“Not always. Tom left a young wife to fight in the Indian wars under Andrew Jackson. When he came back, he found his bride ailing with consumption. She died and he buried her there. There’s a stone marker. I’ve seen it. Her name was Jenny. Such a pretty name. Only seventeen years old. I imagine it’s impossible to find the grave these days with things so grown over.”
“She was young,” Kate commented. Too young to die before she lived. Kate’s fingers itched to touch the strings of a guitar and play the lick of melody that spun at the back of her mind. Except there was no guitar to strum, thanks to her ex.
Claire made a sigh filled with sadness. “Yes. Too young. I remembered because I was seventeen when Grannie told me. I couldn’t imagine being alone in the wilderness, fending for myself at seventeen. Indians still around. Tom never left the mountain after she died other than to bring bear pelts into town for trade. It’s said he became so hairy he looked and smelled like a big bear himself.”
“We kids used to make up elaborate stories. We were sure he lived in a bear’s den. I’ll bet his appearance started the rumor.”
“I suppose. Like you say, most of it was tales spun for fun. Grannie said Tom was surprised by a grizzly. They roamed these mountains back then. About clawed poor Tom to pieces when a young mountain man happened upon the scene and shot the bear. The bear died on top of Tom. What little life was left in old Tom was crushed right quick. How much is real and how much tale is anyone’s guess. Don’t forget Davy roamed these woods back then. Each woodsman tried to upstage the other with a tall tale.”
“Gawd. That’s awful.” Kate shivered to think of Tom’s fate.
“The young man, don’t remember his name, claims he buried Tom where he lay and skinned the grizzly. There’s a poor picture of the bear hide hanging in Ray’s Hardware if you want to see the thing. I’m told the bear was missing a toe but you can’t see it on the picture.”
“What makes you think what your grannie told was true?”
“I know it’s true. My great-great grandfather was the trader who bought the grizzly pelt from the young mountain man who told the story. The site of Ray’s Hardware was a trading post long before it was a hardware store.”
Kate set her cup and saucer in the sink, thinking about the old pictures hanging on the wall behind the register at Ray’s. Next time she bought paint, she’d ask him about the bear. “Thank you for sharing what you know. It’s been interesting.”
“Glad to pass it along.” Claire rose and began to wrap up one of two crumb cakes sitting to cool on her counter. “Bobby tells me that ballplayer Colton Gray’s at your place. Feed him my cake when he comes back today. Tell him I loved watching him pitch.”
Blood rushed through Kate’s veins as she tried to look oh so not interested in Colton’s supposed return. “Give the cake to Bobby. I’ve no idea when he’ll be back.”
Claire’s brow knit. “Bobby said at lunch he talked to Colton about his truck. He’s supposed to return from Knoxville sometime today.” Claire leaned forward to share gossip. “Bobby saw him drive through town with a blond beauty. I guess we can imagine what took him to Knoxville for a couple of days.”
Yeah, she could. After her thorough examination of his sleeping body, she imagined all too well. “Boys will be boys,” Kate said brightly to cover her disappointment at the news. It was one thing to be in Knoxville on business. Another if it was monkey business. “How is it you watched Colton pitch?”
“Mac and Bobby watched baseball and now I do too. What else is there for me? I rooted for the Bullets because they were a new team. They made the playoffs last year because of that young man. Handsome, too. Makes watching him easy.”
“Um. Don’t care much for baseball. Thanks for the tea, Claire. I enjoyed hearing your take on Tom Cutter.”
“I enjoyed telling you. Come by any time. I always liked you, Kate. Nice to see you back in Bear Creek. Say, could you get me that Colton Gray’s autograph? There should be a Sports Illustrated around here with his picture on the cover.”
“Sure.” Kate made a mental note to find Colton’s signed picture of Barbie and put it in a safe place.
Driving home, smells from the warm cinnamon cake filled the cab of her truck. Claire had insisted she take it in case Colton showed up. Kate hated the flutter of anticipation that lifted her spirits in hopes Claire was right. The vision of a hot blond and two days filled with raunchy sex burst her bubble in short order.
