by Nancy Radke
“Maybe.” He slapped his head. “I added some easy holds for the kids and didn’t think about someone entering that way— I keep that door locked. Wait here.” He ran toward his front door. “I’ll set up the ropes,” he called back to the kids, some of whom started to follow him.
“What thief?” Kent asked, staying with Angie.
“Ryan had a break-in last night. We were trying to figure out how he got in.”
“Bummer. Did the guy get much?”
“He was after some CDs with some valuable information on them, but Ryan said they were encrypted. Ryan doesn’t seem too concerned, so I guess the thief didn’t get what he thought he did.”
“Yeah! Way to go, Ryan!” Then, seeing his hero appear on the roof deck, he and the others ran around to the side of the house to catch the ends of the ropes Ryan dropped to them. They quickly lined up, the two oldest taking turns belaying each other and the younger climbers. The kids were good, and Angie watched them climb with skill and confidence.
Ryan came back out the front door, a smile on his face.
“Well?” she demanded when he drew close. “Tell me.”
“I’d left the door unlocked. First time I’ve ever— “
“The pizza boy came. I followed you down, remember? I didn’t even think about locking it.”
“Right. Not your fault.” He grinned more broadly, eyes dancing. “Remind me to check it whenever we go up there.”
That solved the locked door mystery. Or did it? As Angie got a better look at the finger and toe holds that made up the wall, she wondered if the intruder could actually have climbed it during the night, wearing those heavy winter boots. She couldn’t tell. If he hadn’t, then...
Ryan might or might not think about that. Right now, with the light— for her— back in his eyes, she wasn’t going to mention it.
“You’d think every house would have one of these,” she commented, laughing as a youngster jumped up and down in anticipation, so hard that they couldn’t get the rope tied around him.
“Umm. Maybe. Tripled my insurance.”
“Oh. Do you mind?”
“Not really. I had their parents sign wavers, just in case.”
She laughed at his expression; he’d have a hard time keeping the kids away, so he might as well make the best of it. He grinned back and motioned to a houseboat across the dock from his. “You can go next door to Grandma Miller's. She likes company."
"What if she asks questions? What should I tell her?"
"Tell her everything. Save me having to do it. She'll keep after me, otherwise."
"Even about the missing CD?"
"Sure. She's curious, but no gossip. I've no secrets from Grandma."
They walked down the dock to Grandma Miller's houseboat, a small two-story building with dormer windows. They were greeted at the door by two cinnamon cats and a tall, fragile lady with Dresden blue eyes and thin snow-white hair cut short and softly waved.
Her loose smock, originally white, was streaked with paint of all colors, some fresh and still gleaming wet. She held a paint-smeared rag and was furiously wiping her hands clean.
"Come in, Ryan. Both of you. What happened? I thought I heard a woman scream last night. Was that you?" she asked, looking at Angie.
"Yes," Angie replied, "just before I went into the lake."
"Aha!" said Grandma Miller, her blue eyes sparkling in anticipation. "You look like you have a good story to tell. Come sit down." She popped ahead of them to scoop two magazines and a pile of knitting off the couch.
"This is Angie and she's sprained her ankle. I'll let her fill you in while I shovel snow," said Ryan, holding up his shovel. "I've already warned her you're a clever interrogator."
The elderly woman was not the least disturbed by this description. "I've had plenty of practice. Getting information out of you would keep anyone sharp. This is Sugar and that darker one is Spice," she added, pointing to the two cats who were using Ryan's legs for back scratchers. "So you're the one Ryan rescued from the storm. I'm dying to hear all about it."
"Mr. Duvall said that you wouldn't mind if I visited while he shoveled snow."
"You haven't been letting her call you ‘Mr. Duvall’ all this time, have you, Ryan?”
He shook his head.
“Sit down, Angie, while I put that coat away," Grandma said. She took the coat and hung it in a closet, then looked critically at the small shovel Ryan was unfolding. "Is that the best you have?"
"My climbing shovel."
