She felt more comfortable with Zach in the outdoors than in a confined space like the stable, and especially that small studio, even if it was best to do the interview there and concentrate only on his artwork. The man was too big and too warm.
He stood with the easy, loose-hipped grace of a man comfortable in his own body. And what a body it was—lean but strong, and muscled in all the right places. His dark hair curled over his collar. It had fallen forward across his forehead while he painted.
She’d caught a rare glimpse of an unguarded moment. He’d been focused and contained and lost somewhere deep inside. Still waters had never run so deeply.
She opened the bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out her small voice recorder. “I have to warn you that I’m going to record the interview.”
He frowned at the device, eyes piercing.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Did he think she had a perfect memory? All journalists used some kind of recording method.
He kept staring at it.
“I can’t remember everything and it’s hard to take notes out here. May I record or not?” What an odd thing for him to object to. Maybe he didn’t like the actual formality of an interview. Maybe he was more comfortable just talking. Some subjects were like that.
He took his time, but eventually Zach shrugged and said, “Okay.”
She pressed Record. “When did you first realize you wanted to paint? And how did you get started?”
He turned to stare at his horses and settled the black cowboy hat in his hand onto his head. “I can’t remember how old I was when I first started to draw. I assume I was very young or I would remember. Maybe my father can tell you more about that.”
“I’ll ask him.” She waited, but he said nothing more. “And how did you start?” she prompted.
“I assume with crayons.” A hint of sarcasm colored his tone.
“Don’t you know? What did your parents tell you?”
“Nothing. I’ve never asked. I don’t know how my artistic drive started because it has just always been part of me.”
“It sounds like I’ll get more information out of your father than out of you.”
He smiled. “In that area, yeah.” He pushed away from the fence. “Let’s walk.”
Nadine hitched her bag higher onto her shoulder.
Zach took it from her and said, “We can come back for this.”
“But—”
“Isn’t the tape recorder enough?”
She studied it. Why did she need anything else right now? “Yes. I guess it is.”
Zach hung her bag from a fencepost and started to amble along the side of the corral.
Her wistful glance lingered on her bag. She didn’t need it at the moment, but this interview seemed to be moving out of her control. But that wasn’t Zach’s fault, really, was it? Lee had done that to her. He’d rattled her.
Struggling to regain some semblance of her identity as a reporter, she asked, “What motivates you, Zach?”
He swept his arm wide. “This is it—all the motivation I need.”
They rounded the back of the stable and started into a field. Nadine pointed to the low mountain in the distance. “I recognize that. That’s what you were working on in the studio.”
He nodded. “My favorite part of the ranch. The view from the top is spectacular. We’ll head up there at some point. You need to see it to understand my paintings.”
She stumbled and he caught her elbow. “Okay?”
When she was steady, she shied away from his firm touch. “I blame the mismatched boots.”
He frowned. “Do you want to go back for yours?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. What do you see when you look at your land?”
“I imagine the same thing you do. Maybe my brain interprets it differently, that’s all.”
She stopped. “You aren’t giving me much.”
He held up his hands, palms out. “What do you want me to say? I see the land. I paint it. It’s that simple.”
Nadine struggled to rein in her frustration. Maybe she wasn’t asking the right questions. “But where does the depth come from?”
“From a love of the land.”
If he didn’t give her more than one-sentence answers and circular explanations, she wasn’t going to end up with much of an article. She glanced around.
“Tell me,” he said. “What do you see?”
“A pretty landscape, but what I see doesn’t matter, does it? This article will be about you. How does the vision for your paintings develop?”
“It doesn’t develop. It just is.”
“Do you mean you see the world differently than other people do?”
“Differently than you do, that’s for certain,” he said under his breath. “When I’m out on my own, I’m aware of every little thing. I can’t be articulate and poetic about the land. Words aren’t my forte. Painting is. So how can I describe the process to you when there isn’t one, when what you see on my canvasses is the answer to all of your questions?”
She frowned. At least he was talking more. “I can’t write an article on so flimsy an account. I can’t just publish photographs of your work.”
“Why not?”
“Because the public wants to know who you are, the man behind the paintings.”
“Everyone in Rodeo already knows who I am.”
“The Rodeo Wrangler’s readership spreads through the entire county. You know that.”
“They don’t need me to explain my paintings to them.”
“That’s my job. I can explain that to them.”
“I doubt it. You don’t know me from Adam.”
She choked out a sound of frustration. “That’s why I’m here today. To get to know you better.”
He didn’t respond.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell you what I saw while you were painting.” She sensed Zach becoming still beside her, but she pushed on. “I saw such intensity. You don’t seem like an emotional man, but I sensed an emotional connection to the land.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“But it’s also a spiritual connection, I think. You looked...at peace, Zach.”
