The Long Ride Home

by Kari Lynn Dell

  She looked at him, really looked, like she was trying to decide if he was being funny or what. When their eyes met, he got another jolt. Whoa, yeah, definitely what. Which was the last thing he should be thinking about this woman. As if she wasn’t enough trouble.

  She grabbed a pair of sunglasses off the dash and shoved them on her face, hiding her eyes. Or just hiding, period. Keeping her distance. Smart. He should try it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The narrow, shoulderless road dipped and wound around the base of the mountain, through groves of stunted, twisted aspens, their trunks a dizzying maze of paper-white bark and black lines. Once David saw a dark shape that might have been a bear, but judging by the occasional splatters of manure on the highway it was more likely a cow.

  A valley opened to their left and Mary turned again, onto a highway that skirted an earthen dam and then crawled above the long, narrow manmade lake beyond. At the gates marking the Glacier National Park boundary, she stopped and held up a tribal ID. The ranger inside the toll booth waved them on through.

  “One of the benefits of being Blackfeet,” she said. “Free pass to the park.”

  “Handy,” David said. “You come up here a lot?”

  “As much as we can, but it never seems like enough.”

  The highway circled the head of the lake and then tunneled into stands of towering pines. The grass beneath was sprinkled with wildflowers––white, yellow, some kind of bluebells. David could only put a name to the flame-red Indian paintbrushes.

  And there was water. Everywhere. Trickling down every rock face, splashing down every gully, fed by the melting snow. Once again, David’s chest ached at the contrast between this and the scorched earth back home.

  They crossed a river, climbed a set of hairpin curves and topped a rise to reveal a view that made David’s breath catch. The sapphire-blue lake below was roughly circular, framed by sheer-rock peaks. One mountain thrust out into the middle, a towering pyramid carved by the park’s namesake glaciers, backed by palisades of rock crowned with stubborn fingers of rock yet to be toppled by the unrelenting assault of the elements.

  David caught a whiff of wood smoke, saw it curling up from the trees in what a sign declared to be the campground. Beside the lake, another chalet-style log building served as the camp store. People strolled along the road between store and campground in pairs and families, licking ice cream cones, slurping drinks, settling in for the evening.

  Mary chose the parking lot along the shore. A dock stretched into the water, and as David watched, a low-slung wooden tour boat pulled alongside and tied up to unload passengers. Nearby, rental canoes and rowboats were upended on the rocky beach. Far out on the lake, a pair of kayaks cruised across the gentle chop, reduced to neon-yellow dots by the mass of the mountain behind them.

  “This is amazing,” David said, gawking like all the rest of the tourists as he stepped out of the pickup. The narrow strip of beach stretched off in either direction, along the tree line to their left and past the camp store on the right, nearly to the base of yet another mountain where the lake narrowed, funneling into a small river.

  “I’d expect a Colorado boy would get his fill of mountains,” Mary said.

  He shook his head. “I’m a flatlander. Pure prairie out where we live. We were lucky if we visited the mountains two or three times a year growing up. And now…” He shrugged. “I pass through a lot of scenery. Don’t get to stop much.”

  “You could make a point.”

  “It’s hard when you’re hauling horses. They aren’t real popular in the campgrounds.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that.” She stared out over the water. “Still, I bet you see some amazing places, even passing through. I’ve never been outside of Montana much.”

  “Except Afghanistan?”

  Her mouth curled down at the corner. “Not exactly a scenic tour.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Hot. Dirty. And it smells.” She wrinkled her nose, skimmed a hand over her nape. “My hair was long when I was deployed. After two weeks of grit and sweat, I was in the base barber shop having it cut off. Never got around to growing it out again.”

  David squinted, tried to imagine her hair long. Picturing her in camouflage and size-four Army boots was easy. And oddly sexy. He’d never considered macho women his type. “I bet it looks better now. Short hair suits you.”

  “Thanks.”

  She flushed slightly but didn’t glance in his direction, ignoring what might have been an attempt at flirting. He hadn’t meant it that way—he didn’t think—so he followed her lead and pretended he’d kept the observation to himself.

  “Why did you join the Army?” he asked.

  “College tuition, mostly.”

  The obvious answer. Which led to the obvious question. “Were you scared when you got deployed?”

  “I wasn’t thrilled.” She tilted her head back, staring up at the mountaintop as it shredded a wispy cloud. “I tried to go into it with a positive attitude. Told myself it would make me smarter. Stronger.”

  “Did it?”

  “I guess. It’s just…it’s different than you expect. Not all in a bad way. I might’ve signed on for another stint in the National Guard, but Kylan—” She tossed a look over her shoulder. “Someone probably told you by now, about his mother.”

  David nodded. “How long will she be…gone?”

  “Forever if she keeps it up.” Mary’s jaw went tight, her voice sour. “She was on probation for possession when she got busted for dealing, then she got more time tacked on for assaulting her cellmate and again for possession inside.”

  David whistled. “Does she want to be locked up the rest of her life?”

  “Like the posters say, there’s a reason they call it dope. And she’s just plain mean. Takes after her dad.” Mary started for the beach, deserted in favor of campsites and cookouts.

