Somewhere Along the Way

by Jodi Thomas

  “Sorry to hear that,” Gabe said, watching Denver move closer, both still unsure of the other.

  “It was for the best. She was too good for me.” Denver opened his jacket, showing that he carried no weapons. “In fact, that’s the only thing we ever agreed on. We both thought it, and she said it daily.”

  Gabe smiled, guessing both of them needed time before getting down to why Sims was here. “If you’ll leave those muddy boots on the porch and close the door, I’m offering a cup of coffee.”

  Denver knelt and unlaced his boots. “Any chance the coffee could come with a side of breakfast? I’ve been washing down energy bars with water for so long I swear I’ll start mooing if I have any more ground fiber with barley.”

  Gabe wanted to ask why, but he knew there would be time for that later. They needed to size one another up. Look for the truth and honesty they’d both shared once before they sorted today’s truth from lie.

  He set the rifle by the sink and made breakfast, still fully armed, while Denver circled around the big open living /dining area like he thought Gabe’s home was a museum and he’d paid admission.

  “So this is what a big-time writer’s studio looks like. I can see it all, the pieces that fit together. I feel like I’m in the delivery room where novels are born.” Denver moved to pages of script taped to a wall. “This must be the script.” He looked down at the graph paper on the table. “These must be the thumbnails, your first sketches of how the story will be laid out. I’ve read about how it works. It all seems so complicated.”

  Gabe stopped beating a half dozen eggs and watched Denver sorting through a rough idea he was working on for a story. “You know a lot about my work. Thinking of taking it up?”

  “No. I just did my research.” Denver looked up, his smile as easy as ever. “I remember you used to doodle on paper when all the other guys were writing letters home.” He lifted a metal T-square from a drafting table cluttered with pencils, erasers, and half-finished sketches.

  Gabe set the bowl down and slowly lowered his hand toward the weapon strapped to his waist.

  Denver didn’t miss the action. “Easy,” he said as he set the T-square down on a light box. “I wasn’t choosing a weapon. I’m here as your friend, Gabriel, nothing more. Whatever you went through must have been bad if you’re so jumpy. I respect that.”

  Gabe nodded. They understood one another. He finished cooking breakfast, and they sat down across the table from each other. Halfway through the meal, Gabe picked easy ground to start on. “How’d you know I wrote graphic novels?”

  Denver finished chewing and said as he raised his coffee cup, “I was in a bookstore in L.A. looking for something to read for a long flight I had to make. I passed by the comic books and thought of you and how you used to read the damn things like they were real books. Then, just by luck, I saw one of yours. Something about the cover looked familiar. You know, like sometimes you see a face and swear you’ve seen it before but can’t place it.”

  When Gabe didn’t answer, he continued. “I bought the book. Hell, before that day I didn’t even know that comic books came in novel form. As I read it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was pulling from my memories. Your characters might have been superheroes fighting monsters from the underworld, but they were using strategies I’d learned. I figured whoever wrote the stories had to have been in Special Forces, but when I Googled G. L. Smith, he was a ghost.”

  Gabe pushed his plate aside. “So, you decided to find out who I was? Awful lot of effort for a man who doesn’t even read comics.”

  Denver shook his head. “I think in my gut, I knew from the first it was you.” He looked straight at Gabe with all guards down. “You’re the closest friend I ever had. It’s always bothered me that you just disappeared. Five years ago, when I heard you were wounded, I tried to contact you. No one seemed to know where you were. The hospital said you just vanished. The nurse I finally talked to at Brooke Army Medical Center acted like alien abductions weren’t all that uncommon in San Antonio.

  “So, I had a puzzle. G. L. Smith didn’t exist, and Gabriel Wiseman walked away into nowhere one night five years ago.” He spread his hands and grinned. “And I’m sitting around with a half million dollars’ worth of training on how to find people who want to stay lost and nothing to do but look.”

