He would never forget the sound of his father’s Mustang roaring away from the house or the image of his mother, crumpled in tears in the kitchen, pain etched into her face. She’d been so fragile after his father left, always exhausted from working late at the hospital while Joe cared for Gabe.
Gabe. The little brother he had always wanted. The paradox of both loving and hating his little brother had tied Joe in emotional knots. He didn’t know where to pledge his allegiance. After his father left, he had felt tied to Gabe, forced to drag his abnormal little brother everywhere and defend him against the bullies of the world. When Joe was eighteen, he had broken the bonds and left. Just like his father. But, he always reasoned, he’d been better than the old man who’d given up on them. At least he’d provided, looked back, stopped in to check on Gabe now and then.
Why was his father back in Gabe’s life? He had no business interfering after all these years. He didn’t deserve the chance.
Joe groaned. What if Wayne Michaels had stepped back into Gabe’s life to get at Joe? to twist the family purse strings and see if he could wring out something for himself? The thought made Joe nauseous. All his years of dusting the trail behind him could be obliterated by one well-placed phone call.
No, Wayne Michaels had been writing to Gabe for four years. If he wanted to cause Joe trouble, he would have done so already.
Still, the urge to escape flooded over him and nearly put action to his feet. He had to move on. It was the only option he could see from his perch on the rocks, as he stared into the rapidly darkening sky. A few faint stars twinkled.
Regret formed a jagged lump in his throat. Leaving meant he would have to abandon Mona. And he didn’t even want to think about what it would do to his future. His last chance for redemption slipping through his hands like jelly.
Both realities made his chest tighten.
“Joe?” Like an apparition, Mona appeared. Joe blinked at her, gaping. She smiled and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
Joe couldn’t speak, his tongue locked somewhere in his foundering heart. He shook his head.
She frowned, her green eyes flecking with concern
.“Wanna talk about it?”
The tenderness in her voice threatened to make him cry. He shook his head again.
She considered him a moment, then settled next to him anyway. She began to flick through the rocks. “I saved you some pizza.”
He swallowed, cleared his throat, forcing pleasantness through his agony. “What kind?”
“Canadian bacon, green peppers, and mushrooms.”
“Thanks. That’s my favorite.”
Mona gave him a strange look. “Brian hates it. He and Liza got pepperoni.” She continued her rock hunt for a moment, then stared at the sky. The wind pushed through the trees, sounding like a muted waterfall.
Joe didn’t fill the gap with conversation; instead he searched for the words to tell her he had to leave.
“I told them I wanted to take a walk,” she finally continued. “Stars calling, you know.” She glanced at him, and Joe caught the sparkle in her eyes. He broke her gaze and looked woodenly across the lake. The sun had left a crimson fire simmering along the horizon, painting Lake Superior flame red.
He closed his eyes, fighting the pain stabbing at him.Why, God? Why is life so difficult? Now, just when he wanted to stay, when he’d let Mona and her dream into his heart, when he’d found the hope for his despair, self-preservation drove him away. But hadn’t it always been that way? Joe Michaels, founder of the “save thyself” society? Expert at evasion, patent holder of “pack and run”? Why couldn’t he, just once, summon the inner chutzpah to plant his feet in one place?
His one-word answer? Gabe. It all came back to his brother. Even now, Gabe was the reason the past had risen like a phantom, haunting. Joe felt tears forming and pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes to drive them back.
“The Footstep is shaping up,” Mona said, oblivious to the emotional warfare being waged beside her. “I planted flowers today. Tomorrow I’m going to paint the windowsills. And Ernie down at the bowling alley said I could have his old bar. He’s putting in a new one. I thought it would be a great place to serve coffee.” As Mona’s words rolled out, Joe found her presence oddly calming. He began to relax into her plans. The rushing urgency of retreat slowed.
“I’m renting a floor polisher on Monday. I’ll buff the floor and then add a coat or two of varnish. My wallpaper order came in today also. I’ll slap it up next week.”
Her ideas bubbled over, and it was easy to crawl inside them. Her gentle voice, the way the wind played with her hair, and her subtle fragrance of lilac balmed his heart in a way that seemed natural and safe. She sat slightly in front of him, and he let his eyes skim over her fine profile. Smiling intermittently as her dreams tickled her, she occasionally peeked back at him. He met her eyes once, held them with his own, and felt her strength and kindness surround him like a blanket. His heart ached anew at her easy friendship. She was a lady who made him want to stay. Perhaps her dreams were large enough for both of them to hide inside.
Mona paused in her monologue to hurl a stone into the water. It skipped twice, then plunged into the calm waters.
