Her eyes closed. “I could have gotten to know him while he was still alive. I would have liked that.”
“I’m sorry, Charlee.”
Her eyes opened and settled on Ian. “It’s okay. He sent you to me.”
Ian smiled, but there was no humor in it. “He knew I didn’t get along with my own dad. Maybe he thought this would help me too.”
“What happened between you and your father?”
Ian rubbed a hand over his chin. “He used anger to try to reach me when all I needed was validation.”
“Have you two worked things out?”
“No.” He pointed to himself. “Screwup, remember? He has a construction business and though I was expected to help out summers and eventually take over, I liked being in the kitchen with Mom more than being on the job site.”
“So you rebelled and went to culinary school.”
“After I rebelled and did the goth kid thing. Black hair, black eyeliner, and the real kicker, black nail polish.”
Charlee’s mouth dropped open. “No way. There’s no way I can picture you like that.”
“Believe it. He was so done with me at that point. I was a huge disappointment to him. Not just a disappointment, an embarrassment. You can imagine. He’d built a reputation as a strong, tough contractor.
“So, I packed my black hair color and black clothes and went off to culinary school.”
“And?”
“And I discovered you get more chicks without having black nails. It took a few months, but little by little the clothes and all became more normal.”
“And?”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “And that’s when I met the administrator’s daughter.”
“Wow. I heard the story from Mr. Gruber. She actually got arrested?”
“Yep. It would have been pretty hard to stay, so I quit. Seems to be a pattern for me.”
Charlee let her gaze drift to the horizon beyond them. “I don’t quit.”
Ian’s heart sank a little deeper.
“I run.”
“What?”
Charlee pulled a breath. “I run. When things get too hard. It’s my big character flaw.”
“More than your stubbornness?”
She narrowed her eyes, but the smile toying at her mouth betrayed her.
“More than your self-destructive independence?”
She pointed at him. “You know, you can be replaced.”
“Undoubtedly. Easily, in fact. That is, if you can find someone willing to work alongside a temperamental female.”
Her nostrils flared.
“My point exactly.”
Charlee let out a little laugh, but her eyes grew serious. “There’s no way I could replace you, Ian. You’re the link to my father.”
“Charlee, he knew what he was doing when he left word for you to spread his ashes.”
The color drained from her face. “You know about that?”
He nodded. “He said for you to not worry. You’ll know when . . .”
She finished for him. “And I’ll know where.”
Somehow, his hand had moved across the table. Ian realized his fingers had threaded through hers. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
He didn’t bother to release her hand and she didn’t bother to draw away. And there they were, two people who both loved a man who was a father first to one, then to both.
When they reached her front porch, Ian dropped a peck on her cheek and turned to leave. But Charlee’s voice stopped him.
“He must be proud of you now.”
Ian turned to face her, the light of her porch making a halo around her head.
“Your father. He must be proud now.”
Ian wished that were so. “He’s not. But it’s okay. I know Major McKinley is proud of me. To me, that matters the most.” With the wind at his back, he turned and walked away.
The following week, and after several dance lessons that had Ian’s libido working overtime, he hauled the wood he’d cut to Charlee’s favorite spot and went to work. He knew she loved it here, beneath one oak tree and sitting on the stump of another, but Ian wanted it to be grander for her, more comfortable. He hauled the wicker bench from the back of the truck—he’d purchased it in town—and set about building the pergola roof that would shelter it. Large floral cushions would complete the look, and the lights he’d purchased would give it a whimsical glow.
Just before dusk she found him. He’d planned to bring her there tomorrow morning to check out the work, but Charlee was nothing if not nosy and she must have sniffed him out.
“Oh my gosh!” She hopped out of the Jeep.
The sound of her excitement cut right to his heart. “You like it?” He’d been a little worried; she was so bossy and particular. He wasn’t sure if she’d like it or be mad at him for taking the liberty without permission.
Her hands flew out beside her. “It’s incredible!” The sun was setting beyond the mountainside and casting long strips of gold on Table Rock Lake. He’d angled the bench so she could watch the sun go down, the shadows lengthen and disappear, clothing the lake in darkness. She turned to face him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You haven’t seen the best part.” He motioned for her to come closer and took her by the hand. Ian led Charlee to the edge of the pergola and pointed to the post. “Flip the switch.”
When she did, the roof of the pergola lit up with what looked like a thousand fireflies. She squealed.
“Now, flip the second switch.” Her eyes met his in the golden light, glowing with a mix of anticipation and excitement, and the whole thing sent Ian’s heart right over the edge.
When Charlee flipped the other switch, the lower branches of the oak tree lit up with the same firefly lights. She gasped. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Her hand was on her heart and she might just as well have reached physically into Ian’s chest and squeezed his until it stopped beating. Mission accomplished.
“Will you sit with me for a while?”
He was covered in sawdust and dirt, sweat and a few drops of blood. He didn’t want to ruin her first sunset with his stench. “Yes. As long as you want.”
