After the Rain: A Novel - Couverture souple

Carlino, Renée

Couverture souple

ISBN 10 : 1476763992 ISBN 13 : 9781476763996

Editeur : Atria, 2014

Synopsis

Under the bright arena lights of a rodeo show, young Avelina Belo falls for a handsome cowboy with a larger-than-life personality. After a whirlwind courtship, she happily moves away from her family in northern California and settles into married life with her cowboy on a seven-thousand-acre cattle ranch in Montana. One freak accident later, Avelina's hopes for the future come to an end. Nate Myers graduated from UCLA medical school at the top of his class, ready to follow in the footsteps of his father, a superstar cardiothoracic surgeon. Six years later, Nate's career is being ruined by a malpractice suit. Questioning himself for the first time, he retreats to a Montana cattle ranch to visit his uncle and gain perspective. There, he meets a beautiful young woman named Avelina who teaches him more than he ever knew about matters of the heart.

A propos du livre

Extrait

After the Rain

CHAPTER 1

Healer

Avelina

FALL 2003

My middle name is Jesus. Actually it’s Jesús de los Santos. In Spain it means Jesus of the Saints; in America it’s just a really strange middle name to grow up with. My parents came to America from Spain in the early eighties so my father could go to work on his cousin’s cattle ranch in Central California. To my mom and dad, America meant freedom, education, prosperity, and happiness. I was born here in ’85, ten years after my brother Daniel. My mother, being a devout Catholic, continued her family’s tradition of giving daughters religious middle names. I was her only daughter, born Avelina Jesús de los Santos Belo, which was quite a mouthful, so on school and medical records my mother shortened it to Avelina Jesús Belo. No pressure there.

Aside from putting up with the occasional jokes from classmates about my middle name, I had an otherwise idyllic childhood living on the ranch and attending the local public schools. Since before I can remember, I was riding horses and moving cattle with my father, brother, and cousins. The work was in my blood and riding horses came to me naturally, unlike making friends or doing other typical girlie things.

We had everything my parents wished for when they came here until I turned sixteen. That’s when my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. He was the first of many whom I loved but wasn’t able to mend. There were no healing powers in my hands; I was just a little girl with too many hard lessons to be learned. After he passed, my mother fell apart. His memory haunted her and made her frail. For months she sat in the ranch house, in front of the window, looking out for someone to come and rescue her—perhaps my father’s spirit, or maybe death.

I resented her for not being stronger, for not seeing how blessed she was. After burying my father, my brother dove into his own life, going to college and starting a family in New York City, far away from the ranch. The horses became my friends . . . and family. I started barrel racing in rodeos and competitions to make extra money while I watched my mother wither away in front of my eyes.

In my last year of high school, right after I turned eighteen in October 2003, my brother made the decision to send our mother back to Spain. Daniel promised me it was for her own good as well as mine. He agreed to take me in so I could finish my last year of high school, which meant moving all the way to New York, living in the city with his pretentious wife, starting at a new school, and being without my horses. I had no other options. I knew I would have to go somewhere, and New York sounded like a better option than Spain at that point.

Two weeks before we were to move, wild brush fires began raging in Southern California, sending clouds of smoke and haze into our valley, so I took my mother with me to a rodeo in Northern California to escape the dreadful air. We trailered all four of our horses, stopping periodically and letting them graze in the beautiful, untouched land of California’s Central Valley. During our drive, she spoke few words to me. She stayed hunched in the passenger seat, gazing out the window. When we traveled west to a small stretch of road where the mountains met the ocean, she sighed and said in her heavily accented English, “You are a healer. You have a gift. You’ve brought me home, belleza.” Beautiful, she called me. I looked exactly like her, with brown eyes too big for my head and long, dark, unruly hair.

“I’m not, Mama. I’m just a girl and we’re still in California,” I said to her. She didn’t respond—she was too far gone. Most of the time she was despondent like this. There would be the occasional nonsensical observation and then she would go back to quietly mourning my father. She existed in a grief-filled world that was off limits to the living. She existed in the past, and I knew I would never be able to help her, which made it the second time in my short life that I felt utterly powerless.

She spent most of that weekend in the cab of our truck or the dingy motel room where we were staying while I practiced and competed. I brought her meals and made sure she was okay before I went back to tending to the horses. I was scheduled to race for the last time on Sunday afternoon so I spent the morning watching the other events, sitting atop the corral just outside of the arena. It was a small rodeo composed basically of a main arena and two corrals freckled by a few sets of old, wooden bleachers. There wasn’t much money in the purses at those rodeos, but it was good practice and it wasn’t too far for me to drive.

During the men’s team-roping finals one of the horses, saddled and waiting in the corral, sauntered over to me. She nudged my leg and sniffed at my jeans. I let her smell my shoes and then I pushed back against the front of her face, in the space between her eyes and nose. “Go, get outta here.”

