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  “Thanks, Nurse Ratched.”

  “Way to alienate your only source of pain relief. Don’t make me go all Misery on you. Because you know I will. I saw a sledgehammer in the barn. And you can’t walk so good as it is.”

  “Honey, you have the compassion of a jackal.”

  “That’s cleaner than what I thought you were going to say. But you should be kissing my ass.”

  He gave her a look as hot as the soup. “Don’t tempt me.”

  She laughed. “No need to go overboard, cowboy. Use that energy for healing.”

  He resumed eating.

  The routine was, he’d eat lunch, sleep, wake for dinner, then back to Slumbertown. He could hobble with crutches, but for now he was supposed to stay in bed as much as possible. As a result, he slept as much as an elderly hound. He experimented the day before and didn’t take the Percocet when it was due. Thirty minutes later he asked for some, which was notable because Beth had once seen him silently withstand whacking his thumb with a hammer. So now, as per doctor’s orders, he took his meds like clockwork.

  Finn wished like hell he could move his leg without seeing entire constellations of stars, even with painkillers. He also wished Bethany would visit more. He slept a lot, but was slightly disappointed if Grady, Amanda, Grady’s personal assistant Jacqueline, or sometimes even Harris brought him food or came to help him dress or get him a fresh pitcher of water. Grady would have hired a nurse, but everyone at the house wanted to pitch in, with Finn’s consent. They were extraordinary people. He just wished Bethany wanted to be around him more.

  Later that afternoon, Bethany graced the guesthouse with her presence. “Wouldja mind if I brought Mingo in?” she asked, over her shoulder from the kitchen where she was making tea.

  “Mingo?” Finn tilted his head and gave her his quizzical look. “That some kind of faith healer?”

  “My dog. He’s . . . enthusiastic, and I was afraid he’d hurt you if he jumped on the bed. It’s your call. If you’d rather not take the chance, I get it.”

  Finn liked dogs. “Sure, why not?” He paused. “Wait. How big is she?”

  “He. Not big.”

  “You’re a horseperson. You think a Great Dane is a teacup poodle because it’s under sixteen hands.”

  “He’d fit in a mailbox.”

  “What size mailbox?”

  “Finn!”

  He grinned at her. “I’d love to meet him.”

  “I’ll bring him later today. We’ll see how it goes. If he’s too much of a pain, I’ll take him outside.” She bit her lip.

  “What?”

  “I should probably warn you. Harris has a movie idea, starring you and him.”

  Finn raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “Prepare yourself. He calls it . . . Broke Leg Mountain.”

  Finn groaned. “That’s terrible. But if he keeps making me those freaking amazing dinners, I don’t see how I can turn him down.”

  Bethany laughed. “I’m not going to tell him—he’ll send you lines to memorize. You also have a fan. Wave, the nine-year-old, can’t wait to meet you. You’re this big mystery in the guesthouse. It’s like I’ve captured Bigfoot.”

  He laughed. “Bigleg is more like it.”

  “Now, Finn,” she started, in what he thought of as her schoolmarm voice, “I know you can take care of yourself—there are lots of things you can do—but you might overestimate how much you can handle. Remember yesterday when you didn’t take the Percocet and what a bad idea that was? I’m here to save you from yourself.”

  Aw. The Cronut was looking out for him.

  She continued. “Are you bored here? Do you want to go outside? It’s nice out. Do you want to go to the house? Eat there? You’re more than welcome to—everyone would love it, for reasons I’ve already said.”

  “I want to get better on those things first,” he said, indicating the crutches next to the built-in bed.

  “Okay, okay. But if you change your mind and you want to go out, let me—or someone—know. You can visit my horse, if you want. But you don’t have to. Ooh, hey, you can take a long tour of the house. If you want, you can stay there. You don’t have to stay here. That’s the other thing, you can stay in the house if you want. Grady was worried about the girls being too noisy while you were trying to sleep, which is why he thought you might prefer here. You have all the privacy you want.”