  David grabbed the bag of food and followed. “She’s older than you?”

  “Seven years.” Mary picked up a flat rock, skipped it thirty yards out across the waves with a flick of her arm. “Her dad is a snake when he’s sober, downright scary when he’s drunk. My mom was only with him a few months, and he never wanted anything to do with Lori. Didn’t matter though. The mean was bred right into her.”

  “You aren’t close?”

  She snorted. “Not even a little.”

  “So why’d you take Kylan in?”

  “He’s family,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  “What about your mother?”

  “She’s got health problems.” Mary flicked another rock out over the water, watched it skip. “There was no way she could take on a twelve-year-old boy, and Kylan isn’t exactly low maintenance, growing up the way he did.”

  “Is he the reason you went into special ed?”

  Mary froze in the act of picking up another rock, slowly straightened. “Why do you say that?”

  “My cousin, the one who owns Frosty, has Down’s Syndrome. You learn to see the signs.”

  She tossed the rock, watched it disappear, then glanced over her shoulder. “I can see why Frosty’s not for sale. They don’t take goodbyes very well, these kids.”

  David ducked his head, guilt grinding like broken glass in his gut.

  Mary jammed her hands into the center pocket of her sweatshirt. “That was a cheap shot. I didn’t mean it to be. I was talking about the kids I teach, not Kylan.” She dragged in a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Officially, he’s been diagnosed with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, but Lori never met a high she didn’t like, saw no reason being pregnant should ruin her fun. It’s a wonder the poor kid survived, let alone being reasonably functional.”

  David shifted the bag of sandwiches to his left hand, picked up a rock, curled his fingers around the smooth, water-worn shape. “If you’re tryi
ng to make me feel better, it’s not working.”

  “I wasn’t…I didn’t mean…” She cursed and kicked a rock. “You asked. I answered.”

  “So that wasn’t a play for sympathy?”

  Her chin shot up. “The last thing Kylan needs is pity. People feel sorry for you, it’s the same as saying you’re weak. You’ve got no control.”

  “Does he?”

  “Yes!” The word hissed out. She stood arrow straight, her stance defying all that mountains’ majesty at her back to overshadow her. “He’s impulsive and sometimes he flies off the handle, but he’d never hurt a fly.”

  “You trust him and Starr together?” David asked.

  “He’s damn near a full-grown man.” Her mouth twisted into a tight smile. “I’ve lectured him into the ground about using condoms, and Starr’s grandmother marches her down to the clinic every three months for birth-control shots. Says she refuses to be a great-grandmother before she turns forty-five, and she’s not raising another grandbaby.”

  Mary picked up another rock, sent it skipping across the waves. “Starr is a smart girl. If I could just get her to believe…” She rolled her shoulders, as if trying to shed the frustration. “She sees her mother and her grandmother scraping by, watches her friends get pregnant on purpose because in some warped way it makes them feel loved and important, and she thinks that’s the best she can expect.”

  “She’s got you for a role model.”

  “I don’t count.” At David’s puzzled look, she waved a hand in front of her face. “I don’t look Indian. People off the reservation don’t treat me the way they treat someone who looks like Starr.”

  “And she figures that made it easy for you to go to college?”

  “Easier.” Mary stood her ground as a rogue wave ran right up to the toes of her running shoes. “First thing I did was learn to talk like the white girls so I could blend. Starr doesn’t have that option.”

  David wanted to argue, but who was he to say? He’d never been a minority. He turned the rock in his hand one more time, then reared back and threw it as far as he could out into the turquoise water.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to work with the boys today,” she said. “It’s good for them to spend time with someone like you.”

  “Like me?” David echoed.

  “You have a dream and stick with it. You have no idea what it means to a kid like Sam to have a man he admires look him in the eye and say he doesn’t have to let other people tell him who he’s gonna be.”

  “I wasn’t trying to preach to him.”

  “That makes it even better.” Her smile caught him off-guard, sent a pulse of warmth through him like a stray beam of sunshine breaking through the clouds, and just as fleeting. “These kids see so much failure. People who give up or never even try. It’s contagious. But so is success, so we try to expose them to it on a regular basis.”

  Success? She must be thinking of someone else. “I haven’t exactly set the world on fire.”

  “You bought that jacket at the Salvation Army?” She cocked her head toward the pickup, where they’d left their coats.

  “No.” He gave a stiff shrug. “I qualified for the National Finals once. Big deal.”

  “Yeah. It is. Ask all the guys who’ve been busting their butts for years and haven’t made it.”

  He shrugged again, uncomfortable with her implied compliment. “I just gave the boys a few roping tips.”

  “Not just that. You gave them your time. Not because you were paid to or had to, but because they asked. That means a lot.”

  “I couldn’t just walk away.”

  “Sure you could. People do it all the time.”

  He met her gaze, held it. “Not me.”

  She studied him for a moment, that little pucker appearing in her forehead again, as if she couldn’t decide if he was for real. Then she waved at a pile of logs that had washed up on the beach, stacked at angles like straws tossed down by a massive hand. “Take the sandwiches down there. I’ll run into the store and grab something to drink.”

