Return by Land (Glacier Adventure Series Book 2)

by Tracey Jerald

  “Want me to let you get some more sleep?”

  “Nah, I can sleep when I’m…” My voice trails off before I mutter, “Fuck. Is the pain of losing Jed ever going to ease up?”

  “Truth?”

  “Always,” I reply, shoving aside the covers and making my way to the kitchen with my cell on speaker. A quick check out the floor-to-ceiling windows in my unit confirms the weather is as bleak as my mood. Instead of being able to view Mount Hood in the distance, I see nothing but low-lying clouds. “Perfect, just perfect.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s raining,” I declare.

  “You say that like it’s a surprise, brother.” Jennings is amused.

  Popping a pod into my coffee maker, I press Start and prop my hip against my concrete countertop. “I don’t know what it is,” I finally admit. “Ever since I got back from Jed’s funeral, I feel so out of sorts. Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Fortunately, my coffee maker informs me it’s ready. Taking a scalding sip, I welcome the burn and caffeine while I wait for Jennings to question my sanity.

  Who knew I’d welcome the nosy interference of brothers when I grew up with six sisters who felt it was their life’s mission to poke their nose into my business. Instead, I embraced the brotherhood I found when I worked between my summers at college at the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show in Ketchikan, Alaska.

  At first, I went to Alaska all those years ago desperate for a way to help my father, the sole family provider of our enormous family, who was working two jobs to pay for the portion of my tuition to MIT that wasn’t covered by scholarships. I wasn’t there to make waves or to cause trouble. I volunteered to work any shift someone bailed on, and I didn’t care how ridiculous I had to act while throwing an axe or wielding a chainsaw for the audiences. The money I was able to sock away that first summer was more than enough to help my parents with my room and board.

  When I returned, I came out richer not because of the money but as a result of the friendships that have spanned almost two decades.

  Only now, Jed’s gone. And there’s this hole in my heart that just doesn’t work the same way. I’ve only felt like this one other time. And she was just that special, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to fit anyone else into that place carved out of my heart that was made just for her.

  If only I hadn’t waited so damned long…

  “What do you think Jed would say if he heard you right now?” Jennings muses.

  I bark out a laugh. “He’d tell me to get off my ass and do something for someone.” I rub my hand against my chest. The pain of having lost Jed and his husband to a freak car wreck hasn’t abated much in the last ten months. Then again, does the pain of losing someone you love ever end? “Likely telling me I need to take a vacation to Florida,” I can’t help but mock as Jed did that on more than one occasion to Jennings.

  Jennings chuckles. “His hair would be in every which direction too. Don’t forget how he’d act when we wouldn’t listen to him.”

  “How could I forget? Apparently, it was so legendary, it spanned two coasts,” I retort.

  Jennings makes a sound of assent while a mental image of Jed comes to mind. Born and raised in Alaska, Jed Smith was the glue that held a bunch of young men from diverse backgrounds who descended on his state together through more than acting like fools on stage. He was plagued with getting caught up in our shenanigans, acted as the steady voice of reason on more than one occasion, and when things went to the crapper as they inevitably did, he provided a shoulder to lean on.

  He was that friend for all of us, and every day since we got that call, the chasm of dissatisfaction inside me keeps growing.

  “Maybe you do need a vacation,” Jennings suggests. “Take a few weeks and come see the house in Florida. You know Kara and Kevin would love to have you here.”

  I frown before I take another drink of coffee. “That idea isn’t completely ridiculous,” I acknowledge.

  “Dick.” There’s a soft voice. Jennings covers the mic before responding. “Apparently, I’m supposed to curb my language now that I’m a male role model, so try to not be the reason I curse, okay?”

  I shake my head before remembering Jennings can’t see it. “You’re on your own, buddy.”

  “No, I’m not,” he returns smugly.

  No, he isn’t. And knowing that makes my heart a little lighter. “I’ll give some thought to what you said. I probably do need a vacation after this clusterfuck.”

