It took her another day to get up the nerve to return. Ruby had tried to talk her out of it. Granny had been giving her dark looks ever since she expressed the desire to return to him and had renewed her offer of working in the diner. They didn't know him, really. They only knew the rumors and dark half-truths whispered about him. He never gave them anything else to go on, staying up on his little hill and rarely interacting with the townspeople. Reclusiveness like that was the kind of thing that fueled gossip.
Ariel, at least, had been at least somewhat understanding, though she did question her extensively.
All were worried for her safety. She had had at least three conversations about who to call, where to go if he threatened her. But she knew he wouldn't, had no doubt of it. His rage had been because of what happened to her. But harm her? She couldn't see it ever happening. He was firm, sharp with her sometimes, but his reaction to his anger was often to close himself off until it passed. She had no idea that he was capable of such rage and she didn't know a cane could become such a weapon in anyone's hands.
She didn't know because there was no way for her to know. She had never seen that side of him and hopefully never would again. Staying away from that dive bar would probably go a long way toward preventing such a thing from happening again.
When she arrived at the house, all seemed quiet. There was no sign of Gold near the barn and so she headed toward the house. Quiet, carefully. She wasn't sure what state he'd be in. If he'd even want to see her, if he would take her back. Her key was out and in the door before she could think and so she hesitated, knocked once before opening the door.
"Gold?" She waited a moment. There was no response to her voice. No Gold. No Taz. No Bandit. She wondered what had become of the dog she had begun to think of as hers in the time she'd been away. She hoped that Gold allowed her in the house still, did not house her in the barn with the rest of the dogs. It wasn't that they weren't taken care of out there. Quite the contrary, she had never seen quite such a set-up for dogs before. But Bandit was used to sleeping in her room, on her bed.
There was no response and so she strode down the hall, stuck her head in the living room. The lights were low and while she couldn't see much she could see that Gold wasn't in his chair. The room looked a fright though and she wondered how he had been getting along without her presence. She could see some things scattered about the floor and realized she'd have her work cut out for her cleaning up after him. She never quite imagined him as messy but perhaps he was hurting more than she had thought, more than he would likely ever admit.
Shaking her head, she called out for Gold twice more before deciding that he must be in the barn or out on the field. His truck was there so he couldn't have gone far. She was heading to the barn when she heard a whistle and ducked around it. Gold was in his usual spot at the base of the hill, the sheep far up it with Taz behind them. Bandit was there and she was relieved to see her dog out and about. Though she wasn't currently working the sheep and was, instead, rolling in something that meant Belle would have to bathe her before she was allowed to take up residence in the house again, she seemed happy and whole.
Gold was leaning heavily on his cane and she noticed that his back was slightly slumped. It was odd seeing him that way. He usually stood ramrod straight, even when in pain. It was just part of his nature, she figured. He was formal without being dressed to the nines every day, unfailingly polite while still retaining some sarcasm and a bit of snark behind the words. He was cold and aloof and yet she had been breaking through that mask of indifference he wore so often and so well.
When she got near him, he turned suddenly and she wondered how long he had known she was there. Did he hear her arrival? Hear her calling for him? Or was he just especially in tune with everything on his farm?
Bandit saw her arrival too and ran to her with her tongue lolling out, the smell of sheep manure wafting off of her. Belle scratched her behind the ear and released her with a soft "That'll do." Bandit happily loped off to continue hunting for more things to roll in.
She watched Gold, waited for a sneering remark.
She waited for him to tell her to get lost, that he no longer needed her, no longer wanted her. David Nolan had been helping out and she was sure the other man could find Gold another person to help around the farm.
But Gold did neither. He looked her up and down and a small, strange smile flitted across his face before disappearing entirely. "Have I ever told you how I came to have my first sheepdog, Miss French?"
She blinked once. Twice. "Um…no. I guess you haven't."
He waved her closer and she stepped carefully to stand at his side. He didn't look at her as he spoke, staring out at the sheep and occasionally using his whistle to give Taz a command. "I was twelve at the time. Just a wee lad. My aunts…"
"The ones who taught you to spin?"
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Are you going to let me tell this story?"
She gave him a slight smile. "Of course."
"Good then," he said and there was no animosity behind the words. "My aunts had always kept sheep. We needed it for the spinning we did. They were self-sufficient tough old ladies." He said the last with a fond smile that Belle couldn't help but respond with her own smile. "We only had a few sheeep back then and so there was no need for a dog. They expanded the flock little by little until we had about 15 of the animals. Watching them race around trying to get them all into the barn was as much entertainment as I got in those days. We didn't have a television, mind."
