by Angela Ruth
The challenge in Emily’s eyes turned to a sparkle. “You’re missing another pretty obvious clue.”
“Oh yeah?” Tracen didn’t even try to guess what she was hinting at. He was too intoxicated by her tone. And by the way the apples of her cheeks popped out when she smiled. Mercy, he loved her smile. “What’s that?”
“You’re the rafting guide.”
Chapter Eleven
Emily soared toward the ceiling, muscles tight, waiting for the pull of gravity before tucking into a triple summersault. Cheers arose to welcome her back to the trampoline. She pushed off again, blocking out the crowd that surrounded her and adding a twist to the next layout.
Was it only last week that she’d done the same routine in her mom’s class? But this time she felt it all more. Everything was bigger. Almost alive.
She wasn’t playing now. She was performing. And it didn’t matter that her mother had another student who could execute the exact same moves with better form. It mattered that Tracen was there to see her. And it mattered that Tracen would be eating dinner at her mother’s house. She wanted to cut the tramp routine short to join Tracen and her mom with the wakeboard lesson.
Oh, goodness. The drive to Boise had flown by, even with the construction delays. She’d opened up to Tracen, and he’d helped her see her parents in a new light. After that, she hadn’t exactly been subtle in her flirting, which could have been a mistake. She didn’t want him to think she was one of those girls who threw herself at any cute guy. Because she didn’t.
She hadn’t even had time for men with her filming schedules, and before that, dealing with her father’s illness had drained all her energy. Spending time with Tracen made her feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz—life now had color to it.
Emily rotated through a doubleback summersault with a full twist, the room spinning into a blur. She returned to the trampoline, letting her feet sink, then absorbing the spring into her knees so she wasn’t shot back up through the air like a boomerang. The students surrounding the tramp hollered and whistled. She gave a little bow, making sure to face the direction where Tracen was located. Her insides did a flip of their own when he sent her a mock salute. It more than made up for the times he’d ignored her on the wakeboard. Oh yeah, their friendship was definitely growing closer.
“Emily! Emily! Emily!”
She plopped down on the edge of the tramp to sign autographs. Classes were normally quiet during summer sessions, but somehow word had spread that she would be in town. One girl had even donned a red cape in her honor.
As patiently as she could, she answered movie questions and encouraged the young adults to pursue their dreams. For her, the two topics were not related. Yeah, she loved the work. It was challenging and rewarding. But the more time she spent with Tracen, the less stable her life seemed. She wanted what he had. Roots. Friends. Family. A home.
Finally, the class ended, and the students disappeared. Emily half-skipped, half-jogged across the shiny gym floor to join her mom and Tracen.
Tracen bounced awkwardly with a board strapped to his feet. He held up one finger as if to hold her attention. “Watch this.”
Emily’s mom yanked on the rope looped through the pulley on the ceiling and supporting Tracen’s harness just as he threw himself backwards into a tuck. He might have made it over had he angled his board a little more perpendicular to the tramp. Instead, board and man hung in midair, stuck upside-down. Emily’s mom slowly lowered him onto his back.
Emily leaped onto the tramp to help Tracen untangle. “I’d love to see you try that on Redfish Lake.”
Tracen groaned. “I had the trick earlier.”
Violet confirmed his declaration. “He got it right away,” she assured her daughter. “I think I just wore him out.”
Tracen kicked the board away but didn’t move from his sprawled-out position. “That you did.”
Emily helped him unbuckle the harness so her mom could hoist it up into its resting position. It was a task she’d completed often, but with Tracen as the one harnessed, it suddenly seemed intimate. She focused on slipping the strap out of the buckle and didn’t meet his eyes, though she accidentally made contact with his solid stomach. Goodness he was strong, if not exactly graceful.
Only when she’d scooted to the edge once again did she look him in the face. Where did this shyness come from? Tracen seemed to be wondering the same thing as he watched her distance herself. He let her off without comment—probably because her mom was right there.
He turned to Violet. “So when did you get started in this sport?”
