Page 42 of Love Me Steadfast
I shake my head. “There was a clinical trial that slowed down the tumor’s growth. It allowed him some extra time to settle his affairs, and I think he was grateful for that. But now…we’re just trying to make him as comfortable as we can.”
“He’s lucky to have you.”
“It’s the least I could do.” When he brought me on as his assistant during my sophomore year at Cornish, it was the lifeline I needed. I already adored him after our years of summer symphony and the mentoring he so generously offered at Cornish. We worked well together, even playing music together sometimes. He and Pierre never had children and weren’t close with their families, so when Henrik’s health began to decline, I demanded to be part of his care team. And to my relief, Pierre agreed.
“It’s so sad. Such a brilliant, bighearted man. The world needs more like him.”
“Agreed.”
She takes a sip of water, then lasers me with a look of determination. “So. Denny and I want to help with Thunder Mountain.”
“No way. You guys are busy,” I say with a scowl. Between her coaching young girls in barrel racing and the ranch duties she shares with Denny, they don’t have time for this. Especially this time of year, when they’re moving cattle and getting ready for winter.
“Not taking no for an answer,” she counters. Stubborn cowgirl that she is.
“Let me get the lay of the land first.”
We carry our empty bowls to a bus tub near the entrance to the courtyard, then I follow her past the counter to the parking lot.
She pulls me into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I squeeze her back. “Missed you too.” I don’t have a friend likeWren or Emmie in Seattle. With time, I thought I would make some, but between Henrik and practicing and auditions, it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe when I finally land a permanent gig, I’ll meet the right people.
“Let us know about helping,” Wren whispers in my ear. “Promise?”
My heartstrings give a sharp tug. “Promise.”
When I get to my car, my phone chirps again. It’s another unknown number, but the area code isn’t local, though something about it is familiar.
“Hello?”
There’s no reply, but in the background is the faint rush of a freeway. Or maybe a river?
I peek at the screen to make sure we’re still connected. “Hello?”
The line disconnects. With a huff, I shove my phone back in my purse. It was probably a telemarketer and now I’ll be subject to a crap-ton more like it.
Though when I pull away from the curb, a tendril of unease wraps around my gut. Because it hits me where I’ve seen that area code before.
After a stopat Thunder Mountain to help Gus feed and muck stalls, I drive to Will and Theo’s, feeling utterly drained, so I roll down the windows and let the wind fill my ears. The cool air tastes of dry pine and sage and nothing like the concrete and soggy grass of Seattle.
When I pull up to the house, Ollie woofs softly from behind the door. William’s hatchback is here but not Theo’s Subaru—I’ve missed him again. It’s not on purpose, but it means I’m going to need to put some effort into getting him to carve out time for us. I know he won’t want to talk, and that’s okay. I just…miss him.
A column of woodsmoke curls out of the chimney and the house emits a warm glow in the darkness. It’s so quiet out here, with thebreeze in the treetops blending with the gentle chorus from the crickets, but it’s not lonely. It’s peaceful.
I carry my violin through the gate and trudge up the steps. The door opens, and to my surprise, Ollie doesn’t charge, she just sits, wagging her tail, her eyes on William. The cloud of warmth from inside the house sends a flush of gooseflesh down my back.
“Hey,” Will says. His blue eyes look indigo in the low light. There’s a dishtowel over one shoulder and what looks like flour on his cheek. I catch a whiff of whatever he’s been cooking, and I can’t help the soft sigh escaping my lips.
“Hungry?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He holds the door open and steps back to let me in. From the woodstove comes a crackle, and inside the little grate, orange flames flicker.
“What are you making?” It’s buttery and tangy with rich undertones, like a hearty broth. A powerful craving tears through me. It’s like my lunch date with Wren earlier. Is it just the added comfort of eating with people I love that’s kickstarted my hunger? Or is it the heavy emotional labor this visit is requiring?
“Chicken pot pie.”
My stomach gives a painful gurgle. I glance at Ollie, who is still sitting, wagging, waiting, then back at William. “You cook, QB?”
The instant the old nickname rolls off my tongue, I wish I could take it back because his lips tighten into a line and he glances away.