"Really?"
"Really."
"It was invented then though, wasn't it?" She tried to keep her voice sounding innocent and was pleased with the look he shot her.
"Just how old do you think I am anyway, Miss French?" The words were growled at her but she knew that there was no real animosity behind them.
She smirked as she looked away. "I don't know. 70?"
"For that I ought to…" He cut the words off and Belle realized she wanted to move closer, wanted to say something naughty. Her time away had done nothing to lessen the attraction she felt for him, did nothing to stop her from remembering the kiss they had shared. She was fairly certain, rather, that it amplified it all. She could not stop thinking about that moment and wanted to see if it was as magical a second time around as it was the first.
"You ought to?"
"Oh nevermind," he said and waved a hand rather impatiently in the air. "It seems you don't want this story after all."
"Oh but I do." She moved just slightly closer, took a deep breath, and put her hand on his arm. Briefly at least. When he pulled away as soon as she touched him she retreated. "I really do," she reiterated and if the words sounded slightly sad, she hoped he wouldn't notice.
He gave her a tight smile. "Then stop interrupting." There was no bite to the words and so she smiled.
"Of course. Carry on then."
He gave her a look, unreadable at best, and whistled for Taz to retrieve the sheep. "Come, walk with me Miss French." They turned to leave the field, Taz bringing the sheep down behind them. Gold would turn every once in awhile and issue a quick whistle, but there was little he had to do. It was a job Taz was well acquainted with and he barely needed any instruction to carry it out.
"One day my Aunt Eithne comes home. She was the older of the two, mind you, tougher than any of the old farmhands around these parts. Nolan would quake in his boots if he met her." There was a fond smile on his face as he spoke of the woman. He broke off for a moment and let Taz lead the sheep into the barn. When he had closed up he turned back toward her, he waved a hand and indicated she should continue with him to the house.
"So your Aunt Eithne?" she prompted as they stepped inside.
"She walks into the house and dumps this puppy in my lap. Just, 'Here Tavish. Go train him.' That's all. Nothing more. Just 'Go train the bleedin' dog Tavish. He's your responsibility. Now scram.'" The way he changed his voice, thickened the accent, raised the pitch, was as humorous as it was strangely attractive.
"Is that an accurate imitation?"
He laughed slightly. "Hardly."
She stepped ahead of him into the living room, smile on her face, and stopped short as light flooded the room. "My God!" Harsher words almost came out of her mouth but she managed to clamp down on those. The place was simply ransacked. Someone had clearly gone through it, looking for something, tearing everything apart. It seemed like nothing in the room was untouched, tables overturned and cabinets smashed.
"Ah yes," Gold said behind her and she whirled around quickly to look at him. "I apologize for the mess."
"For the…" She looked from him back to the room in question as he stepped around her. "Did you report this?"
He picked his way carefully through the rubble, almost as if he knew exactly where to step.
And he did.
There was a path cleared in the middle that led directly to his recliner. Where there was a newspaper and a teacup, the one with the chip out of it, the one that she had chipped. And she just watched as he rather nonchalantly sat down in his recliner. "Do be careful," he murmured, waving his hand at the mess around them.
She could think of nothing else to do than stare at him. And when he finally looked up at her, met her eyes, there was this moment, a fleeting moment of consternation that went across the planes of his face. It was gone so quickly, his familiar mask settling back in, that she almost could have imagined it. But she knew.
She knew.
"You did this." And she didn't even phrase it as a question. She stared at him, waited for a response. None seemed to be forthcoming. He simply looked away from her, picked at imaginary lint on his shirt, refused to meet her eyes. "You did this." The words were accusatory this time, slightly angry. He destroyed everything in some fit of pique, in anger and rage. The same sort of rage she had seen out of him the night he had beaten Nottingham half to death.
An uncomfortable silence settled on them. Gold in his chair, Belle still standing just inside the entrance to the room. There was a clock ticking somewhere, the sound of at least one mechanical thing that hadn't met the end of his cane.
"Why?" she finally asked. He looked up at her then and there was a darkness to his red-rimmed eyes. She hadn't noticed that before. The dark circles, the red rims around his eyes. "You haven't been sleeping."
"That is true," he finally managed to say. The words were careful and his eyes continuously met hers and then flitted away.
"I haven't been sleeping either," she admitted.
