“My goodness, he looks like a lost puppy,” Wilma said, standing in her doorway with Charlee. On the other side of the hub, Ian readied to leave. His movements were slow and mechanical as he tied a duffel on his bike and rested his backpack on the ground beside it.
“I just want him gone.”
Wilma draped an arm lovingly around Charlee’s shoulder. When King Edward and Wynona stepped onto the porch, they all pivoted to watch Ian. “Honey, are you sure you shouldn’t let him explain?”
Charlee’s breath caught. “Does the word stalker mean anything to you?” Everything with Richard had been a lie. This had all the same earmarks.
Wynona left to collect Mr. Gruber. King Edward sniffed. “That boy’s no stalker. Drama, drama, drama with you women.”
Charlee gave him a harsh look.
Wilma rubbed a hand up and down Charlee’s arm. “I just don’t see Ian as dangerous. Maybe your brother gave him the photo.”
Really? They’d known him less than two weeks and were defending him rather than consoling her? “I asked him if Jeremiah gave him the picture. He said no.” She held it up. “And look how worn it is. He’s been carrying this a long time.”
“Did he say your brother didn’t give it to him or that he hadn’t gotten it from him? Maybe he saw it, thought you were beautiful, and took the picture without permission.”
Charlee could see the writing on the wall here. She had to deal with this or the artists would be driving her crazy for weeks. “I’ll be out in a minute.” She disappeared into Wilma’s cabin.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” Wilma called.
“Calling my brother.”
Three minutes later, and with a fresh new wave of anger, Charlee stomped past the gathered artists, burning up the ground to Ian Carlisle. He was just getting on his motorcycle when she reached him. Before he could sling a leg over, she grabbed his arm and jerked. “My brother doesn’t know you.”
Ian’s eyes closed.
“I called him.” Her teeth were clenched so tightly, she thought the back ones might break off. “He says he’s never met you.”
Shoulders curled forward, Ian nodded and faced her fully to take the abuse she was ready to dish out.
“Admit it.” This time, Charlee landed a fist against his chest.
Ian grunted and she remembered the cracked ribs and for a hot instant felt bad. But the moment faded quickly. “Admit it.”
He pulled a breath and lifted his gaze to the sky above. His eyes were wet. “I don’t know your brother.”
Charlee’s heart closed on the words. Even though she knew it, had known it since talking to Jeremiah, hearing Ian say it from his mouth, a mouth she’d tasted and had trusted, caused her body to want to shut down.
She slowly turned from him and started walking back to Wilma’s cabin. But with each step anger and fear and confusion rose. She spun and marched right back to him. “Why?” Charlee’s head shook from side to side.
A fat tear trickled off Ian’s cheek and she wanted to wipe it away because you should never have to see a soldier cry. And the fact that even now her heart was tender to the man who’d done nothing but lie to her caused an ever-deeper surge of pain. “Why did you come here, Ian?”
He rubbed his hands over his face, then dropped them at his sides. “Because I promised your father I would.”
Slam! Some intangible force hit her in the torso and slung her backward. She stumbled as the world shifted, going from a place of solid ground to liquid around her. It was a moment before she realized Ian’s hand was holding her arm. She pulled away from him.
“I promised your dad. And I was so afraid I’d screw it up . . .” Now the tears came in great streams down his cheeks, causing his giant dark eyes to swim, to plead. “And I did screw it up.” Wide shoulders quaked under the strain.
And Charlee realized there were tears on her face too. “My dad?” Still, she couldn’t grasp what was happening around her or how Ian and her father were connected.
“He understood you better than you thought, Charlee. And, oh my God, he loved you more than life.”
Again, she felt as though she’d been punched. Her father? There was grass beneath her feet and below that, good rich Missouri dirt. And below that solid rock, bedrock or granite. Firm, unmovable. But where she stood, it all felt like sand sifting with each word.
Ian took a tentative step closer. “The journal you saw in the drawer. That’s his. I was supposed to bring it. To give it to you, but not just hand it over. I’m supposed to read it to you, one page at a time. But I—I couldn’t seem to . . .”
“The page you read me?” She sank her feet into the ground, hoping for equilibrium, hoping to feel a little of that bedrock below.
“Your father wrote it to you.”
Her fingers clamped on his wrist when she swayed. “But why?”
“Because your dad wants you to know another side of him. A side you never saw because he was busy trying to prepare you for life. You and your father are more alike than you know.”
Charlee shook her head. They were polar opposites.
“Will you come inside with me? I can read you the first page.”
Her gaze fell to the mountains in the distance. Solid, strong, their unwavering sight grounded her, if only a bit. Still in a cloud, Charlee let Ian take her hand. Gently, he tugged, pulling her to his cabin and into her past.
