Falling for Rain Read online

  She then dragged the heavy feather mattress from her parents' bed and pulled it down the hall into her old room. After hoisting it onto the bed and wrestling it into the frame, she sat on the edge for a few minutes to regain her breath.

  Her suit was a mess. There would be no wearing it again until it was dry-cleaned and the tear in the sleeve repaired. Hell, she might as well toss it in with the rest of the stuff going to the Salvation Army. She looked at her old dresser with contempt but forced herself to open the drawers and search through the rather musty contents for something suitable for doing barn chores. She settled on a pair of jeans and a fleece sweater. The jeans were rather baggy now, any traces of baby fat having been worked away at her fitness club.

  Those drawers contained more than just clothes. Keepsakes, like those an adolescent girl would collect, were tucked here and there: a four‑leaf clover in a matchbox under her socks, a one‑eyed teddy bear in the sweaters, and her high school yearbook between two pairs of jeans.

  The teddy bear she placed on the pillow on the bed and, unable to stop herself, she pulled out the book and flipped through the pages until she found her own picture among those of the graduating class. The eyes in the picture were already hard‑edged and cynical – no wide‑eyed sense of wonder in this eighteen-year old. She remembered what the caption under the picture said, but she read it again, feeling fresh the rage she had felt on first reading it:

  Emily Alexander – 1st Class Honours – is off to Toronto University in the fall for architecture and business. She swears she's never returning to our “gosh‑darn” little village again. But everybody knows that in every life a little RAIN must fall. Emily's classmates are taking bets that Emily will be back home by Christmas. After all, home is a shelter “with” a STORM.

  Emily put the book back under her sweaters. She'd shown them, she thought. Here was one farm girl who had managed to make more of herself than marrying the first farmhand who came along.

  Not like my mother, she thought bitterly as she closed the drawer. If her mother hadn’t given up her career to marry a farmer, she’d be alive today.

  The sky outside was beginning to darken - the dreary, cloudy day descending into a dreary, starless night. Emily was tired and hungry, but she couldn't sink into the feather mattress yet. She had barn chores to do.

  Some canned goods still remained in the kitchen cupboards. She opened a tin of Irish beef stew and heated it on the stove. She ate it hungrily while standing at the kitchen sink, washing the bowl under the tap when she was finished. The water was hot, and she felt as pleased with herself as if she had invented hot water.

  Her old rubber boots were still on the mat by the back door. She felt a twang of guilt as she thought of her father hanging on to them for her, expecting her to come home and fill them. Mentally chastising herself for this sentimental moment, she stepped into them and went out to the barn.

  Rain had tacked the instructions to the inside of the barn door. They had been printed out on a computer. What was Rain doing with a computer? Video games? She shrugged and began to tackle the list in order.

  1. Grain: 1 measuring can each. (That was easy.)

  2. Turn on gutter cleaner. Switch to right of door. (This was a new feature and a pleasant surprise. Flick the switch, and a conveyer belt-like apparatus carried the mess out the back door.)

  3. Hay: 1/4 bale each. (Heavy but still pretty easy.)

  4. Water: Make sure automatic bowls aren't clogged with hay. Cows and the horse in the box stalls need their water carried to them. (No problem.)

  5. Keep an eye on cow in last stall on the south side of barn. She's due today.

  Due today? This was definitely beyond her capabilities. She ran the length of the barn and peered over the stall wall. The cow was definitely in labour; already the calf was beginning to protrude. But something was wrong. She had watched enough calves being born to know she should be looking at the calf's nose, not its tail. This was a breach birth, and it was dangerous for both mother and baby. The cow looked at Emily with her big, dark eyes and mooed softly. It seemed to Emily that the cow was pleading with her to do something to help her.

  There was only one thing to do: swallow her pride and find Rain. She almost flew out the barn door and down the path that led to the old cabin. Built out of logs by her ancestor (Emily didn’t know how many greats there were before this grandfather) the year he moved his wife from England, it had been the original farmhouse. Emily knew it well. She had played house here with her dolls when she was little, and, on that terrible day her mother had died, she had come here to hide. Eventually, Rain had found her and tried to comfort her, but she had been inconsolable.

  It had been run‑down then. Light had filtered through the cracks between the logs, the glassless windows, and the holes in the roof. But now it looked snug and tight. Fragrant wood smoke curled from the chimney, and a cozy glow emanated from the windows. She hesitated for only a moment then leapt onto the porch and banged on the heavy, rough door.

  “What the hell?” Rain said, opening the door to her. She was wild‑eyed and panting heavily from the run. She was hardly recognizable as the controlled woman who had walked into the barn the day before and coldly dismissed him. Her hair was springing in all directions. Her clothes were baggy and out of style, the makeup was gone, and the cold, tight voice was edged with hysteria.

  “It's the cow,” she panted. “The calf...it's coming breach.”

  “Damn! How long has she been in labour?”

