Along the Broken Road (The Roads to River Rock Book 1)

by Heather Burch

  Charlee stepped in and could tell Ian was frustrated. The phone between his ear and shoulder must have been the source of aggravation. He only gave Charlee a fleeting wave then turned from her, planting his feet on the floor near the table.

  Charlee’s gaze drifted over him. Shoulders, narrow hips, jeans that fit so amazingly, and work boots. His body was tan from working in the sun and it only added to his beauty. She’d love to sketch him. Her artist’s eye drew the line of muscle along his side, then his lower back where a spine split the area into two powerful parts. Seams of muscle ran along—

  When his words into the phone snapped her attention, Charlee blinked.

  “Love you too.”

  And the conversation went on, but a flash of red snaked across Charlee’s vision. Love you too? It bothered her. And then it bothered her that it bothered her.

  “Kristi, you look beautiful in anything you drape on your shoulders. Don’t worry about it.”

  Kristi? At that moment, Ian turned, gave Charlee a wink and mouthed the word sister.

  Charlee released the air she’d been holding and hoped he wouldn’t notice.

  But Ian’s eyes stalled on her, first narrowing, then widening with surprise and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a bit of amusement.

  “Whatever you want, Kris. You know that.”

  He hung up the phone and stared at Charlee, who’d become fascinated with the hem of her tank top.

  “You okay?”

  Arghhh. Why couldn’t he leave it alone?

  She waved a dismissive hand through the air and gave him her best flat stare. “Of course. Why?”

  His laser eyes penetrated right through. “You look a little flushed. Like a woman does after . . .” He let the words hang in the air.

  Charlee swallowed. “Nope. Nothing here.”

  “My sister wants me to dance at her reception.”

  Charlee shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone dance?”

  Ian pulled his shirt down over his head and covered his fine chest and stomach. “No, like an organized dance thing. I have to dance with her after her new husband, then my dad, then my Uncle Phil. So stupid.”

  Charlee chuckled. “Yeah, who does she think she is?”

  At this Ian laughed too and grabbed Major McKinley’s tool belt from the side table. “Not like it’s a big day for her or anything.”

  Charlee put her hands to her hips. “Right. It’s not like she’s probably been planning it since she was ten or something. You should just tell her no. She’ll get over it.” She enjoyed joking with him. It was a nice reprieve from all the serious moments they’d had lately. “Why even bother going?”

  “Yeah. You’re right. She won’t miss me.”

  Charlee bumped his shoulder. “Nah. Who’d miss you?”

  They jumped into the Jeep and headed toward the deeper part of the woods along the creek where Ian had spotted a beaver dam that needed to be removed and had told Charlee about it. Today would be hot, sweaty, dirty work. And Charlee couldn’t wait to dive in.

  By dinnertime, Charlee and Ian were both spent. Tearing out a beaver dam had proved more strenuous than he’d imagined and now his body bore the abuse. His ribs were still a bit tender and he’d never admitted the truth to Charlee about what had happened that night. She knew it was Dean and J.C., the guy he’d called Curly. But she didn’t know details like how he had them both on the ground until a bruiser of a guy jumped him from behind. Three on one was a little more than he could handle, though he’d fared okay. They all had looked worse than him.

  The artists had stopped throwing him and Charlee together at a table alone—which he missed. Those had been intimate little moments with dancing firelight and mountain air. But Charlee wasn’t interested in him—no matter what had happened when he was injured. Florence Nightingale syndrome, he figured. Maybe men were more appealing when they were flat on their backs and wounded. Tonight, he sat with Wilma and Wynona. Wilma had a smear of paint on her cheek, making her look childlike and adorable in the tiki fire and the glow of tiny lights trailing the tables. She talked on and on about the painting she’d been working on and how she’d discovered—quite by accident—a new way to manipulate the paint, giving the dry work a luminous glow.

  “She’s crazed,” Wynona leaned closer to Ian and whispered.

  He laughed. “It’s good to be passionate.”

  Wynona’s chin dropped. “It’s very good.” She followed his gaze to Charlee, sitting at the other table between King Edward and Mr. Gruber.

