Another Man's Treasure

by Anna Kittrell

  She looked left, right, and then left again, just like a schoolgirl crossing the street.

  “Okay, I’ll help you out a little.” He knelt, grabbing her hand, forcing her to kneel with him.

  “How about now?”

  She shook her head, a clueless grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  Still holding her hand, Deason let out an exaggerated sigh then grabbed his chest. “You’re breaking my heart here. Okay, picture this.” He brought his hand down from his chest, pointed to the asphalt. “An empty corn can here, coffee filters there, a macaroni and cheese box right…about…here.”

  Charis’s eyes lit up and she squealed then hugged him, losing her balance, landing flat on her bottom. “This is where we first met.” She rose, brushing off her jeans, tugging Deason by the hand. “Are you going to sit there all day? Get up and kiss me, already.”

  He continued to squat on the pavement, dropping to one knee. “I’ll do better than that.”

  Charis’s eyes shimmered, just like the ring he pulled from his shirt pocket.

  “Charis, I love you. Will you marry me?”

  She nodded, pressing a hand to her throat as if searching for her voice. “Yes,” she whispered, gazing at the engagement ring he held out to her. Two sets of wings, one silver, one gold, locked together in flight. He slid it onto her finger. “It’s gorgeous.” She smiled down at it.

  Deason rose, enveloping her in his arms, kissing her tenderly at first then harder as his love for her consumed him.

  “Get a room!”

  They both laughed, breaking the kiss in time to see a boy on a bicycle disappear around the corner. Hand in hand they walked over the curb and across the lawn.

  “It’s your lucky day, Mr. McKindle. Just so happens, I know a girl who lives alone in a three bedroom rental, and has the cutest little black poodle you ever did see.”

  “That’s another thing I wanted to bring up…in addition to my proposal.” He stopped walking. “Remember the job I had waiting in Glacier Park, before…circumstances arose?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Glacier Park headquarters called this morning to tell me about another opening. The guy I spoke with said the job’s mine, if I’m interested.”

  “Montana?” Her eyes lit up like big sky country then clouded. “I…I can’t move that far from Mr. B. He needs constant care. I’d planned to move him in with me.” She lowered her eyes. “I guess now that me means we, that sounds pretty selfish, doesn’t it?”

  “We can take Mr. Barnaby with us. He’ll love it. This Oklahoma humidity isn’t good for him anyway.”

  “Take Mr. B to Montana?”

  “Sure. Why not? Nothing’s holding him here. I’ll talk to Crowley and see what needs to be done to revoke Wendell’s power of attorney.”

  Charis broke into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. She tiptoed, lacing her fingers around his neck. “You just made me a very happy woman. Twice,” she whispered in his ear.

  “Don’t look now,” Deason said from the corner of his mouth. “But I think we have another spectator.”

  Charis followed his gaze, chuckling as she spied Mrs. Smith, eyes glued to them, swiping invisible leaves with the backside of her garden rake. Deason waved. She promptly turned her back, bunny-ear scarf bobbing.

  “I thought you promised no one would see me,” Charis said as Deason walked her through Mr. Barnaby’s splintered door.

  “Well, I’m not sorry,” he said, raising his chin.

  “By the way, I have something for you, too.” She fished into her pocket then placed an object into his palm. She closed his fist around it and kissed his fingers.

  “What’s this—” Deason’s breath caught in his throat. “But how—”

  “I couldn’t sell it. It belonged to your grandfather. Another man wouldn’t treasure it the way you do.”

  Deason dropped his head back, blinked at the ceiling in an attempt to clear his blurred vision. “Thank you.” His voice came out rough.

  “My pleasure.”

  “You know, there’s a story behind this watch…” He swallowed hard, pushing up his sleeve, revealing the puckered skin of his forearm. “…and this scar. A story that’s very difficult for me to share.”

  “You can tell me. I’ll listen.” Charis gazed at him, her eyes honest, accepting, filled with love.

  Deason stroked her cheek then cradled her face in his hands. He placed his forehead to hers, closed his eyes and held her. “Ever since I was five years old, I’ve wanted to be a fireman…”

  ****

  “That’s the last of ’em,” Jagger said, his voice strained as he hefted two cardboard boxes into the U-Haul truck.

  “Thanks again, man,” Deason said, wiping the back of his hand over his brow.

  “Not a problem, brother.” Jagger slipped his Marlboros from his front pocket and shook out a cigarette. “How long will it take you to get there?”

  “The drive’s a little over twenty-four hours straight through. I’m thinking we’ll get there early Tuesday morning, factoring in the food and bathroom stops, and tonight’s motel.”

  Smoke curled from Jagger’s grin. “Tuesday mornin’ was always your favorite.”

  Deason nodded.

  “Sure you don’t need a few bucks for the road?”

