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

by Heather Burch

  Wynona’s mouth was a straight line. “Maybe not so much dishonesty as living the fantasy he wished could be.”

  “And knowing it never would unless he created it.” Her heart broke. For all the injustice of it. Even for Ashley, a woman whose father was alive and desperate for a relationship—and she’d have none of it. And herself, a woman whose father was dead and the best part of their relationship was unfolding through a journal of her dad’s letters to her. It was no wonder Charlee and Mr. Gruber had found each other; they offered to one another that thing they both desperately sought. Her chin tilted defiantly. “We’re his family now.”

  Wynona patted her hand.

  “We won’t let him down.”

  “No, we won’t,” Wynona echoed. “We’re truly all he’s got.”

  Ian sat at the ice cream shop table, staring down Jeremiah McKinley. He was tall, like his father, commanding and powerful, something he thought the McKinleys must come by naturally. Their strong defiance was more than just bred. It was made.

  Jeremiah’s attention was on his drink. Or shake. Or sundae. Whatever that thing was with the mound of ice cream balanced on the edge of the cup and the disgusting-looking sludge, brown bubbles surrounding it. He took a drink and sighed. “I couldn’t find a decent one of these in North Carolina. You certainly can’t get them in the sandbox. It’s been forever since I had a good one.”

  Ian knew what he meant. You also had a hard time finding a decent hamburger or French fries. “Sorry, dude. That looks terrible.”

  “You have no idea what you’re missing.”

  “I’ll stick with a hot fudge sundae.” Ian took a bite and over his shoulder could see Rod making the drinks they’d take back to the hospital with them.

  When the chocolate drink was half gone, Jeremiah got to the real reason he’d asked Ian along. Ian had been waiting for it. “So, my sister.”

  Ian nodded.

  “You care about her?”

  “Very much.”

  “Can you get her off that ridiculous hunk of land?”

  Ian blinked. Figured Miah was going to insinuate himself into their lives by way of bullying. He hadn’t expected a conspiracy. “The artists’ retreat?”

  Jeremiah’s eyes widened. “You mean the freak show?”

  Ian stiffened. “They’re good people. Harmless.”

  Jeremiah let out a humorless laugh. “These are. But how long until some freak comes along who means her harm?”

  Ian never thought of that. She opened those doors for anyone and everyone. He hadn’t considered it because he always imagined himself right there. But summer was ending and his time as Charlee’s handyman was coming to a close. And she hadn’t made any more of a commitment to him than she had when they first met. Cold sliced his spine at the thought of her out there . . . all alone . . .

  And Miah waited. Letting all those horrible scenarios run through Ian’s head.

  Ian shook them off. No. That was just fear and fear was as powerful as you let it be. He wouldn’t give it that kind of hold over him. He leaned forward and narrowed his gaze on Jeremiah. “Your sister has been there for years now. She’s a grown woman and no one, man or brother, is going to tell her what to do.”

  Jeremiah tapped his hand on the table.

  “I know you worry about her. She worried about you too when you were deployed but that wouldn’t have given her the right to tell you not to go.”

  Jeremiah worked the muscles in his jaw.

  Ian thought a moment. “Besides, aren’t you planning on doing something with the adjacent property? That’d put you right there, right? To watch out for her.”

  “I was thinking about it, then a man contacted me about buying the whole two hundred acres.”

  Ian’s eyes narrowed to slits. “So this isn’t about her safety?”

  A flat hand landed on the table. “It’s always been about her safety. Man. Why can’t she just have a normal life and a normal job?”

  Ian shrugged. “Like you?”

  The irony was not lost on Jeremiah. “Curse of McKinley blood, I guess.”

  “Would you be saying the same things if she’d joined the army?”

  He watched Jeremiah ponder this thought, chew it around and see how it tasted. “No. She’d be trained.”

  Ian leaned his weight on his forearms. “She is trained, Jeremiah. Believe me, she can hold her own. You did good. You and your brothers and your dad. In fact, I’ve never met a woman who was more aggressive.”