After dinner that night, Lindsay sat on the front porch step with an array of small horses in a box and an open book across her lap. Kate worked on the screen door. “Practice reading aloud. I like to hear you.”
“Apple-looo-sa,” Lindsay attempted, holding up a white horse with brown spots.
“App-a-lou-sa,” Kate pronounced the word slow and leaned her weight into the spinning screw.
Both she and Lindsay stopped what they were doing to watch a shiny red Chevy truck pull in the drive. Her stomach did a flip-flop. She was about to give up hope he would return today.
Obviously, the blond had bolstered his spirits enough to buy a new truck. She doubted he would rent one when he had a pile of cash in Chicago and an ego the size of Texas. Were those rocking chairs secured in the truck bed?
Lindsay flew off the porch to greet him. “Colton! This is an Appaloosa.”
Kate beamed with pride. Her daughter pronounced the name right with only one correction. Pride was followed by a lump in her throat when Colton squatted to meet Lindsay at eye level and examine the horse.
“It’s a beauty,” she heard him say. “My grandfather had an Appaloosa in Wyoming. I used to ride him when I was your age.”
Lindsay’s eyes went wide as saucers. “You can ride a horse?”
“I can.”
“I want a horse but Mommy says they’re too much work.”
“She’s right. Horses need fresh water and food every day. They need to be brushed and exercised. It’s a lot of work for a seven-year-old.”
“Oh.”
Colton’s gaze bounced between Kate and the screwdriver before he asked Lindsay, “What’s your mom doing?”
“Fixin’ the screen door. She said a swear.”
“Yeah, screen doors can make you do that.” He handed back the toy horse and stood. “Need help?”
His voice pulled Kate from the mesmerizing scene. This guy was leaving soon, she reminded herself, and turned back to the door. “No thanks. It’s almost fixed. You come back for your things, cowboy?” His boots sounded across the porch.
“I’ll fix the door tomorrow,” he said at her side.
To Kate’s ears it meant he intended to spend the night. “No need. I’ll tackle it tomorrow. Who’s truck?” she asked like she didn’t know.
“I bought it in Knoxville.”
She gave the screw another vicious turn. “Figures.”
Colton cupped his ear. “What’s that?”
“Must be nice to have deep pockets.”
“Can’t say I mind. I wrote a check.”
Ah, there was the challenge she expected. This time she wouldn’t bite. She pointed her chin toward his truck. “Looks like you intend to do a lot of rocking back in Chicago.”
“Nah. They’re for your porch. Two rockers for each room, and a few tables. Saw a shop on my way back and thought it would be nice to actually rock on the porch. Drink lemonade.”
“What? No corncob pipes?”
“Jes—uh.” Colton’s gaze darted toward Lindsay at his heels, staring up at him with adoring eyes. “Ah—gee whiz. Fergot the pipes,” he drawled with a dimpled grin.
Kate’s lips twitched.
“What’s corncob pipes?” Lindsay asked.
“It’s a joke,” Kate told her. “For adults.”
“Oh.”
Colton made a grab for the screwdriver. “Give me that thing.”
She backed away and held it to her chest. “This is my project.”
“It’s worse than when I left.” He eye
d the offending hinge that hung half off the frame and stalked toward the construction pile. He found a splinter of wood and strode back onto the porch to jam it into the enlarged hole. He held out his hand palm up. “Give me the damned screwdriver.”
“Colton said a swear,” Lindsay said from her spot on the steps, galloping the Appaloosa across the porch.
“Doesn’t mean you can, Half-Pint. Okay?”
“Okay.”
When the screwdriver wasn’t forthcoming, Kate received the full wrath of his glare. She gave it to him without comment. He tapped the wood splinter deep into the hole with the end of the screwdriver. Several turns of the screw and the door squared. “It won’t hold. I’ll fix it proper tomorrow.”
“Why must you fight me at every turn?”
“Why can’t you accept a little help?”