If she sounded a little envious, it was because she felt that way. How did a person find that connection to the world? How did a person find where they belonged?
In New York City, Nadine. Remember?
Nope. Not anymore. She brushed aside the sadness that thought brought on, ruthless in her need to deny and forget.
Her stomach rumbled. She had a bad habit of skipping breakfast before heading out to interview or write an article. This morning had been no different.
Zach heard and steered them back toward the house. “Sorry about the painting. I took so long we’re going to miss some of today’s interview time. Dad will have lunch ready by now.”
“But I need more, Zach.”
“I understand. You’ll get more. You’re coming back tomorrow to ride, remember?”
He grinned and she swore her heartbeat stuttered.
But she wanted this all settled quickly. As much as she wanted to avoid Lee’s angle, she couldn’t. Only when it was written and published could she move forward. One more life destroyed. But it was the price she had to pay if she wanted her life back. Wasn’t it?
Oh, God.
Her fingers tingled with the need to learn the awful secret and type up everything, finish the article and then crawl into bed to hide from the fallout that was sure to follow. How had her life become so screwed up?
They entered the house together. Zach toed off his cowboy boots while Nadine left the rubber boots he’d given her neatly on a mat.
“Lunch is ready,” his father called from the back of the house.
Zach led her to the kitchen where the two boys already waited at a large wooden table. Three other places had been set. Zach pulled out a chair for her and she sat.
While Zach and Rick served canned tomato soup and basic grilled cheese sandwiches, Nadine thought back to some of the amazing sandwiches she’d had in New York City with all of its different restaurants and cuisines. This didn’t begin to compare.
Zach sat down and met her eye. Had he guessed what she was thinking? She should be careful that she didn’t let that kind of attitude bleed through. Why should she compare the two? Rodeo, Montana, was valid in its own right. She’d been raised on canned soup and white bread sandwiches, even if her tastes had changed.
Fortunately these days, she could indulge her new tastes at the Summertime Diner. Violet Summer did an amazing job of elevating old classics.
Who knew? Someday Nadine might be working for Vy. If Nadine couldn’t get the information Lee wanted, she could kiss her career goodbye, a thought that pained her deep in her soul. She probably would end up working as a waitress for Vy.
Not that there was anything wrong with the job, but it wouldn’t fill her passion for reporting, interviewing and writing, would it?
She wasn’t meant to do anything other than report on people, places and things. Journalism had saved her life. It had made her adolescence bearable. It had made life with her aunt less devastating.
How could she give it up now? Writing was her only purpose in life. Her passion. Without it, she would be aimless and lost.
A part of her would die.
Throughout the quiet, uncomfortable meal, the children stared at her. Her smiles for them, while genuine, were restrained. She just didn’t know what to do with children. How should she talk to them? What should she say?
In high school, while other kids were earning money babysitting, she had been writing articles for the high school newsletter and for the Rodeo Wrangler.
She was more comfortable with her friends’ children, maybe because they were little pieces of her friends in miniature form. She wasn’t comfortable with Zach, so perhaps there was a double whammy thing happening here. She couldn’t relax around Zach. It made sense she couldn’t relax around his children, either.
After what felt like an eternity, Nadine put down her spoon, her soup bowl empty. It might have been plain food, but it brought back memories of lunch in the high school cafeteria with her friends, and that wasn’t a bad thing. She wondered if they were still serving the same food or if they’d updated it by now. Teenagers were a lot savvier than they used to be.
Funny, she’d enjoyed the soup and sandwich after all.
If only the children would stop sneaking peeks at her. She wanted to ask Rick questions about Zach, but would rather not do it in front of the children. Instead, she engaged him in chatter about things going on around town.
Eventually, one of the boys—Ryan, maybe?—piped up.
“You write?” he asked. He’d been fidgeting throughout lunch.
“Yes. I write articles for the Rodeo Wrangler about all the things that go on around town.” She cursed the sound of her voice, too fake and hearty. Even to her own ears, it betrayed her unease with the little boys.
The child fixed her with an intent gaze. “Can you read my story?”
“You wrote something?” she asked. “How wonderful.” She, too, had written stories at that age.
He nodded. “Can you read it?”
“I guess that would be all right.”
“Great.”
He got up from the table, but Zach said, “Aiden,” in a quiet but firm voice.
Aiden stopped and looked at his father.
“After dessert.”
“Okay, Dad.” Aiden sat back down.
Obedient kids.
Throughout a long dessert—long to Nadine, at any rate, with Zach quiet and intense at the opposite end of the table and the two boys fidgeting until the last mouthful was swallowed—she tried to relax.
