by Juanita Kees
“You tell the town that. I know you’ve got guests, but are you coming up the hill for the memorial service tonight?”
“I’ll be there.” Their usual ritual. They’d make their way along the short distance to the family cemetery, take candles and say prayers for their mother and brother, both of whom had died too young. Then he and Mason would stay behind, get blind drunk and try to forget for another year while Carter and Dad pretended not to wait to see them home safely.
“Would be nice if Grace and Trinity were here.”
“They’ll come home when they’re ready.” Chase shoulder-bumped his brother.
Mason blinked and squeezed his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I know. I miss the brats. And Dad? What are we going to do about his Parkinson’s? It sucks to see him like this.”
“There’s not a whole lot we can do except take one day at a time and appreciate every moment we have left together. Go on now. I’ll be up after dinner.”
“So, you’re telling me I’m stuck with my instant chicken soup?”
“You could go to Carter’s?”
Mason wrinkled his nose. “He’s on a health kick. He thinks if he feeds Dad those organic shakes it will make him better.”
Chase grinned. “Who knows, it might?”
“If it doesn’t kill him first,” Mason scoffed. “Meat. A man must have meat. Rich in iron and vitamins. Red raw in the middle, seared on the outside. I think I might cook myself a steak.” He caught Chase in a headlock and kissed the top of his head before releasing him. “See you, Mother.”
Then he was gone in a whirlwind of energy that hid the scars that festered inside him. A mountain of a man with a lost boy hiding inside. Chase hated that after five years since Mitch’s death, Mason still carried his brother’s ghost on his shoulders the way he had the real boy many years ago.
*
Charlie stepped into the living area of the cabin, her heart heavy. It had been hard not to overhear the brothers’ conversation when the cabin was so small, and Mason was such a larger-than-life character.
She stood close enough to appreciate the hard contours of Chase’s shoulders, broad chest, and hips. He’d removed the layers of clothing in the warmth of the cabin, and all that lay between them was the denim of his jeans and the worn softness of cotton. She reached out to him, her fingers curling around thick biceps exposed by the sleeves of his black T-shirt.
Charlie wished she could erase the sadness in his eyes. It didn’t seem fair that a family with such a strong bond should lose two good people. Yet they had. Their mother had been a warm, loving mom. So far removed from Charlie’s, who preferred her creature comforts over her children and never showed affection in case it ruined her cosmetics or Chanel suits. How often had she wished that things could be different? What had happened to the woman in the photograph that hung on the wall of the garage?
The haunted look, the pinch of his lips, the frown that hinted at the turmoil in his thoughts—it tugged at her heart. Charlie lifted her hand. The stubble on his jaw caressed her palm. “Everything okay?”
He nodded. “You heard?”
Charlie ran her hand from his cheek down his arm. “Yes. Your dad told me about your mom. I’m sorry. It must have been hard for you.”
Chase sighed, his hands moving to caress her back absently. “Not as hard as it was for Dad to lose Mom. She was his anchor, his everything. And tonight, it’s the anniversary of Mitch’s accident. In some ways, Dad lost two sons that day because Mason has never been the same since.”
“The pickup under cover in the corner of the garage?”
He nodded. “It’s been five years since Mitch died. Mason won’t let us move it outside. He’s not ready to let it go or fix it.”
Charlie slipped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest. “Oh, Chase … and now your dad too.”
He drew her closer. She closed her eyes and held him tightly, willing him to feel the comfort and compassion in her heart. She wanted to ask what had happened, but it felt like an intrusion, and she was still a stranger in their circle.
“Life is full of challenges, Charlie. It’s how we deal with them that matters.” His arms dropped from around her and she released him reluctantly.
“It’s still not easy,” she said as he stepped away and the air between them cooled to room temperature.
“No, but we will get through it.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I should warn you that part of this ritual tonight means getting very, very drunk. I can sleep at Mason’s or Carter’s. I might not make it up the stairs to my room. It wouldn’t be fair on you and Zoe.”
