Saving Cinderella. Lilian Darcy
boxes, labeled with a black felt-tip pen. “Dad’s office,” read several. “Grandma’s albums,” said a couple more. A draught of warm air wafted up through the black metal grill of the heating vent in the floor, contrasting with the chilly vista through the window.
The clouds had lowered and thickened further, and had paled to a dull white which shrouded the tops of the mountains. Wind whipped the tethered canes of the roses and combed through the needles of the pines like distant singing.
Gray was coming across the yard. His hat was jammed down to cover his ears and his shoulders were hunched. His strides lengthened as he neared the house, as if he couldn’t wait to get inside, and Jill had the strongest, strangest urge to hurry down to him, take his coat, serve him his soup and ask him about his day, as though she belonged here.
Considering that she was here to ask for a divorce, so she could be free to say yes to Alan, none of what she felt made any sense.
She made a stop at the bathroom on the way downstairs and noted that it resembled the rest of the house—old and shabby but scrupulously clean and brightened with homey touches that could only have been made by a loving hand.
When she reached the kitchen, Gray was at the table, chewing on warm corn bread and spooning in a huge bowl of soup.
“…couldn’t have gotten it done this afternoon, anyhow, because it was a bigger problem than I’d thought,” he was saying. “Wylie can’t have checked it like he said he had.” He hadn’t heard or seen her arrival yet. “I’m going to have to bring you and Grandpa Pete with me, Mom, and I’m not sure how we’re going to get the truck up there with the gear. ’S why I want to fix that oil leak and check the transmission, because otherwise we could get ourselves well and truly stuck.”
Catching sight of Jill in the doorway, Louise McCall asked at once, “How is he, honey?”
Gray stopped eating and looked up at Jill. He gave a little nod of greeting, then watched her face with his dark eyes for a moment, before flicking his gaze downward. He hadn’t waited for her reply to Louise’s question. Didn’t seem to want to know.
“He’s asleep by now,” she said. “Along with…with Firefly.”
Ah, don’t cry, Jill! she thought to herself angrily. Why is this happening?
“It’s stupid,” she went on, wiping tears onto her sleeve. “To cry about it, I mean. But I’m so grateful. Even your cat is making us welcome!”
“Well, why wouldn’t we, Jill?” Louise said courteously. Then her curiosity got the better of her at last and she asked, “Are you in some kind of trouble, honey?”
“Mom, let’s leave this till later, okay?” Gray growled, going back to his meal.
Both women ignored him. Jill fixed her gaze steadily on Gray’s mother and said, “I was. At one time. And Gray helped me out. Which created a problem of its own, that I need help with. I promise I’ll trouble you as little as I can. Sam getting sick was something I hadn’t foreseen. It means we’re going to be with you for a few days, when I’d been hoping I could start for home tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Louise said. “Please don’t.”
Her son didn’t add the same assurance.
A silence fell, slightly awkward, as they finished their soup, which tasted every bit as good as it smelled. Gray wolfed down three bowls of it, along with substantial hunks of corn bread. He spoke just once more, to ask, “Grandpa’s not coming back for lunch?”
“He took sandwiches and coffee,” Louise answered. “Wants to get those cows moved down today.”
“He shouldn’t be doing it on his own.”
Louise snorted. “You tell him that!”
Gray nodded and shrugged. “Guess I already did.” As soon as he was done eating, he announced, “I’m going to get on over to the shed and look at that truck, or I won’t get anywhere with it today.”
“Can I help?” Jill blurted out. “Sam will sleep for hours now. He always does when he’s feverish, so it doesn’t make sense for me to sit around. You told him you’d be here at the house all afternoon, didn’t you, Louise?”
Gray looked at her, as wary as before, and she could see the way he was assessing her words.
“Sure,” he finally answered, much too slowly. “Can always use an extra pair of hands.”
They set out ten minutes later. Jill was bundled up in an old scarlet sweater of Louise’s. Louise had said that the shed was cold, and Jill’s jacket and pink top “too pretty” to get covered in motor oil.
“You know anything about cars?” Gray asked her as they drove in his mom’s late-model white station wagon back the same way Jill had come with Ron Thurrell.
“Not a whole lot,” she admitted, “but I’m willing to learn.”
“Not in one afternoon.”
“No, okay, well, something else, then.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You said you could use an extra pair of hands.”
“I figured you wanted to come along so Mom didn’t have a chance to ask you any more awkward questions.”
“That was part of it,” Jill admitted. “But I said I’d help, and I will.”
The sound he made might have been, “Thanks.”
Or it might have been a snort.
She lifted her chin and didn’t push the point. Feeling the tension along her jaw, she glanced sideways and recognized much the same expression on Gray’s face.
We’re both stubborn, I guess, she thought.
Stubborn and honorable in his case. Stubborn and impulsive, in hers. Was that what had gotten them into trouble in Las Vegas?
Please get well quick, Sam. I’m here to dissolve the magic not make it stronger.
“Where are we headed?” she asked quickly.
“Machine shed,” he answered. “We have a heavy-duty pickup we need to take cross-country to fix some fence. We’ve had cattle showing up where they don’t belong.”
“Like me.”
“Really, Jill, you can quit apologizing.” Impatience colored his tone. “I got us both into this as much as you did.”
“Your mom would like to know what it’s all about.”
“Mom’s pretty good, but she’s only human.”
“I know. It’s not that I would have resented questions, I just didn’t feel ready to answer them yet.”
“Makes sense. Can I ask a couple?”
“Probably a little easier, coming from you,” she agreed.
“You want to get married again, is that right? That’s the only reason I could think of for the urgency.”
“Uh, yeah.” She listened to her own words, and realized that she had begun to adopt his own cautious, almost reluctant way of talking.
“I mean married for real.”
“I know what you meant,” she said. “Yes, married for real. I mean, we’re not in love with each other, Alan and I. But when you have kids, that stuff’s more trouble than it’s worth. He knows that, and so do I.”
“Yeah, I guess it could be that way,” Grayson growled. “This guy has kids, too?”
“Teenage daughters, Anna and Sarah. And they come first. Them, and Sam. For both of us.”
“Makes sense.”
“Does