  Denver stood and refilled his coffee. For a man his size, six feet four and over two hundred pounds, he moved silent as a cat. “I’m an air marshal now, flying back and forth across the U.S. like a lone Canada goose. I flirt with stewardesses most days, sleep with whoever I find at the hotel bars when I can, and read. And”—he grinned—“look for the one guy who I ever thought of as a friend. The guy who apparently would shoot me if I made one wrong move. Maybe we weren’t as close as I remembered.”

  “Hand me your wallet,” Gabe ordered.

  Denver hesitated, then passed it across the table.

  When Gabe flipped it open he saw the marshal badge. After flipping through credit cards, he asked, “No pictures of kids?”

  “No. Old habits die hard. After a dozen years in the army I still haven’t learned to develop ties. If you kill me and bury me in that mud hole you call farmland, the only person who’ll miss me will be a ticket agent at American in Dallas. I promised I’d come to her retirement party next month.”

  Gabe let down his guard an inch. In a strange way it was good to know that he wasn’t the only one who had trouble falling into the circle-of-friends-and-family story. “What weapons you got on your body right now?”

  Denver smiled. “A knife in my boot on the porch and a Glock strapped to my calf. And before you ask, no you can’t have it. You might not trust me, Gabriel, but for all I know, you’ve gone full-blown nutcase since we last saw each other. A few weapons between us will keep everything polite. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” Gabe answered, thinking he wouldn’t surrender all his weapons either, even to a friend.

  Someone pounded on his front door before he could ask any more questions.

  “Yours?” Gabe looked at Denver.

  Denver shook his head. “I came alone.”

  The pounding came again, along with a female shouting, “Gabe, are you in there? It’s freezing out here. Open the door.”

  Denver smiled, not able to hide his surprise. “Your girl?”

  “No.” Gabe moved to the door. “My lawyer.”

  Opening the door, he swore she must have catapulted herself into his arms. He took a step back as he caught her.

  He hadn’t had a visitor in five years and now it seemed he needed a traffic light on his door.

  Elizabeth kissed his cheek with cold lips and then backed away, pulling off her gloves and hat. She was dressed totally in purple from her stocking cap to her boots, and, of course, she was in the middle of a sentence before he realized she was talking.

  “I didn’t know if my car would make it down that dirt road of yours. Gabe, you need to get that paved or at least graveled. I probably should have waited another day, but I was worried about you. Martha Q thought you were surely dead halfway between here and town. Mrs. Biggs said if you were alive you were probably starving out here, so she sent food. Martha Q made me promise to call. . . .”

  Elizabeth stopped, frozen in midsentence by the big man standing on the other side of the room. He looked like some kind of mountain man with a week’s worth of black beard and hair that hadn’t been washed or combed in days. Even in stocking feet, he was tall, and she swore mud was caked to every part of him, including his eyebrows.

  When she turned back to Gabe, he knew the second she became aware of what he was wearing.

  “What is this, some kind of Halloween party? You guys are a little late, or way too early, and I doubt one person will give either of you candy.”

  Gabe had no idea what to say. He wasn’t good at explaining anything, and he had no idea how to explain this.

  Denver, on the other hand, just started talking as if there
were some scenario that would make sense to the purple bunny at their door.

  “Hello, miss. Gabe tells me you’re his lawyer. I have to say I didn’t know lawyers came as beautiful as you or I’d be out committing crimes.” He moved forward.

  Elizabeth backed up until she bumped into Gabe, then looked at him like she blamed him somehow for letting this chatty creature into the house.

  Denver kept talking. “I’ve been out deer hunting, so I must look frightening, but I promise I’m harmless. Didn’t even kill anything on the hunt this year. I thought I’d stop off and see my old army buddy before I head back to Dallas, but my car broke down a few miles back. I hiked in to see if Gabe would give me a hand.” He smiled. “I figured, looking like I do, no one would give me a lift.”