  “If you’re here, maybe we can install some crown molding. You wouldn’t believe what an asshole the builder was. He wanted to charge me an arm and a leg to install that crap. I told Kara I’d give him a piece of my mind and have it installed after we closed on the mortgage. So, how about coming down for a workman’s holiday?” I can hear him smirk through the phone.

  Knowing exactly how much of a surcharge my company adds for niceties like the upgraded crown molding Kara fell in love with, I can’t help but grin before saying, “Say goodbye, Jennings. We’ll talk about installing the crown molding your bride wants another time.”

  “Goodbye, Jennings.” Right before the smart-ass disconnects the call.

  I toss my cell on the counter and contemplate the bleakness outside.

  Maybe a few days away is what I need when this job is done.

  “How is this possible?” I groan. “I swear to God, this house is possessed.”

  My immediately younger sister of the six my parents saw fit to torment me with, and lead project manager of Laurence Construction, Greta, scratches her head before walking over to the cooler, snagging two beers, and tossing me one. “You’ll get no arguments from me.”

  “First the factory delivered the wrong wall framing. Then the wiring got stripped by those shits who decided smoking weed at lunch was a good idea. We’d have lit the place up the minute we turned on the breakers.” I twist off my cap and salute her with it. “Excellent toss. Who taught you how to throw?”

  She tips hers back at me, silently allowing me to rant. “This guy I know. Pain in my ass for most of my life. Wouldn’t let me go on a decent date until I escaped from him when I moved out and went to college. Still tried to grill me over Christmas dinner though.”

  I chuckle at her retort because it’s true. Candy and Vicki, my two older sisters, escaped my big-brother routine. But Greta, Alissa, Amelia, and Sandra—Jesus, especially Sandra—have had me riding them about every little thing since the day they were born. Especially boys. I shudder. “Do you remember the last time I went out with you and your friends?” And all night long I was subjected to the way they talked about men. It was hell. Pure unadulterated hell.

  And—my smile widens just a little—Jed laughed so hard when I told him about it, he cried.

  Greta rolls her eyes. “Yeah, let’s never do that ever again. Okay?”

  Ignoring her, I return to the reason we’re even together in the first place on a Saturday afternoon. “We finally pass inspection—a month behind schedule—and the insulation delivered is the wrong R grade. More fucking delays.”

  “That one’s on Shane,” she bites out.

  I ignore the arctic sting to her voice when she talks about my lead foreman. I really don’t want to know what’s happened between those two. “At this point I almost don’t care who it’s on. We’ve had wrong fixtures, appliances, and all I wanted to do today after cleaning up the mess at the other two houses was see this place ready for the walk-through Monday. Instead, you’re holding a punch list and”—my fury wars with an insane desire to laugh—“they hung the chair rail where the crown molding is supposed to go and vice versa.”

  “So, what do you want to do about it, Kody? Push back the closing? Again?”

  “Not a chance in hell. These buyers are already requesting reimbursement for their moving costs and an additional month’s rent between the screwups we couldn’t control and the ones we damn well should have. I’m not delaying them moving into this house another month.�
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  “Then what?” Greta excels at her job because she sees the faults from the carefully laid plans before her, but what she doesn’t see are the possibilities.

  That’s where my imagination takes over.

  I reach down into my backpack, and my fingers graze over one of the many worn sketchbooks Jed left me. More and more as of late when I’ve needed to clear my mind, I’ve pulled one out and just stared at his crude drawings. It’s made me feel closer to the crazy bastard with a heart so enormous the gap in my heart from his loss may never close.

  Sitting down on the floor, I flip through Jed’s nautical designs while Greta uses the time to call every member of the subcontractor for tomorrow, growling, “If you’d done the job right the first time, maybe you would be getting double time.”

  But my eye is caught by one of Jed’s rough drawings of his boat he purchased in Florida. “There’s something about the stripes,” I murmur, before I drop the cloth-covered sketchbook and flip over a sheet of paper on my clipboard. Giving the hot mess near the ceiling a quick once-over, I begin drawing.

  By the time I’m done, there’s a custom-designed molding around the room inspired by the sea views and by the boat Jed loved. Without saying a word, I shove the paper into Greta’s hand as she berates the subcontractor we hired.

