by Pamela Clare
“See you around, Lexi.” He gave her a devastating smile, then disappeared inside the fire station.
Still laughing at Eric’s brashness, she left the fire station, passed St. Barbara’s Catholic Church and Frank’s Pump ‘N’ Go, and soon reached the town’s biggest intersection—a roundabout where Highway 119 intersected with Second Street and Highway 72. She kept to the right, driving past the fossil store and the New Life Institute, where people paid thousands of dollars to have their heads cryogenically frozen after death so they could be brought back to life. Then she took a right turn onto West First Street. There, across from Rose’s New Age Emporium, Izzy’s Mountain Café, and a new marijuana shop called Nature’s Meds, stood the Forest Creek Inn.
Yellow with white trim, it was an enormous three-story Victorian home, one of the town’s oldest inhabited buildings and a registered historic landmark. The large yard had been landscaped over several generations with small clusters of aspens, tall blue spruce, two benches, dozens of flower beds, and a pond. The bed and breakfast was run out of the top two floors, while the family had four bedrooms, a bathroom, a family room, kitchen, and dining room on the ground floor.
Everyone assumed it must have been great fun to grow up in a stately, old house with so much history. They had no idea how much work it was to run a business out of one’s home. They looked at the inn and saw its charm. She saw endless chores and lots of rules. Toilets to clean. Beds to make. Furniture to dust. No running. No jumping. No shouting. No friends coming for sleepovers.
She turned into the long, paved driveway and headed back to the parking area reserved for family. She’d no sooner parked the car and turned off the engine, when she caught sight of her father. He stood in the backyard watering one of the flower beds wearing nothing but his underwear.
Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
He really had gone off the deep end.
Leaving her suitcases, she jumped out of the car and ran over to him. “Dad, what on earth are you doing? You’re going to scare the guests away!”
He turned his head, looking much older than the last time she’d seen him, his jaw covered with gray stubble, his salt-and-pepper hair unwashed and uncombed. “So, one of the prodigal daughters has returned.”
Austin turned off the highway, drove the short distance to Moose Lake, and parked. He reached for his hand mic. “Fifty-six-twenty. Moose Lake on foot patrol.”
“Fifty-six twenty,” dispatch acknowledged. “Moose Lake. Eleven-oh-five.”
So … Lexi Jewell, huh?
Damn.
He’d known she was coming back to Scarlet, had known his path would cross hers eventually, but running into her as the reporting party of a call had caught him off guard. What had surprised him most was his reaction.
Some part of him had actually felt happy to see her.
How he could feel anything for her—good or bad—was beyond him. Like cleats, ski racing, and homecoming floats, she was a part of his past, just a woman he used to know. They might as well be strangers.
Except that she hadn’t felt like a stranger.
It had been twelve years since he’d seen her, twelve years since he’d kissed her, twelve years since he’d held her, but everything about her had felt familiar—the sound of her laughter, the way she smiled, the dimple in her left cheek. He’d felt drawn to her, as if some stupid part of him—probably the part attached at his groin—recognized her and wanted to stake some kind of claim.
Well, she wasn’t his. She never had been.
She’d made that clear on July 4, 2004—a date he remembered only because it was a holiday. They’d gone up past the ghost town of Caribou—to watch the fireworks, he’d told her father—and fucked each other’s brains out on a blow-up mattress he’d tossed in the back of his old Ford. Afterward, she’d lain naked on top of him, and they’d kissed. It had been perfect—until it imploded.
“I’m going to miss you so much, Austin.”
“I’m going to miss you, too, but we’ll see each other over break.”
“I’m not coming back here.”
“What? What do you mean you’re not coming back?”
“Once I leave town, that’s it. I’m not coming back to Scarlet—not for a very long time, anyway. I can’t stand this place. You know that.”
“When will we see each other?”
“I don’t know. I suppose you could come to Champaign, and I could visit you in Fort Collins.”
