by Keary Taylor
“There was a sign out front that said James Ranch, so I’m assuming I’m at the right place,” he says. His voice is deep and slow, like he’s thought about each word before it comes out.
“This is the place,” I say, my eyes never leaving him. Radio stops in front of him, and I slide off his back. I pat his hindquarters and he keeps walking around the outskirts of the arena.
“You Riley?” he asks. He slips his sunglasses off. His eyes are hazel—more green on the inside, more brown on the outside—his brows pulled together slightly. He seems uncomfortable, worried.
“I am,” I answer. I pull my gloves off and tuck them in my back pocket. I rest my forearms on the panel. “What can I help you with?”
The stranger raises a hand, running it through his short brown hair. His eyes are locked on mine, and he delays answering for several very long moments.
Those eyes, they’re deep, and guarded, complicated.
“My name is Lake McCain, and your fiancé, Cal Richards, was my best friend.”
He says Cal’s name, and my heart sinks into my stomach. I can feel all the warmth drain from my face. My weight shifts back onto the heel of my feet, like this revelation might knock me right over.
“We served three tours together, including this last one,” Lake continues. His voice sounds thick, like there’s something knotted in his throat.
There’s certainly something in mine.
The date didn’t disappear from my mind, just because Cal died. He was supposed to get home from his last tour yesterday. We were going to spend this summer planning the wedding and then get married September fifth.
Lake is looking at me like he’s expecting me to say something. But what is there to say?
“I, uh,” he says when I can’t find any words. It’s plain to see how hard this is for him, whatever it is he’s trying to say or do. “I just got home yesterday. It was my last tour, so I came home.”
He bites the inside of his lower lip, his eyes on the ground. He slips his hands into his back pockets. With the motion, it pulls his jacket back across his wide chest. And exposes his dog tags.
“I remember your name,” I say. My throat is tight and it’s hard to talk. “Cal, uh, he talked about you sometimes. Said you were the best soldier he’d ever served with. Said you were kind of an ass sometimes, but that you were a good guy.”
The barest hints of a smile pulls on one side of his mouth, but his eyes are just sad and tired. They dart up to mine once, before dropping to the ground again.
“Yeah, uh, Cal talked about you a lot,” he says, and leaves it at that.
He’s quiet again for a while. He gives his head a little shake and clears his throat.
“What are you doing here, Lake?” I ask. I stand straight and cross my arms over my chest.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and then folds his arms over his wide chest, too. “You know Cal was killed by an IED six months ago,” he says. I feel his eyes rise up to mine, but I can only stare at his dog tags.
Cal’s parents were called first. They called me a few hours later.
I didn’t resurface for about a month.
My fiancé, the man I was going to marry and spend the rest of my life with, was dead.
“There were four of us that got out of the Humvee,” Lake continues. “We were supposed to scout out this area. We were looking for al-Qaeda leaders that might be hiding. It was supposed to be a low risk operation, they weren’t really expecting them to be there.”
He has to clear his throat again.
I’ve heard this story before.
“Cal saw the IED first. I was in front of him, so was our buddy. But neither of us saw it. I thought Cal was just messing around when he shoved us out of the way. Me and that other guy, we both hit the ground hard. But Cal, he was standing there in front of us. And then the damn thing went off.”
Boom.
I’ve seen it in my nightmares often. I’ve never been to Iraq, and all I’ve seen are the images on the news. But the imagination can be a treacherous thing.
“I owe Cal my life,” he says. His voice is really rough now. “I’d be dead if he hadn’t done what he did. So would that other guy. So, I, uh, I guess I just came here to say thank you. And to say I’m sorry for what happened. It’ll never be enough, but I have to say it. He was like a brother to me.”
I have to swallow twice, just to try and breathe again. I knew this before. I knew about the IED, I knew about the scouting mission. I knew there were others in the company and that Cal saved them.
I never expected to have to face one of them, though.