“I, uh, um—”
“Better quit while you’re ahead, Kate. How about you help me unload the truck? I’m not adverse to help one bit.” Two long strides and he hopped off the porch without caring to see if she followed.
They had the rockers unloaded and sitting across the porch in no time. Three round tables made of the same natural wood as the rockers were placed between each set of chairs.
Colton stood back to admire the porch. “That’s how a country porch should look. Add some hanging pots and railings for folks to prop up their feet, and it will be done.”
“Who are you? A tobacco-chewing, crotch-scratching Martha Stewart?”
He grinned. “I’m just saying. It would look nice. Never cared much for chaw.”
“That’s a relief. Seems ballplayers scratch and spit every time the camera lands on them.”
“I thought you didn’t watch the game.”
“That’s why.” He laughed as she eyed the rockers. “What do I owe you for this bonanza?”
“My treat. For letting you think I was a carpenter.”
“No way.”
“Come on. Let’s sit and try them out.” Colton sat in a rocker next to Lindsay, who had already jockeyed one to face a small table to play with her horses. “Ah, perfect. Sit.”
Kate refused. She didn’t know how to handle the situation or how she would get Colton to let her pay. It wasn’t as if she didn’t think about making the porch pretty for her guests. Rockers were a low priority with all the other problems she’d faced getting the construction this far.
She put her hands on her hips. “I suppose everyone wants lemonade now?”
“I do,” Lindsay piped up.
“Me too. Worked up a thirst fixin’ that door.”
Kate grabbed the handle, and it stuck. It gave her an opportunity to smirk at Colton.
“It won’t do that by ten tomorrow.”
She laughed in spite of herself. Eight years of marriage hadn’t produced as much awareness to her thoughts or actions as Colton managed in the short time since his arrival. It was a good thing he would be gone soon. He had already made too much of an imprint on her and Lindsay’s lives. Her daughter was comfortable with Colton’s easy ways. It was hard to believe he was a multi-millionaire ballplayer.
When she returned with lemonade and a bowl of popcorn, she found the porch empty. “Lindsay,” she called out and set down her tray. Walking to the edge of the porch she saw the barn door open. “Lindsay!” she screamed and ran across the yard.
“In the barn,” Colton hollered from its entrance with Lindsay at his side.
“Get away from there this instant! Now, Lindsay.” She took off at a run.
Her daughter stood firm at Colton’s side. His hand cupped her small shoulder. “She’s fine,” he said as Kate came to a halt before him, red-faced.
“What is the matter with you?” she continued to scream at Colton. “That barn’s about to fall down. How dare you take my daughter inside?” Every word was edged with panic.
“The barn’s fine,” he said in a low, steady voice. “You’re scaring Lindsay for no reason.”
Lindsay began to cry and rushed to Kate, who picked her up and cradled her. A nasty fight scene between Kate and her ex flashed through her mind—the one where Trey struck her while Lindsay cowered in a puddle of fear behind her back.
Hot tears welled as Kate headed for the house, leaving him at the barn entrance wearing a scowl of confusion on his face.
The popcorn and lemonade could sit on the porch over night for all she cared. She had no intention of coming back outside and facing him after acting like a raving mad woman.
Chapter Ten
With no time to inspect the guitar outside her kitchen door, Kate rushed with Lindsay to await the school bus. An empty popcorn bowl and drained lemonade pitcher sat on the porch table. Upon her return, she gathered them up and hurried inside to inspect the guitar.
Setting the tray of dirty dishes on the counter she went to retrieve the note sitting on top the guitar case. It simply read Peace Offering.
Unable to resist a peek inside the hard-shell case, she made sure his door was closed and brought the guitar into the kitchen. She set it on the kitchen table and ran her hand over the pebbled case. The snap of the latches sent her pulse to her throat as she opened it and breathed in the familiar smell of wood and new lacquer. The distinct fragrance of a new guitar made tears prick at the back of her eyes.
