The closer she got, the more overwhelmed I felt. The wave of righteous anger that had carried me here was beginning to recede, and I almost stepped back. To gather myself, to breathe a little deeper, but I’d grown used to this tight, airless feeling, often more real than imagined. I could endure it.
“Kit wouldn’t touch you,” I spat. “He thinks you’re despicable.”
Her lips pursed with bitter condescension, then she clucked her tongue. “Pretty Penny,” she cooed, assuring me the nickname was far from gone. “You have a pleasant face, but clearly, you’re lacking what it takes to hold Kit’s interest, otherwise he wouldn't be coming to me for attention.”
It was a play on my weakness, my insecurity. I recognized it, but that didn’t make it any less effective. It still sent me reeling, worrying that Iwaslacking, and not only where Kit was concerned.
Not quite a farmer. Not quite a man. Not what my parents wanted. Not who I should have been.
Those doubts roared in my mind, overpowering Violette’s accusations. Deafening me so I had to shout over them.
“H-he didn’t come to you, you… bitch! And he never would!” The stammered shout was as loud as I had been when bangingon their front door, thunderous in the room with the two of them only inches away.
Then, I was trembling, panting, and trying not to start coughing for fear I wouldn’t stop. But the self-doubts kept repeating, reminding me of lies I’d long believed, things Kit assured me weren’t true. I needed him now, and I wished I’d never left. I wished I was still in bed beside him where I was safe. Loved. Accepted.
Instead, I was far from home. The span of town between this cottage and ours felt massive, and my thoughts continued to clamor with unkind sentiments until Merrick bellowed instead.
“Quiet!”
Violette had been talking; I hadn’t heard her, but I could tell by the way she puffed with resentment at having her tirade interrupted.
Merrick heaved a breath and shook his head as though he, too, had to rattle his thoughts into order. The pause gave me time to recover, to latch onto the driving force that had kept me up for hours.
When I spoke again, the words had determination all their own. It was a speech I didn’t realize I had practiced but, in fact, I had. I’d repeated it to myself over and over since the day my father died.
“Merrick, I absolve you of all responsibility for my farm and my family, and I include Kit in that. We need never see or speak to each other again. In fact, I’d prefer we didn't.”
Merrick gave an abrupt laugh, and his eyes grew cold and cutting. “Youabsolveme? You have no right to absolve me of anything.”
“Removed, then,” I said, gradually gaining conviction. “Thatismy right. The farm belongs to me, no matter how much you wish it didn’t, and my family was never yours to begin with. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
I faced him while taking measured breaths and watched as he processed. He didn’t argue as readily as I expected, which was a relief because I didn’t have much more to say. Well, perhaps one thing.
“You know, I used to believeIwas the curse on our family, but it’s been you all along. You’re a scourge on the Oliver name and on Ashpoint. Everything you touch is worse for it.”
Violette blocked my path to the door, so I had to shoulder past her. When she practically snarled at my proximity, I whirled around and stabbed my finger at her.
“You’re no better,” I snapped, “and you’d do well to keep your hands to yourself from now on.”
My exit from the house was a flurry. I couldn’t get out fast enough. I was running away like I had after the dinner party, but feeling far more the victor.
When I returned home, it was barely past daybreak, and the cottage was quiet. I shed my boots and the cloak and gloves that had kept me so warm that my chest barely rattled after my near jog through the snow.
I tugged off my shirt, then dragged my hands through my hair as I ambled down the hall and opened our bedroom door.
Kit was where I’d left him, but unsettled again. He’d curled into himself, shrunk into a ball on his side of the bed with Ember nestled against his chest. I felt a pang of guilt for having stepped out and didn’t wait to climb onto the mattress. Crawling over to where the black kitten lay, I scooped her up.
“I’ll take it from here,” I whispered and set her aside before tucking myself into Kit’s chest.
He mumbled and shifted, coming to enough awareness to straighten his body and allow me to press in. Then I was held. We both were. And safe. Loved. Accepted.
23
Penny
Iblinked, and it was morning. Full morning, with sun blazing through the bedroom window and the mattress gone cold beside me. I yawned and stretched, apparently cat-like enough that Nutmeg decided to join in. She sprang onto my stomach with her bushy tail flicking and her needle-sharp claws pricking my bare skin.
I shoved her aside with a chuckle and clambered out of bed, far from rested but eager to check on Kit. As thoughts filtered in of what had happened the previous night—or rather only an hour or two earlier—my enthusiasm turned into anxiety. We were leaving town that morning, and it couldn’t happen a moment too soon.