“You suppose?”
He had imagined them going to college, spending breaks together, and getting married after graduation. But she’d had a very different future in mind, one that hadn’t seemed to include him. With a few words, she’d brought his world crashing down.
If he’d had half a brain in his eighteen-year-old head, he would have let it go and taken the summer to convince her that she couldn’t live without him. Instead, he’d accused her of not loving him the way he loved her—which had been true—and had ended their relationship that night.
“I thought we’d stay together, spend our vacations in Scarlet, and maybe get married, depending on how things go.”
“Get married? Austin, we’re way too young even to think about that. We both need to see new places, try new things, meet other people. Maybe when we’re older—”
“You want to date other guys?”
“That’s not what I said. But the world is going to get bigger for both of us, and chances are we’ll change a lot. Statistically speaking, the vast majority of high school relationships don’t last.”
“Is that what this is to you—just a high school relationship? Am I just a fun way to pass the summer till you leave for college and hook up with other guys?”
“Austin—”
“Get dressed. I’m taking you home, Lexi.”
He’d been so angry, so hurt. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other while he’d driven her home, fireworks exploding overhead, his heart in pieces.
In retrospect, they’d both been right. He truly had loved her more than she’d loved him, and she’d understood that they were far too young for serious commitment. She’d also known herself well enough to see that the life she wanted couldn’t include him. He had to give her credit for that. But knowing all of this didn’t take away the memory of heartbreak.
First love. Why did people romanticize it? It sucked.
True, none of the handful of relationships Austin had had with women since then had been able to match the intensity of that year with Lexi. The two of them had spent every spare minute thinking about sex, reading how-to manuals about sex, talking about sex, or having sex, practicing until they’d got it perfect for each other.
Had it really been that good, or was he remembering it through the rose-colored lenses of a teenager?
Hell, he didn’t know.
He climbed out of his service vehicle, grabbed his pack, and slipped into it, fastening the waist belt and adjusting its weight on his back. He checked to make sure the trash had been collected then walked over to have a look at the restrooms. The women’s room was out of toilet paper, and the men’s room…
“Son of a … !”
This day was going downhill fast.
He let the door swing shut, reached for his hand mic. “Fifty-six-twenty.”
He didn’t understand how shit like this even happened—no pun intended.
“Fifty-six-twenty, go ahead.”
“We need the water truck and high-pressure hoses up at Moose Lake. It’s time for a Code Brown hose down of the men’s room.”
There was a hint of laughter in the dispatcher’s voice when she answered. “Fifty-six-twenty, Code Brown hose down, Moose Lake. Eleven-oh-nine.”
Well, shit.
Literally.
Lexi took advantage of her father’s being in the shower to search the place for booze. She’d smelled it on his breath the moment he’d spoken and knew alcohol had to explain some of his strange behavior. She found seven half-empty bottles of rum a
nd a couple of bottles of scotch, along with a few dozen mini bottles of every conceivable form of hard liquor known to humanity, carried them to the kitchen, and dumped them down the kitchen sink.
“Are you crazy, girl?” Her father’s voice came from behind her. “What the hell are you doing?”
Lexi tried to ignore the way his raised voice made her tense. His shouting had always scared her when she was little. “Keep your voice down. We have guests upstairs.”
“You’re dumping my hard-earned money down the drain.”
“Better down the drain than down you. No more drinking, Dad.”
“You think you can show up when you like and then go through my things? My drinking is none of your damned business.”
“When I find you standing drunk outside watering flowers in your underwear at eleven in the morning, it becomes my business.”
He gave a snort. “Should I have waited till afternoon?”
She turned to face him, startled to see that he was wearing only a skimpy towel, his face clean-shaven, his hair wet. “Good grief, Dad! Put some clothes on.”
“What’s the matter?” He looked down at himself. “I’m decent.”
“Only if you’re alone with your wife.” Seeing her father half naked had never been on her bucket list.
