On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5)

by Riordan Hall, Deirdre

Just after she got up, stretched, and went to the kitchen to get something to eat, the overhead light flickered and went out. Baskia flipped the switches on and off a few times before Wes’s warning about frozen pipes rushed her to the hearth where she immediately stoked the fire. She couldn’t imagine all their hard work in the basement under several feet of water.

  Wandering the yard, nearly losing sight of the cabin as she searched, she fretted about Patty, having prepared the sumptuous meal, and with no way to tell her she wouldn’t be picking it up.

  Baskia brought her luggage back upstairs, along with another bottle of wine. Pouring herself a glass, she tried to read by the dim light of the window, but kept worrying about being stuck there without electricity.

  Baskia heard the scraping of a plow outside. She rushed out in her boots and coat, flagging Wes down so he didn’t run into her or worse, leave without saying hello.

  “Merry Christmas. Where are your guests?” he said, as if the storm were no big deal.

  “Not coming. The weather.”

  She explained the power outage, and Wes checked the metal box in the basement, making an additional fire in the woodstove down there as a precaution. “You might go through wood faster, but you’ll want to keep this thing going day and night as long as the heat is out.”

  Baskia didn’t look forward to babysitting the woodstove, but she didn’t have much else to do.

  “What about all that food from Patty?” Wes asked. “When I was a kid, I went to her son Robbie’s birthday party. Seriously, the best cake. Understand, I was a ten year old boy—super heroes, baseball, and all that stuff—and the highlight of that party was the cake.”

  “You should try her potatoes.” Then Baskia had an idea. “No really, you should. Could you bring us over there? She’s alone. We’re alone. We could all eat together. I mean, if you are, in fact, alone.”

  “I’m free until four. Well, I have more plowing to do, but most of my customers expect to wait until the storm is over so they don’t have to pay twice.”

  “Why did you come up here then?”

  “I knew you were having visitors.”

  “Was. Yeah.” Baskia said, the weight of loneliness descending like a wet blanket of snow.

  Nearly forty-five minutes later, Patty welcomed Baskia and Wes into the toasty farmhouse. “I wondered what happened to you. I’m just glad everything is all right. You’re welcome to stay here the night, if you like.”

  “Thanks. But even though the storm kept my family from coming up, I still have to tend the fire.”

  “Spoken like a true New Englander,” Patty said, her rosy cheeks shining.

  Wes smirked.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Baskia said, straightening her knit top.

  “Well, a feast for us at any rate,” Patty said, pulling out plates and silverware.

  After the lavish meal, Patty insisted Baskia take the leftovers, including the desserts, with her. “Just freeze it, that way you’ll have food on hand if you get snowed in again.”

  “I’m sure the power will be back on in no time. The log cabin is on the same line as yours, and I’ve never been without electricity for more than a day or two,” Wes assured her.

  This heartened Baskia, but she suddenly felt far out of her league, questioning whether trying to make a life out in the country was her worst idea yet.

  Later, as Wes drove slowly through the snowy streets, the pie on her lap did little to bring her warmth or comfort.

  Climbing the mountain Wes said, “You’re quiet. Usually I’m the one daydreaming.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  He half-grinned.

  “I listen too, don’t worry, I heard that thing you said about missing regular manicures.”

  Baskia chuckled. “Good thing I’m wearing gloves. What do you daydream about?”

  “Mountains. Buildings. Former architecture student, remember? I think about how it sometimes seems like if I’m high enough up, I can kiss the sky.”

  She liked the sound of that despite her fear of heights. “Do you want to finish your degree someday?”

  “I’ve been doing a few classes online, picking away at it, but it’s not the same.”

  “So what’s keeping you from just going back? Is it money?” Baskia asked. She hadn’t received the bill for the plowing yet, but she didn’t imagine it afforded him a college education. Never mind what he did the rest of the year. Before they could discuss it further, they arrived at the cabin.

  “Want me to check on the fires for you?” he asked.