  “I’m happy wherever. I don’t want to be more of a pain than absolutely necessary, so I’ll go wherever Grady wants. When is Ming Vase coming?”

  “What?”

  “Your dog that lives in a mailbox. Does the ASPCA know about that?”

  “Mingo. His name’s Mingo. I’ll bring him by later, if I can find him. He likes to roam on all these acres. And eat horse poop.”

  “I might have just changed my mind.”

  Mingo was the color of hot chocolate made with creamy milk and a lot of love stirred in. He was a canine zeppelin, taller and sturdier than a dachshund, with a tail like a spent cigar. He had floppy velvet triangles for ears, a nose the same shade as his sleek fur, and big liquid-brown eyes designed to melt human hearts and willpower. Beth had fallen for him hard as she’d walked by his cage in the Florida shelter, because he’d sat and raised a front paw, all the while staring at her as though he were auditioning for a pet adoption ad. His eyes had won the day. That was two years ago, and he had proven to be a great horse-show dog, happiest when he was with her, but quiet and calm if he had to stay in the truck or trailer, and an excellent salesdog in her vendor tent.

  That afternoon Beth opened the door to the cottage and yelled, “Incoming!” Mingo charged past her and stopped in the middle of the room, assessing. People were his favorite, so as soon as he saw Finn, he pricked his ears, ran, and launched himself onto the bed.

  “Oomph!” Finn said as he sat up. Mingo planted his paws on Finn’s chest and wagged his body. Clearly, his tail called the shots and the rest of his solid frame followed.

  Finn said, “Hiya, Mingo. My, aren’t you a lot heavier than you look?”

  Beth stood by the bed and chuckled. “Meet Mingo.”

  “He’s . . . husky. Damn, he’s like matter in a black hole.”

  “We prefer ‘compact.’ But, seriously, is he bothering you? You can tell him ‘off.’ He’s marginally obedient.”

  Finn slid her a look. “Like his mistress.”

  “It all depends on the request. And the requester.” She smirked.

  But Finn was busy scratching Mingo’s chin and, most likely, falling in love. For his part, Mingo lay happily on Finn’s chest, eyes half-closed, lost in dog nirvana.

  “Hey, do you want to come to the house for dinner tomorrow night? It might do you good to get out.”

  Finn looked at her while ear-rubbing. “Sure, why not? Give me an hour to get up the driveway.”

  “I’ll tell Harris. Any requests?”

  Finn shrugged and shook his head. “He hasn’t let me down yet.” Mingo groaned.

  “One of Grady’s friends is coming for dinner, the guy who’s going to help me with my shirts.”

  “Great.”

  Good. Beth had been afraid Finn would stay in the cottage until he was able to walk again, which was completely unlike the man she had been married to. She had to remember that this injury was, as the doctor told her, painful. She also had to remember that Finn seemed perkier and more alert today than he had been since the accident. Although when he slept, from what she could tell, he was out. Since he’d been sleeping so much during the day, often he had trouble staying asleep at night. He’d told her that sometimes, if he couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night, he’d read or work on his laptop.

  Mingo was now resting his head on his front paws, regarding Finn as though he were a beloved doggy saint. Finn flicked his hand at Beth. “Go. I have Mingo. I’m
fine. Go do something fun. He’s so happy to be out of that mailbox you keep him in, aren’t you, buddy?”

  “Do you need anything from town? Do you want to go for a drive?”

  “I’m fine, Bethany. Go away. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.”

  “Okay,” she said, as she refilled his ice water. “Here’s fresh water. Your next happy pills are at four.” She set the water on the bedside table. “Bye, Ming,” she said, and patted the dog’s head. He paid her no mind. “Traitorous mutt,” she mumbled.

  “I can’t help it that I’m charming.”

  “Just remember—he eats horse poo.”

  “You had to ruin our moment.”

  “Keep that leg elevated.”

  “Go!” Finn nodded and shooed her out the door with his hands.