Violet draped her forearms along the pad surrounding the apparatus. “I started gymnastics when I was eight. Talked my dad into getting me a trampoline when I turned eleven. I’ve been jumping ever since. Even when pregnant with Emily, I jumped until the day I delivered.”
Tracen chuckled. “No kidding.” He turned his disarming smile on Emily. “No wonder she’s so athletic.”
Emily turned to look at her mom. The woman loved telling the beginning of Emily’s career. Most people didn’t know the truth.
Violet chuckled. “Actually, Emily was a sickly child. She never had any energy.”
Tracen tilted his head.
“I always had a cold and a stomachache,” Emily explained.
“She did.” Violet took control once again. “I thought she was just lazy. Finally a friend of mine suggested she might have food allergies.”
Tracen’s head swiveled toward Emily once again. “Milk and wheat.”
Violet’s voice repeated her words. “Milk and wheat. It took us awhile to figure it out, though. For one whole month she ate nothing but baby food from the jar.”
Emily watched for the disgust in Tracen’s face. She’d been made fun of at school because of the baby food and spent most of the noon recess in the bathroom hiding her tears. Fourth grade had been the worst year of her young life.
Tracen’s eyes didn’t bulge like she expected. Instead he looked at her as if she was a present he’d just unwrapped on Christmas morning. “So that’s why you didn’t eat rolls at The Point. And why you can’t eat huckleberry cobbler anymore.”
“Yeah.” How she missed the sweet zip of huckleberry cobbler.
“Is baby food any good?” Tracen’s teasing words were said with enough sensitivity to draw her eyes back up to his.
Salt couldn’t even help her creamed turkey dinners. She’d lost eleven pounds—eleven pounds she didn’t have to lose. “I will never, ever feed my kids baby food. Not even when they are babies. I’m going to get a baby food grinder, and they will eat whatever we eat.”
At her words, Tracen’s lips parted, and his eyes squinted. Did she just say we? By we, she meant her family. She and her husband. She hadn’t meant to imply that she’d be eating with Tracen. And she hadn’t meant to create the mental image of them parenting together.
“I mean, you know…the baby will eat whatever my family eats.”
“Of course that’s what you meant.” Violet’s thick hand gripped her daughter’s forearm in support, rescuing her from an uncomfortable situation. “Now Emily eats lots of corn and rice and potatoes and oatmeal. It’s an unusual diet, but it keeps her healthy. And as soon as she got healthy, she became unstoppable. She hasn’t slowed down since.”
Tracen’s lips curled up. He blinked lazily at her. “I noticed.”
Oh, how contentment flowed through Emily’s veins like a sedative. She loved that he noticed her. Not the way others noticed her, but with the perception of a family member. The mental image of dinner with Tracen and a baby food grinder came back.
“Are you coming over to eat, Tracen?” Her mom must have read her thoughts.
Tracen rode with Emily to an older neighborhood, passing houses with wraparound porches and gingerbread detail. Violet’s house looked just as old, only hers was peach with blue trim.
“Boise Broncos colors. Mom’s idea,” Emily stated, her voice wry. “Before Dad died, the fence w
as painted purple, and we had a totem pole and rainbow flags flying.”
Tracen bit back a teasing comment. Apparently Emily’s parents hadn’t been the kind that tried to fit in, and he could see in her eyes that it had been cause for an embarrassing childhood. Not to mention the baby food thing. The baby food thing that got her talking about having babies—a place where he wouldn’t let his thoughts go. So…back to her hippie home. “I’m jealous.”
Emily’s face broke into a radiant smile. “You are not.”
“Actually I am. My childhood home got torn down two years ago.” He’d tried to save it. Even applied for a loan to have the house moved onto his land. But the process would have cost much more than for him to build a brand-new home—and he didn’t even have enough to do that yet.
“Oh!” Emily gasped. “I’m sorry.”