  Baskia imagined she could handle it, but going into the dark house, alone, freaked her out. “If you don’t mind.”

  She used the cell phone’s glow to guide her to matches and lit a candle. Wes stoked the woodstove, the fireplace, and brought in enough wood to last her until the morning. “Anything else?”

  “Well, it is Christmas. How about dessert?”

  Wes smiled. “I suppose that would be okay. I have until four.”

  Without slicing the pumpkin pie, she brought out two forks, and they dug in.

  “So what happens at four?” Baskia asked.

  Wes coughed and then chugged his water as if to delay answering. “I have to visit family.”

  “Oh, are they around here? You haven’t talked much about them except for the carpenters in Nebraska, and what other state was it?”

  “Maryland. Those are my dad’s brothers. I haven’t seen them in…it’s been a year.” Wes was quiet, and they both looked into the fire, the wood crackling, and the flames dancing as if in the heart of the blaze they would find answers to whatever they were looking for.

  “A year, since your father died?” Baskia said in a small voice, venturing timidly into uncomfortable territory. After all the things Wes had done for her, she had the feeling he needed someone to talk to. Or rather, he teetered on a chasm and desperately needed someone to listen to him, if only so that in hearing his own voice, he’d know that if he let go, it was a long way to fall.

  “Yeah. And my mom…”

  Baskia drew a deep breath for both of them. She didn’t say anything. It was like the words had made their way slowly to his tongue, and she wanted him to know he could take as long as he needed.

  “My sister was in the accident too. It was a drunk driver. Right before the holidays last year. Just outside town. She’s—” his voice cracked.

  Baskia gently squeezed his arm to let him know it was okay to go on.

  “She’s in a coma. At first, I visited every day. Then every other day. Now just a few times a week. I don’t know if she’ll ever wake up. And it’s—” Wes could say no more. In the firelight, his eyes spilled over.

  Baskia couldn’t help it. She cried too. She whispered, “I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t imagine the world without her brother. She couldn’t imagine the ache that Wes carried, there when he woke up every day, when he split wood, when he plowed, when he breathed.

  He wiped his eyes. “I’m going to be okay. I’m not going to lose hope.”

  “Will you tell me about her, your sister, and your mom and dad too, if you want? I’m guessing that mug, the chipped one that you always have, the one that says, ‘Let her dream, for when she wakes, she’ll move mountains,’ that’s hers.”

  He nodded. By the warm fire and the glow of the Christmas tree, Wes went on to describe his sister until it was time for him to visit her.

  “Will you be okay here without power?” he asked.

  “I’ll manage,” she said, almost laughing because she wouldn’t have believed it possible three months ago.

  As he stepped out into the storm, Baskia said, “Please tell her Merry Christmas.” Then she gave Wes a hug before turning back inside.

  Chapter Eighteen

  During the next week, Baskia opened and closed her journal so much the binding started to split, but she never wrote a word other than the heading, across a new page, New Year’s Resolutions and then erased it. Every time she sat to thi
nk about what she wanted to change in the coming year, her mind drew a blank as white and empty as the page in front of her. In the past she’d vowed to cut back on drinking and partying, or eat healthier, exercise more, or be nicer, more helpful, or avoid chocolate; all the usual suspects. As she reflected over the last three months, she’d successfully done some of the big ones, those two weeks back in Manhattan notwithstanding.

  On the morning of New Year’s Eve, she closed the journal; the five letters embossed on the cover reminded her to smile. She’d seen Wes once since Christmas, when he’d checked to make sure the power had come back on. Something had shifted slightly in him. Like maybe, getting out of bed that day wasn’t going to test his ability to put one foot in front of the other. His smile came easily while they chatted over coffee. He’d mentioned he was impressed with how hard she’d worked with him in the basement even though it was all for naught.

  Baskia was pleased that the initial awkwardness between them had dissipated. She thought that maybe, they could be real friends. There was no denying she was attracted to him, but if he was attracted to her, he’d left it somewhere under the lights of the fairgrounds. If it had been the summer before and she’d been under the spell of alcohol, she probably would have taken his interest in her as only friend material as a challenge to win him over. But the friendship growing between them was enough. And of course, there was Trace.