  Beth left. Well now, wasn’t this odd? She had been, she admitted, avoiding Finn, but now she didn’t want to leave. And she was . . . okay, this was embarrassing . . . a little hurt that he seemed so eager for her to go just now. She trudged to the barn, not sure what she was going to do. She wanted to stay with Finn, but obviously he didn’t want her there. As she entered the barn, another thought entered her mind.

  Just like he didn’t want you in your marriage. Should she cut her visit short? She wanted Finn to want her more than he did. If he didn’t, what was the point of staying?

  Oh, good God, Beth! Stop!

  It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

  “I’m here for me, not him. He doesn’t want my help, fine. His loss.” She surged through the barn to the pasture beyond where her bay thoroughbred mare grazed. She strode along the fence line to the pasture gate. “I’m here to enjoy myself, be an entrepreneur, and train,” she said as she unhooked Brooke’s halter from where it hung on the gate. “I am woman, hear me roar.” She spotted her horse in the distance, grazing with Edelweiss, Amanda’s gray. “Come here, woman.” She whistled, and like a good movie horse from a 1950s Western, Brooke lifted her pretty head, pricked her delicate ears, and galloped to her owner. “I love that I taught you to do that,” Beth said as she buckled the halter around the mare’s head.

  Once Brooke was secured in the crossties, Beth called Amanda to see if she wanted to go for a trail ride. Amanda heartily agreed. In twenty minutes both women were on their jumpers, on one of the trails that wound through the thousand-acre property. Today they chose a wide trail with good footing. Some of the trails were tougher because they were so rocky, narrow, or both. Good trail horses—like Smooch and Vern, the quarter horses Amanda had purchased for Grady’s guests last summer when she had been hired to teach his daughters to ride—were steady and surefooted on them, but Beth didn’t know how Brooke would handle it. Besides, Amanda had to take precautions to keep her valuable horse sound. They had already qualified for the World Cup, which was the only reason Amanda had the month off from showing. She’d decided to spare Edelweiss the wear and tear of near-weekly shows. It would be a terrible irony if the mare hurt herself on a leisurely trail ride.

  “How’s it going with Finn?” Amanda asked. The trail was wide enough to ride side by side. “Is it like The English Patient, except you can see his face?”

  “Ha! Hardly. Although I guess he sleeps most of the time.”

  “How about you?”

  “Me? I sleep just fine.”

  Amanda’s riding helmet cast a shadow on her face in the harsh Aspen sunshine, but Beth could still see the concern in her friend’s golden-brown eyes.

  “Weird. Awkward and comfortable at once. True confessions? I’d been avoiding him, but then today he didn’t seem to want me to stay, and I was . . . hurt.”

  “So you don’t want to take care of him, but you want him to want you to take care of him?”

  “Well, when you put it that way. . . .”

  “Cray-cray, as Harris would say?”

  “Isn’t Brooke doing well? She’s hardly spooked at all.”

  “You’re not cray-cray. You’re human.”

  Damn Amanda for knowing her so well! Beth sighed so loudly, Brooke’s ears rotated backward to take in the new sound coming from her rider. “When I’ve gone to see him, sometimes it feels like we’re still married. I . . . I’ve watched him sleep. Just to watch him sleep.”

  Amanda lowered her chin. It was her deadly serious here face. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

  They were climbing a gentle grade, and Beth dearly wished a bear would appear so she could dodge the question. Yes—a bear with cubs. She looked around. No bear. Not even a squirrel to spook Brooke.

  She sighed again. “Blerg. I don’t know. Did I tell you this? About when we were kayaking? The big confession?”

  “No. That was the same day he broke his leg. In all the excitement, you must’ve forgot. But now you have to.”

  “Be glad you’re sitting. He told me he still loves me. That he’d never stopped loving me.”

  “Shut the front door!” The golden-brown eyes were all lit up and not from the sun. “And . . . ?”

  “So he loves me. So what? It doesn’t change anything. It’s just an FYI. ‘Hey, I still love you, ex-wife who I couldn’t wait to divorce.’ ”

  “That’s not how I remember it. What did you say when he said that?”

  “Nothing. I shivered at him.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  7

  Damn, Vogel! Could you stop being my best friend for a minute and ask me about . . . nail polish or bits or something?”

