Page 32 of Brian and Cora (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #2)
T he silence pressed against Brian's ears like cotton wool. Not the peaceful quiet of solitary writing but an emptiness that echoed with absence. Cora had been gone less than an hour, and already the cabin felt wrong without her presence.
He'd grown accustomed to the small sounds of her living in his space—the whisper of turning pages, the soft humming when she thought he wasn't listening, the gentle clink of dishes being washed.
Even when she sat perfectly still, absorbed in one of his books, the air itself seemed brighter, lighter somehow.
Stop being melodramatic. You've lived alone for years. You prefer solitude.
But the lecture rang hollow.
Guilt gnawed at him for his harsh dismissal when she'd tried to share her excitement. She'd been nothing but patient with his foul moods, growing to trust him with her friendship, and he'd repaid her with cold rudeness.
Looking out the window, his gaze caught on the canvas-covered canoe.
The sight sparked an idea—a way to show his remorse without having to stumble through getting out the actual words.
He glanced at the sky, noting the stark blue that promised continued fair weather.
For today, at least, Indian summer held on.
Better make use of it while I can. Hobbling to the stove, Brian set water to boil for willow bark tea.
He steeped the concoction without honey.
As soon as the liquid cooled enough, he drank it down, making a face at the bitter taste.
Then he made his way outside to stand on the porch, Sassy Girl bouncing at his heels.
Overhead, a V of geese flew south, their mournful calls a reminder of the changing season. Soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow, the warm spell will break. Cora’s departure will usher in winter—both the season and within me.
The thought sent an unexpected pang through his chest. He'd kept his heart walled off for so long, allowing only Torin, Hank, and Jewel past his defenses. But somehow Cora had found the cracks in his barriers, widening them day by day until?—
"Bry-an!" Jewel's delighted cry interrupted his brooding. She raced toward him, clutching something pink in her hand.
Sassy Girl leapt to greet her.
Behind the child, Cora and Torin walked more sedately.
Cora’s expression remained impassive. Her gaze swept over him in that assessing way he'd come to recognize—checking his color, his posture, whether he showed signs of pain.
Apparently satisfied with her medical evaluation, she turned toward the house without a word.
“Cora, wait," Brian called.
She paused and glanced over her shoulder.
"I want to take the canoe out. Watch the sunset from the water." He looked to Torin. "Would you help me?"
She whirled. "Absolutely not. You could reinjure your leg?—"
"The canoe's specially made," Brian interrupted gently. "Wide and long so Jewel can ride safely."
"True,” Torin agreed. “Canoeing is one of her favorite things. Though you wouldn't know it lately, what with Sassy Girl taking precedence."
Her eyes grew stormy. "I won't partake in this foolishness."
Brian met her eyes steadily and pointed toward the lake. "I'm going out there regardless. But I'd rather have my nurse along to ensure I don't do anything foolish."
He watched her internal struggle play across her expressive face—duty warring with irritation, concern battling stubbornness. Finally, her shoulders sagged in defeat.
"Fine. But Torin and I drag the canoe to the water. You don't lift a finger."
He gave her a two-fingered salute. "Yes, ma'am."
Together, Cora and Torin dragged the canoe to the water's edge until the front floated, but the back rested on the beach.
Brian handed Cora his crutches. “Lay them there.” He pointed to a spot on the sand.
The process of getting him settled in the canoe, legs stretched before him, was painful and awkward but manageable with Torin's help.
"I'll keep the wild ones entertained," Torin said, gesturing to where Jewel and Sassy Girl were already digging in the sand. "Take your time. We’ll be here when you return." He gave the canoe a strong shove into the deeper water.
The canoe floated to where some flat stones were placed to form a tiny jetty, just big enough for riders to walk from stone to stone and climb in without getting their feet wet. Cora insisted on facing him. "So I can monitor your condition," she said primly, though he caught the hint of a smile.
Brian dug the paddle into the sandy bottom to steady the canoe while Torin helped Cora aboard, keeping her hand to steady her, until the rocking calmed, and then balancing her while she sat.