  When Ian realized her suggestion he shook his head. “Nah. Nothing there. She’s told me.”

  “We’ll see.” Wynona folded her hands in her lap.

  Wilma spun toward them, spiky hair shifting. “Charlee?” She pointed at Ian and closed one eye. “She’s got it bad for you, young man. She just doesn’t realize it yet.”

  Ian swallowed and searched for a subject change. “So, my sister wants me to do some stupid dance with her at her wedding reception.”

  Wynona clapped her hands together. “Oh, I love weddings.” Her head tilted back and all that long white hair flowed behind her. Gently, she swayed side to side as if the words alone had transported her to the event.

  Mr. Gruber spoke up from the other table. “Weddings. Humph. Thousands of dollars thrown away on people you don’t care about and party favors with little white ducks on them.”

  Wilma raised a hand in his direction. “Doves, Arnold. Not ducks. Those delicate little birds you see are doves.”

  “Doves, ducks, whatever. All a big fat waste of time and money. At least my Ashley never put me through that.”

  “Ashley?” Ian asked the sisters, but Wynona was still swaying—and now humming, lost in the wedding in her mind.

  Wilma leaned closer. “Arnold’s daughter. She’s an attorney. Has a lovely little baby girl, but no husband. Arnold doesn’t talk about the details.”

  “Oh. I’ve seen her picture in a few paintings in Gruber’s cabin.”

  Wilma cupped a hand around her mouth as if the other table might hear. “He has dozens in his loft, but won’t show them to anyone.”

  Wynona’s eyes popped open and leveled on Ian. And something, something very strange and frightening, was in that solid silvery-blue gaze. “What dance?”

  Ian swallowed, feeling as if he’d stepped into a powder keg holding a match. “Uh, the Sunbee, no. Som—” Shoot. He’d meant to write it down.

  Wynona’s eyes grew wide. “Samba?”

  “Yes. That’s it.”

  She flew up out of her seat so fast, her deck chair toppled over. And suddenly, the sixty-something woman was swaying at the table. Hand to her stomach, hips practically disjointed beneath the long sheath dress she wore. “I love the samba.”

  Somewhere below the table, her feet were moving as well and her shoulders dipped and curled until Ian himself could almost hear the music. He couldn’t move, of course, could only stare up at her.

  Wilma leaned closer to him. “Close your mouth, honey.”

  He did as instructed.

  When Wynona stopped dancing, applause from the other table—complete with a few catcalls—filled the night air. She offered an airy smile, bent at the waist, and gave an elaborate bow. She was accustomed to this type of attention, he realized.

  Charlee’s face was beaming. “Wynona! Why haven’t we ever seen those awesome dance moves before?”

  Wynona’s smile took on a sad, nostalgic look. Slowly, she righted her chair and sat down. “I haven’t danced since my Horace died.”

  And all the light humor and fun surged out of the moment, leaving the sadness of loss in its wake. Wynona’s head tilted back. “My Horace loved to dance. I told him if he’d get well, we’d dance for the rest of forever. If he didn’t, I would never again.” Wilma reached across the table to take her sister’s hand. �
�And oh, did he try. Horace was a mountain of a man. Divine, with thick black hair and giant eyes. But he was so light on his feet, like a feather gliding to the ground from the wing of a dove.” She glanced over at Mr. Gruber and winked. “Or a duck.”

  Ian didn’t know what to say, but felt the need to say something. “I’m so sorry, Wynona.”

  “Well,” she said, smiling over at him. “I won’t have my student making a mockery of the most beautiful and easily one of the most sensual dances there is.”

  Student. Sensual. Mockery. Ian wasn’t sure which word to focus on or lose his dinner over.

  “When’s the wedding?” Wynona said, tone sharpening, a bit insistent.

  “Uh, end of August.”

  Wynona tapped the table with a slender finger. “That gives us six weeks.”

  Ian tried to swallow, but his throat was closed off. “Us?”

  Wynona blinked. “Did you expect the dance fairies to sprinkle you with glitter and you’d be able to go to your sister’s wedding with Fred Astaire feet?”