  This last comment turned Jeremiah’s eyes to fury. His teeth gritted. “What?”

  Ian held his hands up. “No, that’s not what I meant. Aggressive, in life, in an argument.” He shook his head. “Not the other. I don’t know about that. Not . . .”

  Jeremiah’s wide eyes stayed so tightly fitted to him, Ian almost couldn’t breathe.

  “We aren’t. I mean we are, but we haven’t . . .” He threw out a breath. “Your sister’s honor is safe.”

  Reluctant at first, Jeremiah finally let the tension drain off him, which Ian easily saw and appreciated.

  Ian tapped his licked-clean sundae spoon on the table. “I love her.”

  Jeremiah remained quiet.

  “I love her and she’s not looking for that. Some guy named Richard did a real number on her and she isn’t ready. But that didn’t keep me from falling.” There were grooves in the table, it was weatherworn and sun beaten, a little like Ian’s heart. Jeremiah had mannerisms that mimicked Major McKinley, making him both easy to confide in and difficult to be around. Ian missed the major. And here, at the Dairy Flip, a part of Major McKinley was alive and right in front of Ian. Yes, Jeremiah was a lot like his father. The quirk of his cheek, the tilt of his head, that deep, intense stare.

  Jeremiah rested an elbow on the table. “Would you at least talk to her about selling? Please. She’d have enough money to do whatever she wanted. If the offer comes through, it’s a doozy.”

  “It won’t do any good. But I’ll talk to her. You know how stubborn she is. Even put up a fence to separate your property from hers.” As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t. Real hurt entered Jeremiah’s eyes, but he flicked it away like a champ . . . or like a guy who’d spent too many years fighting his sister’s battles when she’d rather war with her own two hands. “It isn’t personal, Jeremiah.”

  He huffed. “Not personal? It’s completely personal and I totally get it.” His gaze landed far off. “She was all we had, you know? After Mom died. She was it. The great equalizer for all us boys.”

  “You just wanted to protect her.”

  “Still do. Come on, let’s get their drinks back to them. I’d hate for that Edward guy’s skirt to fly up in a rage.”

  Ian chuckled. “You have no idea.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Charlee was going to take first watch. Mr. Gruber had survived surgery and would be in recovery for the next six hours then moved to ICU. She’d sent the group home to get some rest. Ian had wanted to stay with her, but they’d all already been there for more than five hours and since Ian and Jeremiah were getting chummy, she sent Ian to help Miah settle in. Keep them both out of her hair.

  “Charlee? Charlee McKinley?” The voice was deep, vaguely familiar, or maybe the ease of words was what was familiar about it. Through bleary eyes she saw the white-coated man in dark loafers walking toward her. His steps quickened as he came closer. “It’s me. Wesley Giles.”

  The past flooded her, high school, Mr. Harner’s science class. “Wes?”

  He stopped at her feet, boyish smile and eyes filled with joy at seeing her. His hair was darker than she remembered, but the eyes remained the same. “Wes, I haven’t seen you for . . .”

  He chuckled. “Eight years, probably.”

  When he opened his arms, she hugged him. He’d been her height during high sc
hool even though he was a senior when she was a sophomore. Now he was a good six feet. She stepped back. “What happened to you?”

  “Grew.” He laughed. “It’s great to see you. Are you here with someone?”

  He hung his hands on the stethoscope around his neck.

  “Yes, Arnold Gruber.”

  He nodded, brows tilting into a frown. “Yes, the acute MI. He’s recovering well. Looks like he’ll pull through.”

  Relief flooded Charlee. Every time they said, “he’ll pull through,” it was as if tension was being peeled from her back. “Are you a—?”

  “Oh.” He rolled his eyes as if he’d been rude not to explain. “I fast-tracked through med school. I just transferred here after my residency. It’s great to be home.”

  “You’re a doctor?”

