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

by Heather Burch

  Mr. Gruber placed an arm around her and they followed the rest toward the edge of the tent where a lighted path would lead them away. Gruber leaned closer. “Don’t be ashamed, honey. Whiskey, she’s a seductive one.”

  Charlee placed a hand to his cheek. “Thanks.”

  “Eh, you’d do the same for me.” His wild white brows rose on his forehead. “Aren’t you going to go get your man?” He motioned to the dance floor, where Ian was just separating his body from Brenna’s.

  Wynona leaned closer to her. “Yes, dear. If a woman insisted on fondling my man like that, I’d skin her like a hog.”

  Mr. Gruber’s approving smile shot to Wynona.

  She blinked innocently, folding her hands in front of her. “Well, I would,” she whispered.

  “He’s not . . .” But Charlee couldn’t finish the sentence, because it tasted like a lie. She shook her head. “He’s not . . .” When Brenna reached up to touch his cheek with her open hand, and Ian gave her a friendly smile, Charlee’s hands fisted. “Be right back.”

  She crossed the dance floor, back rocket straight, and stopped at their feet.

  Brenna spun around to look at her and the wide smile on her face brought Charlee to a screeching halt. And then, the woman grabbed her arms and kissed her cheek.

  What the—?

  Words were flowing from Brenna’s mouth but Charlee was still stuck in the let’s-be-best-friends moment a few seconds ago. She shook her head to clear it, caught Ian’s gaze—who chuckled and slipped his hands in his pockets.

  Words. Why wouldn’t Brenna shut up? Charlee caught snatches. “Clearing the air. Thanks so much. You two are great together. Really makes me want to hold out for the dream.” One line she heard clearly. “So, thanks again, you two. I gotta go. Some things I need to take care of.” And Brenna marched off in the direction of James.

  Charlee had a headache. “What just happened?”

  Ian dropped his hands on her upper arms and slid them down, trapping her against him. He chucked a nod in Brenna’s direction. “She deserves better than that creep.”

  Red. Fire red materialized before Charlee’s eyes and she for the first time understood what Tinkerbell felt all those times she lit up with jealousy. “She deserves better?” she repeated, slowly.

  She watched as the emotion she felt registered in his gaze. Smug, smiling. Stupid soldier. Why couldn’t Charlee hide her feelings?

  “I had a loooong talk with Brenna.” His eyes twinkled. “Thanks so much for stepping out of the way.”

  That was it; Charlee spun to get away from him but found her body unable to move. The strong hands of a soldier clamped down on her upper arms. She was trapped. And he was enjoying it. “Let me go,” she growled through gritted teeth.

  He frowned, smile fading. “Charlee.” Now the eyes that were mischief a moment ago were filled with concern. “I’m just kidding. I don’t have any feelings for Brenna. At all. I hurt her twice in her lifetime and you gave me the opportunity to apologize. That’s it.”

  Her chin jutted forward. “Are you completely dense? Or is it just where women are concerned?”

  He blinked, surprised.

  “She still loves you, Ian. A rabid dog could see that.”

  A long exhale came from his mouth and right into her face, and dang it, she didn’t want that because it reminded her of the moments, those intimate moments when their breath had become one. The kisses, lying beside him, tucked beneath his arm last night.

  “She doesn’t love me, Charlee. She loved the idea of holding out for the real thing. And maybe she thought it could be me, but you don’t pursue someone who’s already in love with someone else.”

  All of the fight left Charlee. Drained, right from her head to her toes, leaving her a melted mound of goo. “What?” she whispered.

  Ian’s head tilted back. He stared at the angular tent ceiling for a few long moments. “Look, we need to get home. Everyone’s waiting on us.”

  Had there been a short time warp from a few seconds ago? Because she was pretty sure she’d asked him a question and he didn’t answer. Charlee mimicked her father’s voice and words. “I asked you a direct question, soldier.”

  Ian blinked once, twice, then again as if recognition and surrender were warring in his mind. Then, all the doubt disintegrated as his eyes focused on hers. “You sure you want to know?”

  Now, she really needed to run. Because if she stayed everything between them was going to change. Shift. And though her mind wasn’t ready for that, her heart longed for it.

  “Charlee.” His voice brought the calm.

  She closed her eyes, needing to go. She could run. Right out the side of the tent and away.

  He repeated her name and the calm and certainty in it caused her to open her eyes.

  “Charlee, I love you.”

  The world slipped away. Her heart swelled as her mind shattered. It was such a dangerous thing, love. Such an emotion with sweetness and claws. Ian Carlisle loved her. She sipped the air because her lungs didn’t have enough oxygen. Where was the oxygen in this tent?

  After a few moments, he said, “Did you hear me?”

  Of course she did. Don’t say it again. Whatever you do, don’t—

  “I love you, Charlee.”

  Good Lord. What was he thinking? It was as if speaking the words somehow made it okay. She needed to answer. Say something that could either discourage him or lighten the mood. Yes, that was it. Something clever and detached. “All right.” Wait. That’s not what she meant to say.