  He hadn’t really thought that far in advance. He just figured he’d Google samba lessons and it’d be okay. He shrugged.

  Wynona stood, hands to hips. “Get up. On the dance floor.” When he hesitated, gaze shifting from her to the onlooking crowd, she yelled at him. “Do you want to make a fool of yourself? Your sister? Get up!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ian stood and rubbed sweaty palms down his thighs. He quirked a smile when the other table applauded his bravery.

  All he could think was, “Help.” He cast a glance to Charlee. But she’d turned her chair to have a fully unobstructed view to the dance floor and sat there waiting like a kid at a carnival sideshow.

  Wynona lifted Ian’s hand and placed hers with it. “Lead me to the floor,” she instructed.

  He stepped out feeling like a giant spotlight was on him.

  Wynona had him face her. “Now, a dance is an exchange between two people. It can be friendly.” When she said this, her hands went out to her sides and she bowed her head. “Or intimate.” And with that, she slid right into Ian, pressing her body to his and looking up at him with serious eyes.

  Oh Lord.

  Wynona took his hand and turned him toward the audience. “You must forget about them. It’s only you and your partner and the music.” She tapped a hand to her cheek. “Which we don’t have yet, but no worry. By tomorrow night’s lesson, we’ll be utterly prepared.”

  “Tomorrow night’s lesson?” he echoed. And really, he needed to put a stop to this. “Look, I have two left feet. I can’t even do the electric slide. And . . . and you said you don’t dance anymore. I don’t want to interfere with a promise—”

  Her hand flattened over his mouth. “Be quiet. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Horace would understand. In fact, he’d be furious at me for not helping you.” Wynona smiled and removed her hand from Ian’s mouth. “Horace has been gone for fifteen years. It’s time I put my dancing shoes back on.”

  Well, whaddaya say to that? Ian was leveled, a little freaked. But okay. Dance Lessons 101. Fabulous.

  “Now, the samba is about beat, passion, pulse, rhythm. The rhythm is a pulse. You have to feel it, sense it. Be part of it.”

  Charlee came out to them. “Here, Wynona. I Googled samba music. Push this button when you’re ready for it to play.”

  Wynona’s hands came together. “I just love technology! Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

  When Charlee spun to leave, Wynona caught her hand. “Where are you going, young lady?”

  Charlee froze.

  “Ian needs a partner.”

  “But I thought you . . . ?”

  Hands to Charlee’s shoulders, Wynona turned her toward Ian. “I’m the instructor. You’re the partner.”

  Charlee’s gaze drifted up to his. The last time they were this close, this face-to-face, was when they’d shared a world-rocking kiss. For a quick instant it all flooded into his mind. Her hands, fighting not to clench into fists, the sweet taste like sugar and heaven of her mouth, the tiny moans that escaped.

  Charlee released a ragged breath right into his face. Something was swatting his calf. Slap, slap against his leg. Then, he realized it was Wynona’s bony hand slapping the inside of his leg. “Stance! Widen your stance. Goodness, soldier, I hope you weren’t this slow to react on the battlefield.”

  Ian spread his legs.

  Charlee smiled up at him. “I think we’re in for all kinds of abuse.”

  He winked. “I’m not sorry, if you’re looking for an apology.”

  “What I’m looking for is a dance partner who can hold his own.”

  Wynona continued manipulating their bodies like marionettes without strings. Ian’s rogue hand slipped around Charlee’s lower back. “I’m a pretty quick learner if I’ve got the right motivation.”

  A harsh tone interrupted their banter. “Are either of you listening to me? Good heavens, it’s like herding cats.” Wynona clapped twice. “I need a switch.”

  Charlee’s and Ian’s eyes widened. Had they heard her right?

  “King Edward, go find me a nice limber switch, maybe from a birch tree.” Edward headed off toward the woods.

  Ian whispered, “We may be in over our heads.”

  Charlee giggled.

  After Edward stripped the leaves from the switch with a sadistic smile on his face, he handed it to Wynona. She bent it between her hands, testing the tension, then she sliced it through the air making whipping sounds. “Perfect.”