  “I don't know. I just found out.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I looked in on her at four. She was okay then.” He had his boots on, and, pushing his arms into his jacket sleeves, he was out the door, black veterinary bag in hand. She ran up the path behind him, stumbling once in the darkness on a tree root. He didn't wait for her but kept running. He seemed to forget she was even there, closing the barn door between them even though she was only a few feet behind.

  She stopped and walked the last few steps. There was nothing she could do. Rain would look after it. She closed the barn door behind her, resting against it for a moment before going to the stall where Rain fought to save mother's and baby's lives. He had the cow’s head restrained in a stanchion and was working to free the calf before it suffocated.

  Watching Rain now brought back an earlier time. She was fourteen years old and small for her age. It was later that spring that she grew almost six inches in a matter of months. But although she had still lacked height, she registered the changes in her body and knew that childhood would soon be behind her. She was standing at this same stall, looking through the gap between the top board and the one below it at the scene unfolding before her. She had watched this a dozen times before, Rain at her side, explaining the miracle of yet another farm birth to her. But this time it was different. She knew now that this was part of the adult world of sex, and suddenly she was embarrassed watching it with Rain beside her.

  Emily remembered this, observing Rain now. Because it was also the first time she had begun to think of Rain as something other than a playmate or older brother. He had lived with her family since before she was born. Emily's mother had been a friend of Rain's mother, and when Rain was born out of wedlock, she, herself childless but respectfully married, had stepped in to help raise the child. As time went by, Rain spent more and more time with the Alexanders, until Rain's natural mother simply faded from the picture, moving on to another part of the country and a new life. That a fatherless child could bring such disgrace seemed odd these days, but, in rural Ontario thirty-some years earlier, it was far from respectable.

  Emily was born when Rain was six. They called each other brother and sister and had almost come to believe they were until that day when Emily was fourteen and she watched the calf being born. She had looked at Rain sideways and felt something stir in her that was anything but sisterly. She stopped calling him brother, and, very shortly thereafter, he stopped calling her sister.

  And whe
n she was seventeen and he twenty‑three, he had kissed her. They had been swimming at the lake. A swing hung from a branch that reached out over the water, and they were taking turns swinging as high as they could before leaping into space over the cool waters. She had sliced the water cleanly, going down deep into its shady depths before returning to the surface with swift strokes. Her head broke the surface only a few feet from Rain, and she laughed with the absolute joy of being alive, reaching out to him instinctively as a soul mate who shared this moment with her. He took her hand and pulled her toward him until her body had brushed his and his lips found hers in the wonder of their first kiss.

  All that had happened before her mother died.

  She watched him now, the strain showing on his face as he wrestled death with grim determination. She felt suddenly confident he would be successful. If anyone could save this animal, it would be Rain. Her faith in him came unbidden, revived by this crisis. It seemed so natural, she wasn't aware of it happening. All the years dropped away, and at least briefly she forgot to despise Rain for what he was.

  Finally, the calf was free. Rain gently lowered the animal to the pen floor; it wasn't moving, but it was breathing. Rain spoke gently to the exhausted creature and dried its wet coat with a burlap sack. He freed the mother and immediately she started to lick her new baby and nudge it to its feet with her nose. Rain assisted her, and before long the calf was up on its wobbly legs drinking deeply of its mother’s warm, sweet milk.

  Rain stroked the mother's neck. “Congratulations, it's a girl. What do you say we name her Emily? That is, if there are no objections.” He looked at Emily and smiled. It was a challenge. Emily didn't rise to it; she just shrugged as if to show she didn't care. She thought of Jonathon and what he would say if she told him that Rain had named a farm animal after her. She could almost hear the disdain in his voice. Twenty‑four hours earlier she would have felt the same way, but right now she didn't want to think of Jonathon at all.

  Rain took a large needle from the black bag and filled it from a small glass vial. “Penicillin,” he explained, bringing her back to the present. “In case Mom gets an infection.” He gave the injection expertly; the cow didn’t flinch. “There's a barrel of molasses near the loft steps. Put a spoonful in a bucket of warm water and bring it here.”

  Wordlessly, she obeyed him, so relieved that mother and baby were fine. That little calf, struggling for life, and its mother struggling for the sake of its baby had found a crack in the armour she had been welding together plate by plate since she was eighteen years old. And toward Rain, without whom both mother and baby might have died, well, she could only feel gratitude.

  She carried the bucket back to the pen. She remembered this part; this had always been her job. She let herself into the pen and, ignoring Rain's offer to take the pail, placed it before the tired happy mother and watched her drink deeply. She even went so far as to stroke the animal's neck. Rain went to wash up, and Emily, absorbed completely in this new little life, didn't hear him return. A sense of being watched finally made her look up.

  Her eyes immediately locked on Rain's. They were amazing eyes, and she knew they were dangerous to dwell on. She couldn't read what was in their blue depths, but she had the sense he could see through hers to whatever was in her heart.

  What could he see? she wondered, unable to break eye contact. What was it she felt at this moment? Confusion, relief, a strange happiness, tiredness – all were feelings that swirled through her body. But the one that overwhelmed them all was desire. She imagined closing the distance between them, imagined leaning against his strong, hard body, and surrendering herself in his kiss....