As soon as the words left my lips, I heard a brief whistle. Across the corral stood a man, his face shadowed by the large brim of his black Stetson. The mare left my side abruptly and trotted over to him. I watched as he climbed into the saddle with grace before giving the horse a subtle foot command to move forward into the arena. His team-roping partner entered from the other side. Just before the steer was released, the man looked over to me and nodded, the kind of nod that means something. It’s the quiet cowboy’s version of a wolf whistle. I lost my balance on the top of the corral and wobbled just for a moment before smiling back at him.

Instantly, the steer was out of the chute, followed by the men, one on each side. They roped the speeding creature in 5.5 seconds. It was fast, very fast but not fast enough to win. I fully expected to see two sulking cowboys trot back to the gate but only one looked totally defeated. The other, the man in the black Stetson, was smiling and riding toward me.

As he approached with the reins and lasso in his left hand, he removed his hat with his right. He was so much younger than I expected and he was grinning emphatically. Two deep dimples appeared on the sides of his boyish cheeks. “Hey there, you distracted me,” he said, still smiling.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

“I’m kidding. I picked me a dragger. We didn’t have a chance.” His voice was smooth and confident. He was referring to the fact that the steer wouldn’t lift his hind legs to be roped.

“Good thing, I thought I blew it for you.”

“It takes more than a gorgeous woman perched on a fence to throw me off my game,” he said, placing his hat back on his head. I never thought of myself as gorgeous or even a woman for that matter. My heart leapt and bounced inside my chest. He maneuvered his horse through the gate, hopped off, and led her into the corral where she came up to me again. “Bonnie likes you.” He laughed. “You’re the only one besides me.”

I stepped down and began helping him remove her saddle and bridle. “She’s a fine horse.”

“She’s a baby—a little too eager, but she’ll learn,” he said, almost to himself.

“Bonnie, huh? Cute name. Are you Clyde?” I asked.

He smiled, removed his hat, and reached his hand out. “Oh, excuse me, ma’am. Where are my manners? I’m Jake McCrea.”

I took his hand and shook it firmly. “Avelina Belo.”

“Beautiful and exotic name. It suits you.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a handsome smirk. His eyes were the most vibrant blue. In the sunlight it looked like little electrical currents circled his pupils.

“Thank you,” I said but found myself at a loss for more words. His compliment awoke a feeling in me I had never experienced. I was never interested in dating, and I never thought of myself as attractive. That tingly feeling girls get long before they’re eighteen finally hit me like a million pulses of light striking my chest and moving south.

“What’s a girl like you hanging around the corrals for?”

I hesitated. “Like me?”

“Yeah, like you?”

“I’m racing.” I pulled my phone from my back pocket and checked the time. “Oh, shoot. I’m going on in twenty minutes. I gotta warm up my horse and change.”

“I can warm up your horse, just point me in the right direction?”

“She’s the Appaloosa, right over there. The one trying to bite that kid.”

He followed my gaze to where Dancer was stretching her neck through the corral slats, trying to bite the arm of a young kid who was leaning back against the fence. Jake whistled to call her over but Dancer ignored him. He glanced over to me with a questioning look.

“Dancer,” I said just above a whisper. She pinned her ears before turning and trotting toward me.

“Huh,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Never seen that before.”

I led her out of the corral to the back of the trailer and began dressing her for the race.

“She has great lines.” He smoothed a hand over her spotted flank.

“Most people think she’s ugly.”

“No, she’s beautiful.” He was stroking the horse but looking right into my eyes when he said it.

My heartbeat spiked. “You can just take her around a couple of times while I change. She tires fast.”

“Okay,” he said as he worked to lengthen the stirrup. He lifted himself into the saddle and Dancer immediately bucked. He sat firm in his seat, clearly a great horseman. Pulling the reins tighter, he caused Dancer to trot back a few steps. She swished her tail and then pricked her ears up with irritation. Jake leaned down and spoke to her in a smooth tone. “Easy now. You’re not gonna embarrass me in front of this pretty lady, are you?”

“She always takes the third barrel too wide. I can’t break her of it, just so you know.”

Dancer trotted in place, anxious to run toward the practice barrels. “How can you win if she’s always making mistakes?” Jake asked, smiling.

“She’s fast enough.”

“We’ll see.” He gave her a tight squeeze with his boot heels and off they went.

I changed quickly into my competition shirt, jeans, and boots, and within five minutes he was back. Dancer was warm but Jake looked downright worn out.

“You okay, cowboy?” I smiled up at him.

There was a glistening stream of sweat dripping down his sideburns. He jumped off and handed me the reins before removing his hat and brushing his dirty-blond hair back. He let out a huge breath. “Man, she’s a mean bitch, full of piss and vinegar, that one. I don’t know how you race that horse, skittering around like that. She didn’t take the third barrel wide, she practically tossed me over it.”

I laughed. “You’ll see.” I took the reins, hopped up into the saddle, and headed toward the arena. “This is no roping horse. She dances on air,” I shouted back to him.

He was right; she was a hard horse to handle but not when I rode her. I got to the gate just as they called my number. The buzzer rang and we were off. I bent low into her body as Dancer raced toward the first barrel. She rounded it with perfect ease and then we were off to the second barrel and then the third, which she took just a bit wider than perfect. It was an improvement. I kicked her hard and smacked the end of the reins back and forth against her shoulders. She picked up and flew home to the gate, barely touching her hooves to the ground.

