Page 53 of Brian and Cora
They fell silent, the air between them seeming to thicken, charged with unspoken possibilities. Then Sassy Girl barked outside, breaking the spell, and they both looked away.
"I should start dinner," Cora said, standing quickly.
"I should rest this leg," Brian agreed.
But as she moved to the kitchen area, Cora couldn't help glancing back to find him watching her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher. Something had shifted between them in the last hour, something that had nothing to do with books and everything to do with a deepening understanding.
As she prepared their meal, she wondered about that look and, again, later as she lay in bed. Whatever was happening between them, Cora had a feeling it could become more complicated than any adventure Jack Stone had ever faced.
CHAPTER 16
Brian set down his pen and flexed his cramped fingers, surveying the completed journal with satisfaction. One week of steady writing had transformed his scattered notes into a coherent account of the robbery and the posse's adventures. The leather-bound book was nearly full, his handwriting covering page after page with the events that still sometimes jolted him awake at night.
Through the window, he could see Cora on the back porch, bundled in her coat, the chair twisted sideways to catch the sun’s rays, completely absorbed in Mitch Blanco and the Canyon of Death—the seventh of his novels she'd devoured this week. As she read, her expressive face showed every emotion, from worry to excitement to satisfaction when Mitch inevitably triumphed.
Early on in the week, Brian braced for interruptions, for demands on his time and attention. Persephone had never understood his need to write, constantly complaining when he spent "too much time with those silly stories" instead of escorting her to yet another social event. She'd hover and sigh dramatically, manufacture small crises that required hisimmediate attention, until he'd give up in frustration and attend to her.
But Cora... Cora simply let him be. She moved quietly around the cabin, brought him meals without being asked, and found her own occupations. When he emerged from his writing cave, she was ready to engage. When he needed to work, she gave him space to do so. She was the most remarkably restful woman he’d ever experienced. Well, most of the time. We had some tense moments, mostly caused by me.
With a feeling of accomplishment, he put the journal on the small square table next to him. Now that he'd finished the project he needed to start plotting his next adventure. He had material aplenty—enough for ten books. Character sketches from his observations at the Harvest Festival filled the notebook. He had enough descriptions of oldsters, children, and everyone in between, for the next five books.
But so far, no story. No plot that would weave these elements together into the kind of tale his readers expected. His mind felt as blank as the paper before him.
Picking up the pen again, he touched the nib to the paper, watching an ink blot form. Realizing what he was doing, he snatched up the paper, looking underneath to make sure the ink hadn’t soaked through. Seeing no stain on the surface of the lap desk, he blew out a breath of relief.
Perhaps the problem is Cora's presence, after all.
Brian stared out the window. How could he concentrate with her sitting out there, the autumn sun catching the rich brown of her hair, her face animated as she delved into the story? Even when she was indoors and quiet, he was aware of her—the soft rustle of turning pages, the way she tucked escaped tendrils of hair behind her ears, her little gasps when a character faced danger.
Be honest with yourself, at least. He’d struggled for months to develop a story.
No, the problem with his lack of ability to write wasn't that Cora disturbed his peace. The latest problem was that she didn't. She fit into his life like she'd always been there, and that unnerved him far more than any blank page.
When did I start looking forward to our evening discussions about my books? When had her insights begun to matter more than any review in the papers? When?—
"Afternoon, Brian!" Torin's voice carried from the front of the house, followed by Jewel's excited chatter.
From outside on the back porch, Sassy Girl started barking.
Setting aside the lap desk onto the other chair, Brian picked up his crutches and lurched to his feet, keeping his weight on his good leg. Up until now, he’d called for Cora rather than get up himself. But he needed wean himself off from needing her.
"Bry-an!" Jewel rushed forward but stopped just short of throwing herself at him, remembering his injury. "Sas-ee good girl today?"
"Mostly good," Brian admitted, thinking of the sock the puppy had stolen and shredded that morning. "She's waiting for you out back."
The child stumped through the cabin, and soon they heard her delighted squeals as she reunited with the dog.
"She starts asking to come here as soon as she wakes up," Torin said as they made their way to stand at the back window. “Sure will be glad when her puppy gets here, at least so I’ll be spared her constant questions.”
“Well, you won’t be spared it piddling on the floor, waking you at night to go out, or chewing on whatever you’ve mistakenly left on the floor.”
“Good point. I’ll start training Jewel to keep her toys up high. Having a puppy eat them might be the right incentive.”
Through the window, they watched Cora look up from her book with a warm smile and slide her arm around Jewel’s waist, cuddling her close.
“You comfortable with Cora now?” He knew Torin had been over every day. But he’d been too engrossed with his writing to pay him much heed. His friend was familiar with Brian’s distant behavior when in the writing cave.
“I still keep a careful distance. But not as much, though. We talk some.” He tilted his head toward the open door. “Maybe I’ll do so now.” He sauntered outside.