“This is your home, Chase. We’ll be fine. Noise doesn’t worry Zoe and at least I’ll know you’re okay when you come home.”
He looked at her in a way that made her toes curl in her socks from the heat it generated. Then he turned and walked the short distance to the kitchen to make her tea. Charlie followed him. She pulled out saucepans and ingredients, already familiar with the contents of the refrigerator and cabinet pantry. Pasta and chili sauce, the perfect meal for a man who had to brave the cold of a Montana night.
Charlie opened the refrigerator and searched for green peppers, fresh garlic and chili. She’d promised him her secrets over dinner, but she couldn’t add to his burden now. Not when he had his own demons to face. “Will you tell me what happened to Mitch?” She closed the refrigerator door and carried her ingredients over to the sink to rinse them off.
Chase lifted a mug from a cupboard shelf and dropped a tea bag into it. “It’s no secret. And while the years in between have allowed the rumors to settle, there are still a few out there who don’t mind raising them again when it suits them. Mason loved speed and handling. Racing is in our blood whether we want it or not. I’ve put my passion into building this business, but Mason, Trinity and Grace have racing fuel in their veins.”
Placing the vegetables on a chopping board, Charlie carried them over to the kitchen countertop. She could relate. Her father and brother lived and breathed the adrenaline that drove the race circuit. “That’s what has made the Calhoun brand an international brand name.”
“That and the errors we’ve made along the way. Mason was parading his new pickup truck around town the day Mitch died. It was raining that day.” He paused as if to listen for the patter of raindrops on the cabin roof. “Mitch was on his way home from town, drenched from the rain. Mason stopped to give him a lift, but he had Paige in the front of the pickup and he didn’t want Mitch intruding in their space.”
“Paige?” Charlie set a saucepan on the range, filled it with hot water from the kettle and lit the gas under it to bring the water back to the boil. Then she set about quickly chopping the vegetables for the sauce while she waited for the answer that took a while to come.
“His girlfriend at the time and Trinity’s best friend still today. She’s on Trinity’s pit crew. He told Mitch to climb in the back of the pickup and take shelter under the tarp. Mason was young, stupid, in love. Flexing his manhood instead of his brain. He took a bend too sharply, the tail end of the pickup fishtailed and he lost control. Hit a tree.” Chase cleared his throat over a crack in his voice. “Mitch was thrown from the back of the pickup. They found him three yards away from the crash site. He didn’t stand a chance.”
Charlie paused the opening a can of kidney beans, horror sending shivers through her blood. “Poor Mitch.” She reached for Chase’s hand and found it shaking, so she curled her fingers around his and squeezed comfort into them.
“Mason was devastated. He blamed himself. We did too for a while and so did the town. Gossip spread fast. Some were comforting and forgiving. Others not so much. Some people gave Mason a hard time over the accident. It sent him into a downward spiral so bad we had him on suicide watch. Paige gave up on him and no one could blame her. He was being eaten from the inside out. He didn’t need anyone laying blame at his door. He quite capably managed that all by himsel
f. The consequences of that downward spiral involved him doing some really stupid things, as if he was chasing death, begging it to take him too.”
Charlie pressed a kiss against his fingers then pressed them to her cheek before letting go. “It must have been hard on all of you.” She opened the can and drained the beans before dropping the pasta into one saucepan and the sauce ingredients into another.
“It was. Harder than you could imagine, especially when we’d lost Mom too. The attic and the garage itself held so many sad memories that seemed to outweigh the happy ones.”
She stirred in a can of stewed tomatoes before turning to face him, her heart aching for the Calhoun family. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged, the careless movement contradicting the tension in his spine. “It would have been easier to move away from Bigfork, but it wouldn’t have mattered where we went, because the gossip would still have found us. Dad didn’t want to leave Mom and Mitch behind. None of us did. We loved them too much to leave them. Dad said we should stay and let time heal our hearts and the minds of the people.”