  Her jaw drops before she snaps out, “Hold on,” to the person on the other end of the line. Holding the phone to her chest, she says, “This is genius, Kody. You incorporated their mistake and made it something better for the client.”

  “We have to get the supplies and they have to execute it in a 600-square-foot space by 9:00 a.m. Monday.”

  “There won’t be any mistakes,” Greta vows.

  “Trust me, I know.”

  Cocking her head to the side, she raises a brow before asking, “How?”

  “Because with the state of affairs, I’m not letting them hang a damn piece of quarter round without approving it first,” I say grimly. “Now, get the lumber ordered. I want everyone here in the next two hours to start.”

  “On it.” And after disconnecting the call without another word, Greta pulls up the website of our wood supplier to arrange a delivery. Another unaccounted-for expense. I cringe when she calls out the amount.

  Then my phone rings in my pocket. The number for Vielbig Woodworking pops up. No, the expense for this isn’t going to be mine at all. I put the call on speaker before greeting him coldly. “Skip.”

  “What the hell gives you the right to call my people in to work on a weekend without paying them right, you cheap son of a…”

  “Maybe if they hadn’t fucked up the job, I wouldn’t have had to,” I say calmly.

  “Bullshit. I guarantee that the work is perfect.”

  “What are you willing to bet on it?”

  “Try me,” he snarls.

  “My carrying costs are a little over 13k for this house if I miss my delivery date, Skip. Your people made it so I don’t have time to rip out their mistake in the great room.” He sputters. “Fortunately for you, I came up with an idea how to fix it. Not only will you pay for the lumber, you’re going to cover the overtime so I don’t get hassled by your people when they start arriving in…” I look at Greta.

  She calls out loud enough for both of us to hear, “An hour and fifty-two minutes.”

  “Fine,” he spits out.

  Nodding at Greta, I inform him, “The email with the proof is incoming. Honor our agreement and not only will I consider this a mistake, I won’t sue you for obviously not having someone halfway competent come out and approve this project because there’s no way you were the one who did. I’ve worked with you too long for you to make this kind of error.” I hear the ping on the other end of the line. “Do we have a deal?”

  There’s a long silence before Skip’s bewildered voice says, “Kody, how does a crew of professionals with a hundred years’ combined experience royally screw up a job that badly? And how does my son assume you’re not going to recognize it in point six seconds flat.”

  “I wouldn’t call your crew back for nothing, Skip.” The tension in my shoulders eases slightly.

  “No, and you have my apologies for that. Buddy called me just before you did honked off because… well, the reason doesn’t matter. Let’s just say he and his crew will have an additional incentive to finish tomorrow.”

  I crook a brow at Greta. “Oh?”

  “I’m not so old I can’t swing a hammer,” he declares. “And it’s still me paying the bills.”

  Not the least surprised, I let my head fall back on my shoulders. “Still prefer sugar raised donuts from Voodoo?” I name the insanely popular donut shop in downtown Portland not far from my condo.

  He barks out a laugh. “Yeah. Still can’t believe you remember that.”

  “This guy I worked for once told me it would behoove me to pay attention to the details.”

  “That guy’s getting old.” There’s regret in Skip’s voice.

  “Nah. He’s just annoyed he hasn’t caught a decent fish yet this season. I keep telling you, you should take a vacation.”

  “Look what happens when I take a day. And besides pot, stop talking to the kettle like it’s made out of something different,” he returns.

  I grin. “Cover the labor cost and I’ll pick up the wood. Then we’ll call it even, my friend. This design…” My voice trails off as I picture the new picture rail in place.

  “You got it. See you in a few, Kody.”

  Greta’s remained silent throughout the entire exchange. But a heartbeat after she’s sure the calls ended, she asks, “Why didn’t you take over Skip’s company?”

  “There’s a number of reasons,” I reply vaguely.

  “That tells me absolutely nothing.”

  With a quick grin, I shake her hand and ignore the question. “You have everything covered for the next few hours? I’m going to check in with the other crews to see if we want to add that”—I nod at the new chair rail design—“to the new homes before it becomes apparent it was a mistake.”