  First his brows pulled down into a frown. Too close. She could read every emotion on his face. He let out a humorless laugh, then rubbed a hand through his hair. “All right,” he said, slowly as if he’d never heard the words. Then, to her utter dismay, Ian threw his head back and laughed.

  Charlee blinked.

  His arm came around her, drawing her to his side as if she needed someone to lead her out. She didn’t. Nope. Knew how to walk on her own. Bend one knee, raise foot, step. Bend other knee and so on. Somewhere behind her, the artists fell into step with them. She was vaguely aware of stopping to say good-bye to Ian’s parents and sister. She had mumbled words . . . parroted what Ian and the others said. He led her to the driveway, where they had already placed their suitcases in the Jeep. Ian stopped at the driver’s door, waited there a moment, then lifted her in his arms.

  “She going to be like this the whole way home?” Gruber grumbled.

  Ian shook his head. “Nah, she’ll snap out of it eventually. Shell-shocked, that’s all.” Charlee rose in the air and found herself deposited into the backseat.

  She should say something. “I can drive.”

  A pregnant pause followed by a hail of laughter around her. Anger set her jaw; this was ridiculous. The only thing that had happened was Ian told her . . . and it all rushed right back. The dance floor, the scent of Ian and Brenna’s flowery perfume and him saying . . . saying . . .

  Someone leaned in and kissed the top of her head. She followed the motion until all she saw was Ian. Eye to eye. His arms folded on the window frame. “Don’t worry, Princess. I’m not expecting things to change between us. I made you a promise, remember? And I keep my word.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing except air came out. Things won’t change between us? Won’t change? They’d already changed, and the terrifying thing was she was both scared and happy about that. Ian Carlisle loved her.

  Before she could speak, or scream or panic and run off into the woods, King Edward jerked the Jeep into reverse and gave Ian a flat stare. “You following us, Lover Boy?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be a couple hours behind you.”

  The lights of the ranch home and the sound of the party alongside faded as they wound down the drive. Charlee’s head felt detached from her body, floating somewhere above as
the Jeep bounced onto the main road. She looked over. Wynona sat beside her. Charlee’s mouth opened. “He loves me,” she whispered.

  Wynona took Charlee’s hand in hers and patted the air-cooled flesh while the wind filled the car and every cell of her body. “Of course, dear. We were all wondering when you two would figure that out.”

  CHAPTER 10

  She didn’t see Ian the following day after they got home. He was giving her space, time. He always did. Time to deal with the fact he loved her. And didn’t expect things to change between them. It was ridiculous. A little bit wonderful and when she thought about it her heart was happy, so she forced her thoughts to something else. Her father. The man in the journal. In the back of her mind she knew they were one and the same. The tender writer of the letters to her was also the strict disciplinarian raising five kids alone. Wow. Five kids alone. When she put it in that perspective, no wonder he’d been rigid.

  Charlee had taken the entire day to paint. She hauled a steaming coffee cup into the living room, where an easel held her newest obsession. Before there were four permanent resident artists living here and it was only she, back when it didn’t matter if the mailbox was eroding off the screws that held it in place, and it didn’t matter if weeds overtook the walk paths, Charlee could spend long hours lost in a painting. She’d done that yesterday. Because Ian loved her and that made it impossible to get any real work done.

  The tip of her index finger was green. She’d played in the paint until each leaf on the giant oak was exact. A stretch of glassy lake ribboned through the background and a gazebo dripping with firefly light anchored the foreground. She’d fallen asleep thinking about her new piece of artwork and now, with the morning sun cascading in through her windows, she loved it even more than she had last night.

  This was what the artists’ retreat was supposed to be about. Not clearing paths so no one fell. She’d all but forgotten the joy of a newly completed painting. She’d all but forgotten how painting made her feel at all. Until Ian. He’d reconnected her to her passion. And carried the load of busy work so she could indulge in the one thing that had always made her happy. And as a bonus, he loved her.

  It was still bright and early Saturday when he knocked on her door. She opened it to find him with a batch of homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies—her favorite, although she didn’t recall ever telling him that.

  He smiled, held the plate beneath her nose, and waited for her to sniff. She did, drawing in the scent of brown sugar, oatmeal, and dark chocolate. Her eyes closed and the smell took her back in time. She was twelve and determined to be the woman of the house after her mother died. Baking cookies and all.

  Ian stuttered to a stop when he saw the painting. “Wow, Charlee. That’s beautiful.”

  She tried not to swell with pride. “You like it?”

  He stepped closer, examined the tree, the intricate yellow lights that cast a glow on the ground around the gazebo. “It’s perfect.”

  Her attention went back to the cookies. “How’d you know?”

  Ian carried them to the kitchen. “That they’re your favorite? Your dad told me.”

  Charlee grinned and reached to take one. Ian pulled the plate away. “Not without cold milk.”

  He sat the cookies on the table and retrieved two tall glasses from the cupboard. Charlee reached for a piece of one that was broken. She popped it into her mouth and melted right there on the kitchen floor. “Mmmm.”

  “You little sneak.”

  She shrugged, took another bite. “They’re still warm.” Just the way she liked them. Warm and so soft they fell apart in her hands. She sat down at the table and pulled the plate closer. “Wait. My dad remembered that oatmeal chocolate chip cookies are my favorite?”