Her fingers trembled as she ran them across the six steel strings: the coarse low E string with its ridges, its alter ego at the other end of the spectrum with its silky high E string sharp against her tender fingers. Perfect pitch vibrated from the guitar as she plucked an A string. Oh God, she couldn’t accept a Martin. The melody that first wound through her brain at Claire’s made her hesitate.
She chewed on a knuckle. Quickly, she shut the lid and marched it across the hall to set it in front of his door. Still asleep at eight-thirty, it would be a long wait for him to roust himself. Then what would she do if he insisted she keep the guitar?
Pushing away the impulse to take the instrument and run, she hurried back to the kitchen table. She left the kitchen door open to keep a watchful eye on Colton’s door and the guitar. The vision of the beautiful guitar nestled in a plush purple bed, its smell and touch burned in her memory so deep her chest ached.
An urge to retrieve the case made her get up and rummage through the garbage for the peace offering note. She flattened it on the kitchen counter. The note was stuck inside a cookbook as she looked over her shoulder at the open kitchen door and the quiet center of her inn. Would it ever throb with life? Would he ever wake up?
The front door opened making her go see who was there. Colton. Drenched with sweat in a Bullets tee, running shorts, and new tennis shoes, he eyed the guitar in front of his door but didn’t comment.
“You been running?” she said, startled to see he hadn’t been asleep. She leaned a shoulder into the kitchen doorframe and crossed her arms over her midriff.
Without a word, he headed for his room with the guitar and closed the door.
“Well, I see the cowboy has a feminine side and can pout with the best of us.” She unfolded her arms and went back to the table to flip pages on the newspaper. Her ears were tuned to Colton’s door, curious if he would come ask for breakfast or mention the guitar he put out of her reach.
In what seemed an impossibly short time, his door swung open. His sandals padded across the large center room as he marched into her kitchen without so much as a hello and poured himself a cup of coffee. He opened the fridge and helped himself to half-’n-half, stirred two spoons of sugar into his cup, and began searching for a pan.
“What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Making myself breakfast.” Watching him from the corner of her eye, he reopened the fridge and removed eggs. Butter. Jam. Cheese. Onion and a piece of green pepper. He picked up the bacon, must have decided against it, and put it back.
He slipped a knife from the butcher block and chopped vegetables with a vengeance. Fearing he would lop off a finger, Kate jumped to her feet. “Here, what do y
ou want? I’ll make it.”
Colton elbowed her away from where he was working and threw the onion and pepper into a bowl of eggs.
“You should sauté the onion and pepper then add the eggs to the pan.”
He ignored her comment and whisked the bowl’s contents into an angry froth and set it aside. “Don’t want you feeling indebted to me. I’ll make my own breakfast in the future. For as long as I’m here. You can go about your own chores.” He fixed a mean topaz eye her direction.
Holding her coffee cup, Kate rested a hip against the cabinets to watch butter melt in a fry pan. “Go,” he told her. “I’ll clean up after myself.”
“I’m not going anywhere. This is my kitchen, you overbearing jerk.”
“Then go back to reading the paper.”
She thumped her cup on the counter, sloshing coffee over the edge. “You are so...so infuriating,” her voice rose before she pursed her lips.
“Why—because someone wants to be nice to you and you can’t handle it? Because someone wants to give you a helping hand for no reason other than you’re a nice person in need of a fresh start? Because I wanted to show your daughter a helluva safe barn where a real horse might live? Oh, don’t start crying, Kate. I’m too damned mad to be softened with a fall of tears.”
“You called my dad. Y-you dumped a pile of rockers and tables on my front porch and gave me an expensive guitar. No, Colton, you aren’t being nice and helpful. You’re confusing the hell out of me.”
“Swear,” he warned with that same dark topaz eye and moved the eggs onto a plate before grabbing a bottle of Tabasco sauce. Several healthy shakes of red heat splotched over the top of the eggs.
“You want toast?” She swiped away a tear. When he didn’t answer, she realized he was in a snit that trumped her emotions over the guitar. She lowered two slices of homemade bread into the toaster. His eggs were devoured as the toast popped. She buttered it and set it next to him with a jar of quince jam her mother made from trees in her backyard.
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