"You're frightened of me."
"No," she said quickly. "No I'm not. It's just…Tavish..." And he gave her that look that said stop calling me that infernal name. "What have you done here?"
"It seems that should be rather obvious." The words had a sardonic twist, his lips quirking up in a sad smile.
"But why?" She kneeled down near him, put her hand on his knee and was dismayed when he pulled away with a slight hissing noise.
"That is my own business, Miss French." The words spoken on a sneer and so she released him, got to her feet, found another place to sit. There was a spot on the couch that had been cleared off and she was certain that David had been there before her, had spoken to him.
"But…"
"Did you or did you not want the story of my first dog?" He sounded tired.
Belle sighed. "I did."
"But not anymore," he surmised.
"I still do," she insisted. But right that moment? No. No she didn't want to hear about his dog, about his childhood. She wanted to know what was going on now. Because something was. A person doesn't just destroy his own home without a reason. "Was this because of me?"
"I don't wish to talk about it," he groused.
"Gold." She knew she was pushing her luck and when he simply looked away from her, lips tightly shut and his hand clenching around the cane that he was still holding onto, she knew. "Fine then," she said with a slight huff and stood. "I'm going to bed."
"So you're staying."
"I am."
She was surprised to see him let out a relieved sigh and actually smile. "Good," he finally said. "Good then. Perhaps you can hear the story tomorrow?" And there was a slight hopeful sound to his voice.
"Perhaps," she answered with.
She retreated then, fetching her small bags out of the car and making her way to her room. She needed to talk to him about this, about whatever had happened, about his swooping in to save her. But he was in no mood for talking and seeing him as she passed him by on the way upstairs, she could tell he was already having a drink. There would be no more conversation that night.
It would have to wait for tomorrow.
He listened to her leave and let out the breath he had been holding. He wanted to say something else, call out to her, but he had no idea what to say, what to do. She saw the truth of things, or at least as much of the truth of things as he understood at that moment. He was sure of that much.
The house was a mess.
He still felt the rage clouding his mind and took a sip of whisky to steady himself. It was always there, just creeping in at the edges of his vision. He had forgotten that, really. In the years since his ex-wife had taken him down verbally time and time again only to divorce him and run off with their son, there had been nothing to be angry about. He had burnt it all out, raging against the fates when everything he held dear was taken from him.
Life on the farm had had a sameness since then and only when Baeddan left after his all too brief visits did he feel any of that rage coming back to the surface.
But then Belle.
He didn't even know what brought out such protective instincts when it came to her. Or what the hell had even possessed him to touch her, kiss her. For fuck's sake he almost took her to bed. He wanted to. But her whispered don't…stop…he still didn't know if she wanted him to stop or if she wanted something else but he wasn't about to press the issue and keep trying.
He had walked away.
And he still regretted not stopping and asking. He tried to pretend he didn't. He tried to ignore everything that had happened up until that point, chalked it up to too many nights alone, too much pain medication. It was easier that way. Emotional entanglements had never gotten him anywhere good. They had gotten him pain and an empty house and weekly phone calls from a son who barely knew him these days.
What would getting tangled up with Belle do for him? Right now he had a companion of sorts. Maybe a friend. Maybe. He wasn't so sure of that. She had walked off once, been scared of him once, had seen what his rage could do.
He sighed and looked around the room. She had seen the product of his rage more than once nows, the shattered pieces of his life that gave a silent testament to the state of his mind when he had returned from that fateful night. It was everywhere and there was no escaping it. Even if he wanted to. Even if he wanted to crawl into some tiny little hole full of whisky and his regrets and not come out again until Belle French left him for good.
It was safer that way, really.
He only wished he could abide by that. He knew he wouldn't, try though he might. He was drawn to her. Drawn in ways that he couldn't remember ever being drawn to someone before. He wanted to gather her up, carry her off to his bed, make her his.
And that terrified him. He could admit that there, in the quiet of his living room, whisky in hand. If he couldn't admit it there, where could he after all? He was a coward, really, always had been. He'd been one as a child, scared and feeling so alone when he was dumped off with relatives he barely knew. He'd been one when his wife walked out on him, when he didn't fight hard enough to save his son from her. And he was a coward now, when he couldn't face the tiny woman who had taken up residence in his house.
With a heavy heart, far heavier than anyone should bear, he set to putting the downstairs to rights. When she woke up, came downstairs, she'd find nothing out of order. All would be like it always was. They could forget this whole disastrous thing had ever happened.