"There's a snow shovel in my outside closet if you want to dig it out. Even a broom might be better'n that thing.”
"I'll get it. You probably have the only snow shovel around." He disappeared through the rear door of the slightly cluttered room, followed by the two cats.
"Would you like a cup of tea, dear?" Grandma Miller asked, her voice soft-toned and melodious.
"Thanks. Yes I would, please." She left and Angie looked around the brightly-lit room. It was comfortably cluttered, with photos of children and grandchildren on the top of a well-stocked bookcase.
The most striking aspect of the furnishings were paintings stacked up along the wall— realistic animal paintings, mainly cats, including the two cinnamons. "Do you sell these?" she asked her hostess, who re-entered the room with a tea tray.
"Yes. People love animals and they want things they can recognize."
"These are really good."
"I’ve prints made of my better pictures, so I can sell both my original and the prints."
"Ryan has one in his living room. I recognize it now. All the rest are mountain photos."
"Ah, yes. Ryan and Scott love to climb. I think the only reason they work is to pay for their climbing." Grandma stepped over to a large picture frame that contained a montage of photographs and pointed to the individual pictures of climbers in various positions. "That one's taken on Mt. Rainier, this was up in the Index area, and these were taken on Mt. McKinley."
Angie had seen similar photos in Ryan's office but hadn't paid much attention to them except to think they were beautiful shots. "How often do they climb?"
"At least once a summer. They used to go more, but they've built their business up to the point where they’ve a hard time getting away. Some of their climbing stories are funny, but they've also been on several search and rescue missions that are tragic. They seldom mention their own close calls."
Her comment made Angie think about Warren and Mary. Both were in Search and Rescue, but they had encountered danger in a more civilized setting.
Angie re-studied the pictures. High and remote, beautiful blues and stark whites, a world apart from the cozy houseboat. No wonder Ryan was rock-hard muscular. The size of the packs he and Scott wore in the photos might not weigh much at the bottom of the mountain, but they’d ‘gain weight’ with each step.
It must be wonderful to be able to climb like that— to walk above the earth, suspended in clouds, on a narrow ridge with the distances dropping away from you. What a feeling of freedom.
Angie had never climbed before, but she had hiked to the top of Mt. Si, a small mountain not too far from Seattle, and stood at the summit, knowing the feeling of accomplishment.
No wonder Ryan acted so confident, so immovable. He had been to the top. He knew what he could do.
"He loves his mountains, but I gave him the cat picture. He took care of Sugar and Spice for me when I was in the hospital."
Ryan entered at that moment from the storeroom, the snow shovel in his hand, the two cats underfoot. "I’ve never figured out if I was overpaid or underpaid."
Grandma Miller chuckled. "Just wait'll I keel over, then you can sell it and see."
He grinned and stepped outside, scooping the snow away from the entrance.
Her interest caught, Angie asked her how much the paintings brought in.
"An original sells for nine to twelve hundred, but I get around forty to eighty dollars for the prints. So I make a lot more off the prints, depending upon the nu
mber I’ve made up."
Grandma Miller had removed her smock to reveal a turquoise housedress. She pulled up a chair near Angie and kicked off her sandals.
"Enough of that," she stated cheerfully, automatically petting the cat which jumped into her lap. "What's been happening over there?"
13
Angie tried to keep the story simple, starting with her overhearing Patti on the phone, but found that Grandma Miller wanted all the details and didn't mind probing and prying until she had them. Besides being inquisitive, Grandma was astute enough to pick up things Angie tried to gloss over, and in her forthright manner quizzed the younger woman until she felt satisfied she had it all.
“So today I’m going apartment hunting,” Angie said, ending her tale.
"I was right, you did have a story to tell. You've got a lot of grit and more than your share of luck. Scott is hot-headed. It's just as well he wasn't alone when he found you."
"He didn't hurt me."
"Not for want of trying. Ryan tempers him, a lot. I don't think he realizes how much. But you'll be okay, now you're with Ryan. He'll see you right," she said, with open conviction.