  “Nope. And technically, it’s Vogel-Brunswick. And stop stalling.”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I do. Then I’m sure I hate him. I’m definitely not . . . what’s the word? . . . indifferent. I’m ambivalent.”

  “Sounds only slightly schizo. Complicated. Because you’re human.”

  “Yeah. Then there’s that Kristen person. Slut-a-go-go.”

  “The geologist? She’s slutty? I thought she was nice.”

  “She may be nice, but she’s also slutty. At least around Finn she is. While we were kayaking—I may have been kind of jealous.”

  “Did you do anything? Your impulsive streak and all?”

  “No. I wanted to, but I didn’t. She was prancing around in a bikini top, stretching.” Beth raised her arms above her head, imitating Kristen in a dumb-blonde falsetto. “Oh, I have to stretch so much! Look how stretchy my arms are! I’m sooo flexible! Oh, are those my boobs? How did they get there? Is that one popping out? That would be awful!”

  Amanda laughed.

  “She was paddling right next to Finn the whole time in that lake. The whole entire time. Her and her boobs.”

  “I think you’re still in love with him. Otherwise why would you care?”

  “But we’re divorced! For years! I haven’t seen him in five years.”

  “You may not have come to terms with everything that happened back then. If you don’t deal with your feelings, they resurface until you do.”

  “Tell me about it. In my defense for not dealing with them, I didn’t think I’d see him again. But it doesn’t necessarily mean I still love him, right? I could just be screwed up without loving him.”

  Amanda smiled. “Oh, you can be screwed up entirely on your own. But when someone you once loved enough to marry tells you he’s still in love with you—that’s something.”

  “Then I’ll make a point to only remember all the crappy parts of our marriage, which obviously outnumbered the good parts. I’ll help him heal and then it’s sayonara, Finn.”

  “I always thought you got divorced awfully quickly. Again, the impulsive streak.”

  “That’s what makes all this so much fun! I get into fixes and hilarity ensues. Then you fish me out and talk sense into me. You’re Mary Tyler Moore and I’m the wacky best friend.”

  “I didn’t help you with the fix that was yo
ur marriage.”

  “I didn’t think it was that bad. Then the wheels came off.”

  “See what happens. Realizing you love a man who still loves you isn’t the end of the world, you know. As someone told me last summer when I didn’t know if I was in love with Grady, ‘life is messy.’ ” Amanda grinned.

  Beth never expected that her own words would come back to haunt her.

  I wish my broken leg didn’t weigh ninety pounds. That was Finn’s first thought when he woke later that afternoon. As he opened his eyes, sunlight poured through the westerly windows of the guesthouse. The golden, cheery room matched his mood, because he’d had another Technicolor drug dream, this one ending with scorching hot, feral sex with Bethany. It reminded him of sex when they were married. As screwed up as their marriage had become, in the bedroom things had always been good. He had hoped, toward the end, that sex could pull them out of the dive, but it didn’t. In his dream the sex was spectacular, but not nearly as spectacular as the real-life sex he and Bethany had had when things were good.

  Mingo snored softly next to him. A happy, dense, warm lump, looking as though he’d keeled over while standing. The little dog had been a pleasant companion, content to sleep next to him all afternoon. Finn stroked Mingo’s face and the mutt stretched all four legs at once, stiffening then going completely limp.

  Finn heard someone on the porch. He ran his hand through his hair, then struggled to get up from the bed to use the bathroom. En route, he was surprised to hear knocking. Mingo lifted his head and pricked his ears. Usually Finn’s “helpers” came right in after a brief knock.

  “Hello?” It was a child’s voice. One of Grady’s daughters, no doubt. “Mr. Finn?”

  Mingo launched off the bed and bolted to the door.

  “Yes?” he called. “Who is it? Are you a Brunswick child?”

  “Yes. I’m Wave Elizabeth Brunswick. Can I come in?”

  “Just a minute, okay? I’ll be right there.” He wanted to meet her, which surprised him.