It’s hard to look at Lake.
Cause if Cal hadn’t been the hero, he’d still be alive and Lake would be the one who got shipped back to the States in an urn because there were too many little pieces to put in a proper box.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “And I’m sorry for coming here and ripping open old wounds, but I just had to say it.”
I give a little nod. “Thank you,” I get out.
My eyes rise up to his and he holds them for a long moment. There’s a lot of pain there. Pain you can only understand when you lose someone you love. It’s there in his eyes; Lake did love Cal like a brother.
He gives a little nod of his head and starts to turn. I finally notice the beat-down truck behind him.
“I hope things get easier,” he says without looking at me. “I wish you a good life.”
He puts his hand on the handle and pulls the driver’s side door open.
“Lake,” I say, my voice cracking just a bit. He looks back at me, his eyebrows raised slightly. “Thank you for your service.”
He just looks at me for a moment and finally, gives me one more nod.
Just as he slips into his seat, Mom pulls up in her truck. She loaded up. I can see the back is totally stocked with supplies.
As she pulls up to the side of Lake’s truck, she rolls her window down and flashes him a warm smile.
“Hi there,” she says. Lake hesitantly climbs back out of the truck and walks over to her. I give a big sigh and open the gate and walk out. “I didn’t realize we had anyone stopping by today. Hope I didn’t let any appointments slip my mind.”
“No, Ma’am,” he says. “I stopped by unannounced.”
“He was a friend of Cal’s,” I explain around the snake that’s trying to close off my throat.
“Oh,” Mom says, her expression surprised and sad for just a moment. “Lord rest his soul. He was a good man, wasn’t he?”
Lake nods. “One of the best.”
“I bet you have some stories about that man that would blow our minds,” she says with a regretful smile. “Have you met his parents yet?”
Lake nods. “I’ve spent the morning with them.”
“That’s nice,” she says with a smile. “They’re wonderful people. I bet they appreciated you stopping by.”
The look on his face suggests maybe not. It’s hard to tell.
“Well, a friend of Cal’s is a friend of ours,” she pushes past the awkward moment, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
I’m pretty sure my jaw drops open at the same time Lake’s brows furrow together. Our eyes dart to each other at the exact same time.
“You should know that it will be rude to decline,” she says. Mom raises an eyebrow at him.
“It really isn’t,” I say, shaking my head when Lake looks at me again. “You don’t have to stay.”
“It really is, Riley,” Mom says. She gives me a look. “He’s a guest and a friend of Cal’s, and I’d like him to stay for dinner. If he’s hungry.”
Lake glances at me again. He’s looking for permission and I’m not sure if I’m capable of giving it. I’m feeling…complicated, right now.
“It’s settled then,” Mom plows right on. “You can leave your truck right there, and then come help me bring all these groceries in while Riley puts Radio away and show
ers.”
“Uh,” he says, again looking at me. I’m too stunned to answer. “Okay. I guess. Thank you.”
Mom gives him a wink and pulls forward toward the garage. Radio nudges me with his nose. Apparently I left the gate open. I grab his reigns and absentmindedly start for the tack room.
Lake follows Mom toward the garage. He looks over his shoulder and catches my eye. He looks just as bewildered as me.
What the hell just happened?
I put Radio away. I shower. I listen to Mom and Lake quietly talking downstairs as I get dressed. I’m tired and I don’t have anyone to impress, so I chose some old gray sweatpants and a brilliant pink T-shirt I got a few years back while on vacation with my parents to Hawaii that says HI in lime-green letters. I tie my red hair up in a knot at the top of my head and go downstairs.
Lake sits at the table while Mom mills about the kitchen. He looks up at me when I walk into the room, his eyes holding mine for a long moment.
“She kept trying to teach him, but he just kept falling off,” Mom says with a laugh, oblivious to my presence.
“Yeah,” I say, making her jump. “Cal couldn’t stay on a horse to save his life.”