Angie felt inclined to agree with her. She finger-combed her hair so that its fine strands fell back in place. The house was warm and pleasant and her companion delightful. She admired the quick-witted old lady and could understand Ryan's apparent enjoyment of her.
"I bet Ryan helps you a lot, doesn't he?" she asked her hostess.
"Uh, huh. Sneaky like. He checks on me every day he's here, although he usually has an excuse for dropping in. He's too sensitive to tell me he knows these old bones are brittle, and doesn't want me to break something falling off a chair."
Her bright eyes shone pleasantly under the thin eyebrows, lifted to express her acknowledgment of Ryan's care. "And he's tactful. Doesn't tell me I'm too old to live alone in a houseboat."
Angie chuckled. Ryan hadn’t fooled this independent old lady. "Well, are you? It looks like things are under control."
"They are; but mainly because of him. He tells me if something major needs doing, like putting on a new roof or getting the place rewired. I hire that done. But where Ryan helps most is with the little everyday jobs, too heavy for me. I've learned to leave things be, he'll see it needs doing and take care of it." She paused, lending more weight to her next statement. "He does it without me having to ask. Not like my grandchildren. That's what makes him special."
So they weren't related. "Not having to ask him?"
Grandma nodded, her white wispy hair floating about her face. "Yes. It isn’t good to be so independent you won't ever ask for help. But it piques me when I can't do things anymore. My mind thinks I'm still a teen-ager. It says I can do everything I used to. But my body doesn't agree."
Angie laughed. "It won't cooperate."
"It's not for lack of trying. But if I do something too foolish, Ryan bawls me out. Says I'm a stubborn old woman and to quit it. I'm a lot wiser since I tried to change a light bulb and lost my balance. Shook me up badly and fractured my arm."
"You're more careful now, I hope."
"I have to be. Next time it might be my hip." She sighed, accepting the inevitable. "Then I really would be dependent."
"You're right, independence is nice up to a point. Then it's scary. And I’ll admit it's been wonderful, being taken care of."
"Yes. Ryan knows how to do it without hurting your pride."
Angie nodded in agreement. Ryan just did things. He didn't look for thanks. He didn't expect her to be grateful nor did he ask permission— just went ahead and did it. And by giving her a job, he had helped her in the best way anyone could.
“He understands a person's need to be self-reliant. More than my own grandchildren. They think I'm crazy to be living here."
"Do they think you should live in an apartment?"
"Oh no! A nursing home." She snorted disgustedly. "That's fine for some, but I don't want to be surrounded by old people. You young folks keep me alive.
"I love it here, watching the boats go by. I have my cats and my paintings. It's a close-knit community. Living in houseboats we share our problems. And this type of life tends to attract a certain kind of person. Most of us are fiercely independent, yet dependent on one another. You won't find the same neighborliness in an apartment house. More tea?"
"Yes, thanks, I will. Are your grandchildren satisfied that Ryan checks in on you?"
"No. I need someone to live in, of course. Mainly to be here at night. I've interviewed a few university students, but they all want a place to entertain, to party. I'm not up to that much youthfulness. Now if I could find someone— " She interrupted herself and stared at Angie. "Would you...?"
Angie quickly caught the idea. "Live here?"
"Yes."
"That would be great, but are you sure— "
The elderly lady shrugged. "We won't know till we try. You mightn’t be able to stand me."
"Or you me, but I’d love to try."
It would place Angie as close as possible to Ryan while she tried to prove her innocence. She found this idea outweighed any other consideration.
"Well, you be sure to say if anything bothers you. I insist on that." Grandma Miller's voice grew quiet and she added, almost as an afterthought, “I wonder if Ryan will do anything about Patti? You said he didn't act very upset when he thought the CDs were gone. I wonder if he actually had anything on them or if he had set a trap to catch the thieves. Ryan can be devious when he has to be, and it's not like him to let anything as important as that out of his sight."
"If it was a trap, he didn't catch anyone but me."