Once Torin released Cora, Brian pushed off with gentle strokes, finding a rhythm that didn't strain his leg too much. By the time they reached the middle of the lake, twilight had softened the sun’s rays to lavender and rose, and the waning moon hung like a ghost against the darkening blue.
The pungent scent of lake water filled his nostrils—algae and fish and something indefinably wild.
The gentle splash of his paddle and their quiet breathing were the only sounds, until here and there a fish jumped, chasing a fly or mosquito or some other insect.
Luckily, in spite of the nice weather, the night temperatures had cooled the air enough to kill off the majority of the mosquitoes, so they weren’t plagued by the tiny critters.
Cutting through the stillness came an eerie call—part cry, part laugh.
Cora straightened, looking around with wide eyes. "What was that?"
"Loon." Brian turned the canoe sideways and stilled his paddle, providing a better view for them to observe. "We'd be lucky to spot it. They're fairly elusive. Clumsy on land but sleek and powerful in the water. I'm surprised any are still here. They’ve usually headed south by now."
As if summoned by his words, the bird’s dark shape glided across the surface, the webbed feet smack-smack-smacking against the water, clumsily building speed to propel its ungainly body into the air.
The loon circled once, and then arrowed beneath the surface, before bursting up again, a silver fish glinting in its beak, as noisy emerging from the water as it had been silent diving in. The bird winged away into the gathering dusk.
"Beautiful," Cora breathed.
Somewhere while they’d watched the loon, the tension from their earlier conflict melted away, leaving only peace. The sky purpled. A single star winked into existence, and the air chilled.
"I'm sorry," Brian said quietly. "About earlier. My surliness when you wanted to talk." He sighed, the sound seeming to carry across the water. "Living alone so long, without anyone else to please, I've forgotten how to moderate my reactions. I don't mean to be hurtful."
"Is it just the writing troubles?"
He managed a rueful grimace, though the gathering darkness probably hid the expression.
"Embarrassing as it is to admit, considering how I railed against your presence.
.." He paused, searching for words that wouldn't reveal too much.
"I've grown accustomed to having you around.
The thought of being alone again isn't as appealing as it once was. "
"I've grown accustomed to you too," she said softly. "Your grumpy moments and all." She was quiet for a moment. "I suppose this is what home nursing entails—becoming part of someone's life and then leaving. I'll have to get used to this experience."
It's more than that. At least for me.
The unsaid words lingered between them like the evening mist beginning to rise from the water. Still, Brian felt more peaceful having put his apology into actions and words.
That will have to be enough.
He turned the canoe toward shore. Torin must have lit the lamps, and the golden squares of windows promised warmth against the coming night.
The next morning, even as she donned her riding habit with the divided skirt, Cora tried to maintain a normal facade.
But every familiar task felt weighted with finality.
Last time making Brian's coffee just the way he liked it—strong, with a touch of sugar.
Last time frying bacon—his slices chewy, hers crisp.
Last time watching him eat with a good appetite, a far cry from the invalid who'd arrived three weeks ago.
Cora finished eating and laid her fork across the plate. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you about what came in the mail yesterday.”
He chuckled. “You mean what I didn’t give you a chance to tell me.”
She half lowered her eyes, giving him a flirtatious look from under her eyelashes. “I was being tactful.”
Brian raised an eyebrow and lifted his coffee mug in a salute. “I’m all ears.”
Aware of the time ticking by before she needed to leave, Cora poured out the story of Jewel’s J and her proposition to Torin about Ivy becoming his daughter’s governess.
When she finished, Brian sat back in his chair with a big exhale and incredulous shake of his head.
“Didn’t expect that. It's inspired, actually.
Torin needs help, though he'd never admit it. And Jewel needs a good woman around on a more permanent basis.” He drank some coffee.
“And from what you've told me about your friend, she sounds perfect.
" He studied Cora over his cup. "You did well yesterday, planting that seed.” He glanced in the direction of Torin’s house.
The warmth of Brian’s praise filled her chest. Unexpected tears threatened. She fought to hold them back.
He shifted his attention back to her. “Give Torin time. I have a feeling he'll come around."
"I hope so. For both their sakes."
Brian shifted in his chair, wincing slightly. "I don't like the idea of you riding alone down the mountain."