The woman acted as if she were mourning her own home. A kiss on her forehead seemed like the perfect way to calm her down. Tracen resisted, though the desire was growing stronger. He grabbed the door handle to put some distance between the two of them. “Don’t be. I’ve got new plans.”
Emily bounced out after him. “Cool!” she called, though he couldn’t see her over the hood of the SUV.
They rushed through the drizzle into the warmth of Violet’s house. The rooms had high ceilings but felt cramped with all the antique furniture and the plethora of plants. Emily led the way through the jungle into the dining area under a chandelier that would have looked more appropriate in a torture chamber. She shivered as she slid into a high-backed wooden chair. Tracen took a seat in a chair on wheels—vinyl with orange and yellow flowers.
What would the tabloids think of her here? This was The Simple Life that divas Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie would never know. He leaned his forearms on the scarred butcher block table.
Emily wrinkled her nose at the chair he chose. Her charming, pert, kissable nose.
Violet entered the room from a small hallway that led to the back of the house and, Tracen guessed, by the steaming mugs in her hands, to the kitchen. She placed the mugs in front of Tracen and Emily. “You missing the California sunshine, Emily?”
Emily sipped her drink. “Not today.”
Tracen eyed the beverage. It looked like tea, and he was more of a coffee kind of guy. He lifted the mug to his lips. Ew. It tasted like penicillin. He gulped, forcing the liquid down his throat.
Violet watched him as she lowered herself onto a bench on the other side of the table. “Well, I’m glad you kids could visit me today. It’s no fun cooking for one.”
Tracen let go of his mug for the first and last time. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband, Violet.”
“Well.” She sat up a little straighter. “He’s in heaven now.”
Tracen nodded. Though Emily’s upbringing was out of the ordinary, he got the impression that she had a strong Christian foundation.
Violet’s eyes traveled to her daughter, then back. “Are you a believer, Tracen?”
Tracen blinked at the question. Certainly direct. Was Violet like this with everyone, or was she concerned about her daughter’s relationship? If it were the latter, she must have the wrong impression about him. He came for the trampoline lesson. Didn’t he?
“Yeah, I grew up in a Christian family. When I was five, I asked Jesus into my heart. I actually said, ‘Hey, Jesus, come into my heart.’”
Violet chuckled, but Tracen listened for the tinkle of Emily’s laughter. Her sapphire eyes sparkled. “The faith of a child.”
Violet stilled and stared as if into the past. “I wish Emily could say the same thing. But we didn’t start going to church until she was in fifth grade.”
Emily twirled a strand of hair around her index finger. “I remember that. I loved church, because none of the kids knew about the baby food I had to eat the year before.”
Tracen reached out and squeezed her shoulder before he could stop himself. He just wanted her to know that he felt for her. That’s all. And he left his hand there because he liked the connection. He liked thinking that he could keep her from experiencing any more pain. Her eyes told him she appreciated his gesture.
Violet sighed, as if reminded of the way she used to feel when her husband supported her. “We always believed in God, but we didn’t have a relationship with Him. It wasn’t until one of Noah’s water ski trips, when his boat broke down, and some guy on a jet ski helped him out and told him all about Jesus that—”
“Mom!” Emily’s shoulder muscle flexed in his grip. He let his hand fall away as she sat up straighter. Her wide eyes searched his, as if trying to read his thoughts. “You don’t think…”
Tracen knew where she was headed. It couldn’t be. “Violet, do you remember the man’s name?”
Violet’s eyes ricocheted between the two of them, her brow wrinkling. “No. I never met him. Why?”
Tracen scooted back on the wheels of his chair. He wanted to call Howie and see if the stories matched up.
Emily’s hand flew to her heart. “Mom, one of Tracen’s rafting guides used to witness on a jet ski.”
Violet’s skin began to smooth as she relaxed. “No. The guy who helped Noah out was a pastor. And he would be quite a bit older than you two.”
Unbelievable. “Ha ha!”
His laugh mingled with Emily’s. Her mouth opened wide in an expression Tracen knew mirrored his own.
“Can you believe it?” He was almost shouting.