“He told me about that,” Lake says. He finally does manage a small smile. It’s lopsided, pulling up higher on the right side than the left. I manage a tiny smile myself.
“It was pretty fun—” Mom cuts short when she turns around and sees me. “What are you wearing, Riley? Did you forget we have a guest?”
“Mom, I’m tired,” I say as I flop down on a chair.
“Really, Mrs. James,” Lake says. “I don’t mind.”
Mom gives me a look, but goes back to what she’s preparing.
The two of them continue making small talk, occasionally talking about Cal, some about the Ranch, some about the service. This is easy for Mom. Talking with people and making them feel at home is second nature to her.
I listen mostly. I observe Lake, trying to discern what it is about him that made Cal like him so much. He claimed they were best friends.
Just from looking at him, it’s obvious he can handle himself in pretty much every situation. Cal loved being a soldier. He was good at it. I imagine Lake was—is—good at it too.
If Cal had lived, at some point, he would have introduced me to Lake. Being best friends and all. Heck, Lake probably would have been Cal’s best man.
I can tell Lake isn’t normally one for many words. When Mom asks him questions, he politely answers, but he doesn’t elaborate more than needed. He speaks quiet and his voice is always low and slow. It’s easy to imagine him as a southern boy. But from the questions he’s answering, he’s a born and raised Washington man.
“Yeah, I’m from Woodinville,” he answers Mom. “Lived there for forever. So it was pretty surprising to find one of the guys I was serving with was from Redmond.”
Cal. Cal was from Redmond, not far from Duvall or Woodinville.
“I bet that was nice,” Mom says as she starts handing out plates. We each stand and start serving up the hobo hash she’s made. One of Dad’s favorites. “I’m sure that made the services a little easier, having someone with common history.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he says as he sits back down with his plate.
“Ma’am,” Mom laughs with a shake of her head. “You can call me Raelynn or if you have to, Mrs. James.”
“Mrs. James,” he says with a small tip of his head.
“Hush now and let me say grace.” She does. While she’s praying, I steal a peek at Lake. His eyes are closed, his fingers gripped tightly together. He’s taken his jacket off, and wears a hunter green T-shirt. It stretches tight over his wide frame. Dark, thick lashes stretch long over his closed eyes. I study his hands for a moment. They’re rough and scarred. They’re hands of hard work and war.
Mom finishes, and we all say amen.
“You know,” Mom says as we start eating. “When I saw your truck when I first pulled up, I thought you must be someone coming to apply for the job.”
Lake takes a moment to finish chewing his bite and then shakes his head. “You all looking for some hired help?”
Mom’s chewing, so I answer for her. “Someone to muck out stalls and do some heavy lifting mostly. The pay isn’t good, so no one has inquired yet.”
“You looking for a job?” Mom asks slyly. She looks from Lake, to me, and back to him again.
“Oh, uh,” he says, instantly uncomfortable.
“Mom,” I say, feeling horrified yet again. “I’m sure he’s already got something lined up.”
She looks at him, expectantly.
“Actually,” he says quietly. He looks beyond uncomfortable. “I don’t yet. Thought I’d figure it all out when I got home.”
“Well?” Mom asks.
“I’m sure a decorated soldier like him isn’t going to want some grunt job,” I say. I’m feeling slightly panicked, and I can’t exactly pin down why.
“Well,” Mom says. “The pay isn’t good, but we’ve got a little apartment above the barn. It’s warm and dry. And I’m a darn good cook, and I promise to always keep you fed. And you can have all the free horse riding lessons you want.”
“Mom!” I cry once more.
“What?” she says. “I’m just offering.”
I stare her down, and she gives me back this little innocent look like she has no idea why I’m upset.
After a while, I finally steal a glance at Lake.
He looks exactly like he’s been caught in the middle of something. His expression is uncomfortable and a bit uncertain.
But he looks like he’s thinking it over.
