Dear Tori Page 8

  Her jean shorts ride up enough to give a tantalizing peek at the bottom swell of her ass. She lets out a loud peel of laughter, then a fake scream, as she pretends to pound on my back. “Put me down, you brute.”

  “Am I a chicken or a brute?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” she says, her tone turned soft, but serious. “Noah, put me down.”

  Chapter Ten

  Tori

  Noah’s palm wrapped around the back of my thigh is more than I bargained for. I’m not sure how we went from a casual conversation to him manhandling me, and I’m even less sure why I don’t find it alarming.

  Every nerve ending in my body ignites as he strides a few steps closer to his bike, and sets me back on the ground. I wobble precariously for a second as I regain my balance, but his arm circles around my waist, keeping me pressed close against his chest for stability.

  I very briefly remembered sharing an ice cream with him years ago. That’s all. It’s hardly enough to justify standing so close I can distinguish the tiny black and gold flecks in his brown eyes.

  I don’t know Noah, and even though he remembers me, he doesn’t know me either, not the person I am now. We haven’t been together for years.

  There has to be a good explanation for why I’m swooning like a silly, smitten girl. I take an unsteady step back, then another. “We really need to go. I’m not sure if Maggie has ever done this before on her own.”

  For the entirety of the short ride back, my senses are assaulted by his scent that seems so familiar, the solid feel of his back against my front, the rigid contours of his torso beneath my palms. Even if we didn’t have history, I’d have to be dead not to be attracted by Noah Stone. I reacted similarly last week when I thought his name was Buck, before I had any inkling of our shared past.

  The second we get back to my house and he turns off his bike, I hear something in the distance that immediately distracts me from Noah. I hop off the bike, tug the helmet off my head, and balance it across the seat.

  “That doesn’t sound normal,” I say, about the loud bleating coming from the southern paddock.

  It’s been years since I’ve seen a cow in labour, but I don’t ever recall one making that sort of noise before. I do a light jog out to where Maggie is watching helplessly. “Where’s Brandon?” I ask.

  Maggie points towards the barn. “He’s playing up in the loft.”

  “Did you call the vet?”

  “I just called, but he’s busy two towns over. He might not be here for a few hours.”

  “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Noah asks.

  Somehow I’d forgotten all about him, but I’m suddenly glad he’s here. “I might need your help.”

  “Mine?”

  I nod and motion for Maggie to lend a hand leading the cow inside the smaller nearby barn.

  The fact that she’s still up on her feet, and not bedded down doesn’t bode well. “How long ago did her sac break?”

  “I’m not sure. I found her like this right before I texted you.”

  “What’s wrong?” Noah asks again, looking a bit green as he views the tail end of the cow.

  “That calf is presenting wrong. It’s breech,” I explain, about the back hooves dangling out. “Is this her first calf?” I ask Maggie, and she shrugs.

  Once we have her restrained in the narrow birthing pen with the head gate fixed in place, I hurry over to give my hands and forearms a quick scrub in the utility sink. “Gloves?” I ask Maggie.

  “Uhhh.”

  “Nevermind. It’s okay.”

  “Have you done this before?” Maggie asks.

  Noah’s top lip curls. “What are you going to do?”

  I don’t bother answering either of them, and Noah makes a soft retching sound as I maneuver my hands into the birthing canal. If I wasn’t so concerned about the life of both the mama and calf, I might snicker at his squeamishness. “This little one is all twisted up. Maggie, get the chains.”

  “Chains?” Noah asks.

  “This is where you get to prove your more brute than chicken.” I give Noah a tiny wink as I attempt to rotate the calf. “We have to pull from a specific place on the calf’s foot so we don’t hurt it’s joints, and it’s too hard to grip there with just our hands.”

  God, I hope I’m doing this right. While I secure the chains above the hooves and below the dew claws, I can almost hear my dad’s voice as he explained the process to me when I was ten or eleven.

  I’ve seen this done exactly once in my life, and I am feeling so unsure as I try to calmly explain to Noah what we’re about to attempt. But I know what happens if we wait hours for the vet to arrive. The calf suffocates, and the mother may die too.

  Noah tries to put on a brave face as we take turns walking the chains out, but it is blatantly obvious he is on the verge of hurling. I can’t really fault him. It’s definitely gross, no doubt about that. There’s blood, mucous, and cow shit galore.

  Brandon charges in, and Maggie shoos him back out. I don’t doubt he’s seen a cow give birth, but I’m not sure that this calf is going to survive. It might already be too late. After everything my brother has been through recently, neither of us want to heap on a stillborn baby animal.

  Once the back legs and rump are delivered, the rest slithers out with a wet plop. Just like I feared, the calf is unresponsive and not breathing. I drop down to my knees and sit the calf up, then swipe away some of the goop around its nose and mouth. I tickle the nostrils with a husk of straw from the floor. Maggie already has a large pitcher of cold water waiting before I have to ask, and I scoop a little into its ears to wake it up, if that’s even still possible. When that doesn’t work, I give the back a brisk rub and a gentle thwack.

