Leaving Tracks Read online

  “Sounds good,” Glory muttered as her spoon scrapped the bottom of the cup. “Can I have more?”

  North

  Farming was at times hard, ungratifying work. I hated it. I could–if needed–take care of all the livestock we raised but that wasn’t my aspiration for the rest of my life. At nineteen, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with the rest of my life–but I was absolutely certain it wasn’t farming.

  That sentiment wasn’t entirely true. I did know what I wanted. I wanted what my mother had wanted. I wanted the Olympic Gold Medal for figure skating. According to my brothers–at least to Thierry–it wasn’t practical and it wasn’t realistic.

  That didn’t stop me from skating every available chance I got. It didn’t stop me from reading every article or studying every event on TV in an effort to learn through watching. It didn’t stop me from trying everything I saw at least once.

  Part of me–the dreamer part–was slowly dying in the face of the reality. Without a coach, without any real teacher, I might as well be trying to build a castle in the sky. I would have to give into Thierry sooner or later, and sit down and reevaluate what I wanted. Or more likely, what Thierry wanted for me.

  “Nearly done here. Go on in and see if Wesley needs anything. If not, I think we’re good until evening chores,” Thierry told me as he led a pair of dairy cows into the milking parlor.

  “If he doesn’t need me, I’m going to go do some skating,” I commented and didn’t need to see Thierry’s absent wave to understand my brother’s annoyance.

  I ignored the little feeling of let down as I exited and headed across the yard to the house. I was getting use to ignoring that little feeling. Almost to the point of numb. My brother would always be annoyed with what I did.

  Adjacent to the milking parlor was a little stable that my younger brother, Rhett, bred and trained horses out of. It annoyed me a little that even with the two-year advantage I had on Rhett, my brother had already found his calling and embraced it.

  Thierry had encouraged it too, which added some resentment to the thought. Thierry had the small stable erected and given Rhett a little bit of seed money to get started. And Rhett had flourished with it. His first year in business ended in the black and the second year looked like it would do the same.

  Thierry wouldn’t give money to me for a coach. I tried in every way I could think to get him to let me skate. He wouldn’t encourage me to reach the dream of professional figure skater. He had allowed me to convert the shed behind the house into a pottery studio. That was something at least, but I took the gesture as a peace offering “I’m giving you this to keep the peace in the house” that’s what it felt like. Rhett got his stable, I got my pottery.

  I walked around the wraparound deck to the kitchen door and stomped off my boots before entering. Wesley ran the house and he ran it more efficiently than a team of housekeepers could. And he was scary if his rules were broken.

  There had been a moment in time–not too long ago–when Thierry wasn’t sure if Wesley had been straight or not. He could gossip with the best of the little old ladies and he had gotten a culinary arts degree. Wesley had been amused when Thierry had–uncomfortably–approached the subject.

  Wesley just liked to cook. And he liked knowing what was what. Gossip was the same as watching the news to him. He wasn’t yet doing anything with his degree except feeding us but I didn’t think it’d be long before Wesley opened a restaurant or something. I wasn’t sure what my brother was waiting for but I knew he was waiting.

  Wesley turned from the stove and gave me a critical look before going back to whatever he was doing, “You done out there?”

  “Until evening chores. I’m to see if you need anything done?” I replied easily. Dealing with Wesley was always easier than dealing with Thierry.

  “Not for a few hours yet. I’m getting this roast started; then I’m making a list that’s going to need to be run over to Morgaine. We’re running low on produce and I don’t like it.”

  “Avala’s going to need eggs probably.” I said absently as I poured myself some coffee. “She most always needs eggs by mid-month. I can take those over with your list.”

  “You can go out and get the eggs and bring ‘em in. I’ll clean them up and then you’re free until I get the list written up.”

  “I got time to skate?” I asked casually. Skating didn’t bother Wesley the same way, but I still felt his disappointment in the act.

  Wesley sighed. “Two hours. Go skate now, and grab the eggs on your way in. You’ll eat lunch while I wash them then you’ll run over to Morgaine’s.”

  “Thanks.” I hurried back out, only stopping to grab my skates from where they sat next to the door.

  “Two hours!” Wesley called as the door swung shut behind me.

  I rolled my eyes and was careful to avoid crossing paths with Thierry on my way out to the lake. Mid-October meant the lake should be well frozen. Should be. The temperatures hadn’t been above thirty in weeks. It was something I was careful to pay attention to now. It hadn’t really snowed yet; there were only a few inches on the ground, so there was no chance of it insulating the ice and thinning the layers.

  When I reached the lake, I noticed that the wind had cleared a decent sized area in the ice. I shouldn’t have any problems with it. I still studied it for a moment checking the cleared area for cracks or signs of weakness.

  I sat on the familiar log and traded my boots for my skates. The shoes that had been forgotten all those long years ago still sat a few feet away. They were a kind of symbol to me, a reminder that appearances should never be taken at face value. The skates my mother had cut from my feet were still at the bottom of the lake. I had never fished them out.

  It was a comfort to be on the ice. A home away from home especially when my home was growing ever more hostile. At least that’s how it felt. My brothers would never come right out and say what I felt from them, but that didn’t change the feeling of it. And in feeling it, I heard the unspoken words loud and clear.

