He stuck his hands in his pockets. "I want to help her. Comfort her. Make her feel safe. But I don't know how."
Saying the words aloud made it real. He'd denied his growing feelings for her up to this point.
But there was no ignoring them.
Iris was quiet.
When he glanced at her, all signs of humor had faded.
"It bugs you, doesn't it?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"She got under your skin."
That pain behind his eye pulsed again.
"I'm not exactly equipped." He kicked the post at the edge of the porch. "When everything fell apart… with Noah… I left. You stayed for the fallout. I don't know what I'm doing here."
When she smiled, it was a little bit sad. "Haven't you had any meaningful relationships in the last ten years? A girlfriend that lasted?"
He squinted, glaring out at her property. Hers was almost in as bad of shape as Grandma Mackie’s had been. Because of Jilly's cancer? He could only imagine the doctor's bills. "My last ex claimed I was shut off."
Iris let him have the moment. Or maybe she wanted him to keep talking.
"It's better if I don't let anyone get too close. Easier."
"Don't you mean 'safer'?"
Yeah, the excuse had sounded flimsy to him, too.
He grimaced. "It hasn't been a big deal. I never wanted to let anybody close. Until..." He nodded to Molly.
He exhaled noisily, turned his back to the scenery. Rubbed his hand down his face. "And she's so young. Still in college." She might've ditched university for now, but that didn't mean she wasn't going back. She had her whole life in front of her. "Did you know she made me homemade soup?" he burst out. "I thought all soup came from a can. She played nurse for days. Without expecting anything in return."
He shook his head. He didn't understand her. A giver. Didn't she worry he was going to walk all over her?
"She's stronger than you think." Iris's quiet words sent his gaze back to the woman in question.
She stood near the corral with her arms wrapped around her waist, looking like a gust of wind could knock her over. One lock of hair had fallen against her cheek. She didn't seem to notice it.
Almost without meaning to, he started talking. "She's a whiz with engines. And she took care of the cattle while I was down. Knew how to break the ice on the pond and didn't overfeed 'em. She's a natural rancher."
"Why don't you keep her on?"
He shot a look at Iris. "You know why. I'm selling." That pain pulsed again. "It's the only way out."
"You still want out?"
He gritted his teeth. "Living in Sutter's Hollow stopped making sense to me a decade ago. I have a life in Houston."
"Don't you mean a job?"
He rubbed both hands down his face this time. Why did it have to be so hard?
Iris touched the back of his shoulder. When he looked at her, he saw forgiveness. Acceptance. Friendship.
She was still willing to be his friend, after everything?
"For what it's worth," she said, "the fact that you want to help Molly—that you want to let her in—is enough."
Ha. When had he ever been enough?
"You'll figure everything else out."
He'd wanted a concrete answer, an action plan. He hadn't gotten it, but Iris's encouragement settled somewhere deep inside him.
He had to clear his throat before he spoke. "Would you talk to her?"
Iris nodded and started down the porch steps.
"Iris." His throat burned on the words. "I'm sorry I left you to pick up the pieces. Sorry I didn't keep in touch." He was sorry for all of it.
Her smile, thrown over her shoulder, was soft and sad. "I know."
"Cord must be really worried about me to beg for your help." Molly spoke the words as she heard Iris approach. She'd know Cord's distinctive footfall even in a pitch-black room. In contrast, Iris moved with a quiet grace.
She settled against the railing, a few feet between her shoulder and Molly's.
"Cord worries a lot. Always has." There was affection in Iris's voice. There'd been tension when they'd been in the No Name kitchen two weeks ago. It seemed to have dissipated. Was Cord rekindling their friendship? At least one good thing had come from Molly interfering in his life.
Iris was quiet for several moments. Then,
"When we were in high school, if someone suggested dirt biking, Cord was always counting the helmets. If we wanted to take the boat out at the lake, he was making sure everyone not only had their life jacket, but was wearing it."
"He likes to take care of things," Molly said quietly. She'd seen it with the cat. Bringing the dog inside on the bitter cold nights. And her. The poor lost lamb.
I think I'm going crazy.
He didn't need her kind of drama in his life. But she was so afraid to leave.
"He takes care of the people he loves," Iris corrected gently. "He was a mother hen to West for a long time. He was only two years older but took care of West the best he could. Took the brunt of Mackie's temper when it erupted."
The words confirmed what Molly had only guessed at.
"He must've done a good job," she said quietly. On the phone, West had seemed tough and capable. And he'd asked about Cord, which meant he cared. Even if the relationship wasn't what it should be.
"I think it's because of the way his parents died," Iris said. "Just ripped away in a freak car accident."
Oh, Cord. He hadn't mentioned his parents, only West and Mackie. She'd made assumptions, because he'd been raised by his grandmother, but hearing it... she ached for him. For the little boy he must've been.
"He doesn't want to care about me," Molly said quietly. She'd known it from the start.
But sometime over the last few days, the fact had begun to hurt.
"None of us can choose who we fall in love with."
There was a sadness, an acceptance to her words. Maybe some long-ago heartbreak.
"Did Cord tell you…?"
Iris
