Whenever You Come Around

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Which also reminded him of the primary reason he preferred to stay single. It was dangerous to love. The heartache was too great when loss followed—and loss followed all too often. He couldn’t help loving his family members. He couldn’t help caring about his close friends. But he could protect himself from the kind of pain his mom had gone through after his dad died.

  Ten-year-old Jake barged into the house without knocking. “Hey, Uncle Buck.”

  “Hey, Jake.”

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Better today. Thanks.”

  His nieces, Krista and Sharon, entered next. Thirteen and twelve respectively, they were in an interesting phase—one that was foreign to their uncle. Not all that long ago they’d idolized Buck, but he’d somehow become antiquated in their eyes. He was thirty years old and over the hill. Wasn’t that a bad joke from the seventies?

  “Afternoon, girls,” he said, trying to force interaction.

  They mumbled some sort of response in unison before disappearing into the kitchen.

  “Good to see you too.” He grinned.

  His brother and sister-in-law came through the open doorway at last, Sara moving awkwardly, more waddle than walk. She came straight to Buck and kissed his unshaven cheek. Then she rubbed her fingertips over the growth of facial hair. “This is new.”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Not especially.”

  He held up his right hand, showing her the cast. “Can’t manage a razor. I’m afraid I’d cut my throat if I tried it left-handed.”

  “Mmm.”

  Ken said, “You’re looking a lot better.”

  “Feel better too. And I’m getting the hang of this thing.” He patted the handlebar on the scooter. “Great invention. I’d be in a lot of trouble without it.”

  Ken helped Sara ease herself down onto a chair. “The kids and I are going out to see to the chores. Anything special you want us to take care of?”

  Buck shook his head.

  “Jake. Girls. Come on. We need to feed and water the horses.”

  “Dad,” Sharon and Krista said in identical whines. But they got up from the chairs at the kitchen table and followed their father and brother out the back door.

  Buck sat on the sofa and propped his leg, mindful of the doctor’s instructions to keep it elevated as much as possible. “I’m surprised you came over with Ken. I thought you were on bed rest.”

  “I am, most of the time. But I didn’t think a little outing would be amiss as long as I’m careful. I’m more tired from doing nothing and going nowhere than anything else.”

  “I can relate to that.” Buck didn’t say it aloud, but strain was stamped across Sara’s face. No wonder Ken was concerned. “How much longer have you got?”

  “Six weeks, if I can hold out that long. The baby’s on the small side, so every day I don’t go into labor matters.”

  “Wish I could do something to help.”

  Sara offered a grateful smile. “With any luck, you’ll be out of those casts before our little one arrives.”

  “You still don’t know the sex?”

  “Ken knows, but I won’t let him or the doctor tell me or anyone else. I like to be surprised.” She shrugged. “Sounds very old-fashioned, I suppose.”

  “No. I think I understand.”

  They fell into an easy silence, neither of them feeling compelled to talk just for the sake of talking. A benefit of having known each other for a quarter of a century or more. After a short while, Sara closed her eyes and seemed to relax into the quiet. She didn’t get to enjoy it for long. The telephone rang, and Buck grabbed for it, although Sara’s eyes were already open again.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Buck. It’s Charity.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Sorry I’m late checking in. I see that you’ve got company. Do you need me to come over and get your breakfast?”

  He opened his mouth to say she didn’t have to come, then thought better of it. “I’d appreciate it if you could. Ken’s here feeding the horses so he’s kind of busy. And Sara’s a little off her game.”

  “Sara? Isn’t she supposed to be on bed rest?”

  “That’s exactly what I asked her.” He shot a pointed look in his sister-in-law’s direction.

  Sara stuck out her tongue in return.

  “I’ll be right over,” Charity said. “Do you care if I bring Cocoa with me? I can leave her on your doorstep.”

  “Don’t mind if she comes in. It’s about time she and I met, don’t you think? Just come on in when you get here. Door’s open.”