  For once Elizabeth was speechless. She looked Gabe up and down. Dressed as the town mugger, he knew he was frightening. Dressed as a commando, he watched her eyes go wide with terror. He had no doubt she was probably considering having the farm quarantined due to an outbreak of rampant insanity.

  Denver saved him again. “Don’t let Gabe scare you, darling. I just made him a bet he couldn’t fit into his old uniform and so he proved he could. I swear, I haven’t seen the man in five years and he hasn’t gained a pound.”

  Gabe unbuckled his heavy belt and set it on one of the tables. “Other than worrying about me being dead, Elizabeth, what brought you out?” If he’d left the security system on, he would have known when she turned off the main road and onto his land. He pulled off the camouflage shirt and faced her in a black turtleneck.

  She didn’t look any less frightened.

  Finally, she seemed to see him more than the uniform. When he saw her relax, he winked at her, and that seemed to be all it took for her to move close. Gabe decided it was time for them all to start over. “Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet Denver Sims. He may look a little frightening, but he’s a federal air marshal and a friend from years ago.”

  Denver was smart enough not to push his luck and offer his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Can I help you carry some of that food in?”

  “I hope you’re hungry.” She looked up at Gabe.

  “We’re starving,” Denver answered. “It’s been far too long since we had breakfast. Did you say someone baked something? I haven’t had anything homemade in years. I spend most of my days eating breakfast out of a vending machine, then lunch and dinner on a plane.”

  Both men followed her out and carried in two pies, a cake, and a half dozen loaves of bread. Gabe made more coffee and listened as they talked. Years without having anyone in his house made the two of them seem like a crowd.

  After they finished sampling everything Mrs. Biggs had sent, Elizabeth walked around the big room looking at his work, but it was Denver doing the explaining.

  Gabe wouldn’t have known where to start.

  Two hours later, when Gabe finally walked Liz to her car, he put his arm around her shoulder, realizing how few times in his life he’d done such a simple thing. “I’m glad you came,” he said.

  “Me too.” Her arm circled his waist. “Would you have invited me?”

  “Probably not. I’ve never invited anyone.”

  “What about Denver?”

  Gabe shook his head. “I haven’t had anyone but the mailman stop here since my dad died over four years ago except for old Jeremiah Truman, and I didn’t invite him in. He’s a funny old guy. He acts like he doesn’t like a soul on the planet, but he worried about me like I was kin when I was still laid up.”

  “That’s good.” She stopped at her car door and turned to face him.

  Gabe smiled. “I think he’d consider it a curse when his caring side shows.”

  She was so close he could smell her hair and feel her warm breath against his collar. “I’m glad you came,” he whispered against her ear.

  The need to hold her washed over him like a flood. Lifting her up, he pressed her against her car and molded his body along hers to hold her in place as his mouth lowered to her lips.

  His sudden passion surprised her, but she didn’t protest. In fact, she remained perfectly still, her mouth slightly open, her hands at her side.

  Gabe might not understand women, but even he knew something was wrong. He pulled far enough away to look down at her, but his body could still feel her chest rising and falling against him.

  “Too much. Too fast,” he whispered, already hating himself for ruining what they might have had between them.

  She shook her head, then buried it against his shirt. “He’s watching,” she managed.

  Gabe looked up to see Denver leaning against the front door frame, smiling like a fool. Lifting his hand over Elizabeth’s ear, he shouted, “I’m going to kill you after she leaves.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Denver said, not looking sorry at all. “I just wanted to ask if she had a sister.”

  Elizabeth turned her face up to Gabe. He could feel her giggling against him and knew she was thinking the same thing he was. Everyone for a hundred miles around knew of Claire’s hatred of men.

  Gabe cupped her ear again as if he were keeping her from hearing his shout. “On second thought, Denver, I’m going to let you live. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “You’ll come over tomorrow night?” Elizabeth whispered. “My mom’s making chicken enchiladas. It’ll just be family.”

  “Yes.” He liked the way she smiled. “And I’ll bring him.” Gabe pointed with his head.