  “Mm hmm. That’s what they tell me,” he said, as if it wasn’t any big deal. “ER, but a small town ER doctor covers a multitude of duties. Yesterday I had to fix a leaky faucet.” And then he laughed again while Charlee tried to rapid-age her short, squirmy lab partner and turn him into a physician. She couldn’t quite get there. Until a nurse stepped through the glass door and toward them.

  “Dr. Giles, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mrs. Avers is being discharged and you said you wanted to speak with her before—”

  “Oh, yes.” He turned to Charlee. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m a preschool teacher.”

  This made the nurse smile as if they were sharing a joke Charlee could only guess about.

  “Shellfish. If you’re allergic to shellfish, you don’t eat shrimp. Even if the shell has been removed.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Now I have to go explain that little bit of science to someone who’s been in here twice in the last two months.”

  She said good-bye to her old friend, remembering the smile he’d had for her every morning in the accelerated science class they’d dropped her into when the other classes were full. She’d passed, thanks in no small part to Wes. He paused at the door. “I’ll personally keep you posted on Mr. Gruber’s progress.” There it was, that sharp fervency of a physician; his look had gone from friendly to deadly serious in a flash. He softened the somber words with a light smile.

  “Thank you, Wesley.” He was good at this, Charlee realized as he disappeared though the glass door. And he loved it. Like she used to love the artists’ retreat before the work became too much. Like she was starting to love it again with Ian there to lift the pressure from her shoulders and do anything and everything she needed. But Ian was leaving soon and she already dreaded both the work and the loneliness that would accompany her after his departure.

  She had no choice but to let him go. She’d thought this through. Saying good-bye was for Ian’s sake as much as her own. Because in her heart she knew she had nothing more to give him, and maybe she never would. And Ian deserved better than that. He deserved the best. She just wasn’t it.

  She’d kept expecting to wake up one day and all the hurt would be gone and she could move forward, really move forward with her life. Maybe even with Ian. But “one day” hadn’t come. Every morning, she still felt the sting of Richard’s betrayal. And what right did she have to ask Ian to stay on a hope and a prayer that one day she’d be able to forget what Richard had done to her? His had been the worst kind of betrayal, because he’d never cared about her. Just what he could get from her.

  And in a way wouldn’t she be doing the same thing to Ian? Charlee’s head ached. She tried to get comfortable in the hard-backed chair; soon, her burning eyes drifted shut. The room was cool and quiet, the sun warming a spot on her side. If she just kept her eyes closed for a few short seconds—

  She woke with a start and could see a whitish blob hovering over her. “Miss McKinley?” The female voice soothed.

  Charlee tried to move but a mass of white cotton material obstructed her hands.

  “Miss McKinley, Dr. Giles asked me to wake you. You can go in and visit Mr. Gruber in a few minutes.”

  This announcement snapped Charlee awake. “How is he?”

  “He’s doing well. Made it through the night.” The nurse glanced down at her watch. “Five a.m. Dr. Giles will meet with you soon to give you an update. Someone named Wynona has called to check in every hour. I told her he was stable and doing well. She said she’d be here in another hour or so.”

  Charlee shook off the sleep and the chlorine-scented blanket.

  “I can take that.” The nurse slipped the cover from her. She grinned. “Dr. Giles has a fantastic bedside manner, but I have to say, he’s taken awfully good care of you even though you’re not one of his patients.”

  Charlee ran her hand over her bed-rough hair. Her teeth felt furry. “We know each other from high school.”

  The nurse smiled down at her. “He knows almost everyone here. Trust me. You’re getting top-shelf care.”

  “It’s very sweet of him.”

  The nurse nodded. “It is. He’s good to all of us.” She rolled her eyes. “You should have seen the doctor he replaced. We nicknamed him the Troll. Horrible. No one liked coming to work. It’s better now.”

  Yes, Charlee could see that this nurse was not only happy now but thrilled, overjoyed to be working with Wesley. Skinny little Wesley from science class. “And Mr. Gruber is doing okay?”

  The nurse nodded over her shoulder. “Come see for yourself.”