  CHARITY PUSHED THE END BUTTON AND SET DOWN the phone. “Time for me to check on the patient next door, Cocoa. Want to come along this time?”

  Anticipating an outing, the dog raced from the room.

  “Well, I guess that answers that.” Charity smiled—grateful for a pet that could make her do so.

  A short while later, she and Cocoa stood on Buck’s stoop. She rapped softly before opening the door. Buck was on the sofa, leg elevated. Sara Malone was in a nearby chair.

  “Sit, Cocoa,” Charity commanded. Then she walked over to the chair. As she bent down to kiss Sara’s cheek, she asked, “How’re you doing?”

  “Not bad.” Sara smiled briefly.

  It didn’t look to Charity as if she was telling the truth. There were dark smudges under the other woman’s eyes and her face looked drawn.

  “It’s good to see you, Charity. It’s always so long between times.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m glad you’re here for the summer. You know we’ve got a big all-class reunion coming up.”

  “Yeah. I got the letter about it.”

  “Well, you won’t have an excuse to miss this one.”

  Does Jon still come to the reunions? The thought sent a shudder running down her spine. She didn’t want to think about him. Her outing yesterday had stirred up too many unwelcome feelings. Another day of the same would be unbearable.

  Charity looked toward Buck, whose eyes had narrowed thoughtfully as he watched the conversation. “Anything special you want to eat?”

  “Whatever’s easy,” he answered.

  But there was something in his gaze that made her think he could see her secrets. The feeling of transparency made her anxious. With a jerky nod, she swung around and went into the kitchen.

  From the living room, she heard Buck say, “Come, Cocoa. Come here, girl. Let’s you and me officially meet.” Knowing she would have to give the command to release Cocoa before the dog would move, she turned.

  Only she was wrong. Cocoa was already headed toward the sofa, toenails clicking on the wood floor.

  When Cocoa reached him, Buck cupped the dog’s muzzle with his good hand and looked her straight in the eyes. “So you’re the one who caused all of this.”

  Cocoa wagged her tail, as if accepting a compliment.

  “Maybe you could try not to do that again. It’s embarrassing to be knocked over in front of a pretty woman.”

  What? It shouldn’t matter that Buck Malone thought her pretty. It didn’t matter that he thought so. And yet, for only a moment, a tingle of pleasure replaced her anxiety.

  Buck raised his voice while still looking at the dog. “She’s got a strong, powerful head. Smart as a whip, isn’t she?”

  Drawn a couple of steps toward the living room, Charity nodded. “She is.”

  “I’ll bet she’s got some American Staffordshire terrier in her.”

  “Along with several other breeds.”

  Buck leaned against the back of the sofa. “My last dog was a border collie. His name was Snap. Had him since the summer after I graduated from high school. He died this spring. Too late in the season for me to get a puppy. Wouldn’t be old enough to go on the trail with me, and training takes time.” He glanced at his right leg. “Not that that matters now. I won’t be guiding anybody into the backcountry anytime too soon.”

  Perhaps sensing she was responsib
le for the change in Buck’s tone of voice, Cocoa placed her muzzle next to his thigh and looked up at him. Buck laughed softly, a pleasant sound.

  Was he as nice as others thought him? Charity wondered. Or was he more like some of his friends? Or one friend in particular?

  Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

  The back screen door slammed shut, and a young boy of about nine or ten darted into the kitchen. When he saw Charity, he screeched to a halt.

  “Who’re you?” he demanded Sara had laid her head back in her chair, resting, but at that, she cracked open an eye. “Jake!” Her tone brooked no argument. “Mind your manners.”

  “Sorry.”

  But Charity wasn’t really listening. As soon as Jake had hit the door, she’d frozen, her heart seizing before stuttering into a painful rhythm as she stared at the boy before her. He was young. About . . .