I am a man who is undone. Torn between what is right and what is necessary. In the eyes of my mind I see another life. Home, chores, long quiet dinners, long silent nights. But that is only the place I live in my dreams. My reality is different. My reality is guns, rations, war, death. But the other world that waits for me makes it tolerable. And though my heart is there, my responsibility is here. To them. To the kids who arrive daily and die daily. My responsibility is to their mothers and fathers to give their children every resource to succeed in this war. Will young men and women survive and even thrive because of my commitment? Yes, they will. And will I one day return to that other life? A place of green grass and clear streams. I hope. But whether I return or die in this desert landscape, I have done what is necessary. I can only hope those I left behind will understand. Will you, Charlee? Can you forgive me for being here when I should be there?
Charlee sat at the table, back straight, arms folded over her chest and hugging herself. “Me,” she whispered. “He’s talking to me.”
Ian nodded.
“My father was a poet.”
Ian drew a deep breath because since she’d first followed him inside, he’d half expected her to bolt. She sat quietly, the fire gone out of her eyes, but replaced with a nostalgia, a flicker of the pain that only now was becoming an ever-deeper loss.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you right away. I didn’t know how.”
Her gaze left the floor and rose to him. He wished he could read her better. “You knew my father well?”
Ian hated the fact that tears again were threatening, his nose tingling, his throat tight. “Yes, Charlee. I knew him very well. He’s the—”
“He’s the CO you keep mentioning. The one with all the wisdom.”
Ian nodded.
Her head tilted and curly blond strands fell from her shoulder. “Why you?”
Careful here. She was much like a wild cat and if he gave her too much attention, she would run. “Your dad . . .” And as Ian began to speak of the man he’d looked up to, the man he loved, he realized he hadn’t only agreed to this for Charlee’s sake. He’d also come for Major McKinley. And Ian had come for himself. “We got close because I was from Oklahoma and he was from Missouri. A lot of common ground. But he took an interest in me right away. Man, I wanted to quit so many times, even considered going AWOL. I was a hard case, Charlee. One of the worst. But he wouldn’t give up on me.”
Charlee sm
iled. It was slight, tentative, but there.
“One day I asked him why. He said I was a tough nut to crack, but if he got through to me, he could reach anyone.” Ian pressed his hand to the journal cover. “And then he started talking about you. Wow, was he proud of you.”
Charlee leaned forward. “What?”
“He was. You could see it in his eyes.”
“All my dad ever did was try to talk me out of doing this.”
Ian shrugged. “Just because he didn’t want you to do it, doesn’t mean he wasn’t proud of your accomplishments.”
Charlee pressed her hands to her head. “This is a lot to take in.”
“Yeah,” Ian agreed and stood to put the journal away.
“Wait.” She pointed at it. “You’re not giving it to me?”
He turned slowly. “No.”
“But I just thought since . . . you know, the way things went—”
Ian returned to the table and set the journal between them. “His last request was to share it with you one page at a time. I’d like to honor that request, Charlee. Your dad always had a reason for the things he did. I’m sure there’s a reason for this.” As an act of trust, and allowing her to use her own free will, Ian shoved the journal toward her.
Charlee chewed on her bottom lip. Ian could see the war. Cold shot down his spine when she reached for the journal. But rather than take it, she pushed it back to him. “Okay,” she whispered.
And Ian’s heart almost exploded from his chest. He was going to get to keep the promise he made to Major McKinley. Now, he’d have to work on the promise he’d made to himself.
Charlee figured Ian wouldn’t be too surprised when she showed up on his doorstep early the next morning. She held up a Stanley thermos as he answered the door. “I brought coffee.”
“Come inside or sit on the porch?” He didn’t even look sleepy, though she was pretty sure she’d woken him up. Soldiers.
Her gaze flickered to his bare chest. “Porch.”
Ian turned from the door to grab a T-shirt. “You’re the boss.”
“Oh, wait. Can we go out to my spot? Maybe have coffee there? I was thinking you could read me some more of the journal. Plus, it’s not too hot this morning. That heat wave finally broke.”
One side of his face tilted into that devastating smile he had. Ian was no longer just the hot soldier living on her property. He was a link to her father, a man she felt like she’d never really known. They climbed into the Jeep and made their way to Charlee’s spot.
“Why is this your favorite place on the property? I mean, it’s pretty and all, but so are lots of other spots.”
She hopped out of the Jeep and looked around. Table Rock Lake shimmered with the sun’s rays dancing across it. “I don’t know. I just feel safe here.”
Ian nodded and unwrapped the journal as Charlee sat on the oak stump.
“I found this spot after clearing some of the brush. But . . .” She paused, eyes going to the lake and thoughts far away.
“Charlee?”
“But even when I first saw it, I recognized it. I’d been here before. I knew this spot.”
Ian followed her gaze. “Did you come here with your mom?”
“Once. She was pretty sick and it took us a while to get back here. The trail was hard to find.”
“Was your dad with you?”
“No.” But then, something occurred to her, a memory, from long ago. She took hold of Ian’s arm. “You know, I think he was with us. But he stayed back. Didn’t want to interrupt Mom. She was telling me how I could accomplish anything I wanted. Even if she was gone.”
“So, this is your favorite spot because of your mom. That’s nice, Charlee.”