  She turned back to the calf quickly, pushing the image from her mind. But she would at least apologize for her rash behaviour earlier that day.

  “You win,” she said, trying to keep her voice light and even managing a tired laugh. She didn't dare look up into those penetrating eyes. “Be back on the job, tomorrow morning. I admit to speaking before thinking.”

  Rain didn't even say I told you so. But she could feel his eyes still on her.

  And although she knew it was time to say goodnight before it was too late, she instead heard herself say, “Would you like to come to the house for a drink?” She had packed a bottle of very expensive wine to celebrate the farm's sale. The irony of drinking it with Rain after delivering a farm animal didn’t occur to her.

  “Alright,” he said with a shrug. If he was surprised by the offer, he didn't show it. “I'll be there in a few minutes.”

  Emily took this as a dismissal and walked back to the house. She was tired. The scene with the lawyer, the argument with Rain, cleaning the house, and last but not least the calving – all had taken their mental and physical toll on Emily's mind and body, leaving her feeling vulnerable.

  For the first time in years, she came close to admitting she was not a solitary being, an island, or a rock. She needed someone right then, and she tried to convince herself that anyone would do. And if she found herself after a couple of glasses of wine wanting to throw herself into Rain's arms? Well, he was attractive after all. If she had no room in her life for love, she could still manage to find room for old‑fashioned lust.

  She opened the china cabinet and took out two wine glasses of her mother's wedding crystal. It was only used at Christmas, and her mother had never allowed Emily to wash it. She could be sure her father, who had no need of pretty things in his life, had never touched the crystal again. It was quite probable that the last time the glasses were taken from the cabinet was the final Christmas her mother had been alive. Suddenly she felt like a child playing with something she shouldn't, and so she put them back on the shelf before instead selecting two prosaic water glasses from the kitchen cupboard.

  She uncorked the wine and, after starting a fire in the wood stove, sat at the kitchen table. Automatically she picked up her cell phone to turn it on but quickly set it down again. She was sure that Jonathon would try to call her tonight, and she didn't want to take his call with Rain there. She would call him tomorrow.

  Just then Rain knocked quietly and let himself in. He took his boots off at the door and hung his coat on the rack.

  “Everything okay?” she asked. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.

  “Mother and baby are doing well. You were right to act quickly.” He went to the sink and washed his hands before sitting down across the table from Emily.

  “You can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl,” she said flippantly.

  “No matter how hard the girl works on exorcising her past?” he said without sarcasm. He felt close to relaxed. What a day! He was surprised to be ending it with them both sitting in the same room, seemingly relaxed in each other’s company. Perhaps they were over the worst of the bumps and in for a smoother ride.

  “It was a joke. Don't push it,” she said with a smile.

  It was the first real smile Rain had seen since her arrival. It was beautiful to see and it took him a moment to regain his composure enough to speak. “Fine,” he said at last. “How about a glass of that wine?”

  She poured two generous glasses before raising her own in a toast. “To a truce.”

  He smiled, and they touched glasses before taking sips. “Mmm, good wine,” he said, turning the bottle around to read the label. He raised his eyebrows. “If I hadn't guessed already from that car parked in the driveway, I'd say from this label that business was good.”

  Business, Emily thought. This is a safe topic. “Pretty good,” she said, realizing she couldn't think of another thing to say. In Toronto it consumed her life twenty‑four hours a day, but now, after only two days away, her office seemed like another universe.

  “I saw the article on you in Architectural Digest. Impressive.”

  “Thanks.” Something seemed to click inside her. Was this what she’d been looking for? The respect she had come for? To hide the sudden turmoil inside her head, she
stood up and went to the wood stove to add another stick of wood. This had been one of the driving forces in her career. Prove to the boy you left back home that you could do just fine without him.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What about it?” She was so shaken that for a moment she wondered if he had read her thoughts.

  “I don't know. Something about what you do. I know. Tell me about the building you live in. I understand that’s your pièce de resistance.”

  “Okay.” This was safe ground. She poked at the wood in the stove's firebox and fiddled with the dampers before returning to her chair and taking another sip of wine. “It was an abandoned textile factory that had been slowly surrounded by gentrification. That's when old neighbourhoods are renewed....”

  “You don't need to explain. I know some big words for a farmhand.”

  She paused for a moment to determine whether he was being sarcastic but, encouraged by a seemingly guileless smile, continued. “The neighbourhood was lobbying the city to have it torn down. I saw it, fell in love with it, and bought it for a song. It's a wonderful building. All steel construction. It has five floors with floor-to-ceiling windows all the way around, and each big window is divided into 100 smaller ones. So each floor has 4,000 panes of glass. Of course, hundreds of panes were missing – I kept a glazier busy for months.”

  “I'm just glad that I don't wash them,” Rain said with a laugh.

  “There are four tenants in the building and between the four of us we keep a window washer pretty busy.” Emily poured them both another glass of wine. She was beginning to relax, and the words were coming easily. This was a topic she not only could get excited about but was also completely safe. And if she was here to impress him with her success, it did seem to be working.