  A horn honked outside as the brown UPS truck trundled up the driveway. Baskia couldn’t remember what she was expecting, but held the door open to retrieve two plain, brown boxes from the delivery guy. She knew one was a book she ordered for Wes, a belated Christmas gift. “Thanks,” she waved. “Happy New Year.”

  After tearing through the tape of the second box, she pulled out the silver, sparkly Jimmy Choo’s she’d ordered around Christmas. The shimmering stones caught in the firelight. She slid them on her feet; they fit like a dream. Baskia hadn’t worn heels in weeks and strutted through the house, regaining her old mojo.

  If she was going to spend New Year’s Eve alone, trying, and failing, to figure out her future, she decided she might as well look good. She showered, shaved, gave herself a mani and pedi, moisturized, and then stood in front of the closet waffling between a fun and flirty little, black dress with a hemline made of feathers or a sexy asymmetrical cut-out number, also black. She tried on both, realizing there was no one to flirt with or be sexy in front of, other than herself.

  In the end, she opted for the cutout dress, only because the feathers kept tickling her legs, plus it showcased the sparkly heels. After styling her hair in a voluptuous blowout and applying thick eyeliner, a la Brigitte Bardot, Baskia stood in front of the mirror surveying the woman that stood before her.

  She cocked her hip, snapped a selfie, and then settled on the bed, gazing out the window and wondering if she was lost, crazy, or on the edge of big change. Her eyes grew heavy; the hot shower and the warm fire luring her to sleep.

  Hours later, when she woke, dusk had settled over the mountains. Baskia almost laughed when she remembered her big night-in preparations. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she went to the living room to tend the fire. A familiar figure sat on the couch with her journal in his hand.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “No hi, hello, Merry Christmas, or Happy New Year?”

  “Give me that,” she said, swiping the book from his hands.

  Trace got to his feet, wearing jeans and a snug fitting button-down, slate-grey shirt. His hair was longer and his dark blond scruff, unshaved as usual. He stepped toward Baskia, reaching out for her waist. “My, don’t you look,” he searched for the word, “smashing. Hot party in town tonight or are you and lover boy, I mean Wes, going somewhere?”

  Baskia narrowed her eyes at him. “Jealous?” The old fire within, sparked, burning equally with attraction and anger. “Did you come up here to fuck and run or just give me a hard time?”

  “Actually, neither. I came up here for a quiet week away. Your brother felt bad about not making it up for Christmas and thought you might need some company.”

  “Really? He thought you’d make good company?”

  A smug grin appeared on his lips. “Last I checked I make great company. But don’t let me stop you from your plans. Carry on. I’ll just make myself at home.” He slouched back down on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. “Do you have any good books?”

  She tucked the journal behind her back. Seeing him there, so at ease in his own skin and self-assured, softened her. Maybe that was the thing about him, he played to both sides of her: the hard and soft, the gentle and fierce, and the timid and bold. Putting those disparate facets together to form her true self, made her more vulnerable to people really seeing her and worse, judging. As the fire popped and sizzled, she wondered if the same was true for him. Maybe they were both afraid of showing the other their soft side and that was why they clashed. She leaned on the armrest of the couch. “I don’t have plans, actually. I just usually get dressed up, so I thought, why not.”

  He looked at her squarely then, his eyes sparkling. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” Baskia said, suddenly shy. She twisted a piece of hair around her finger. She brought over the basket of books, placing it by Trace’s feet, and then slipped out of the room to put her journal away.

  “You’re becoming a regular librarian. But a sexy one,” he shouted from the other room.

  She laughed privately. “Tracey Wolfe, what am I going to do with you?” she asked her reflection in the mirror. Maybe it was a good thing she’d gotten dressed up.

  She strutted by the fire. “I heard you spoke to my mother, a little while ago.”

  “Mrs. Benedict?” Trace asked, not missing a beat.