  “Clean him up first,” she said loudly.

  “Did you hear that, Denver, we’ve been invited to supper, if you’ll take a bath and shave.”

  Denver hooted. “Mind if I use your shower? I need to get started right away to get the layers off in time.”

  Gabe waved him away with one hand and pulled Elizabeth closer with the other. “Everything all right, now?”

  She looked over his shoulder to make sure Denver was gone, then nodded.

  “Mind if I kiss you?” He wanted to make sure he’d be welcomed if he got closer.

  She answered by standing on her tiptoes and brushing her lips over his.

  Chapter 28

  WEDNESDAY

  FEBRUARY 13, 2008

  WRIGHT FUNERAL HOME

  My fourth funeral for the new year.

  TYLER WRIGHT WAS WRITING HIS DAILY E-MAIL. HE WROTE every night just like he used to write to his friend Kate. She hadn’t answered an e-mail in two years, but he still wrote.

  He leaned back, thinking he was probably the greatest fool ever born. A lonely bachelor in his forties who sent an e-mail to a woman he’d seen only a few times. They’d shared a dinner once at an out-of-the-way lodge on a night too icy to drive. They’d agreed that if the e-mails ever stopped, they would both go the first Monday of the months following for three months and wait for the other.

  He’d been going on the first Monday to Quartz Mountain Lodge for two years. She never came.

  I’m still missing you, he wrote. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to write those words again, but he just wanted her to know. Not much has happened here. Remember Reagan Truman? I told you about her getting hurt. She’s out of the hospital and on the mend.

  Stella McNabb poked her head into Tyler’s office. “The Hendersons are gone, Mr. Wright. Mrs. Biggs was a lot of help tonight. You want to drive her home while I finish up? I hate keeping her out too late when she might have someone besides Martha Q to cook for in the morning.”

  “Sure. Glad to,” Tyler said, a moment before he clicked Send. He could have thought about it for a while, but no one was reading his e-mails anyway. “I’ll get my hat and be right there.”

  He rushed around the desk and grabbed his hat and coat. “Come on, Little Lady, let’s go take Mrs. Biggs back to the inn.”

  The border collie stood and shook, as if fluffing her coat for the trip.

  Mrs. Biggs was waiting for them when they reached the reception area. Since the mystery lady had showed up at his
cemetery, Tyler had somehow become responsible for her.

  When he had her tucked into the car, he said, “Thanks for helping out tonight. The Hendersons are a big family and sometimes get a little rowdy when they have a night visitation. Stella can usually handle them, after corralling high school kids for forty years, but I’d hate to think what they’d do if the food ran out.”

  Mrs. Biggs laughed. “You know, they’re sweet people. I went to school with a few of them before I moved away. We used to play a game when they weren’t around. Someone would say Hendersons and we’d all try to name them in order as fast as we could. With all the names starting with H, it wasn’t easy.”

  Tyler smiled. “It probably didn’t help that Mrs. Henderson got mixed up and named two of them Henry.”

  “Henry the first and Henry the second. I’d forgotten that.”

  “They’re both dead. The oldest Henry of cancer about ten years ago and the younger one in a car wreck in Houston. I made the long drive to bring him home.”

  They were silent for a minute before Mrs. Biggs said, “You’re a good man, Mr. Wright.”

  “I try,” Tyler said, thinking of one person on the end of an e-mail connection who must not think so. “A few years ago we had someone setting grass fires around Harmony and the federal people Alex brought in thought it was me. I even got arrested.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t my finest hour.”

  “I’m glad it was cleared up, Mr. Wright, or I’d have to bake you a cake with a file in it.”

  They both laughed, but remembering the day his Kate saw him in handcuffs made him sad. It had been the last time he’d seen her wonderful hazel eyes.

  Tyler waited until Mrs. Biggs made it inside, then turned on the radio as Little Lady jumped into the front seat. They both drove home listening to the mellow sounds of jazz.