Page 42 of Relentless

She pushed off the wall, passing the two without a word, and stepped outside into the muted sunlight. Dark gray clouds were billowing down from the mountains, signaling that another blanket of snow was on its way.

A gust of wind cut through her layers of clothing like a sharp blade, yet her hot temper kept her toasty warm.

She repeated the narrative she had created and had nearly convinced herself was true. Harper had kicked Oakleigh out and sent her away to teach her a hard life lesson. It seemed like the only thing her daughter had learned along the way was that her actions had no consequences.

And what about all the things Oakleigh learned from me?

She had done all the hard work, and now Maeve was swooping in to take all the credit. If they thought hauling a couple of feed bags was strenuous, they should try juggling a megachurch and coordinating the booming staff required to keep things runningsmoothly.

Harper had raised Oakleigh to be a strong woman with the grit to step into her shoes and carry the family legacy with dignity.

Her mind spun as she paced by the pile of hefty burlap sacks.

“Maeve thinks she knows everything,” she seethed, “but she certainly doesn’t know me.” She convinced herself that the years invested in pilates class would make light work out of the chore.

Going to the tall stack, she hoisted a bag on her shoulders. The awkward shift in weight on her thin frame forced her back a step. Panic rushed through her as her boot lost traction on the icy dirt. Jerking forward to find her balance, the bulky burlap bag slipped over her shoulder, tipping the scales and bringing her down with it.

Reacting to catch herself, she felt her acrylic nails bend back and snap.

She hit the ground hard. The thick snow pants did little to soften the blow to her body — or her ego, for that matter.

Harper lay there, staring at the clouds floating across the gray sky above her while she assessed if anything was broken other than her pride.

“Why does this keep happening to me?” she wondered out loud, now strategizing how to lift her bruised body off the ground. She had done it before and was resigned to do it again.

This time, however, she didn’t have to.

Before she could make a move, she felt a set of arms under each of hers, hoisting her clumsily onto her feet.

It was Maeve and Oakleigh.

“Harp, you all right?” Maeve asked, holding on to her until she was steady.

“That was some fall, Mom,” Oakleigh observed. Her eyebrows drew together as she swiped a bit of hay off of Harper’s jacket. “Maybe you should go inside and rest.”

Harper gulped down the lump of embarrassment that had risen to her throat. “Let go,” she snapped, pulling her arms from each of their their grasps. “Don’t touch me.”

Maeve stepped back, respecting her boundaries, but Oakleigh appeared ready for a fight.

“Can’t you see we’re just trying to help?” Oakleigh snapped.

“I don’t need your help!” Harper fired back, her voice rising with anger. She headed toward the ranch house, feeling her boots slipping again with every step.

Refusing to give them the satisfaction of another glance, she could only imagine them standing there, whispering about her. She managed to reach the porch, and assumed her audience was savoring her embarrassing display, taking every opportunity to bolster their seemingly unbreakable bond at her expense.

Gathering the nerve to finally turn around, she was shocked to see she was all alone. Maeve and Oakleigh had simply returned to their work in the barn as though she hadn’t mattered in the slightest.

“As it should be,” Harper muttered, feeling worthlessness creep into her chest. The brutal fall had caused her already tender back to tighten, and every step made her wince in pain.

When she finally reached her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned heavily on the wall for support. Pulling off her gloves, her fingers stung the moment they hit the air. She shook the glove, swallowing hard as two acrylic nails clattered onto the hardwood floor.

Carefully peeling off the rest of the heavy winter outfit, she retrieved a tank top and a pair of yoga pants from her luggage. Bracing herself on the bathroom countertop, she was relieved that no one was there to witness the feat it took to get the clothing on her body. She looked herself over in the bathroom mirror, lifting the soft fabric of her shirt. Her ribs were beginning to turn a shade of dark purple.

“Another bruise,” she sighed.

She tilted her head and ran her fingers over the faded scar just above her newest injury. No matter how many revisions she had insisted on paying top dollar for, the stubborn mark remained. Harper loathed the memories that surfaced of a time when hiding bruises was part of her daily routine.

She slowly edged her body down on the lumpy bed that was now feeling like a heavenly soft sanctuary for her aching body. The pain of her tender muscles and throbbing ribs was nothing compared to the sting of memories she had fought hard for decades to suppress. Pulling the blankets over her, sheused all the methods she had learned over the years to regain control of her spinning thoughts.

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