  Out of habit and to warm up, I made a few passes around the edges of my little rink. I did a 0few squats as I glided across the ice and a few leg extensions. The motions, just the sheer pleasure of being in skates and on the ice relaxed me. I could be free out here. I was free out here.

  I was also secretly practicing Axels. It wasn’t something my mother had taught me and it wasn’t something I’d been properly coached in. I knew the theory behind it, and why it was an Axel, but to date, I hadn’t completed one correctly yet. At least not according to the guidelines, my research told me was a proper Axel.

  The ice was unyielding when I fell, and the first fall was always a shock. It wasn’t new, but it was still just as painful as the first time I’d landed forcefully against the ice. Still, I stood, brushed off, and tried again.

  Hadley

  I had only intended on a short walk after the early lunch. Habit had me gravitating towards the lake where my whole career had started. I had my cane with me but had no intention of using it. Avala had pressed it on me as I was walking out and I hadn’t the strength to argue over it.

  I had been tempted to stop in the skating rink Mama had built behind the house for me but resisted. I wasn’t ready to see it, wasn’t ready to face that I had no future plan.

  The familiar sound of blade against ice drew me to the lake’s edge to watch the skater. He obviously thought he was alone was my first thought. My second thought followed quickly as he hit the ice yet again. His form was sloppy and his skill… Well, if you couldn’t say something nice…

  It wasn’t my place to say anything, but then again he was on our land. I couldn’t quite remember if I had ever been told the lake was used for–and I would term it loosely–practices. Torn between amusement and horrification, I found a large stump to sit on and watch.

  He had deep gold hair in what I imagined would be a neat, orderly style if he hadn’t been skating at speed across the ice and falling on his backside. I coul
dn’t see the color of his eyes from the distance, but I could see them narrowed in concentration and watched that concentration die to pain when he landed against the ice again.

  It was like watching an eight-year-old skate I decided. I gave him points for enthusiasm and tenacity. He was continually falling and pulling himself back up to try again. He would have bruises for his bruises, I knew; I had suffered that fate once upon a time.

  He would do better, I thought if he was using figure skates and not hockey skates. The skates themselves looked beaten and worn and far too old for the abuse he was putting them through. I wondered briefly why he figure skated in hockey skates before deciding it wasn’t any of my business.

  After a few minutes of watching the disaster on ice, I couldn’t take it anymore. I, respectfully, waited for him to hit the ice again before calling out. No point in distracting him from…whatever he was trying to do. “Hey.”

  He turned his head from where he laid and studied me. “Hey.” He shouted back.

  I waited for him to pull himself up and skate over. I had no intention of shouting across the ice.

  “How long have you been sitting there?” His tone was slightly accusing and partly embarrassed. Which after witnessing what I had, I understood, completely.

  “Enough to know if you don’t stop now, tomorrow the bruises will be so painful you won’t be able to move.” I replied easily and noted his eyes were the color of melted chocolate and shaped like Avala’s. So there was some Native American blood in him. That was apparent by the cut of his cheekbones as well. I also noted that he could almost pass for a Backstreet Boy look alike. The blond one…what was his name?

  The flutter in my stomach was a surprise and I squashed it down immediately. Cute was cute, but attraction was something I wanted no part of. At least not yet, not when I wasn’t sure I had a future. It wouldn’t be fair to drag anyone down into my turmoil.

  He rolled his shoulders in a completely male and dismissive gesture that made me smile. “I know what I’m doing.”

  I couldn’t prevent the snort that escaped but covered the rest of my laughter with coughs. I wheezed a few breathes then just stared up at him. “I’m sure. I’m Hadley. I live here. You?”

  “North. I live over there.” He jerked his head to the other side of the lake where I knew, theoretically, the other farm was, but I hadn’t ever been over there.

  “Graton right? And North as in Nicolas Saint North and the Battle with the Nightmare King?”

  He flushed. It was a totally endearing look and he looked away unable to meet my eyes. “I never asked. I’m assuming since my brothers are Thierry, Wesley, and Rhett my mother was a lover of literature and chose our names accordingly.” He rolled his shoulders in a move I thought betrayed discomfort. He was probably feeling the bruises now. “I’ve got to get back. Nice meeting you.” He pivoted and skated–on flat edges I saw–towards the other side of the lake.

  What a weird, cute boy, I thought as I stood and turned for home. But entertaining. Yes, very entertaining. And I smiled as I walked away.

  North

  I pondered the strange girl on the trudge to the chicken coops. She had called herself Hadley and had said she lived there. I could only surmise she was one of Ms. Penny’s other daughters, but in all my life, I’d never had the opportunity to meet them.

  She made me uncomfortable through no fault of my own. I hadn’t dated since high school and seeing the pretty girl sitting on the side of the lake had me instantly thinking about it. And wondering how close to age we were and how long was she staying.

  She had been very pretty, in a tired, almost broken way. It stirred something I didn’t have any interesting in exploring. Attraction was one thing, the need to comfort and protect was something else entirely.