  Ten. He looks like he’s ten. The same as—

  No. She would not do this. Ignoring Jake’s quizzical look, she turned away. Her hands shook and she wiped them on her thighs. She would finish what she’d come for and leave. She would keep her emotions hidden.

  Buck had said he would eat whatever was easy. That’s exactly what she would give him. Two scrambled eggs, a piece of buttered toast, and a glass of orange juice. She could prepare that in a matter of minutes.

  The back screen door creaked open a second time. When Charity looked to her right, she saw two girls—Sara and Ken’s daughters, obviously. Girls in the process of becoming young women. They mumbled a hello before moving on to the living room. Then their father stepped into view.

  “Morning, Charity.” Ken glanced at the stovetop. “I should have let you know I could fix breakfast for Buck this morning. Sorry I didn’t think to send one of the kids over to tell you.”

  Children’s laughter drifted in from the other room, and Charity felt another painful stab in her chest. “It’s all right,” she said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat. “You were busy. Just let me finish cooking, and I’ll be out of here.”

  “You don’t have to rush.”

  “Actually, I do. I have work waiting for me at home.”

  Work . . . and a need to escape the warm family scene going on in the other room.

  WHEN THE DOOR CLOSED BEHIND CHARITY AND HER dog a short while later, Buck looked at Sara. “Did she seem upset to you?”

  “It’s hard to say.” Sara gave a small shrug. “A lot of years have passed since I hung out with Charity, and that was only because she was Terri’s little sister. She kept to herself most of the time. In college and after, I heard she became quite a party girl. That was difficult for me to believe, but I guess it was true.” A frown furrowed her brow. “Now she’s a successful author. She seems to have pulled her life together. At least in the obvious ways. But she really turned her back on Kings Meadow and all the people who knew her when. Terri worries about her. I know that for certain. So do her folks, although they’ve never said so to me.”

  It was more information than Buck had expected to get from Sara, and he found himself intrigued by it. The day of the accident, while he was with Charity in the parking lot, he’d thought she disliked him or at least wanted him to leave her alone. But maybe it was something bigger than that. Something not about him in particular but about Kings Meadow in general.

  Ken stepped into view. “Charity put your breakfast on the table. Want me to bring it to you?”

  “No thanks, bro. I’ll eat in the kitchen.” Buck pushed on the arm of the sofa with his left hand until he was upright enough to move his knee to the scooter. “Man, this is a pain,” he muttered to himself.

  Sara heard him and laughed softly. “I’d trade you if I could.” She rubbed her belly in a circular motion. “Six weeks of those casts or, hopefully, six weeks of this.”

  “No, thanks. Don’t think I’d care for that trade.” He grinned at her as he rolled toward the kitchen.

  “You can bet you wouldn’t,” Sara retorted.

  As Buck got settled at the table, Ken said, “I think I’d better get Sara home. Do you need anything else before we go?”

  “Nah. I’m good. Thanks for the help.”

  Ken punched him in the upper arm, a gesture that said more about the love between brothers than any words could.

  Chapter 6

  IN BOISE ON A FRIDAY NIGHT, CHARITY HAD RARELY stayed at home. She usually went out to dinner with a date or to see a movie with girlfriends or dancing with a group of singles. When with others, she could escape the memories she wanted to avoid, memories she’d run from for years.

  She had fewer choices in Kings Meadow. She could go to one of the bars, but those places were smoky and noisy. And besides, she’d stopped drinking once she admitted the part alcohol had played in her numerous bad choices. She could go out to eat at the Tamarack Grill. They had good food, but there would also be too many people who knew her. Too many people with too many comments and questions.

  No, it was better that she stay put. Except her parents’ home felt so quiet and empty, and the silence wasn’t comfortable. It gave her too much time to think. To think about the past. An even bigger problem here in Kings Meadow than when she was in Boise. She’d had enough grim thoughts for one day.

  I could cook a real dinner for Buck.

  Where had that thought come from? No, that wouldn’t be wise.