  “Only if you let me buy.”

  He dug a five-dollar bill from his pocket, surprised when she took it without protest. Once again, he couldn’t help watching as she walked away, her butt twitching with each purposeful stride. Yep, it would fit right in the palm of his hand.

  And damn it all, he had to stop thinking like that.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The something she fetched was root beer in old-fashioned brown bottles, brewed just over the mountains in the Flathead valley. David had chosen a spot to sit where they could use the bottom log as a backrest. Several more were propped across it at an angle, providing shelter from the breeze.

  Mary handed over his root beer and sat down beside him, leaving a safe distance between them, he noticed. She twisted the top of her bottle and then scowled. “Crap. I forgot. These aren’t twist tops.”

  “Here.” David set his root beer aside and took the bottle from her hand. Lifting his shirt, he unhooked his belt buckle, clamped the prong over the edge of the cap and popped it off. He held the bottle out to Mary. “Old cowboy trick.”

  Her gaze was stuck on the front button of his jeans and the swatch of exposed stomach. Her eyes came up, saw that he was watching and color stained her cheeks. She snatched the bottle from his hand. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” To the root beer and anything else that strikes your fancy.

  She buried her nose in the bag of sandwiches, rooting around in there twice as long as she needed to considering both sandwiches were the same. He squelched a grin, taking his time to pop the top of his bottle of root beer and buckle up his belt. So he wasn’t the only one taking notice of things he shouldn’t. And damned if he wasn’t dumb enough to feel a little cocky about it.

  Mary handed him his sandwich without meeting his eyes. He took the first bite and momentarily forgot everything else, his appetite roaring to life at the yeasty perfection of the bread, the tang of ranch dressing and salty crunch of bacon. He barely paused to breathe while he wolfed down the rest.

  Mary fished a pair of white Styrofoam containers from the bag. “This is the best huckleberry pie you’ve ever tasted.”

  “Guaranteed, since I’ve never had it before.”

  She widened her eyes at him. “What, were you raised by wolves?”

  “Worse. Flatland farmers.”

  She laughed, and it made him tingle in places that had no business getting tingly with this woman. The same way he shouldn’t watch how the breeze ruffled her spiky hair, or how the reflection of the water made her eyes look almost green.

  He pulled his gaze away and settled back, tipping his head to inspect the nearest sheer rock face. Were any of the white spots up there mountain goats? He stared, waiting to see if they moved, until all of the spots began to dance in front of his eyes. “Did you know the guy who took Muddy?”

  She stiffened. “Not personally. Why?”

  “I was curious, that’s all. I wasn’t accusing you of anything.” This time.

  She eyed him for a long moment, then relaxed, popping open the top of her pie container. “Most people who follow rodeos in Montana had heard of Jinks. He roped tough, won a lot when he was sober. Sometimes even when he wasn’t.”

  “Rusty said no one would be surprised that he’d picked up a good horse somewhere. Legally, I mean.”

  “Depends on your definition of legal.” Mary forked up some pie, lifted it toward her mouth and then set it down again. “You were right. I suspected something was fishy about Muddy. But I never dreamed he was stolen. You gotta understand…Jinks dealt a lot more than horses. I assumed some cowboy had snorted more than he could afford and Jinks took the horse as payment.”

  David stared at her, dumbfounded. She talked about drug deals as if they were an everyday occurrence. Maybe in her wo
rld, they were, along with street people and sisters who did prison time. Cripes. David felt like a country hick on his first trip to town.

  Mary caught him staring and flushed. “I suppose it sounds ridiculous, knowing the truth. I have a bad habit of seeing things the way I want them to be.”

  Things, or people? He saw the memories that passed behind her eyes, like the cloud shadows that skimmed across the lake.

  “Have you ever been married?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Me neither.” He forked in a bite of pie and took a moment to savor the explosion of sweetness on his tongue, tarter than blueberry, more intense than blackberry. It would be killer with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Might even cover the bitter taste of the words when he added, “I assume Hilary told you why.”

  Mary hesitated and then nodded.

  “So that’s my excuse,” he said. “What’s yours?”

  He expected her to shrug off the overly personal question, but maybe she figured fair was fair since she knew his story. “There aren’t many men who want to raise someone else’s problem child.”

  She added air quotes, echoing words she’d heard too often, or from the wrong person, judging by the hint of venom. Sore subject. Not sure how to back away, David kept quiet.

  “That wasn’t fair, blaming Kylan.” She stabbed at her pie, pulverizing a section of the crust. “It’s not like I was any good at relationships before he came along. When it comes to men, my judgment is questionable at best.”

  David took another big bite of his pie, a legitimate excuse to avoid answering, since he once again had nothing to add. He attempted to change the subject. “What happens when Kylan graduates next spring?”

  “He’ll still be mine.” Her voice went fierce, her eyes hot. “No matter how old he gets, he will always be mine. I’m not booting him out the door the minute he graduates, and anybody who wants a piece of me will just have to deal with it.”

  David blinked, taken aback by her intensity. “I, uh, meant…is he going to college?”