As I glanced toward the time clock the announcer called my score. I won.

After collecting my prize, I headed back to the stable where my truck and trailer were parked. Jake was sitting on the tailgate, laughing as I approached.

“You got something good there, honey?” he asked.

I held up my trophy and shook it in the air. “I won three hundred dollars!”

“Are you telling me you’re gonna take me out for a beer to celebrate?”

I swallowed hard as I looked down at him from atop Dancer. I shook my head slightly and then tried desperately to peel my eyes away from him. He had changed into a clean pair of Wranglers and a white button-down shirt. Still wearing a confident grin, he swung his legs back and forth playfully on the edge of the tailgate.

When I jumped down to remove the saddle and bridle, he came around and put his hand over mine. “I was kidding. Not about the beer but about buying. I’d like to take you out for a proper dinner. Can I do that?”

He squeezed my hand, gazing into my eyes, waiting for my answer.

“My mom is at our motel. I’m . . . only eighteen.” My voice shook embarrassingly.

“Oh, well, I only just turned twenty-one.” He smiled again. “I’m far away from my home in Montana, doing the rodeo circuit through California. It’s just me and my roping partner, so it gets kind of lonely.” I could tell he meant lonely in the genuine sense, not in a sexual way. “Maybe you can bring her along? You both need to eat, right?”

“Okay,” I said to Jake McCrea just three short months before I married him.

After the Rain

CHAPTER 2

Regimented Exercise

Nathanial

SPRING 2005

Flying up and down the rows of a crowded parking lot while my mother screamed in the backseat was not how I pictured the day I would officially become a doctor. My dad, in his token Hawaiian-print dress shirt, sat in the passenger seat, calm as ever, while I anxiously sped up and slowed down, periodically glancing at the clock on the dash. I had ten minutes to be in my seat before the ceremony started. There were no open parking spaces—the lot was littered with graduates hurrying along in their green and black gowns while my dad sat there humming “Yesterday” by the Beatles.

“I’m gonna be late. Shit! I’m gonna be late.”

“Christ, Nathanial, you’re going to kill somebody. Calm down!” my mother shouted.

“Mom, please, you’re not helping. And Dad, quit with the fucking humming.”

“Nathanial, are you really going to call yourself a doctor and use that kind of language?” I looked into the rearview mirror to see my peeved mother with her arms crossed, smirking at me.

“Oh that doesn’t matter, Elaine.” My dad finally awoke from his nostalgic daze. “Our boy here needs to choose his battles. First he needs to find a parking space in this godforsaken hellhole they call a university.”

I zipped through a group of pedestrians and spotted an open space on the other side. When I hit the gas, I could hear my mother whining under her breath.

“Dad, how can you say that about your alma mater and the very hospital you practice in?”

“Times have changed, Nate. That’s all I’m saying.” He stared out the window and went back to humming “Yesterday.”

Graduation day is a turning point for so many, but for me it was just the next box to check off as I followed obediently in my father’s footsteps. The David Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA is a challenge for most, even if your dad is the head of cardiothoracic surgery, but for me medical school was a breeze. It was a party. Half of my courses consisted of a professor spewing information that had been planted in me and nurtured from the time I was able to speak. Courses in anatomy were like reciting the alphabet. The brachiocephalic veins are connected to the superior vena cava. The superior vena cava is connected to the right atrium. The right atrium is separated from the left ventricle by the atrioventricular septum. I knew these things not because my dad was a doctor but because my dad was the most passio...

Revue de presse

“After the Rain tore me up in the best way possible. Sexy, sweet, and sad, all woven together with an overwhelming undercurrent of hope, Nate and Avelina’s story is one that goes straight to my list of all-time favorites.” (A.L. Jackson, New York Times bestselling author)

“Heartbreaking, hopeful, and so beautifully written. I read the last page of After the Rain and squeezed my Kindle to my chest. Books like this make my heart feel full.” (Mia Sheridan, New York Times bestselling author)

“Renée Carlino’s writing is deeply emotional and full of quiet power. You won’t be disappointed.” (Joanna Wylde, New York Times bestselling author)

“Simply beautiful and packed full of emotion.” (Kylie Scott, New York Times bestselling author)

“After the Rain is a powerful journey of heartbreak, forgiveness, hope, and the relentless beauty of true love.” (Rebecca Shea, USA Today bestselling author)

“After the Rain is Renée Carlino’s most heart-wrenching and beautiful story to date...one of my favorite reads of all time!” (Gretchen de la O)

“I couldn't get enough of this compelling, heart-wrenching, sexy, and beautifully-written story of second chances and new beginnings. I finished with tears streaming down my cheeks and a smile plastered to my face, so grateful for the time spent with these captivating characters who now hold a very special place in my heart.” (Melissa Brown)

À propos de cette édition

• Éditeur: Atria
• Date d'édition: 2014
• ISBN 10: 1476763992
• ISBN 13: 9781476763996
• Reliure: Broché
• Nombre de pages: 305