  “Nah, but thanks. Rob gave me some cash for my truck when the Sheriff released it. Things’ll be tight for the next couple weeks, but when I get my first check, we’ll be all right.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” Jagger looked at his boots. “Hey, thanks for not saying anything to Daph about my…suspicions. Can’t believe I thought that she coulda…you know…harmed Vic.”

  Deason slapped his friend on the back. “Stress’ll do that to you, man. It’s okay. I’ve already forgotten all about it. Oh, remember to check your email. We’ll be sending the plane tickets for you, Daph, Maxine and Stevie Ray. Christmas is going to be amazing this year.”

  “Wouldn’t miss your weddin’ for anything in the world,” Jagger said. “Can I ask you somethin’ though? Why the hell did you invite the old bat along? We need a vacation from her, not with her.”

  “Hey, watch your mouth. That’s the mother of the woman you love. Your soon to be mother-in-law, I might add.”

  Jagger shrugged and stamped out his cigarette. “Looks like they’re havin’ a good time.”

  Deason followed his gaze to where Stevie Ray and Kinko rolled in the grass. “Kinko’s loving the attention.” He chuckled as the dog tugged at the boy’s hair then licked his face.

  “Hey, brat, who’s going to wash those grass-stains off your pant legs?” Daphne yelled.

  “Gramma Max?” Stevie Ray asked, his voice broken by giggles as Kink licked his ear.

  “That’s right. Make sure you grind them in real good,” Daphne said through a grin.

  “Cryin’ shame, how much I love that woman.” Jagger lit another cigarette and shambled toward her.

  Charis walked to Deason, rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m going to miss all of them so much.”

  “We’ll see them next month when they come up for Christmas and the wedding, all rolled into one.” He slipped a hand around her waist.

  “I can’t wait,” she said, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek. “And I’m also looking forward to Thanksgiving, next Thursday. Our first holiday together, in our new home—the cozy little cabin we’ve only seen pictures of on the internet.”

  Deason chuckled. Through PayPal, they’d put a deposit on a cabin in Kalispell, just twenty-five miles from the west entrance of Glacier Park. “Ready, Mr. Barnaby?” He turned his gaze to the rocking chair on Charis’s front porch.

  Mr. Barnaby shoved his new dentures out with his tongue then sucked them back in, picking at Stevie Ray, sending him into hysterics on the lawn. “Been ready. Just waiting on you folks to get your butts in gear all morning.” He grunted forward and stood, using his magic cane for balance.

  ****

&nb
sp; Charis met Mr. B on the porch, hooked her elbow through his, walked him down the steps. Deason retrieved the rocking chair, settling it into the U Haul before sliding the door closed.

  Charis helped Mr. B into the passenger side of her Corolla. “Why you gotta put that blasted belt around me for? Cuts off my circulation.” He tugged at the seatbelt over his shoulder.

  “Now, hush. You have to wear it. It’s for your own good.”

  “Yeah, I ain’t never heard that before.” He crossed his arms over his chest and she reclined his seat a bit then covered him with his favorite ratty blanket.

  “Comfy?”

  “Hmph.”

  Chuckling, she shut the car door then walked around to the driver side.

  “Hey. Take care, you,” Daphne said gruffly, wrapping her strong arms around her.

  “You too,” Charis answered, squeezing her friend. “We’ll meet you at the airport next month. It’ll be here before you know it.”

  Daphne turned her head and wiped her eyes, stepping away. “I…left something on your stove,” she said, jerking a thumb toward Charis’s front door.

  “You left something on my stove?” Charis teased, trying to get under her friend’s skin.

  “Would you just leave, already?” Daph yelled over her shoulder. “I’ll get the key to Gabby this afternoon.”

  Charis took one last look at the house she’d called home ever since she’d left Vic. Her landlord agreed to let Gabriella move right in, on Charis’s word that she’d make a good tenant. Gabriella had cried, thanking Charis for giving her a new place to begin her new life. Charis hugged her and thought about Lita, wishing she too would turn from her ways and find a new beginning.

  “Kink. Come on, girl.” The little dog stopped her assault on Stevie Ray and ran to Deason, her legs flying. He stooped and tucked her into the crook of his arm. Kinko stole a kiss from Charis’s cheek as Deason kissed her lips. “Follow me. Blink your lights if you need to pull over, I’ll be watching in the rearview.”

  Charis nodded, and then waved to Jagger and Stevie Ray. “See you next month,” she called, sliding behind the wheel. She smiled, butterflies tickling her stomach as Deason and Kink disappeared into the U Haul’s cab.

  Chapter Twelve

  Not wanting to wake Charis, Deason stepped lightly from the master bathroom where he’d dressed. He walked to the kitchen, pulled out a chair and sat, lacing his boots. Through the window, the view of Flathead Lake surrounded by mountains took his breath, just as it did every morning. God, he loved it here. He turned his head to the sound of shuffling feet. “Good morning, Mr. Barnaby, how’d you sleep?”

