"A man's entitled when you swoon into his arms," Malory pointed out.
"I don't blame him. It's interesting, too, that he was there to catch me. Don't you think? Romantic, I guess, but interesting, too. He's upstairs asleep, and I'm out there for—I don't know how long. Hours. It felt like minutes, but it was hours."
She glanced toward the doorway to make certain no one was hovering. "Then he's not just asleep—Kane's got him running around in the dark, getting his hands all cut up. He tried to get him to go back to New York in his head, where everything's ordered, everything's normal."
"But he didn't do it." Malory set the strainer of cranberries in the sink. "At the threshold—a moment of decision, and he made his choice."
"He made it, and so did I when I ripped Kane's face. Those are decisions we can both feel pretty damn good about today."
"Wished I'd seen you do it." Dana attacked the potatoes again. "My one regret."
"It was great," Zoe assured her. "I don't know when I've done anything that's made me feel that powerful. But anyway, after all that, Bradley gets downstairs just in time to keep me from falling flat on my face."
Zoe brought her knife down with a thunk. "Kane tried to keep him away, to trap him in that illusion."
"Didn't want a man interfering," Malory said sourly, "while he bullied the little lady."
"No, and I think he didn't want us together while he tried to make me feel like a loser."
"Doesn't sound like you're feeling like a loser."
"He pushed all the right buttons, I'll give him that. But he's not the first one to push them, and I've learned how to push back. He pushed them because he's scared. Because I'm close. Because he knows I can beat him. So he worked on my insecurities and my feelings, then he tried to bribe me. And when it didn't work, he got pissy."
"Pissy." Malory stepped over to touch her fingers gently to the bruise on Zoe's cheek. "Honey, he clocked you."
"Maybe so, but I can promise you, he looks a lot worse." She threw back her head and let out a hoot. "If I'd been thinking straight, I'd've followed up. A good kick to the balls. If he has balls. I hurt him, and Bradley beat him. We've got him running scared. And that just makes my whole damn day."
She saw the flicker in Malory's eyes and sighed. "I know. I know I don't have much time left. Part of me wants to go running through this house like a mental patient trying to find the key. But that's not the answer. I don't know what is, only that isn't it. So I'm going to make Thanksgiving dinner, a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner. Because I do belong. I do belong with all of you, and I'm thankful for it."
Dana set the paring knife aside. "He did get to you some."
"Maybe he did," Zoe admitted. "He hit me where I live. Poor little Zoe McCourt who got herself knocked up by the first boy who smiled at her. The high school dropout scrounging for pennies so she can buy diapers for the baby she'll be raising on her own. What makes her think she can do anything that matters?"
She spooned her yams into a casserole dish. "Because I can, that's what. Let's have some wine."
"Well, now you're talking." Though Dana exchanged a look with Malory behind Zoe's back, she got out a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
"There are things I'm going to do today," Zoe said as she took glasses out of the cupboard. "Besides making this meal with you and eating it. Things I'm going to do, things I'm going to say. I've just got to work them all out in my head first."
She set the glasses down, tilting her head as she looked out the window and spotted Brad and Simon walking along one of the paths that wound through the garden shrubs toward the trees. "What in the world are they doing?"
Dana laid a hand on Zoe's shoulder as she leaned over to pour the wine. "I can tell you what they're not doing. They're not peeling potatoes."
"What's that he's carrying?" Absently, she lifted her glass of wine, shifted to get a better angle. Her son was dancing around Brad, and the dogs raced back and forth, hoping for a game. "It looks like… well, for heaven's sake."
She watched, dumbfounded, as Brad hung the bird feeder from a branch so that it dangled over his lovely ornamental shrubbery. Then he lifted her son so Simon could pour seed into the opening.
"For heaven's sake," she repeated. As if in a dream, she set the wine down and walked to the door. Walked outside.
"What the hell is that about?" Dana wondered.
"You've got me." With her nose all but pressed to the glass, Malory smiled. "What is that thing? Why are they hanging a boot from a tree?"
Zoe hadn't thought to get a jacket, but she didn't mind the bite of wind. It carried Simon's laugh to her as he raced away to play with the dogs. And her heart was too warm for the chill to touch it.
Brad stood on the path, his hands in his pockets, grinning at the bird feeder. Hearing her footsteps, he turned to greet her. "What do you think?"
She'd helped make it, guiding Simon through the steps of turning the flashy red cowboy boot into a bird feeder, steadying his hands as he'd cut the hole in the leather, watching him measure the strips of scrap wood to make the little pitched roof.
He'd been so proud of it, she remembered, so pleased that no one else in his class would have a project quite like his.
He'd told her they could hang it in the backyard at home after it was graded and given back.
At home, she thought.
"Simon gave it to you?" she asked carefully.
"Yeah. He got an A on it, you know."
"Yes, I know."
"We figured—what the hell are you doing out here without a coat?" On a huff of impatience, he stripped off his jacket. She stood silent as he shoved her arms into the sleeves of buttery-soft leather.
"I saw you from the kitchen. Saw you hanging this in your beautiful garden, behind your beautiful house."
"Okay." Obviously puzzled, he lifted his shoulder. "And?"
"He gave you his bird feeder, and you hung it." Tears tickled the base of her throat. "Bradley, this has to be the silliest-looking thing you've ever seen in your life. It's an old boot with a hole in it. You're going to see it every time you look out the window, and so's everyone else."
"That's the idea." He stepped back and just beamed at it. "It's terrific."
"Bradley, I have to ask you something. I was thinking, this morning, after what happened, I was thinking about how I might find the way to ask you. But I thought I needed to talk to Simon first, to explain to him and to see how he'd…"
She looked back at the feeder and smiled. "But I can see I don't have to talk to him or explain. He's made his choice already."
"Ask me what?" He reached out to give the boot a little push, just for the pleasure of watching it swing.
"I wanted to ask you to marry me." She felt her courage evaporate when his hand dropped to his side, when he stared at her, but she picked it back up again with both hands. "I thought I should wait until all the rest was finished and I'd had a long talk with Simon and… all sorts of things. And until I wasn't so scared about what would happen if I did ask. But I think I was wrong about waiting to ask, and about not telling you that I love you, so much. So much it made me more scared so I was afraid to trust myself, or you. Or even Simon. And God, I wish you'd say something and shut me up."
"Well. This is pretty sudden. Hang on a minute."
Of all the things she'd expected—the best and the worst—it hadn't been for him to stroll away, calling for Simon. Heat rose into her cheeks even as ice balled in her belly. She wasn't sure if that was the result of mortification, hurt, or temper. She tugged his jacket tight around her as he bent down to Simon.
She couldn't hear what was said, but it caused Simon to nod rapidly, give a little war whoop, then charge back to the house.
Hooking his thumbs in his front pockets, Brad walked back to Zoe. His expression was both polite and pleasant. "Let's see now, where were we? You're asking me to marry you because I hung the feeder Simon gave me in the garden."