  “Sure thing, brother. At a surcharge?”

  I hand her the sketch of the drawing and frown. “No. As a gesture of goodwill if the homeowners want it. We’re behind according to your schedule. And I’d like not to push our bad luck any further. Besides, none of us expected… I mean, there was no way to expect—” I can’t finish the sentence.

  Greta clears her throat. “Right. Fortunately, I always factor in additional time.”

  Swiping up my backpack, I swing it over my shoulder before flatly stating, “There’s not enough time you could have allotted in the schedule to have accounted for my emotional state after Jed died, Greta. And I pray there’s never a day you understand.” Without another word, I walk out of the room and begin the mile-long trek to the next house in the middle of the rain, needing my skin to wash away the emotions living inside me until my body is as numb as my mind.

  Kody

  Ten exhausting hours later, I’m ending the day much the way I started it with a cup of coffee in hand, on FaceTime with a family member. This time it’s with a member of my blood family, not just one I adopted due to the bonds of brotherhood. The youngest of my six sisters, Sandra, is begging me for a favor as usual.

  “It’s ridiculous for you to consider Nick is going to escort you to your junior prom.”

  Sandra tosses her long reddish-gold hair that perfectly matches mine in color. “It’s a total win/win, Kody. You won’t have to worry about my date pawing me, and I can rub Cait’s face in the fact she asked the guy I liked first.”

  I can’t laugh, I remind myself. “Honey, I’m not sure Nick would want to…”

  “But you’ll ask him,” she says with all of the confidence of a beautiful sixteen-year-old who has never been told no in her life.

  I take another drink of coffee to hide the smile at imagining what Nick is going to say when I proposition him on behalf of my insane but lovable family. Likely, since he’s dealt with this cra
ziness from all but my oldest sister, who was happily married when I introduced him to all of them, he’ll do what he normally does which is bitch at me like I somehow slipped the suggestion in Sandra’s mind. Then he’ll set up a video chat with her, making her the envy of everyone in her high school. Hell, the entire county. Which, although she would by no means say no to Nick escorting her, is really all Sandra wants anyway. “So, who are you really going to ask?”

  “Oh, you’d love him.” But something in the way she says it puts all my overprotective brother senses on high alert.

  “I sincerely doubt it.”

  She scowls before launching into a long diatribe about this new guy she’s going with who’s “just like Jennings.”

  “Fuck no!” I bellow. “What are Mom and Dad thinking setting you loose on the world?”

  “Jennings is your best friend. What could possibly be wrong with dating a guy who reminds me of him?” Sandra tries for an air of innocence, but a twitch at the corner of her lips gives her away.

  My baby sister was born to make my life sheer torture. When we were last together in Montana at a reunion, I said something similar to Jed, and he roared with laughter before saying, “Welcome to the club. I’ve said that since the moment Maris was put into my arms, and I’m only two years older—not twenty-two.”

  I’m pulled back from the aching memory by Sandra’s barely suppressed laughter. “Remember, I know every single thing that went through Jennings’s head from the time he was eighteen. How old is this boy?”

  Sandra blatantly ignores me, instead trying to distract me with a description of her dress. It doesn’t work, instead firing me up more when I realize her bathing suit might cover more than her formal gown. “Sandra Marie, answer the damn question.”

  “You need to find yourself a woman and settle down, Kody. You’re sounding too much like the ’rents.”

  “Don’t make me call them,” I threaten.

  She huffs. “If you must know, Tatum is nineteen. Okay?”

  “No, not okay! Not if he reminds you of Jennings!” I’m flat out yelling now, and I don’t care. Out of view of the camera, I rub my hand over my chest, certain I’m having a heart attack. Remembering the promise Brad, Jennings, Nick, and I made when we arrived last spring in Alaska for Jed’s funeral by agreeing we would not be in a position anytime soon to be gathered together for such a ghastly reason, I’m suddenly terrified I might end up breaking it by croaking on the spot. “Not a chance in hell, Sandra. No college guys.”