  Ian looked surprised. “Yes. Even told me how you discovered that.”

  Charlee thought back to when she was twelve, and the memory flooded her. “Oh my gosh. He liked oatmeal raisin and I hate raisins. So I—”

  “You swapped the raisins for chocolate chips. You thought he wouldn’t notice.”

  She laughed, leaned her arms on the table. “That’s right.” Charlee touched the plate, letting her finger trail the edge. “It all worked out. He liked these better anyway.”

  Ian laughed. “He hated them, Charlee.”

  Her head came up quickly. “What?” She searched her mind, remembered all the times after that her dad requested oatmeal chocolate chip.

  “He hated them.” Ian nodded to prove his point. “But he knew you loved them and you were trying to take your mom’s place, take care of everybody. So he ate them.”

  Charlee was leveled. Slowly, she slid the cookies and milk away from her. “Why?”

  Ian leaned closer, took her hand in his. “To make you happy.”

  There were still so many things she didn’t know about her father. It was like each new day, a new discovery met her. “Ian, will you read me another page in his journal?”

  He nodded. Smiled, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “You want to hear my favorite?”

  He’d come prepared. Of course he had. He’d been trained by the best.

  I look down at the miracle in my hands. Never have I felt a moment such as this. Ten tiny fingers. Ten wrinkled toes. I count and recount them. Perfection in a pink blanket and my heart is already gone. My heart is already lost to this tiny girl who makes me want to both laugh and cry in the same instant. Her nose crinkles, eyes close, a yawn escapes her bow-shaped mouth. She has no care and no concern because she’s been placed within my arms, the safest place in this world. I will protect her. I will love her. I will keep every harm from her so she can grow up knowing she’s not alone and there’s nothing to fear. Nothing will stop her. No one will stand in her way. Her hand falls against her cheek. She makes a tiny fist. I place my finger there, in her palm, and swear I will hold her hand forever.

  Silently, Ian folded the page and slid it across the table to Charlee. She opened it and stared down at the words. “It’s taken me long enough, but I can actually see my dad doing this, making this commitment to protect me. There was a time I wouldn’t have been able to, but now I can.”

  “Major Mack had one soft spot, Charlee. It was you.”

  “And that’s why he ate cookies he hated.” There were things her father had done because he loved her that she’d never known. Her gaze leveled on Ian. “I think I’d like to have the journal, now.” She no longer wanted a page at a time. She wanted to hold it in her hands, read for herself, flip pages at will. Read it cover to cover.

  Ian sat straighter in the chair. She knew that stance; she had brothers. He was readying for a fight. “No, Charlee.”

  That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She stood. “We can’t have many pages left. Ian, he sent the journal to me.”

  Ian stood too, slowly, and she knew he wasn’t trying to intimidate her, though his stance was hard. “I promised him I’d share the journal one page at a time.”

  She spun from him and paced into the living room. “But I’m really beginning to understand who my father was.”

  “You have the pages I’ve copied.”

  She folded her arms in front of her. “Why won’t you just give me the whole thing?”

  Ian dropped his gaze.

  “Or, don’t you have an answer for that?”

  “He had his reasons. Please, let that be enough.”

  “Sorry, but it’s not enough. There can only be a few more pages. I want the journal.”

  Ian worked the muscles in his jaw. “You can’t have it. Not yet.”

  Her instinct was to reach out and hit him. That’s what she would have done to her brothers. When they played keep-away with her in the middle, she’d learned a fist to the stomach . . . or lower, if she was mad enough . . . would gain her the ball. Rather than hit him, she shoved him. “Then you
need to tell me why. Is all this leading up to something? Some great revelation at the end?”

  Again, Ian looked away.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Or don’t you know?”

  “It was his dying request.”

  “Why?” she yelled.

  And Ian’s temper flared to meet hers. His words came out in a rush. “Because he said if you got too much at one time, you’d run. Okay, Charlee?” His hands flew through the air, angry at her, maybe at himself. “He said you’d run just like you always do.”

  The world spun, thrown off its axis. Everything disappeared to one tunnel before her, all else dark and far away. “I’d run.” She repeated the words in a whisper.

  “That’s all he said, all right? I don’t even know what he meant.”

  And then, without so much as a hint of a warning, the night at the wedding flooded her mind. Something triggered the memory. Something he’d said. All right. That was it, because when he told her he loved her, she’d said, all right. And really, in a normal world with normal people there was nothing all right about that. But this wasn’t a normal world. It was filled with artists and dancers and poets masquerading as military majors. It was filled with Ian and Charlee and the mess that was their nonrelationship. And for some inexplicable reason, that made Charlee chuckle.

  Ian stretched out a tentative hand. Not a hand in invitation but the kind one stretches out when a loved one is about to check out of reality and enroll herself in the nearest nut farm. He didn’t speak, just hung there, hand offering to steady her.

  She smiled. Shrugged. Smiled some more. “All right.”

  His head tilted as if testing the air, the words, her sanity. “All right?” And then, she watched it dawn on him and she knew he was replaying the night in the tent. She hadn’t lost her mind; she was surrendering to her father’s wishes.