  It was Baskia’s turn to look at him full on. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You don’t seem to like her much. I didn’t want to antagonize you.”

  She couldn’t help it; she burst into laughter. “Whoa, wait, hold on. You didn’t want to antagonize me? But that’s what you do. You tease me, taunt me, bring me to the edge of reason, sleep with me, and then take off. How is that not antagonizing me?”

  “You like it.”

  “You’re mistaken.” She shifted away from him.

  He reached out for her. “Come on. Don’t be mad. I thought you were into this.”

  Baskia folded her arms across her chest and just like that, she was madder than ever. “This? What is this?” She muttered, “Forget it.”

  “Your mom said I was nice. What was it? Oh yeah, she called me a, ‘lovely young man.’ I didn’t disagree with her of course.” Trace wore a smile on the brink of laughter. “If she only knew. But Baskia, I will be nice to you. I thought—never mind. I’m sorry.”

  She ignored him, thankful the fire drew her into the saffron and gold flames that licked and curled against the stones surrounding the hearth.

  He tapped his finger, lightly, on a bit of skin, along her waistline, exposed in the asymmetrical dress. She didn’t budge. He slowly began to tickle her. She flinched. Before she realized what he was doing, he straddled her, tickling her neck, her waist, and under her arms. She wiggled and giggled, unable to help herself.

  He settled back onto the couch, drawing her closer, coaxing her perfectly stained lips toward his. “Your eyes, they dazzle me. Your lips, they seduce me, everything about you—” they were a breath apart.

  A burst of cold air prickled Baskia’s skin and Trace whipped around, jumping to his feet. She’d never seen someone move so fast. He looked ready to set the room ablaze with the ferocity burning in his eyes. The front door hung open in the dark night.

  “Little sister,” called a familiar voice from outside.

  Mellie appeared first, followed by Will. He and Trace shook hands and then moved in for a hug. Baskia remained on the couch, shocked. Mellie shuffled farther into the cabin, but remained quiet.

  “How’s it going?” Will asked, s
cooping Baskia into a hug. “Aren’t you excited to see us?”

  “Just surprised, that’s all,” she managed to say.

  “I felt bad about missing Christmas, and then I told Trace he could head up. But heck, it’s New Year’s. I wanted to spend it with some of my favorite people.” He blinked at the three of them. “We drove straight here.” He ushered Mellie closer. “Mellie, this is Tracey Wolfe, my roommate in Hollis, freshman year. We call him Trace. And—” he looked to Baskia as if he was about to make introductions out of habit, but stopped himself. “Well of course you know each other.” Will avoided looking at Baskia as if he was uncomfortable with the unspoken question she shouted in her mind, Why is she here?

  An awkward moment passed.

  “Three. Good to see you, in person. Do you need help bringing your gear in?” Trace asked, completely at ease.

  Baskia looked at them. Trace? Three? They sounded like a pair of old-time entertainers or gang members.

  “Sure, but we’re just here for the night, have to head back tomorrow after we get some skiing in,” Will answered.

  Trace looked to Baskia. “The basement?” he said, probably recalling the disaster it had been.

  “You guys don’t mind staying down there, do you?” Baskia asked, brushing by them.

  “They can’t—” Trace started to say, but she already led the way.

  She swept her arms grandly when they reached the foot of the stairs.

  “Impressive,” Trace said, taking in the renovated space.

  “Thanks,” Baskia said.

  “What? I don’t get it,” Will asked, looking from Baskia to Trace.

  “Last time I was here, there was extensive water damage, destroyed by a flood, totally ruined.”

  “I fixed it up when I found out Mom, Dad, and you were visiting for Christmas. But obviously…”

  “Lucky you got someone to get it done so quickly. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it. I told Mom—”

  “Actually, I did it,” Baskia said, cutting him off.

  Trace smirked.

  “Wait, you did it? With what army?” Will asked.

  “She’s a regular homesteader, Three,” Trace said, apparently not as surprised as she’d hoped.