Page 49 of The Mountain Echoes
She lifts her eyes to me, they’re flashing with irritation. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” This is not a hill I want to die on. Whatever is going on between these two sisters is none of my business.
Vera comes back with a cup of coffee for me.
“Thank you, Vera.”
She smiles at me. “You’re welcome, Mav.” She shakes her head as she looks at the woman sitting next to me and, almost on a sigh, says, “Celine, I have set up coffee and petit foursin the piano room.”
“Thank you,” Celine replies pleasantly.
Vera is still shaking her head as she leaves us.
I take a sip of coffee and glance at my watch. “What time’s Mac gettin’ here?”
She looks at her Bulgari watch. “In about half an hour.” Then reaches out and grabs my hand. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”
“Of course.” I give her a reassuring smile.
She throws her arms around me. I have no choice but to return the hug.
As we’re pulling apart, the air in the room shifts.
I look over Celine’s shoulder.
Aria is standing just inside the doorway, her expression twisted into something between disgust and disappointment.
The sneer on her face gets to me, and I have to curb the urge to yell,“It’s not what it looks like.”
But what can I say? I’m friendly with your sister because I want to buy Longhorn, like that sounds any better!
CHAPTER 11
aria
The formal living room, which Mama called the piano room, was her showpiece—exposed beams, iron chandeliers, and oversized windows that framed the distant ridges like artwork.
The fireplace is cold, though the embers from a morning fire still scent the room faintly of ash and pine. But we don’t need it right now, as the afternoon sun streaming through the windows is warming the room nicely.
There’s an antique serving cart set with coffee and petit fours. Mama’s favorite China. White with blue florals. Delicate.
I settle into an armchair, so as not to cram myself between Earl and Nadine, who have taken a couch.
Mav and Celine sit across from them on a matching couch, the picture window behind them.
He’s in dark jeans, boots, and a navy button-down.My sister is in black with glittering diamonds. She tilts toward him. His dark to her light.
They look like a couple. They probably are, considering I just saw them in each other’s arms.
I decided to dress for Longhorn in black jeans that still fit me and a maroon silk blouse I’d planned to wear for the wedding reception with a flowing black skirt. Since my suitcase only has pumps and sandals, ideal for a bridesmaid, I put on a pair of my old cowboy boots, which are still ridiculously comfortable.
For the first time in years, sitting in this ridiculously decorated room, I feel like myself.
I’m at Longhorn. I’m home.
Hudson is not here. I feel relief. I don’t want to deal with him. What I’ve noticed and learned from Nadine and Vera is that he’s an alcoholic. After Papa fired him for stealing, it looks like he went on a downward slide.
Mac is setting up at what Mama called her writing desk—a delicate Frenchsecrétairewith tapered legs and a roll-top cover that never quite closed all the way.
