Leaving Tracks (2 page)

“Sounds good,”
Glory muttered as her spoon scrapped the bottom of the cup. “Can I have more?”

F
arming was at
times hard, ungratifying work. I hated it. I could–if needed–take care of all the livestock we raised but that wasn’t my aspiration for the rest of my life. At nineteen, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with the rest of my life–but I was absolutely certain it wasn’t farming.

That
sentiment wasn’t entirely true. I did know what I wanted. I wanted what my mother had wanted. I wanted the Olympic Gold Medal for figure skating. According to my brothers–at least to Thierry–it wasn’t practical and it wasn’t realistic.

That didn’t stop
me from skating every available chance I got. It didn’t stop me from reading every article or studying every event on TV in an effort to learn through watching. It didn’t stop me from trying everything I saw at least once.

Part of
me–the dreamer part–was slowly dying in the face of the reality. Without a coach, without any real teacher, I might as well be trying to build a castle in the sky. I would have to give into Thierry sooner or later, and sit down and reevaluate what I wanted. Or more likely, what Thierry wanted for me.

“Nearly done here. Go on in and see if Wesley needs anything. If not, I think we’re good until evening chores,”
Thierry told me as he led a pair of dairy cows into the milking parlor.

“If he doesn’t need me
, I’m going to go do some skating,” I commented and didn’t need to see Thierry’s absent wave to understand my brother’s annoyance.

I
ignored the little feeling of let down as I exited and headed across the yard to the house. I was getting use to ignoring that little feeling. Almost to the point of numb. My brother would always be annoyed with what I did.

Adjacent to the milking parlor was a little stable that
my younger brother, Rhett, bred and trained horses out of. It annoyed me a little that even with the two-year advantage I had on Rhett, my brother had already found his calling and embraced it. 

Thierry
had encouraged it too, which added some resentment to the thought. Thierry had the small stable erected and given Rhett a little bit of seed money to get started. And Rhett had flourished with it. His first year in business ended in the black and the second year looked like it would do the same.

Thierry
wouldn’t give money to me for a coach. I tried in every way I could think to get him to let me skate. He wouldn’t encourage me to reach the dream of professional figure skater. He
had
allowed me to convert the shed behind the house into a pottery studio. That was something at least, but I took the gesture as a peace offering “I’m giving you this to keep the peace in the house” that’s what it felt like. Rhett got his stable, I got my pottery.

I
walked around the wraparound deck to the kitchen door and stomped off my boots before entering. Wesley ran the house and he ran it more efficiently than a team of housekeepers could. And he was scary if his rules were broken.

There had been a moment in time–not too long ago–when
Thierry wasn’t sure if Wesley had been straight or not. He could gossip with the best of the little old ladies and he had gotten a culinary arts degree. Wesley had been amused when Thierry had–uncomfortably–approached the subject.

Wesley
just liked to cook. And he liked knowing what was what. Gossip was the same as watching the news to him. He wasn’t yet doing anything with his degree except feeding us but I didn’t think it’d be long before Wesley opened a restaurant or something. I wasn’t sure what my brother was waiting for but I knew he was waiting.

Wesley
turned from the stove and gave me a critical look before going back to whatever he was doing, “You done out there?”

“Until evening chores. I’m to see if you need anything done?”
I replied easily. Dealing with Wesley was always easier than dealing with Thierry.

“Not for a few hours yet. I’m getting this roast started
; then I’m making a list that’s going to need to be run over to Morgaine. We’re running low on produce and I don’t like it.”

“Avala
’s going to need eggs probably.” I said absently as I poured myself some coffee. “She most always needs eggs by mid-month. I can take those over with your list.”

“You can go out and get the eggs and bring ‘em in. I’ll clean them up and then you’re free until I get the list written up.”

“I got time to skate?” I asked casually. Skating didn’t bother Wesley the same way, but I still felt his disappointment in the act.

Wesley
sighed. “Two hours. Go skate now, and grab the eggs on your way in. You’ll eat lunch while I wash them then you’ll run over to Morgaine’s.”

“Thanks.”
I hurried back out, only stopping to grab my skates from where they sat next to the door.

“Two hours!”
Wesley called as the door swung shut behind me.

I
rolled my eyes and was careful to avoid crossing paths with Thierry on my way out to the lake. Mid-October meant the lake should be well frozen. Should be. The temperatures hadn’t been above thirty in weeks. It was something I was careful to pay attention to now. It hadn’t really snowed yet; there were only a few inches on the ground, so there was no chance of it insulating the ice and thinning the layers.

When
I reached the lake, I noticed that the wind had cleared a decent sized area in the ice. I shouldn’t have any problems with it. I still studied it for a moment checking the cleared area for cracks or signs of weakness.