"Ryan's never had his place broken into before. Very few even know where he lives. They're pretty brazen to try to steal anything while he at home. They might’ve been successful if you hadn't woke up and shouted."
"And taken an icy dip in the lake," Angie added with a shudder.
The door opened and Ryan stepped inside. "We're done out there. Do I get her back, Grandma, or you going to keep her a while longer?"
"I've decided to keep her. Angie's going to move in with me. She can stay here free in exchange for keeping my grandkids off my back."
He frowned and Angie hurried to speak, wanting him to accept the living arrangement. “It’ll solve the problem of my finding a place to live. And Grandma will have someone staying with her.”
She wanted her relationship with the elderly lady to be a carefree one, and when he still looked doubtful, she added, “This way I’ll be close to you— to my work.”
"I don’t know. Things’ve been going on. It might be better for you to get a place by yourself.”
“Nonsense,” Grandma said. “Angie and I may blend perfectly.”
“She’ll have to be in and out all the time....” Ryan waved his hand as if letting it finish the sentence for him.
“I’ll give her a key.”
"And I can pay rent, now that I have a job," Angie added.
Grandma shrugged that off. "If you want to. Let's wait a few months while you get some savings put away. You can buy your own food, keep it on one side of the refrigerator, eat when you want to. Don't think I'm doing this just for you. The kids kicked up something fierce when I stayed here alone during the storm." She scowled fiercely at Ryan. “This is something I want.”
“I know. But Angie may be a lighting rod, bringing danger here. I don’t—”
“It’s dangerous for me to take a bath. Don’t worry so. It’s not your decision anyway.” She nodded in emphasis and smiled at Angie. “Come look at the room.”
Ryan helped Grandma Miller up the stairs to the bedrooms, with Angie following.
The upstairs appeared well lit. One room served for storage. The other, a large room with a window looking out over Ryan's house and the lake, stood relatively empty since Grandma Miller now spent her time on the main floor.
Angie gazed around with delight. "It's beautiful."
"My favorite room until the s
tairs became too much a chore to climb. And too dangerous. There's a bathroom here, it'll be all yours. And I’ve scads of bedding and towels and things, so you won’t need to get any of that."
“Thank you. You can’t imagine— “
“Oh yes, I can. And I’m glad to be able to do it.”
Downstairs, they discussed the snow for a minute as Angie put on her coat, then went outside. Each home now had a path cleared to its door and Angie followed Ryan onto the porch, slipping as she did so. He grabbed her arm to steady her, then swung her up into his arms and carried her across the short ramp.
"How did you like Grandma Miller?" he asked as they gained the dock. He didn’t put her down and Angie hung on harder, lest he consider doing so.
"She's sweet."
"She needs someone there at night." At her nod, he asked, "You wouldn't mind, sharing with someone elderly? She has her idiosyncrasies, besides those two cats."
"Don't malign Sugar and Spice, you know like them. I admire her, you know, and respect her wisdom. I hope I’ve that much bounce when I'm her age."
"Her spirit defies her years."
"She seems to love living here. I don't know what will happen if she ever has to go into a nursing home. Some elderly people just give up and wait to die."
"True. But she may have to, some day." He stopped as two mallards, a male and female, swam over to check for handouts. "I hate to go inside."
Her deep breath caught a touch of his scent added to the crisp air. She had her cheek pressed against his shoulder— she was spending a lot of time in this position. She just hoped he enjoyed their closeness, too.
His reluctance to go inside could be simply because he was enjoying the fresh air and the beautiful day, but she preferred to believe that he wanted an excuse to hold her longer.
There had been other men in Angie's life, ones she had dated and others she’d known at work and school. Usually she had chattered, keeping the conversation going, for the silence had been uncomfortable unless both were immersed in study or work.
Ryan was different. His silence reached out, enveloping Angie in its circle. It may have been body language, or the force of his personality. Whatever, it had slowly bound her to him. Stronger and stronger, knots tying invisible strands around her heart so that she longed to lay her lips against his, to meld with him in silent contentment.