Was that what children did, fidgeted, or were these two unusually active? Zach didn’t seem to notice or mind.
When he stood, Nadine breathed relief. His father collected dirty plates and cutlery. When Nadine offered to wash dishes, he waved her away. “Go read Aiden’s story.”
Zach led her to the living room and motioned for her to sit on the sofa. Aiden and Ryan ran into the room and jumped up beside her, nestling as close as they could on either side.
“Oh!” She wasn’t used to children crowding her. Nadine tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go, bracketed as she was by the boys. She allowed Aiden to insert his head up under her arm so she had no choice but to put her arm around him.
Friendly little guy. His twin did the same on the other side.
Aiden retrieved something from the small table beside the sofa.
“Here.” He thrust a folder at her, homemade from yellow Bristol board and decorated with a drawing of a boy on a horse. She smiled, wondering if he wanted to be a painter like his dad one day.
She took her arm from around Ryan’s shoulder and gingerly accepted the story from Aiden, avoiding the small blob of cheese still stuck to one of his fingers. Her dress had been expensive when she’d bought it three years ago. She couldn’t afford to replace it if grease from that cheese stained it.
Go clean your hands. Where do you think we live? In a barn?
Nadine shut out that voice so she could give Aiden’s story her full attention. She opened the folder. Large, childish printing covered four sheets of lined paper, front and back.
“Read it out loud,” Aiden ordered.
With the boys’ warm weight tucked close to her sides, she read Aiden’s story...and was charmed. The story of what he knew—life on a ranch—delighted her.
When she closed the folder, he leaned forward and twisted around until he could look up at her. “Is it good?”
“Yes, it is.” How could she deny that earnest gaze anything? “It’s a wonderful story.”
His smile warmed her heart. “What was the best part?” he asked.
“When the boy rescued the pony from the crevasse he’d fallen into.”
“Yeah! That’s my favorite part, too. Boys are good at rescuing.”
“Girls, too,” Nadine said, but Aiden’s returning look was dubious.
Oh, dear. She shot a glance at Zach who said, “Girls, too.”
“Dad, tell her,” Ryan ordered. “Boys do the rescuing. Not girls.”
“Son, this is a conversation we need to have later.” His eyes met Nadine’s. “And we will.”
His promise eased her concerns. “Girls can be anything they want to be,” Nadine said.
“Anything?” Aiden asked.
“Anything.”
The earnest, matching expressions on the twin’s faces were reminiscent of their dad’s even if their eyes were a lot darker than his. Their mother’s, perhaps?
She’d never met Zach’s ex. Had never even seen her.
Aiden touched Nadine’s chin to bring her attention back to him. She wondered whether the presence of a woman was unusual enough for them to vie for her attention.
“Tell me what else you liked,” he said.
She outlined all that she thought was strong about his writing. Aiden watched her without a word, his serious attention charming her.
When she finished, he asked, “Can you put it in the paper?”
“The newspaper?”
“Yeah.”
He’d surprised her. She had no idea what Lee would think. “I can ask the publisher, if you like.”
He nodded so hard a hank of hair fell across his forehead. “I’ll write another story,” he said. “Just for you!”
Nadine looked at Ryan on her other side. “Do you write, too?”
“No, but look what I can do!”
He jumped up from the sofa and did a somersault across the carpet.
Aiden joined him and they started to roughhouse.
They rolled around on the floor like a pair of bear cubs in freshly fallen snow, so much like two halves of a whole it was hard to tell where one started and the other ended.
Zach and Rick carried on a conversation with Nadine, asking questions about how the fair was coming along—Nadine was on the Rodeo Revival committee, and the event was only a month away—while she kept her eye on the two boys grappling and giggling.
Apparently, this was normal. Neither Zach nor Rick batted an eye. But Nadine noticed...and remembered the admonishments she’d received as a young preteen.
Don’t slouch. Stand up straight.
Only speak when spoken to.
Don’t get your clothes dirty.
Put your books away now. Cleanliness is next to godliness.
Tidy up. Tidy up. Tidy up.
Do better.
Brush out those ridiculous curls.
Be a good girl.
And the worst of all: You’re just like your mother.
Considering that she’d always adored her mother, Nadine hadn’t understood what her aunt meant by that. Not when she’d first arrived in town as an eleven-year-old, at least. But in time, her aunt had made certain Nadine was clear that it wasn’t a compliment.
The loop of recriminations hadn’t stopped, even with her aunt’s death four years ago. Like a Möbius strip that never ended, Nadine had internalized her aunt’s voice.
God, she was tired of it.
The twins stopped fighting and ran from the room. They pounded up the stairs. Nadine meant to get her story as quickly and painlessly as possible and then stay far, far away from Zachary Brandt and his enchanting boys.
