Page 91 of Not Another Yesterday
Saoirse stops at the first door on the left and lowers her voice. “That’s Stevie’s room. Poor kid got in on a red-eye this morning. Looked like he hadn’t slept a wink on the plane. I haven’t seen him since he vanished in there.” She glances at her watch. “He’ll be up soon, I imagine.”
The next door opens to a sleek, spacious bathroom with a glass shower, a big soaking tub, and double sinks, all sparkling clean. “Shared bath,” she says with a smile. “But plenty of space.”
Finally, she opens the last door on the left.
“Here’s your room.”
It’s beautifully simple: a queen bed with a soft white comforter, a dark wood dresser, and a matching desk beneath a wide window that frames a stretch of pasture.
“Thomas will bring your bag up in a minute,” Saoirse says. “Jen, Bobby, let’s get you to your cabin. Give Cat a minute to freshen up.”
My parents offer their thanks and file out, but Saoirse lingers at the door. She turns to me, a twinkle in her eyes, then says in a hushed tone, “Ran’s room is right across the hallway. He warned me not to meddle, but I can’t help myself. I think you two need a proper talk. And knowing Ran, he’s the kind who needs to be trapped into it.”
She pats my cheek and disappears down the hall.
***
Fascinating what an extended, warm shower can do for the body and soul. I’m refreshed when I emerge from the bathroom, dressed in a t-shirt and freshly washed jeans. The house is quiet as I pad down the hallway, hair still damp, bare feet muffled against the floorboards.
The door to Ronan’s room is wide open. I stop at the threshold, not daring to cross it, just… taking it in. His scent is in the air—clean, masculine, a little wild. My heart stutters. There’s a white t-shirt tossed carelessly on the bed, and something in me wants to pick it up, press it to my face, maybe even slip it on like it could somehow bring him closer.If this isn’t stalker behavior, I don’t know what is.
“Cat!” Steve shouts from behind me, scaring me half to death.
I jump and whirl around.
He strides toward me, then throws his arms around me and lifts me off the ground in a back-cracking hug. “Is it weird that I missed you? It’s kind of weird, right?” he chuckles.
“Not weird,” I say, hugging him back. “I missed you, too. How have you been?”
“Really, really great,” he says enthusiastically. I beam at him, at how happy he seems to be. “What are you up to right now?”
I stammer awkwardly. “Uhh, I’m not totally sure.”
“Has anyone given you the tour of this place yet?”
“Thomas pointed out some stuff when he drove us up.”
Steve shakes his head. “Nope, that won’t do. Come on, I’ll give you therealtour.”
We’re out of the house and in a dark-blue truck five minutes later, the tires kicking up dust with Steve’s quick acceleration down the uneven dirt road.
We ramble along for a while, along dirt paths and off-road, with Steve pointing out random spots, each accompanied by a story. He gestures at the remains of an old wood shed, barely standing, roof caved in.
“Ran and I used to jump off those support beams. I sprained my ankle so bad once I thought it was broken.”
A bend later, he points toward a break in the trees. “The creek’s great for fishing. And really nice to cool off in during the summer, but you have to be careful because the rapids can get crazy with the winter runoff.”
We pass a narrow stretch of trail, and Steve laughs, shaking his head. “I got bucked off my horse around here once. Inkspot took off like his tail was on fire and ran all the way back to the barn. I had to limp a mile on foot because Ran, that asshole, refused to let me ride double with him on Reaper.”
“Inkspot?”
“My horse. Black-and-white paint. He looked like someone splattered ink all over his coat. He was old. Usually bombproof unless he randomly decided to flip the hell out and—”
Steve abruptly slows the truck to a crawl. I glance past him, out the driver’s side window. A girl rides toward us on a brown horse, another following behind on a lead rope.
Sunlight filters through the clouds, lighting the copper-gold strands in her braid as it falls over her shoulder. A felt cowboy hat shields her eyes, though I can see the smile playing on her lips as she approaches. She’s wearing a blue-and-black flannel shirt, light-wash boot-cut jeans, and scuffed brown boots. Effortless. Totally at ease.
Steve stops the truck and rolls down the window, throwing me a quick look. It’s almost sheepish. “So… you’re about to meet Randi.”