  She pointed the stick at Ian and Charlee, who both straightened a bit. “Now, the samba is from Brazil. Brazil is known for its movement, its passion. The dance was born out of desire. So as you work together, keep that in mind.”

  She hit the button on Charlee’s iPhone and music erupted. “Listen. Hear the drums? Samba is heavy on percussion. Feel each beat.”

  “Are we going to learn the steps first?” Ian asked. It was a dance. There were steps. He was a linear thinker; he needed things like step one, step two.

  “No. Samba steps will do you no good whatsoever if you don’t understand the passion driving the music and ultimately driving the dance.”

  When both Ian and Charlee remained stiff as boards, she stepped between them, creating some space. “Both of you close your eyes. Now, feel the music. Come on. You’re young people. Charlee, imagine yourself in a club surrounded by your girlfriends. Just let your body react to the music.”

  Ian opened his eyes to slits to find Charlee’s hips moving side to side and oh but he wanted to feel that. Wynona stood behind her, disappearing except for the occasional whip of long white hair and her hands planted firmly on Charlee’s hips to instruct. “That’s it,” Wynona purred.

  Oh yeah. He could watch Charlee do that all night. When Wynona moved to him, he squeezed his eyes tighter. “For you, Soldier Boy. I’ve trained a lot of men to dance and let me tell you, soldiers are the easiest.”

  “Really?” His eyes opened.

  “You’re used to using your bodies as a vehicle to accomplish a task. Think of belly crawling under barbed wire, light on your feet you are. You just have to use different muscle groups.” Now her hands were on his hips. “Where your partner is swaying side to side, you’re going to thrust your hips.”

  Okay, whoa. Ian stopped moving and looked at her.

  “Trust me. You are making a cradle for your partner. You see? She must have a foundation. You’re that foundation. Your movements are in sync with hers, but aren’t exactly the same.”

  That made sense. Whatever. He just liked the idea of being a cradle for Charlee. His sister? Not too much. The strong percussion made it easy to move along. Wynona’s hands on his hips helped, and when he moved incorrectly, she used the switch beneath her arm to swat his leg gently.

  He was surprised that afte
r a few minutes, sweat was on his brow.

  “Okay, that’s it for tonight.”

  When he opened his eyes, he got another surprise. Everyone was gone. Dinner plates were cleared and Wynona was already walking off in the direction of her cabin, leaving him and Charlee. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. “That’s a workout.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed and reluctantly moved a few steps away from her, reminding himself there was always tomorrow night. “I actually am sorry I got you into this.”

  “It’s okay. It’s kind of fun.”

  “Except the welts on my thighs.”

  Charlee crinkled her nose. “She’s a tough teacher.”

  They slid chairs under tables, the last bit of cleaning up that needed to be done. “Ian?”

  Hearing the change in her tone and feeling it in the atmosphere made him stop. “Yes?”

  “Were you with my dad when he died?” There was so much sadness in her words, he wanted to reach out and take her in his arms. But that wasn’t what Charlee needed right now so he pulled out a seat for her and then took one of his own while the gentlest of breezes worked to soften the words he was going to say.

  “I was.”

  Her fingers threaded together on the table. Above them a clear night sky twinkled with thousands of stars. “Can you talk about it?”

  He couldn’t. But for her, he would. “We were pinned down. Separated from the rest of the unit. It was the last of a three-day mission. There were a lot of stray bullets and . . .”

  “I know he was shot in the neck.”

  All of the memories rushed into his mind. The smell of blood and wet concrete, the sounds of bullets firing, then striking. Concrete flying, hitting him in the eyes. “I tried to stop the bleeding.”

  Charlee’s teeth clenched to block the words.

  “He . . . talked about you, Charlee.”

  This brought her head up. “What did he say?”

  “He gave me instructions about the journal. Every detail specific.” Ian rubbed a hand over his face. “He said he wouldn’t be able to be here to share it with you and that task was up to me now. His writings, his words. He . . . he wanted to bring you the journal himself. That was his plan, to share it with you. He was going to get out. Retire. Spend the rest of his days close to you.”