  The calf snorts and sucks in a stuttering breath. I suck in a long, relieved breath of my own, and coax it up to four legs. “We got a girl,” I say in a thick voice. I’ve been too focused on making sure she was alive to even check.

  I can’t believe I’m crying. Jesus, I really am an emotional mess anymore. After I help lead her over to her mother’s nipple, I attempt to wipe my face and eyes on my shoulder, the only part of me remaining that not covered in yuck.

  Noah offers me a hand up, then we both stare down at ourselves, and start to laugh.

  “You two go get cleaned up, and I’ll wait for the afterbirth,” Maggie offers. “Grab some of your dad’s clothes, and throw his stuff in the washer.”

  “That was crazy,” Noah says, as we meander back towards the house. “How did you know to do all that?”

  “I watched my dad do it a long time ago.”

  “You were so calm. It was like you’d done that a million times.”

  “I didn’t feel calm.” Now that the danger was passed, I felt shaky and perilously close to crying again. “I guess you’re not so chicken afterall, Noah.”

  “I just about barfed up that ice cream,” he admits.

  “But you didn’t.”

  We spray each other off a bit with the hose at the side of the house, and then toe off our shoes and leave them on the back porch. I scamper into the mudroom for a few towels. After we’re both reasonably dry and somewhat clean, I lead Noah inside, and towards the downstairs bathroom. “Leave the door unlocked and I’ll put some clean clothes on the vanity for you.”

  I feel a little funny as I tiptoe into Maggie’s bedroom that she used to share with my dad. His clothes are still hanging in the closet, and filling half the drawers. It hasn’t even been three full weeks since his death, and she hasn’t started going through his things yet.

  I am full on crying as I flick through the hangers, searching for something big enough to fit Noah. I don’t think I’ve cried like this since the day I found out he was dead. After a bit to consider, I pluck out a pair of pajama pants with an elastic waist and an oversized T-shirt with a bit of stretch to it. They’ll have to do.

  By the time I get control of myself and go back downstairs, I don’t hear the shower running
anymore. I give the door a quick knock. It creaks open. “I thought you forgot about me,” Noah says with a small smile. He’s waiting with damp hair, and a towel slung low around his waist.

  My eyes skitter quickly over his inked and contoured torso before I thrust the clothes in his direction. “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “It’s no problem, Tori.”

  He emerges a few minutes later in clothes that fit too snug, and damp, slicked back hair.

  “Make yourself at home. I won’t be long,” I promise before closing myself up in the bathroom that is still filled with steam.

  By the time I come out wrapped in my robe, I hear Brandon upstairs chattering with Noah, probably showing off his geckos. I gather up both of our dirty clothes, and towels. Maggie takes them from me near the end of the hall. “Thank god you were here,” she says, dumping them into the washing machine. “Your dad always watched when they calved. I had no idea what to do.”

  “Everything come out okay?”

  She nods and her eyes are rapidly filling with tears. “He would’ve been so proud of you, Tori.”

  I let out a choking laugh. “Oh god, don’t get me started again.”

  “You’re right. You have company.” Maggie purses her lips, and sniffles. “Honey, I hope you stay. I can’t do this by myself.”

  I nod quickly. Whether or not my memories return, I know right then that I’m not going anywhere.

  I’m home.

  ***

  Forty minutes later I’m seated on the back porch steps with Noah beside me. We’re each holding a beer I found in the back of the fridge that I guess belonged to Dad. Maggie never drinks it. Our clothes tumble in the dryer as the sun sets orange, red, and gold.

  “You know, I hadn’t seen my dad for over a year before he died,” I say. “Some years I didn’t even come home for Christmas, and it’s not like he could drop everything here to visit me.”

  “I’m sure he knew the way you felt about him.”

  Shaking my head, I attempt to swallow back the bitter tears stinging at my eyes. “I should’ve never left this place.”

  “If you’d stayed, you might have always wondered what if,” Noah offers gently. “You only regret the chances you don’t take.” He pauses to laugh under his breath. “That sounds like it came out of a fucking fortune cookie or something.”

  “Or one of those posters with like a kitten, or someone hang gliding in the distance.” I swoop my arm out for dramatic effect. “If you risk nothing, you risk everything.”

  “Do, or do not. There is no try,” Noah says, giving a rather bad Yoda impression that makes me giggle.

  “We should really be writing these down.” I take a swig of my beer and set it down between my feet. “But one way or the other, I’m staying. It feels good to finally make a decision.”

  “What about prince charming waiting on you down in Miami?”

  “Prince charming?” I laugh under my breath, and roll my eyes. “I finally made a decision on that too. I told him this morning he was better off finding a new princess.” I can feel Noah’s eyes on me, but I can’t force my gaze up to meet his. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but… I’m not sure if I’m ready to kiss a new frog right now.”

  “First I was a chicken, and now I’m a frog?” Noah starts to crack up. “I almost forgot how much you liked to bust my balls.”

  “Did I?”

  “Sometimes. After we got to know each other a bit.” He bumps his shoulder against mine lightly. “I get it. You’re going through some shit, with losing your dad, and moving back to town, and dumping your prince.” His fingers trace lightly over the delicate gold chain around my wrist, the one I put back on after adding that second charm upstairs. Now a tiny ice cream cone dangles close to that miniature motorcycle. “I’m not expecting anything right now, Tori.”