“Sometimes you can’t stay. Sometimes you have to leave to see the truth.” She turned back to the stove and dipped the spoon into the sauce. Scooping up a small amount, she blew on it to cool it before tasting.
He came to stand next her and dipped a spoon into the sauce to test it himself. “Oh, my God, that’s good. Wait until I tell Mason what he missed out on.”
Warmth flooded through her, the compliment a novelty she wasn’t used to in a world where nothing she achieved was praised. “If there’s any left over, I could save some for him?”
Chase squeezed her shoulder. “I think he’d like that.”
Charlie let the smile forming on her lips grow. It seemed silly something as simple as a show of appreciation for a good pasta sauce should make her heart glow, but it did. She’d achieved. Taken a step forward. Grown.
She turned back to the sauce. “It’s almost ready. Would you get the dinner plates out, please?”
Chase’s arm dropped from around her and cooler, safer distance came between them. She could get too used to being cuddled into his side, too comfortable in his presence. And that would be dangerous. She hadn’t come to Bigfork to find love. She’d embarked on this journey to find herself—Charlie Jackson, mother, artist, responsible and independent adult.
But there was no denying she liked the way Chase moved. The kitchen was small enough for him to brush against her as he reached for a drawer or cupboard door as he went through the motions of place setting. He moved with a fluid strength and sure steps, a strong man used to being in charge. In that way, he was a little like her father. In everything else, they were poles apart. Her father dominated and Chase … mothered. A laugh bubbled in her chest and escaped through her lips.
Chase grinned. “What?”
She shook her head. “Just thinking. You’re a good man, Chase Calhoun. Don’t ever let the world change you.” He frowned, and she lifted a hand to smooth the lines away. “Let’s eat. Your family will be waiting for you.”
A flicker of sadness showed in his incredibly blue eyes. Charlie wished she could make him happy again. She wished things could be different, that they’d met a long time ago. That he’d been the trigger to step off the cliff and start the journey to turn her life around. That she could be free to step up and kiss his inviting lips, soothe away his pain. But she had no business trying to fix others when she still had to fix herself.
Chapter Seven
Chase zipped up his jacket, slipped on his gloves and beanie, and wrapped his scarf around his neck and mouth. Ahead, the pathway up the hill to the family cemetery loomed, low lights set into stone walls lighting the way. His father and brothers waited in silence, staring into the distance, alone with the sadness of their thoughts.
The lingering smell of the pines that stretched toward the mountains teased his senses as he drew in a deep breath through his nose. He wished it was still light enough to take comfort in the beauty of the ranch. Eight thousand acres of rolling fields and towering trees, the rustic charm of the main house with its pitched rooflines, natural wood, and stone walls. The warm, welcoming glow from the windows when it was lit up at night. And the sense of peace that surrounded them out here.
With all his heart he hoped this year would be different. That Mason’s pain would be less, that the memories would have faded and the wounds would have healed just a little. For all of them.
“What took you so long?” Mason snapped out the words, the cold night air stealing them from his lips and turning his breath to vapor in the lamp light.
“Ease up, Mase. The boy’s got to eat.” Marty’s hands trembled as he tried to get his gloves on.
“Cold as the devil’s heart out here. Here, let me help you with that, Dad.” Carter stepped forward and helped his dad with the gloves. “Let’s get moving. We don’t want to be out here too late.”
“Stay at home then, Carter, if you’re afraid of a little cold. I’ll go on my own,” Mason bit back.
Carter snorted. “You’ll freeze your nuts off when you get lost.”
Chase sighed as he recognized the snark in Mason’s defense mechanism. One day his brother would stop hiding his hurt behind attitude. He ran forward and shoulder-bumped Mason who staggered under the unexpected weight and landed on his ass. “Race you to the top.”
“You’d better run, asshole.” Mason slapped damp fall leaves from his jeans as he stood.