  “Can’t complain,” Mr. B said, stooping into the chair closest to Deason, pulling his cane across his lap.

  “You want some coffee?”

  “I’ll take a cup.”

  Deason rose and prepared the old man’s coffee. Black with one sugar. “Here you are, sir.”

  “Much obliged.” He took a long swallow, shoulders relaxing.

  Deason grinned as he watched Mr. B enjoy his coffee. The old man was a walking miracle. According to the doctors, he’d long outlived his expected demise. He was living on borrowed time, past his expiration date, and they couldn’t seem to figure out what kept him going. Deason knew the secret. It didn’t take a genius to notice the light in his eyes and the smile on his face when he was near Charis McKindle. The woman kept him alive by simply breathing his air.

  “How’s the girl this morning? Marjorie said Charis had a restless night.”

  Deason nodded. “She was up and down some, but she’s resting now.”

  Marjorie Barnaby had accompanied Mr. B to Montana, and shared their home. Now so much a part of everyday conversation, neither Deason nor Charis batted an eye whenever her name came up.

  Deason glanced at the clock. “In fact, I need to wake Charis. Time for me to go to work.” He rose and scooted the chair in, patted Mr. Barnaby’s bowed shoulder on the way by.

  Waking Charis was the last thing he did each morning before leaving. She loved sitting at the table with Mr. Barnaby, reading the paper, making his breakfast. And Mr. Barnaby needed the supervision. He’d been known to wander from the house once or twice. Fortunately, he’d never made it off the front porch.

  “Time to wake up, princess,” Deason whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. He brushed the hair from her forehead and kissed her cheek. So beautiful. Her skin truly glowed in the soft morning sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains. He pulled back the covers, smiling at his angel in white. The soft gown flowed over her body, hugging her growing belly. He placed his hand on what she fondly called their “baby bump,” prompting a kiss on the knuckles from Kink, curled up beneath the swell of her abdomen. He chuckled softly, causing Charis to stir.

  “Is it time to get up?” she asked, rolling to her back, stretching, sending the little dog scrambling for another warm place to nuzzle.

  “Yes, it’s time. Mr. B’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”

  Charis smiled. “I can’t wait for him to meet her,” she said, stroking her stomach. He placed a hand on top of hers. Together they caressed little Jorie Beth. Jorie short for Marjorie, Beth after his baby sister.

  She was Mr. B’s self-proclaimed, one and only grandchild. Wendell certainly wouldn’t be providing him any, considering the jury had sentenced him to life without parole back in April. Deason, Charis and Mr. B had the privilege of testifying against him. Jagger and Daphne took advantage of the situation by getting married at the Barger County Courthouse two days later, before Deason, Charis and Mr. B made their return trip to Montana.

  “Can’t wait to meet her myself,” Deason said, dropping a kiss onto Charis’s tummy, and another onto her lips before rising from the bed.

  “Do you have class tonight?” she asked, sitting up.

  “Yes, but only until seven. I’ll be home after.”

  “How long before my husband is a full-fledged Glacier Park volunteer fireman?”

  “Just a couple more weeks.” He struggled to hide the smile taking over his face.

  “There’s that boyish grin I love.” She rose from the bed, wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “Now scoot, Smokey, I have to get dressed.”

  “She’ll be right in,” Deason said to Mr. B as he passed through the kitchen on his way to the front room. He took his flat brimmed, Smokey the Bear hat—as Charis like to call it—from the hook beside the front door. The hook he’d installed to hold the magic cane Mr. Barnaby refused to put down. “Have a good day, Mr. B,” he called over his shoulder, and then shut and locked the door.

  On the front porch he paused, the majesty of the scene before him surreal. The sky, somehow bigger in Montana than any place on earth, and blue as Charis McKindle’s eyes, stretched on forever. The perfect backdrop for the snow covered Swan Mountains and the glasslike water of Flathead Lake.

  He pulled on the hat, inhaling the crisp air, overcome with thanks for all he had and heartfelt gratitude to the God who provided it. Heavy chains of guilt fell from his soul, the sensation so real he searched for their imprints in the snow. He was free. For the first time he stood on the inside of something beautiful, looking out. This was his jewel, his prize. His life. Not another man’s treasure, but his very own.

  A word about the author...

  Anna Kittrell has written stories for as long as she can remember. She still has most of her tattered creations—leftovers she was unable to sell on the playground for a dime—written in childish handwriting on notebook paper, bound with too many staples. Her love of storytelling has grown throughout the years, and she is thrilled her tales are now worth more than ten cents.

  Anna would love to hear from you. Contact her by email at mskittyanna@yahoo.com. Visit her website at www.AnnaKittrell.com or check out her Facebook Author page.

  Thank you for purchasing

  this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  p; Anna Kittrell, Another Man's Treasure