“You been talking to Kendra?”
“She called a few times. That’s why I’m here.”
“Figures.” What he meant by that he didn’t say.
“I want to help you win her back.” She poured a little bottle of tequila down the drain, the odor of alcohol overpowering. “You can’t do that if you’re drunk.”
He frowned. “That’s why you’re here?”
She nodded. “You can’t run this place on your own. If she divorces you, you’ll have to sell the inn, and then what will you do? Do you want to move into a cabin with no electricity and no running water and live off handouts like Bear?”
Bear had lived in a cabin somewhere above Scarlet for as long as anyone could remember. No one knew how old he was or where he’d come from or what had happened to make him the way he was. He’d just always been there, and the townsfolk had always accepted him. As big as a grizzly and gentle as a lamb, he came into town most days, Bible in hand, blessing those kind enough to donate change or buy him a meal.
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it matter to you? You don’t care about your old man, and you don’t give a damn about the inn. Are you doing this for me or for yourself and your sister?”
It sounded so harsh when he put it like that, and she felt an impulse to object, to tell him that she did care about him and the inn in her own way. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “If you get Kendra back, does it matter?”
He seemed to consider this. “No. No, I guess it doesn’t.”
Then his eyes went wide. “Jesus, no, not the Glenmorangie. That’s my Glenmorangie Signet.”
Lexi looked at the label. “Not anymore.”
Her father clapped both hands to his head, a look of genuine panic on his face. “You can’t dump that! That’s a two-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch!”
“Two hundred dollars?” She looked at the label, and an idea came to her. “Fine.”
She turned and walked out of the house and across the street to Rose’s place. She opened the door to the tinkling of bells, the cloying scent of patchouli hitting her in the face. She found Rose in the back doing a tarot reading. Dressed in a gauzy pink sundress, she hadn’t changed one bit, her silver hair hanging down her back, crystals dangling from silver chains around her neck.
“A reverse card isn’t necessarily a negative thing. It can also mean change, and change can be good.” She looked up, saw Lexi. “Hey! I didn’t know you were in town.”
Lexi held out the scotch. “This is for you.”
Rose took the bottle and looked at the label, her eyes going wide. “Oh! My goodness. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.” Lexi willed herself to smile. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll see you later, I’m sure.”
Now that Rose knew she was in town, Lexi wouldn’t be able to avoid seeing her. Not that Lexi didn’t like Rose. Rose was kind and caring and a very good listener, but she had a tendency to share everything she heard with the rest of the town. She also had a gift for turning what ought to be a ten-minute conversation into a three-hour visit, complete with tarot reading—whether a person wanted one or not.
Lexi turned and walked out the front door into the fresh air, Rose’s voice and the reek of patchouli following her. “Come back a little later, and we’ll get caught up. I’ll read your cards!”
Across the street, her father stood in their front yard, still wearing only a towel. For a moment he stared at her open-mouthed, then he threw up his hands and walked back inside. “Son of a bitch!”
Hawke laughed as Austin recounted his day. “Oh, the glamorous life of a park ranger. Hose downs and garbage duty.”
Knockers was doing good business for a Tuesday night. Then again, it was the only brewpub in town. With great beer, decent food, a climbing wall, pool tables, and live music, it was the center of Scarlet’s nightlife.
Outsiders and tourists thought the pub’s name was about boobs. They didn’t stick around long enough to learn that it was a reference to tommyknockers—mythical spirits that dwelt in the mines, watching out for miners. Scarlet Springs had once been a Cornish mining camp, so knockers were just a part of the local history.
Which wasn’t to say the pub’s name had never made Austin think of boobs…
Bear was going from table to table asking for spare change, while Timberline Mudbugs was laying down a good zydeco beat up on the small stage. The music was loud enough that Austin had to shout to be heard across the table.
“If I’d known what I was getting myself into when I applied for this job...”