They sat on the bench and watched the stars brighten above. “Ian, this was really sweet of you.”
He smiled in answer.
“I hope one day the woman you end up with knows to appreciate you.”
He swallowed. “I’m a pretty easy guy to please.”
“You deserve someone really special.”
He couldn’t agree more.
Charlee’s eyes narrowed in concentration and he could almost see the wheels in her mind spinning. “What’s the most important thing to you? You know, in a woman?”
That her name be Charlee McKinley. He cleared his throat. “The most important?”
She angled to face him, her eyes having gone curious, almost catlike in that manner they had. “Your deal breaker.”
He thought about it. “I gotta have someone who’s got my six.” When he opened his mouth to explain it, meaning, someone who has his back, he stopped because he could see she understood.
Charlee nodded. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
Ian smiled. “Someone I can count on. Everything else is negotiable.”
She laughed. “Everything?”
“Eh.” He shrugged. “I’d prefer if she didn’t have a mustache.”
Charlee scooted closer to him and took his hand in hers. “Thanks for doing this. It’s really a special place to me and you made it even better.”
He tilted her hand to his lips. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Will you read to me?”
He left her only long enough to go retrieve the journal from the truck.
Dear
Charlee,
It’s quiet this morning at the base. The sun is rising over the edge of the building across the street from where I sit.
Yesterday was hard.
I received bad news about one of my young soldiers. His name is Kip Reyser, a wealthy kid from Lansing, Michigan. He’d recently found out he was going home.
He’d never bragged about being a rich kid. He kept his head down, worked hard like all my soldiers do. But when he knew he was going home, we started hearing the stories about summers in the Hamptons, his dad’s private jet, flying to Europe on a whim. That happens when a soldier knows he’s going home. Life and excitement bubble out of him. He was no exception. Even those who try to hold their composure fail. There’s a fresh light in their eyes. It’s beautiful, Charlee. I wish you could see it.
Yesterday I got word Kip’s parents were killed in a plane crash. I had to give him the news and watch him die inside while all his plans for returning home to a loving family disappeared. He kept swallowing, nodding his head, saying, “Yes sir.”
Finally, I told him, “It’s okay to break, soldier.”
And he did. Right before my eyes, Charlee. I held him while he cried. And I’m not ashamed to say I cried right along with him.
And when I leaned back to look at him, I saw you reflected in his eyes. I saw that same bewildered look, that orphaned look you had when your mother died. I also saw your brothers there, swimming in that young soldier’s tears. And every single reaction you each had when I told you Momma wasn’t coming home. Jeremiah, trying to be strong for the rest of you, Gabriel, looking inward and finding solace in his music. Caleb, so small then, only eleven, stiffening his mouth, trying to be brave like his big brothers. Isaiah, the quiet thinker, roaming around the house putting things into place. And you, Charlee. You took my hand and held it in yours. So frightened, but so determined to be strong.
Charlee, something happened when I told that young soldier about his family. I realized time can be short. I’ve spent a lifetime as a soldier and now I think maybe it’s time to spend the rest as your dad. I’m getting out, Charlee. And I think you and I need to devote some real time to getting acquainted all over again. I know I tried to do that a while ago, but I guess I wasn’t ready. I’m not good with talking. You’ll have to teach me.
I want to see what you’ve done with the place since I was there last. Is my toolshed still standing? Do the shutters need paint? To be completely honest, I need to know if that frightened little girl I remembered yesterday . . . I just need to know she’s okay.
A stream of tears ran down Charlee’s face. “He really was going to do this. Come here himself to share the journal with me.”
Ian nodded.
The soft sound of her crying became louder as her mind undoubtedly wound around the injustice.
Ian opened his arms and she moved silently into that place of safety. He held her while she cried with the firefly lights twinkling above and the soft sound of the lake nearby.
He hoped sharing this with her here, now, hadn’t damaged how she felt about her spot. Ian knew something about this place Charlee didn’t. This was where, someday, she’d spread her father’s ashes.
CHAPTER 7
The next five weeks passed in a blur with Charlee throwing herself into work. It was how she processed things, and Ian had been great to give her the time and space she needed, all the while ready with a journal entry at any given moment. The retreat was looking good for all their hard work, and Charlee and Ian spent days slaving away in the hot sun and evenings talking. That is, when they weren’t in dance lessons after dinner.
But this morning had been rough. She’d had a dream, a bad one, spurred by the journal entry Ian read to her the night before. These days he mostly read straight out of the journal, but had made copies of each page so she could keep each message once he read it.
Her mind turned to the dream. Her father was in a giant glass bubble filling with sand and she was on the outside, screaming at him to get out. He couldn’t hear her. Over and over throughout the night she’d dreamed the same thing. Charlee reached to the nightstand, where the newest journal entry lay on the top of the stack. Once they reached the end, he’d give her the journal. And she’d already decided to give him the copied pages. Her father was a man Ian loved. She’d like him to have a copy of his words.