Chase stole his beanie and ran, the thud of Mason’s boots closing in behind him. At the top of the hill, Mason caught up, flinging himself on Chase’s back and tackling him to the ground outside the gate to the family cemetery. They rolled around, throwing mock punches and trading insults, the way they had when they were boys. The only way Chase knew how to draw Mason out of his melancholy.
Beanie wrapped around his fingers, Mason stood and held out his hand. “Get up. Don’t want to send you home to your new lady all wet and grubby. She might choose your younger brother instead.”
Chase wanted to deny Charlie meant anything to him, but the words wouldn’t leave his tongue. He’d only known her a few days, for God’s sake. The thought of his brothers making a play for her shouldn’t fill his heart with jealousy. He reached for his scarf which had come off during their scuffle before he accepted Mason’s hand and got to his feet. Carter and their father caught up.
Marty put a hand on the gate and flicked open the wrought-iron latch. “Behave yourselves, boys. You don’t want your mother to think I’ve raised a horde of hooligans.”
Mason tugged down his beanie and shoved Chase, then stepped through the gate behind his father. Chase slapped him on the ass with a flick of his scarf before wrapping it back around his neck. Behind him, Carter chuckled, the sound drifting into silence as they reached the two gravestones, side-by-side, one a little older than the other.
Familiar tightness clamped Chase’s throat as he read his mother and baby brother’s names engraved in the marble. Beside him, Mason shuddered and leaned closer. He hooked his arm loosely around his brother’s shoulders. Marty knelt to light the candles, his hand steady for once, one for each family member. He added another two.
“We’ve got two new special guests at home tonight, Nora. You’d like young Charlie and Zoe, I think.”
He continued to tell her of the things that had happened since they’d last visited, as if she could hear them. Chase embraced the sense of calm that descended on their small group. Perhaps she could hear them; perhaps the warmth that protected them from the cold came direct from her heart. His dad moved on to talk to Mitch. Mason stiffened beside him, the subtle shake in his shoulders warning Chase of the pain to come.
Dabbing at his eyes with the back of his glove, Marty stepped back. “Your turn, Mason.”
Mason stepped forward and the grip on Chase’s throat tightened painfully. He hated seeing his brother still broken after all this time. Mason said nothing. He knelt and touched the gra
ss that covered the still slightly raised mound of dirt on Mitch’s resting place. Head bent, he cried. Wracking, wrenching sobs that stabbed at Chase’s chest and twisted his gut into knots.
Marty touched Mason’s shoulder. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself, Son.”
Mason shook his head. “I can’t, Dad. If it wasn’t for me, Mitch wouldn’t be lying here.”
“It was an accident.”
“No. I killed him. Because I was being an asshole that day.”
“The piece about being an asshole is true, but you didn’t kill Mitch.” Carter stepped in beside him.
Mason shot him a death-stare. “Screw you, Carter.”
Carter raised an eyebrow. “Want to take a shot at me? Will it make you feel better about yourself?” He sat beside him and presented his jaw. “Go on. Do it.”
Mason ignored him. He pulled out a hip thermos from his jacket instead. Chase sighed and sat down on the other side of Mason as his brother unscrewed the cap. They sat shoulder to shoulder, three brothers with their father standing behind them, and drank.
The bite of the whiskey eased the knot in his throat, relaxed the tension in his shoulders as Chase drank then passed the thermos back to Mason and their yearly ritual played out. But this time, it was different. The weight that normally settled on his shoulders at the sight of his mother’s grave didn’t come. The usual memories of that day that replayed in his mind stayed silent. In its place came a peace he’d never hoped to feel, as if his mother had finally managed to lift the guilt from his shoulders. And the only faces he saw in his mind were Charlie and Zoe’s.
The whiskey warmed him, but the taste had changed. It no longer called to him to drink it, to drown the pain and guilt in its burn. A breeze swirled up around them in an otherwise still night, its breath warm instead of frosty. Then it was gone, sweeping away the orange and gold fall leaves, and drying the tears on his cheeks.