Hawke grinned, took a swig of his Glacier Stout. “Hell, I know you. You’d have signed on anyway. You’d go crazy sitting at a desk.”
“You’re right about that.” Austin took a sip of scotch, felt some of the tension he’d carried with him all day ease.
They’d already polished off their burgers and fries. Neither of them had mentioned what had happened earlier with Lexi, and that was just fine with Austin. He wished everyone else would stop talking about her.
From the moment he’d finished his shift, every person he’d run into had asked him whether he knew she was back in town. Rose had seen her, and that meant the whole town knew. Twelve years had gone by, but apparently everyone still thought of them as a couple—or an ex-couple, which was even better. Even his mother had called. She’d pretended at first that she just wanted to talk about his younger sister, Cheyenne. Then she’d brought up the fact that Lexi was back in an oh-so-casual and utterly transparent way that might have made Austin laugh—if he hadn’t already been so irritated.
“You ready for Saturday?” Hawke asked.
They would be practicing a standard vertical evac with a modified brake plate up on Redgarden Wall in Eldorado Canyon State Park.
Austin nodded. “Can’t wait to see how Belcourt’s new invention works out.”
Son of a Lakota Sun Dance chief, Chaska Belcourt had come to Colorado to study engineering, had discovered rock climbing, and hadn’t looked back. He’d joined the Team a few years back and had made it his personal mission to redesign the gear they used to make it safer and more versatile. He’d come up with a few useful modifications already, and his work was being replicated by rescue teams across the country.
“It tested well on the training tower last—”
Their pagers buzzed at the same time—not the emergency call-out tone, but a buzz. Austin drew his out of his jeans pocket, pushed the button to read the display. He looked up, met Hawke’s gaze. “Megs?”
Eric nodded. “I wonder what she wants.”
“She probably wants to chew us out for wasting resources again.”
The Team had been having cas
h-flow problems for a while now, donations having taken a dip this past couple of years.
Maggie Hill, called Megs by her friends, was a climbing legend. One of the first women to jump into hardcore rock climbing with the boys back in the late 1960s, she’d helped start the Rocky Mountain Search & Rescue Team after a climbing accident had stranded one of her friends, leaving him to freeze to death. In her early sixties and still climbing, she now served as the Team’s director.
“I guess we’d best pay the bill and find out. Whose turn is it this time?”
Hawke grinned. “I had one beer tonight, and you had a scotch. It must be yours.”
“You’re so full of shit.” Austin motioned to Rain, their server.
She smiled, half-walking, half-dancing over to the table, her long blond hair tied up on her head with a red paisley scarf, tattoos of roses, ivy, and skulls twining their way up both forearms, a tiny silver ring in her right nostril. Two years older than Austin, she’d dropped out of school when she was sixteen to follow her boyfriend’s rock band. After he’d dumped her, she’d hitchhiked back to Scarlet, bringing with her a baby girl she’d named Lark. Caribou Joe, the pub’s eccentric owner and bartender, had taken her and her daughter in and given her a job.
She crossed her arms over her chest, looked from Austin to Hawke. “Alright, boys. Who gets the damages?”
Hawke drew his wallet out of his pocket, feigning irritation. “Next time I’m paying, you drink beer.”
“Yeah? Who had the rib eye last week?” Austin countered. “Cheap bastard.”
Rain took Eric’s debit card. “Hey, Lexi Jewell’s back in town. Have you heard? I guess she came back to help her dad.”
Eric met Austin’s gaze, grinned. “Yeah, we heard.”
Austin felt his teeth grind.
Chapter 3
Ten minutes later, Austin sat with Hawke and most of the other principal Team members in the ops room at The Cave, the group’s headquarters. Coffee in hand, he waited with the others for Megs to make some kind of announcement. Her gray hair tied back in a ponytail, she worked her way through roll call, using both first and last names even though most of them had known each other for years and could probably recognize one another by smell.