The Law of Moses(84)

“Moses? You’re doing it again,” Georgia said, mildly.

I looked back at her, the memory Eli had shared leaving a smile on my face.

“You’re spacing off. Day dreaming again.”

“I was thinking about your ass,” I responded, truthfully. I walked toward her, ignoring my dancing angel boy who trotted along beside me.

She laughed right out loud, and I caught her around the waist with one arm and began to tickle her in earnest.

Eli had the best ideas.

We fell over in the straw piled against the wall separating the barn from the arena, and Georgia fought back, squealing, trying to tickle me too. But I wasn’t especially ticklish, and before long I had her breathless and begging, shouting my name. It was the best sound in the world, and it definitely didn’t make me feel like laughing.

“Please, stop!” she shouted, clinging to my hands. There was straw in her hair, straw in my hair, and we were flushed and untucked and generally looked like we’d been up to a lot more than tickling when her dad came strolling through the barn.

Well, shit.

The look on his face had me dropping my hands and stepping away, recognizing the fury stamped all over his features for exactly what it was. I was in trouble—even Eli fled in terror, there one minute, gone the next, the warm stream connecting us suddenly dried up. Georgia’s back was to her father, and when my hands dropped she stumbled a little, grabbing at me. I gently set her aside, but I let her father come without protest or warning.

I didn’t even lift my hands. I could have. I could have easily dodged the clumsy fist that connected with my jaw, but I took it. Because I deserved it.

“Dad!” Georgia shoved herself up between us. “Dad! Don’t!”

He ignored her and stared into my eyes, his chest heaving, his mouth hard, his hand shaking as he pointed at me.

“Not again, Moses. We let you in. You ransacked the house. And worse, there were casualties. This isn’t happening again.”

He looked at Georgia then, and the look of disappointment he leveled at her was far worse than the anger he’d directed at me. “You’re a woman, Georgia. Not a child. You can’t act like this anymore.”

She deflated right before my eyes.

“You hit me all you want, Mr. Shepherd. I had that coming. But don’t talk to Georgia that way. Or I’ll kick your ass.”

“Moses!” Georgia’s eyes flashed, and her spine was straight again. Good. She could be angry at me. Anger was better than defeat.

“You think you can come in here and get away with murder again? You think you can just get away with it?” Martin Shepherd said, outrage making his voice hoarse.

“None of us are the same people we used to be, Mr. Shepherd. I was one of those casualties, too. And I didn’t get away with anything. Neither Georgia nor I got away with a damn thing. We’ve paid. Just like you’ve paid. And we’ll all keep on paying.”

He turned in disgust, but I saw his lips tremble, and I felt bad for the man. I wouldn’t like me if I were him. But it was better that we air it out.

“Mr. Shepherd?” I said softly. He didn’t stop. I thought about what Georgia had given me. I thought about the five greats. About forgiveness. And I passed it along.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shepherd. I am. And I hope someday you can forgive me.”

Georgia’s dad missed a step, stumbled, and stopped. There was something powerful about that word.

“I hope you can forgive me. Because this is happening. Me and Georgia. This is happening.”





Georgia




I SPENT THE AFTERNOON in the small indoor arena conducting an equine therapy class with a group of kids with behavioral problems that were brought down from Provo, about an hour north of Levan. It was a smaller group than usual, maybe six people at the most, and all of them people I’d spent time with before. As I finished up the sun was starting to set and Moses was finishing up in the indoor arena. I’d followed my dad out of the barn after the awkward blow-up that morning. I’d needed to make sure he was okay and I’d needed to catch my breath.

“This is happening. Me and Georgia. It’s happening,” he’d said. And my heart had done a fat somersault and landed with a slosh in my churning stomach. It was happening. I believed him. And I was suddenly a little scared. So I’d left, following my poor dad out of the barn to help him come to grips with seeing his daughter engaging in tickle games and Moses being back in my life. But that was yesterday and now, here we were, alone in the quiet of the indoor arena. I’d just finished conducting a class and Moses was painting the long wall that connected the arena to the stable, and I wasn’t sure what to say.

“You’re good at that, you know. I heard some of it. You’re impressive,” he said easily, and I stared at him blankly, not sure what he was referring to. My brain was still stuck on tickling and the emotional conversation with my dad.

“The therapy. The kids. All of it. You’re good,” Moses explained with a small smile.

The praise pleased me, and I turned my face to hide my pleasure. I was way too easy. Too needy. I didn’t like that about myself very much. But Moses seemed genuinely interested, asking me questions about this and that until I found myself talking freely about what I did while I removed the horses saddles and brushed them down.