  Why not? If I don’t cook, I’ll go over there and heat another helping of a casserole. Does he deserve more of the same, day after day?

  Besides, Buck wasn’t at fault for the memories that troubled her any more than his nephew was at fault for her reaction to him that morning. Guilt by association. That wasn’t fair.

  And besides, I like to cook.

  She released a deep sigh.

  She had spent the better part of the last year trying to change the things that were wrong with her and wrong with the ways she had lived. She’d grown tired of . . . of everything. Mostly she was tired of the fear that had let her past rule her present.

  Her mind made up, she went into the kitchen and removed items from the refrigerator: salmon—although she had shopped for one, she’d bought enough for two—a couple of potatoes, and the makings for a tossed salad. She reached to turn on the oven, then pulled back her hand. If she did the cooking here, she would still be surrounded by the silence that troubled her. No, she would prepare the dinner at Buck’s house. Maybe he would be even more impressed by her culinary skills.

  She and Nathan Gilbert, her last boyfriend, had frequently enjoyed candlelight dinners in her home. She’d thought for a short while that they might marry, but Nathan hadn’t been impressed by her efforts to put her life in order. He wasn’t interested in settling down. Not with her. Not with anyone. She couldn’t even lay the blame entirely at his feet. For years she’d broken off every relationship the moment it looked like the man in her life was getting too serious. She’d never let herself fall in love. Perhaps she hadn’t been able to love. But now . . . perhaps she’d like to have a chance of loving and being loved.

  Shaking off those thoughts, she put the dinner preparations into a basket and headed out the door, Cocoa following close behind. Buck’s driveway was empty of any vehicles save his truck. Had a friend already been there to feed the horses or was someone still to come?

  She knocked as usual. When she heard him call, “Come in,” she turned the knob and opened the door.

  “Is Cocoa welcome?” she asked before stepping inside.

  “Of course. She and I made peace this morning.” Buck was seated on the sofa where he’d been that morning as she departed. He pointed at the basket. “What’ve you got there?”

  “Dinner.”

  He cocked an eyebrow in question.

  “I figured you must be tired already of warmed-up casseroles. How does baked salmon sound?”

  “Delicious. But that’s a lot of trouble for you to go to.”

  “Not really. I have to eat, too, you know.”

  He grinned. �
��You’re going to eat with me?”

  She felt his smile in the pit of her stomach, the sensation completely unexpected and entirely unwelcome. “Yes.” She turned toward the kitchen. Careful. He’s just a neighbor in need.

  Charity set the basket on the table and withdrew the two potatoes. It wasn’t long before they were baking in the oven. With that done, she tried to find the right pans and bowls and knives for the remainder of the meal preparation. Charity’s kitchen in Boise had a specific place for everything. So did her mother’s. Buck’s cupboards were—to put it kindly—less organized, and it took quite awhile to find some of the items she wanted, even after having used his kitchen several times.

  Finally, everything she needed was on the countertops, and she went to work on the salad, chopping and slicing and mixing. When it was ready, she placed the salad bowl in the refrigerator next to the paper-wrapped salmon. In short order, she’d cleaned up after herself with a damp dishcloth.

  “Anything I can do to help?” Buck asked, his voice much closer than the living room.

  Surprised, Charity spun to face him.

  Buck didn’t seem to notice he’d startled her as he rolled his scooter toward the cupboard that held plates, bowls, and glasses. “I can at least set the table. It’s good for me to get off the couch.”

  Had the kitchen shrunk in size in the last few moments? It seemed so with him in it.

  Stretching up, Buck took two dinner plates from the cupboard and set them in the basket on the front of the scooter. A couple of drinking glasses followed. Two sets of silverware went into one of the glasses.

  “You’re getting quite accomplished at that,” Charity said.

  “Maybe boredom is the real mother of invention.” He shot a grin over his shoulder. “You know. Instead of necessity.”