  It’s not that Charlee was particularly scared of hospital rooms, but they made her uncomfortable. All that artificial life being administered. The smell of medicine and death. As she stepped through the door, she thought of her mom. Seeing her so thin and frail on the white bed with cancer devouring her body. She always mustered a smile for Charlee. Was always upbeat and full of love. The nurse gave Charlee time to enter slowly. Much appreciated because the room spun for a quick instant as memories from all those years ago flooded her.

  Her skin heated. Air from the ceiling vent hit her and the flesh that was hot, chilled. Charlee drew what strength she had and stepped inside. A drape covered the bed, extending from floor to ceiling. But the sounds and scents were all the same as if she’d been deposited into the past and the nurse would pull the curtain and there her mother would be. Beeps echoed off the still walls, the lights had been turned down, giving the room an odd green glow, the buzzing and humming of mechanical equipment gave the room its own rhythm. A rhythm she didn’t like. A rhythm whose beat meant death, not life.

  The nurse took hold of the curtain both low and high and slowly, as if unveiling a priceless work of art, began to drag the drape along its rail. Charlee swallowed as bit by bit, Mr. Gruber—not her mother—came into view.

  A small balding head lay against a blue pillow that looked too full to be comfortable. In his nostrils tiny tubes offered oxygen, his arms were flat at his sides, both with tubes running under white bandages and into his veins; there was bruising along his arms. Charlee stepped closer and gave a questioning glance to the nurse. “Bruises?” she whispered.

  The nurse stepped beside her and pointed to one. “He came in with a few, must have tried to catch himself as he fell to the ground.”

  Charlee pressed her lips together, staving off tears.

  The nurse gave her a sympathetic smile. “These.” She took Mr. Gruber’s hand in her own and ran a finger a few inches above his flesh, pointing out certain spots. “These are from missed veins while trying to put in the IV.”

  A flash of fury ran down Charlee’s spine. “Was it someone who didn’t know what they were doing?” She hadn’t meant to sound so aggravated, but really?

  “No, no,” the nurse assured. “Elderly people sometimes have veins that become roll-y, meaning they will roll beneath the needle. They can actually harden with age. We see that a lot.”

  Charlee gripped the silver bar at the bed’s edge.

  “Here,” the nurse pointed to a deeply bruised spot o
n his inner arm, “we hit the vein; it was good for a while then the vein blew out.” Her soft brown eyes met Charlee’s questioning ones. “It happens sometimes, I’m afraid. They can pop from the pressure or even the toxicity of what’s being injected. Once we found a good vein, we wanted to keep it open as long as possible, but you always run this risk.”

  Charlee nodded, appreciated the nurse’s time and gentleness and frank explanations. Before leaving she asked if Charlee needed anything. “No, thank you. It’s good to see him.”

  Mr. Gruber hadn’t moved, but it didn’t matter. He was alive, through surgery, and the prognosis looked good. Things were going to be okay. She quietly settled into a chair. She’d stay with him as long as they’d let her. As soon as she got comfortable, her eyes were heavy.

  Movement woke her. Charlee stiffened, felt a killer catch in her neck, groaned and tried to move to work it out while her blurry eyes fought for focus.

  A medication-influenced voice made her blink and work to find the source. “Doesn’t look like that chair’s too comfortable.”

  There, against the white bed, she found Mr. Gruber. She stood and came to his bedside. Relief flooded her. “I’ll manage.” Seeing him with his eyes open and focusing on her made her feel a little lighter and the world around a little brighter.

  He raised his fingertips and then dropped them in a shrug. “Guess I caused quite a stir.”

  Charlee was grinning like a fool. For so many hours she’d thought she’d never again hear his gravelly voice, see those bushy brows shoot up on his face. “I guess you did. If you wanted attention all you had to do was—”

  “Trade in my trousers for a kilt?” He chuckled, but must have instantly regretted it. His hand came up to his stomach and a wince twisted his face.

  Charlee wished she’d gotten some instructions for when he woke. Should he move, not move? She started to turn toward the door but a cold, bony hand clasped hers.