“I appreciate the offer, Ma’am,” he says. He looks back at Mom. “I don’t know that I’ll be all that good at whatever you need done, but I’ll give it a try. I don’t want you paying me though. I have a debt to Cal that I can never repay, but I’ll do what I can.”
“So, does that mean you’ll accept the job?” Mom asks.
He takes half a beat to think about it again.
And then he nods his head. “Yes, Mrs. James. I’d be honored to help out.”
“Well, all right then. You can finish your dinner and then go get your stuff. I’ll have the apartment ready for you tomorrow afternoon.”
Lake meets my eyes. There are emotions behind those hazel eyes that I cannot identify. One second he just looks calm and collected, and the next second I swear there’s a storm of sadness and regret there.
There’s also a darkness behind those eyes that only men of war can comprehend.
“Thank you,” he says, and I can feel it’s directed right at me.
CHAPTER TWO
“We don’t know anything about him,” I say as I dust the blinds. Mom’s furiously washing the windows in the bedroom. “We haven’t checked for criminal history, or drug problems, or anything. He could be a serial killer.”
“I know this isn’t easy for you, but stop being dramatic, Riley,” she says. There’s concern and understanding in her voice. There’s also the barest hint of annoyance. I hear the spray bottle being squirted again. “The man is two days out of the service. If he’s a Marine, that’s good enough for me. It would have been good enough for your father, no questions asked.”
“It’s just so…” I struggle for words. My feelings have been all up in knots ever since I saw Lake watching me ride. “Sudden.”
“Honey.” Mom suddenly appears in the doorway to the bedroom and crosses her arms over her chest. “We’ve had that ad out there for a month. You knew we were going to be hiring someone eventually. This is not sudden.”
I look at her, and rub my nose, pretending it’s the dust that’s bothering my eyes. I’m not crying, but something is wrong with my tear ducts.
Mom crosses the small living room and wraps her arms around me. I stand there stiff, just trying to keep everything in.
“I know this isn’t going to be easy, having Lake here,” she says quietly into my hair. “He reminds you of Cal, a
nd that’s why you’re feeling the way you are. But we need the help. He needs to heal, and so do you. So let yourselves do that.”
I chew on my lower lip and finally hug Mom back. It’s so she won’t back away and see the moisture that’s pooled in my eyes.
Because she nailed it right on the head.
Lake is a lot like Cal. And Cal’s gone.
“I love you,” Mom says, patting my back.
“Love you, too,” I reply, taking a quick sniff and blinking back the betraying tears in my eyes.
We don’t say much else as we continue cleaning the apartment. It collects a lot of dust, being located above the barn. And no one has lived in it for over a year.
It’s small, but it does the job. The stairs lead right up into a little living room with a sun-faded green couch and an overstuffed chair we got at a yard sale. There’s a simple kitchen and a small dining table. Just off the living area is a bathroom and a bedroom with a queen-sized bed.
The perfect space for a single man.
I pause as I’m wiping down the kitchen counters. Well, I’m assuming he’s single. I never asked and it never came up last night.
Just as Mom finishes vacuuming and I’ve finished putting fresh sheets and pillows on the bed, there’s a knock on the door.
A second later, it opens and Lake takes half a step in. He’s got two bags, one over his shoulder, the other in his hand. They’re military green.
“Sorry, I checked at the house and the garage, but didn’t find anyone.” His eyes are hesitant. He looks so cautious and something that isn’t quite scared. Like he’s carefully walking around minefields.
“That’s just fine,” Mom says with a smile. She waves him in and starts wrapping the cord up. “We’ve just finished sprucing the place up for you.”
He sets his bags down on the floor and his eyes take in the place. It’s hard to tell what he thinks of it. His expression doesn’t give much away.
He wears jeans again, boots, a long sleeved T-shirt that hugs his toned arms and chest. His jaw clenches and unclenches, the tendons there standing out sharp.