Charlee had run the gamut of emotions in the last few weeks. One entry would make her sad while the next happy. She wished she could have seen her father like this, like the man of the journal, because as she remembered him, it was almost as if he and her father were two completely different people. Charlee reached for the letter and placed it before her eyes; as the bleary words cleared, the smallest voice told her not to reread it, but she couldn’t stop.
Dear Charlee,
The chaplain came by yesterday and shared a story with me. A parable, he called it, about how a good shepherd will leave the flock to go after one lamb that’s gone astray.
I can’t stop thinking about the story. Many times I’ve left the safe place to go after one of my men. Worked my way under the radar, found myself in hostile territory. I’ve saved lives, sure. That’s my job and why the army sees fit—even at my age—to keep me right here on the field. It’s my commitment to my troops. They’ve put their trust in me and their very lives in my hands. I don’t think I’ve failed them, Charlee.
And yet . . .
And yet I have to wonder . . . What if you’re the lamb that’s wandered away from the flock? Out there, alone and exposed, calling for help with only the wolves close enough to hear your plea.
And what if I’m the shepherd who is supposed to find you? I’m not even there, Charlee. And that makes me think about life. What if I was given one task? One treasure was entrusted to me? And what if—in spite of the lives I’ve saved and the good I’ve done—what if I failed the only mission that really mattered? You, Charlee. I don’t want to have failed you but I fear I have. Even though I plan to return to you soon. What if . . . what if it’s already too late?
Charlee folded the paper and crawled out of bed, refusing to focus on the letter and instead on all the things she needed to accomplish.
An hour later, she was splitting wood beside her cabin when Ian rounded the corner, his hands full of vegetables from her garden. “These looked ready, so I thought I’d save you the trip.”
She sank the ax into the wood and brushed at her brow. “Thanks.” Charlee turned and headed into her house, where country music drifted from the stereo. A classic George Strait ballad.
“You okay?”
Just inside the door, she spun. “No. I’m not.” She turned back around and continued on.
Ian followed her. “What’s wrong, Charlee? Did something happen?”
She huffed and dropped the greens on the kitchen counter. “It’s not fair that I didn’t get to know him when he was alive. I’m twenty-five. I’ve been an adult for a long time. He was here, Ian. Eighteen months ago. Six months before he died. He’d told me we were going to spend some real time together. But all he did was work. That was his chance.” She brushed away angry tears.
“I know you miss him.”
“No. That’s just it. I don’t miss him. We were on different planets and I was sad when he died, but sad for all the things we never had. And that was okay because people can’t give you what they don’t have.”
Ian crossed the room to stand closer, but gave her plenty of space. Charlee needed that—space. Especially when things got to her.
“But there was an artist, a poet inside him. We could have shared that. Talked about the books he loved, how he saw the world through not only the eyes of a major but through the eyes of a poet. And he was right here.”
Ian knew the major had visited Charlee months before his death, but he’d not talked much about the trip, just the list of things he’d accomplished to help
lift some of the weight. “In the journal entry we read at your favorite spot, he said he’d seen you but he guessed he hadn’t been ready to talk.”
“For two weeks he was here and all he did was work on the place. Fixed the holes in the cabin walls, cut back the trees overhanging the walk paths, built a new storage shed. Right here, Ian. I could have known him in that two weeks’ time and do you know what that would have meant to me?”
Ian stepped closer, gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “I know.”
“He spent more time clearing brush than talking to me.” A tear threatened, but she wouldn’t give in to it. She was done crying over the could-have-beens.
“He thought he was doing the right thing for you, Charlee. Right or wrong, he was trying to help.”
She let a long breath slip from her mouth. But a nauseating sensation followed it up from the very depths of her being. “I just wish I could miss him, instead of missing everything we didn’t have. I miss the man in the journal, but it just doesn’t seem like it’s really my dad.”
Ian pulled her into his arms. She didn’t resist. She went willingly. At this point, they’d spent many hours in each other’s arms with pounding samba music in the background and an audience of aged artists. But this was different. Intimate but firm. Strong but tender. They were alone. Charlee and Ian. And in each other’s arms. She tilted back to look at him.
Ian dropped his forehead to hers. “How can I make you better?”
She was surprised at the ideas that shot through her mind. “Dance with me?”
A slow smile spread on his face. The music in the background, a mournful love song, took center stage as Ian’s right hand slid to the small of Charlee’s back. His left hand drifted down her arm and interlocked their fingers. Rather than draw their arms out in true dance fashion, he let his arm bend, folding her into him, their clasped fingers resting near their hearts. With confidence born of many nights of dance lessons—though the music couldn’t have been more different—Ian spun Charlee around her kitchen floor until all the tension and sorrow melted from her.
Along the Broken Road (The Roads to River Rock Book 1) Page 13