The memory cleared as she thought back. Her mother’s words hadn’t been anything different from what she’d said a thousand times to her. That wasn’t what made it monumental. “No, I don’t think that’s why.”
And then, like a flood, like a rushing river, the memory cleared. “It was my dad.” Charlee planted her hands on either side of her because, suddenly, it felt like the hundred-year-old oak tree she sat on was swaying beneath her.
“My mom walked back to the truck parked beyond the trees. But my dad was staring at the lake and when I stepped over to him, it surprised him. He looked down and I saw tears in his eyes.” Charlee swallowed as the memory of her father materialized. “I’d never seen him cry. I guess he didn’t know I was still there until I slid my hand into his.”
Beside her, Ian sniffed and Charlee realized this was probably hard for him too. She reached over and took his hand in hers. “It was just a moment, but in that moment, he was someone else. He cradled me in his arms and told me he loved me. Told me everything would be okay. Mom would always be watching over us from heaven.”
Ian’s face was wet with tears.
“Then he squared his shoulders, smoothed the wrinkles out of my shirt, and put on his soldier face. He told me to be strong and I promised him I would. I never saw him cry again.”
“I did.” Ian’s touch became a caress, holding her hand in his to give her strength.
Charlee frowned.
“The last time he talked about you.”
Her eyes closed. Her mouth quivered.
The early sun’s rays trickled through the shadow of the mighty oak nearby, causing slashes on the ground. “Charlee, do you want to hear another journal entry?”
She inhaled the crisp mountain air around her. “I’d like that.”
Ian gave her hand a squeeze and released her to open the journal. Across the lake, a great blue heron landed, tapped his beak at the edge of the water and searched for food. Above him, the sky was softening shades of morning, peaches and pinks that would eventually burn off to deeper hues. But right now, it was gentle. Charlee slipped her hand back into Ian’s as he began to read.
Dear Charlee,
I spoke with your brother yesterday. And the sound of his voice made me think about what a fortunate man I am. I hear you in his voice. I hear your mother. Why an amazing woman like her ever chose a man like me, I’ll never know. It’s like God dressed an angel in flesh and sent her to me. Only, once she was gone he realized heaven wasn’t as bright a place. She always wanted a little girl. Dresses and bows and ribbons. And then you arrived and wouldn’t wear a dress to save your life. She’d just shake her head and blame me. Then one day when you were nine or ten, she found you drawing. I had a stack of important documents and you’d found them and decorated the whole lot. How could I be angry? She was so elated that you’d spent so long on them. Your mother loved to draw and paint when we were young. But being a wife and mother, she’d put her paints in a drawer. Until you showed interest. More interest than a normal child should. It was her excuse to dig out her paints again. I’m telling you this because I don’t think you know . . . you’re the one who gave that gift back to her when it was all but gone. You made that last couple of years even better for her. And that made them better for me as well.
Charlee pressed her lips together. “He loved her so much. Can you imagine love like that?”
Ian’s hand came up to touch her cheek. “Yes, Charlee. I can.”
For three days Charlee and Ian worked side by side on various projects while Charlee worked to process what having her father’s journal meant to her. It was like glimpsing into the past. In some ways, it was like having the conversations with him she’d never gotten to have. In the journal, he spoke of things he’d never talked about. His love for her mother, what it meant when one of the boys called him to visit. She hadn’t called him often because most of the time was filled with crackling dead air, and she always felt like she was keeping him from more important things.
Ian gave her room to digest. She needed that because the man in the journal was a very different one from the father she’d grown up with. B
ut somewhere in her heart, she’d always known there must be more to him than discipline and order. Had she seen glimpses of that tenderness when her mother was alive? Maybe those memories were buried beneath the years of running a tight ship once her mom was gone. Charlee had determined to help him. Cook the meals, keep the boys in line. Make sure everyone had clean clothes. Make sure Caleb remembered to wear underpants.
Ian gave her space to contemplate, time to absorb. He didn’t ask questions, just let her be. For the last three days she’d worked mostly in a comfortable silence with Ian at her side. They’d cleaned every gutter on every cabin, moved piles of wood to a new location and even erected a lean-to to keep the firewood dry. Ian had shared two more pages of the journal with her and in each she learned that though her father had loved his job, his heart was far away. In Missouri. With Charlee.
As she stepped from the Jeep on her way to Ian’s door, her eyes trailed to the toolshed. Her dad had rebuilt it when he’d visited her six months before he died. His tool belt was now a constant adornment on Ian’s hips and for the strangest reason, that felt right, like it was meant to be. Charlee forced the thought away. She and Ian had a job to do. She’d arrived a few minutes early and found Ian’s door open wide but she still knocked. She wouldn’t want to catch him naked or anything.
Inside, Ian passed from the bedroom into the living space, ear tipped to his shoulder and his shirt in his hands. He motioned for her to come in.
Something jerked in Charlee’s stomach because—though she’d seen him with his shirt off before and rather enjoyed the view—she couldn’t stop her system from reacting, and that spelled trouble. The kind she didn’t need.
Along the Broken Road (The Roads to River Rock Book 1) Page 11