  I’m not sure if I completely believe that. I’d have to be blind not to notice the heat in his eyes when he looks at me, and after that kiss yesterday...

  Going slow is as much for Noah as me. It’ll give him a chance to know me again too, the new me, because I’m definitely not the Tori he remembers. The girl he wrote those letters to died the night I fell from the top of that waterfall, but I’m not sure if he’s realized that yet.

  Chapter Eleven

  Noah

  “You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” Tori asks as she pulls on her seatbelt.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  She stares curiously around the interior of my truck, and nudges aside an empty drink cup on the floorboard. “I’m starting to think you’re a slob, Noah James.”

  I start to laugh, then pause.

  Her plump, smiling lips fall open into a shocked expression. “Is James your middle name?”

  “It sure is, Tori Lynn.”

  She smiles at me, but it looks a little forced.

  “Isn’t it a good thing that you remembered that?” I ask.

  “It is,” she agrees. “But it’s always a little strange for a moment after I recall something new. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

  As we drive further away from town, I try and fail to imagine what this is like for her. I know it’s gotta be tough, but I’m taking it as progress that she’s remembering these little things.

  When I turn off the main road, and drive beneath an overarching sign that reads Rolling Ridge Ranch, Tori starts to shake her head. “Noah, I hope you don’t think I’m going to ride a horse.”

  “That’s exactly what I think.”

  “I told you my balance is bad now.”

  “I know someone that works here, and I called ahead. He said they have a special saddle that should help, and he’s going to set you up with a really easy going horse. You’ll be fine, Tori.”

  Her lips flatten out into a thin line, and I can tell she’s pissed off. “I wish you’d talked to me about this beforehand. I really don’t like needing special treatment. It’s embarrassing.”

  “I’ll probably need more help getting on one of these things than you will. I’ve only ever done this once, and you said I was terrible at it.”

  She giggles. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You sure as hell did. Your horse didn’t like me, and according to you, she liked everyone.”

  “Ginger?”

  “Yup.” I park, and instinctively reach over to grab Tori’s hand, wanting to soothe her anxieties. “If you really don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

  “I guess it can’t hurt to go check it out,” she says reluctantly, staring towards the entrance.

  Tori’s hand feels so small and warm in mine. I never want to let go, and she makes no move to pull away for a long moment either. Her eyes meet mine, and no matter what she says, there’s a deep recognition there. Even if she doesn’t remember me all the way yet, something inside her knows me.

  Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

  Tori clears her throat and pulls her fingers free from my grasp. She gives me a weak smile, and starts to get out of my truck.

  Carter greets us up front. I haven’t seen him for a couple of months, not since he brought one of his vehicles into the garage, but he gives me a firm handshake as we say hello.

  “Long time no see, Tori,” he says in a deep timber.

  She smiles wide, and her green eyes light up. Tori moves forward to give him a friendly embrace.

  Tori remembers him? Him? They were friends in high school, sort of, but how the hell can she remember Carter and not me? How is that possible?

  I know Tori can’t help what she does and doesn’t remember, but it feels like a slap in the face. I’m overcome by a wave of irrational jealousy, until I realize after a moment of idle chatter, she’s remembering Carter from the years before she lost her memories. They both grew up around Brockton, and probably knew each other since they were little kids.

  “Noah explained over the phone that you’d want an easy going mount. I’ve got the perfect one all set up for you
.” He went on to explain the different saddle she would be using in terms I don’t understand, but I guess Tori does. When Carter asks if she wants a helmet, Tori’s cheeks go a little pink.

  “I’ll take one too, if you got it handy,” I chime in, hoping it makes Tori feel a little more comfortable. “I’ve only done this once, and it didn’t go so well.”

  “I’ll go see if we got one to fit your big head,” Carter says with a grin.

  When it’s time for us to climb up, I see right away the horse Carter chose for me is much larger to accommodate my size, and Tori’s horse has a saddle with little protrusions that curve over her thighs, almost like nubby horns.

  Some other guy whose name I don’t catch comes over to give us a hand, and he makes a beeline for Tori. I can’t say I really blame him. She’s a sight in blue jeans that fit just right, and I can’t fault the guy for looking, but when he puts a hand on her ass to help her into the saddle, a growl escapes my chest.

  Carter clears his throat aggressively. “Hey, George. I’ve got these guys. Why don’t you head back to the main stables and check on things for me.”

  George mutters under his breath as he skulks away, and Carter gives me a small apologetic smile.

  For all of her fears, Tori rides circles around me. Or I should say, my horse keeps going in circles despite my best efforts to coax it into a straight line, a problem Tori doesn’t have, and one both her and Carter find amusing.

  I don’t mind acting as comic relief if it means I get to see Tori smile and hear her laugh, not that any of this is an act. I figure everyone has strengths and weaknesses, things they are naturally good at, and others they just plain suck at. By the end of the afternoon, I’ve decided that I just plain suck at horse riding.

  Tori giggles at my bow legged stance as we make our way back to my truck. “You gonna make it?” she asks.

  “I’ll survive.”