Emily grabbed his arm and shook it. “You’ve got to call him.”
Violet tilted her head. “You think it was your rafting buddy?”
Tracen dug into his pocket for his cell. “It must have been.” Oh man, Howie would be so humbled to hear that he played a part in Emily’s childhood—in her whole salvation. He wondered what Honey would have to say about that.
Emily told her mom the whole story while Tracen tried to reach Howie. No answer.
As he finally shoved the phone back into his pocket, Emily quieted down, but her smile was still turned up loud. He didn’t need to put his hand on her shoulder to feel the connection anymore.
Violet wiped tears from her eyes. “Tracen, if I can ever meet this friend of yours, I would love to thank him in person. Because of him…” She fished a tissue from her pocket and wipe her nose. “Because of him, I have peace today.”
Tracen nodded. Words wouldn’t be enough.
In their moment of silence, the noises around them grew louder. A car engine, the refrigerator humming, a constant dripping….
“Ah yes,” Violet murmured. “I’ve got peace and a leaky faucet. I never realized before how much work Noah must have put into this old house.”
Emily reached across the table to take her mother’s hand. It looked like a little gesture, but Tracen knew how enormous it was from what Emily had shared in the car. She was reaching out to her mom in a way she hadn’t since her father died. He felt like an intruder.
“Violet, I can fix your faucet.” Yes, he enjoyed fixing things. And usually leaky faucets were much easier to fix than broken relationships.
Violet’s eyes slanted his way. “I could get used to having you around.”
She showed him to the bathroom and promised to get started on dinner to “repay” him, though he expected his job to be much easier than hers. It didn’t take him long. Just a twist of the monkey wrench, and he was good to go. He closed the toolbox and headed toward the kitchen.
“So what’s going on between you and Tracen?”
Tracen paused in the hallway. It wasn’t that he was eavesdropping exactly. He simply didn’t want to embarrass Emily by walking in the moment her mom asked such a personal question.
“Nothing yet.” Emily sighed.
Tracen strained to hear over the kitchen noises—the chopping of a knife, the clink of glass, the sucking sound of the refrigerator being opened. Okay, now he was eavesdropping.
“Really?” Violet wondered aloud. “Because it seems like there’s something between you two.�
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There was something between them, no matter how much Tracen had tried to deny it. Apparently everyone else could see it. Whatever it was, Tracen had rationalized it away. He’d been afraid that something wasn’t enough. That if he pursued something, he’d be wasting his energy. He’d be left wanting more.
But what more could he want? Emily wasn’t leaving Idaho in search of fame. She was planning to leave fame and come home. The truth was that she’d never searched for fame. She’d accepted the responsibility at first to make money to help her family. Then she’d stayed in California to cope with the pain that came when her father died. Tracen’s heart ached for her. Maybe he could help her heal—he could bring her home.
Emily’s response drew all his attention. His hope felt so fragile. If she said anything to discourage him, there would be no hope at all.
“Tracen doesn’t seem to want something between us.” Her voice lacked the passion he’d come to expect from her. She sounded sad and lonely. He wondered if he could change her tone by telling her how wrong she was.
“What about you?” Violet asked the question he’d been longing to know the answer to.
Every muscle tensed in anticipation. The pulse in his neck throbbed. The pounding in his ears threatened to drown out Emily’s words.
“I adore him.”
The hard core of fear within his chest burst into a shower of what felt like fireworks. Relief tingled and was swept away by the electric charge of determination. For the first time, he could admit to himself what he wanted.
“I thought so.” Emily’s mother’s voice grew louder, like she was headed Tracen’s direction.
Panic might have driven him to retreat and act casual had it not been overpowered by the surprise of Emily’s recent revelation. He moved slightly, but not enough. It was as if the emotion churning inside him prevented the proper signals from traveling to his muscles from his brain.
“Tracen!” The water in Violet’s stone pitcher sloshed as she came to an abrupt stop in front of him. A loud crash sounded from the kitchen.