I
sat on the familiar log and traded my boots for my skates. The shoes that had been forgotten all those long years ago still sat a few feet away. They were a kind of symbol to me, a reminder that appearances should never be taken at face value. The skates my mother had cut from my feet were still at the bottom of the lake. I had never fished them out.

It was a comfort to be on the ice. A home away from home especially when
my home was growing ever more hostile. At least that’s how it felt. My brothers would never come right out and say what I felt from them, but that didn’t change the feeling of it. And in feeling it, I heard the unspoken words loud and clear.

Out of habit and to warm up
, I made a few passes around the edges of my little rink. I did a 0few squats as I glided across the ice and a few leg extensions. The motions, just the sheer pleasure of being in skates and on the ice relaxed me. I could be free out here. I
was
free out here.

I
was also secretly practicing Axels. It wasn’t something my mother had taught me and it wasn’t something I’d been properly coached in. I knew the theory behind it, and why it was an Axel, but to date, I hadn’t completed one correctly yet. At least not according to the guidelines, my research told me was a proper Axel.

The ice was unyielding when
I fell, and the first fall was always a shock. It wasn’t new, but it was still just as painful as the first time I’d landed forcefully against the ice. Still, I stood, brushed off, and tried again.

I
had only
intended on a short walk after the early lunch. Habit had me gravitating towards the lake where my whole career had started. I had my cane with me but had no intention of using it. Avala had pressed it on me as I was walking out and I hadn’t the strength to argue over it.

I
had been tempted to stop in the skating rink Mama had built behind the house for me but resisted. I wasn’t ready to see it, wasn’t ready to face that I had no future plan.

The familiar sound of blade against ice drew
me to the lake’s edge to watch the skater. He obviously thought he was alone was my first thought. My second thought followed quickly as he hit the ice yet again. His form was sloppy and his skill… Well, if you couldn’t say something nice…

It wasn’t
my place to say anything, but then again he was on our land. I couldn’t quite remember if I had ever been told the lake was used for–and I would term it loosely–practices. Torn between amusement and horrification, I found a large stump to sit on and watch.

He had deep gold hair in what
I imagined would be a neat, orderly style if he hadn’t been skating at speed across the ice and falling on his backside. I couldn’t see the color of his eyes from the distance, but I could see them narrowed in concentration and watched that concentration die to pain when he landed against the ice again.

It was like watching an
eight-year-old skate I decided. I gave him points for enthusiasm and tenacity. He was continually falling and pulling himself back up to try again. He would have bruises for his bruises, I knew; I had suffered that fate once upon a time.

He would do better, I thought if he was using figure skates and not hockey skates. The skates themselves looked beaten
and worn and far too old for the abuse he was putting them through. I wondered briefly why he figure skated in hockey skates before deciding it wasn’t any of my business.

After a few minutes of watching the disaster
on ice, I couldn’t take it anymore. I, respectfully, waited for him to hit the ice again before calling out. No point in distracting him from…whatever he was trying to do. “Hey.”

He turned his head from where he laid and studied
me. “Hey.” He shouted back.

I
waited for him to pull himself up and skate over. I had no intention of shouting across the ice.

“How long have you been sitting there?”
His tone was slightly accusing and partly embarrassed. Which after witnessing what I had, I understood, completely.

“Enough to know if you don’t stop now
, tomorrow the bruises will be so painful you won’t be able to move.” I replied easily and noted his eyes were the color of melted chocolate and shaped like Avala’s. So there was some Native American blood in him. That was apparent by the cut of his cheekbones as well. I also noted that he could almost pass for a Backstreet Boy look alike. The blond one…what was his name?

T
he flutter in my stomach was a surprise and I squashed it down immediately. Cute was cute, but attraction was something I wanted no part of. At least not yet, not when I wasn’t sure I had a future. It wouldn’t be fair to drag anyone down into my turmoil.

He rolled his shoulders
in a completely male and dismissive gesture that made me smile. “I know what I’m doing.”

I
couldn’t prevent the snort that escaped but covered the rest of my laughter with coughs. I wheezed a few breathes then just stared up at him. “I’m sure. I’m Hadley. I live here. You?”

“North. I live over there.” He jerked his head
to the other side of the lake where I knew, theoretically, the other farm was, but I hadn’t ever been over there.

“
Graton right? And North as in
Nicolas Saint North and the Battle with the Nightmare King
?”

He flushed.
It was a totally endearing look and he looked away unable to meet my eyes. “I never asked. I’m assuming since my brothers are Thierry, Wesley, and Rhett my mother was a lover of literature and chose our names accordingly.” He rolled his shoulders in a move I thought betrayed discomfort. He was probably feeling the bruises now. “I’ve got to get back. Nice meeting you.” He pivoted and skated–on flat edges I saw–towards the other side of the lake.

What a weird
, cute boy, I thought as I stood and turned for home. But entertaining. Yes, very entertaining. And I smiled as I walked away.