  Her neither brown nor green eyes, while amused, had been tired, almost weary while the tones of red in her dark hair were clear to see in the bright midmorning sun. She looked a little drawn–as if she had been sick for a while. But still, even with fatigue eating at her, she’d been very pretty and her accent, my God. It was as beautiful as any French accent and just as lethal to a guy’s brain functions. It had almost dropped me to my knees. It was mild south, not quite Deep South, but anyone listening to it would know it was south.

  Something about her name was familiar, as if I should already know it, even if I didn’t know the face attached to it. I couldn’t pin the reason why though.

  It circled in my mind tauntingly as I gathered eggs from the hens and checked–out of habit–health and activity. The hens paid me no mind and allowed me to move quickly and nimbly through them. There were more eggs than we or Avala would need but Wesley would find a home for them if not a recipe.

  Wesley would also know who the strange, beautiful Hadley was. He was King of Gossip in our little piece of the world. And if he didn’t know, he’d know how to find out discreetly. A skill none of my other brothers had acquired.

  With that in mind, I carted the two buckets of eggs into the house, stopping briefly to drop off my skates and shed my boots in the mudroom. Wesley met me at the door and took the buckets.

  “These girls keep dropping more and more. I’m going to have to wring some necks.” Wesley clucked and carried the buckets over to the sink. “Your lunch is on the hot plate. Wash your hands and eat. You’re back early, something wrong with the ice?”

  “Not that I could tell. I met Hadley,” I answered as I turned from the kitchen door to wash my hands in the mudroom sink. Wesley had insisted that the sink be installed. He hadn’t wanted to disinfect everything several times a day because of grubby work hands.

  “Hadley?” Wesley’s voice was barely audible over the running water but I still heard the question in it.

  “I thought you knew everyone,” I grinned at my brother’s back as I took my plate from the warmer and sat at the table.

  “I do. I do. Don’t insult me. She and Glory aren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow. We’ll send over extra eggs if the girls have arrived early.” Wesley commented and sent me a mild look.

  “I’ve never met Hadley before today.” I stood from the table for the ketchup my brother hadn’t set out, but Wesley waved me back down.

  “I haven’t forgotten your obsessive need to put ketchup on everything. Disgusting.” Wesley pulled the ketchup bottle out of the cupboard near his head and set it next to my elbow. A mug followed the ketchup and strong black coffee was poured into it. “As far as Hadley is concerned, her daddy, the infamous Jonnathan Becke, took her and Glory to Atlanta, Georgia, when he split things off with Ms. Penny. They had, I’m told, joint custody, but the girls only visited between events or activities. I theorize that was orchestrated by the infamous, to limit their contact with their ma.”

  “Huh,” was the only response I could make as I shoveled in the home fries and steak. I might as well bury my pride if I wanted the information that was plaguing me. “Her name sounds familiar.”

  “For you, it should. Hadley Becke was the favorite for the last Winter Olympics, well, that was until Boston.”

  Thierry came in before I could ask my brother what he meant by that cryptic comment. Thierry studied my plate then nodded. “Good. You’ve eaten. Wesley mentioned you’re going over to Avala’s to get some things. Take the truck.”

  “The girls have arrived early,” Wesley told him.

  Thierry nodded. “Avala called me down in the office to let me know if it was possible she’d like the meat order a little early. She’s not exactly stocked to feed four mouths. That’s why he,” he jerked a thumb at me, “is taking the truck. I’ve already loaded Avala’s coolers–I include some surplus dairy since Morgaine was nice enough to give us some surplus corn for the cows. Rhett should be back tomorrow with the horses he didn’t sell.”

  “Oh, he called too?” Wesley asked.

  “He did. He sold all but two, but he said he expected that, as the fillies are a little green yet. They’ll sell next time.” Thierry picked up my
coffee and drank. “Some of the cows have crossed the frozen pond into the horse pasture. They’ll need to be rounded up before Rhett gets in.”

  “I can do it as soon as I get back from Avala’s.” I offered knowing it was expected and not really wanting to do it, but I would if he wanted me to.

  “Nah, I’ll do it now. There’s nothing left to do in the house as the household chores are up to date for the moment.” Wesley tossed in. “Take your time at Avala’s and tell Morgaine I appreciate all she does.”

  “You always do.” I replied.

  Hadley

  I studied the skating rink as I slowly–dammit–limped back to the main house leaning on my cane. I’d walked too far again and could feel the chaffing already beginning. Still, I couldn’t avoid the rink forever. It was best to get it over with.

  I didn’t have my keys on me but doubted the main doors would be locked. Who would come way out here to steal ice? Though I doubted the rink was even frozen. When I was away for long periods of time it was more efficient–for the machinery–since the building ran on solar power–to be shut down while I was gone.

  I walked around to the front, ignoring the side doors for the moment. The main doors should be unlocked. I don’t remember ever locking them since they faced the main house. When I stepped inside, I was surprised to be greeted by a familiar chill in the air. I stepped forward to the wall and studied the ice.

  I was foolishly pleased to see it had been painted. There was a center circle with my initials monogrammed in blue paint. Nothing else marred the virgin ice. Nothing else would, but it was kind of my sisters to have the ice prepped for skating.