Page 27 of Unraveling Fate

“Nothing, really,” she hedged. “It’s just that I’m not sure he believes me when I tell him we aren’t dating.”

“You’re not dating then?” He watched her, no jokes in his eyes.

“No. We’re not.” She shook her head but winced when pain spiked through her forehead.

“Well,” Taran said, the lightness returning to his voice. “Like I said, my father’s quite happy you’re here, and he’s got quite a few packages of these”—he popped a chocolate in his mouth—“squirreled away in the cottage for you. So whenever Canon proves too bothersome, feel free to pop by and have another.”

She laughed and snatched a chocolate from the plate. “Yes, turtles fix everything. What else did Drostan say about me?”

Taran thought. “He said it always brightened his day when you and your dad came to visit.”

Cadenza’s smile faded. She came on those visits with her father until she was twelve, when he passed away—her stepmother had never allowed her to visit after that, despite still living in Sonora. But never had Drostan once indicated, on any of those visits, that he had another son. Figuring from Ruairi and Cyrus’s apparent ages, if Taran truly was his youngest, he should have been in high school when she was twelve.

He should have been here.

She set the warmth of her mug aside and stared at Taran, trying not to let thedumandtekof rhythm on her arms distract her. “Taran, I appreciate your help tonight. I wasn’t in any shape to walk home by myself.”

“Aye, I suppose that was gallant of me, wasn’t it?” he joked, buffing his nails on his shirt. “And even more gallantly, I promise not to tell you all the embarrassing things you said until you feel better.”

“However,” she said, ignoring his playing. “You should know that I also appreciate everything Drostan’s done for me, and I look on him like an uncle. In all the time I spent here with my dad, I never saw any photos of you, and Drostan never mentioned you once. Ruairi and Cyrus, yes. He’d tell my dad all their news. But you, no.” Taran flinched, but she persisted. “Which tells me whatever happened between you two must have beenpainful. So, I have to ask. Are you going to leave him again? Because I’m not going to stand by and watch him get hurt.”

He stared at the floor. “Painful, aye. You know my mother’s gone, yes?”

She nodded.

“Did you know she was murdered?”

Cadenza’s mouth dropped open. “What? No, he never said. I’m so sorry.”

“Aye, well, after she died, I got into a bad place.” He made a face, remembering. “I tried to hurt the one who I thought hurt her. It didn’t turn out so well.” His jaw worked back and forth. “Led to me being gone for a while.”

“But you would have been just a kid,” she said. “What could you have actually done to hurt anyone? And gone where? With other family?”

“Hmm. I was young. And with family, ah…” He spoke lowly, as if each word was difficult to push out, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

Cadenza laid her hand over his; the drums immediately deepened. “I’m sorry. This isn’t any of my business.”

“Nae, nae.” Taran shook his head. “I appreciate you looking after the old man. As far as that goes, I promise you, Cadenza. I’m not going anywhere.” He met her eyes, the gold of his irises burning. The rhythm rushing through her hand surged up her arm, filled her chest. Whatever demons hid in Taran’s past, he was telling the truth now.

“I believe you.”

Eight

1 Sep 2019

26 Days and $4572. Plus car repairs???

The next morning Cadenza’s forehead above her left eyebrow ridge was starting to color, and her ribs felt like someone had danced a tarantella over them. She moved slowly, spending a few more fruitless hours job searching online before giving up, taking some acetaminophen and a nap. When she woke, the sun was a brass band in the west. She glared at it, applied a layer of concealer over her bruised face, grabbed Reyna Weyland’s business card, and drove to Columbia State Park.

The park smelled just like Cadenza remembered. She strolled down the wooden plank sidewalk, breathing in the mix of gunpowder and horses while tourists waited for the next stagecoach ride, or tried their hand at panning for gold. She could taste the sugar from the Columbia Candy Kitchen on the breeze. The sweet shop’s picture window showed costumed workers crafting old-fashioned candies.

A metallic banging came from a barn up ahead, and she walked that way, ignoring the temptation to buy a fist-sized jawbreaker for old time’s sake.

In the barn, the scent of burning ore scratched the back of her throat, and she coughed, waving away smoke. Many of the displays in Columbia were just that—displays. The assayer’s office and the Chinese apothecary showed scenes of how the businesses would have appeared in the 1850s, but from behind glass, like a museum. The smithy, however, like the candy kitchen and community theater, were live, functioning businesses.

The blacksmith worked behind a counter. She brought her hammer down on a glowing horseshoe, sending sparks flying. The dim light of the barn threw shadows, accenting the lines and curves of her muscular arms. She sported a leather apron and cornrows pulled back in a low ponytail, the bottom half of each braid dyed a vivid blue. A family of tourists tossed questions at her, and she fired the answers right back, eyes bright.

Cadenza browsed through the iron wares for sale while waiting her turn to speak to the smith. Something lay on the end of the counter closest to the forge, away from the candlesticks and good luck charms. It looked like a tuning fork, but it was made of solid iron and was as long Cadenza’s arm.