Silently pushing through the rocks with his index finger, Joe unearthed a flat one and topped her throw by two skips.
She whirled and frowned at him, her eyes glinting.“You’re messing with a master rock skipper.”
A grin crept up his face. He found another rock, bounced to his feet, and let it fly. He heard the rocks tumble as Mona scrambled to her feet. He counted, his voice rising with each number. “. . . seven, eight, nine . . . ten!”
She shot him a playful glare. Then she crouched, hunting for a flat stone.
“Forget it, Mona. I’m the champ.”
“Never. I have skipped more stones into this lake than you’ve even stumbled on.”
“Ha!” Joe squatted beside her. The rocks gleamed opal, ruby, slate, and amber. He found a perfectly round, smooth, platinum-colored stone, made by God for skipping. Tossing it in his grip like a ball, he waited for her throw.
Mona sprang to her feet, gave him a predatory look, bent low, and flung the rock. Her count split the cries of the seagulls. “. . . fourteen . . . fifteen!” She raised her arms in triumph. “Beat that!”
Joe smiled, enjoying the delicious competitive expression on Mona’s face. “Watch this,” he teased. He flung the rock with such force, his wrist cracked. Cupping his hands over his eyes, he watched it splice the waves. “. . .ten, eleven, twelve . . .” It was still moving strong, but a whaler chugging in the distance had sent a series of waves to shore. Joe spotted a monster crest forming, preparing to gobble up his rock. “No, no!”
Mona picked up the count. “. . . thirteen . . . fourteen!It’s a goner, and Mona Reynolds nabs the championship!” She twirled in victory.
Joe crossed his arms and fought the rising desire to take her into his embrace and dance to her melody. Joy lit her face and her eyes shone, igniting a warm glow inside him. He threw up his hands. “Okay, I concede defeat. But only on one condition.”
Mona stopped and clamped her hands on her hips.“No conditions. I won fair and square.”
“My skipper would have gone an easy twenty had it not been for interference.”
“Them’s the breaks. Timing is part of rock-skipping skill. You have to know when to hold back and when to throw.”
“You have to give me a chance to even the score.”
“How?” Mona jutted her jaw, her eyes blazing.
“I’ll race you across the Devil’s Kettle.”
Mona gasped. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Nope. I know a spot above the Kettle where you can cross, if you’re steady and have balance.”
“ Balance is my middle name,” Mona quipped, spiking a golden eyebrow.
“Right, just like steady is mine.”
The words hung i
n the air and seemed to hit her, just as they hit him. She was hopelessly out of balance, obsessed with her dream. He drifted like a vagabond, dodging trouble from one town to the next, living a life that was anything but steady. Her smile vanished, and the light in her eyes flickered.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Mona wrapped her arms around herself. “You’re right. I might be a little taken with my idea. But I have to be. God’s given me this one chance, and I’ve got to give it my all. No one else is going to grab on and fight for my dream.” She turned away, poised to head toward home. Joe caught her elbow. “Joe, listen, I could wake up tomorrow and you’d be gone. I know that—”
“I’m not going to leave, Mona. Not until you don’t need me anymore.” His own words sucker punched him, erupting from a place inside he’d yet to harness. But what choice had she given him? He felt powerless before her haunted green eyes. They reached out to a place inside he didn’t even know existed and extracted promises he doubted he could fulfill. He spoke it again, as if to convince himself. “I’m not going to leave.”
She spun, and the expression on her face told him exactly what he needed to see: hope, determination, and something else indiscernible. Then her eyes pinned his with a look so desperate, it tore a swath through his heart. Her voice was soft. “Don’t make me depend on you, Joe. I can’t take my heart breaking again.” She turned and sprinted from the beach.
Joe watched her go and hoped that the promise he’d made didn’t keep him in town long enough to let Wayne Michaels, or anyone else hanging around the fringes of his life, destroy this beautiful house of cards he was creating.
9
Joe opened his arms, and Rip tackled him in an exuberant bounce. Knocking Joe to the ground, the Lab smothered him with the kisses of a long-lost love. Joe laughed, pushed Rip away, and rolled to his feet. Gabe grinned like he was next in line. Joe reached out and hugged him.“Thanks again for taking care of Rip, Gabe.”
Ruby stood, cross-armed and stoic, behind her charge. “Next time, don’t run off so fast. You might find that your problems are better solved by sticking around.”
Joe ignored the dig. Obviously she had yet to figure out that it was his so-called running that kept them out of trouble’s grasp. He forced a smile. “Thanks for looking after things.”
She fielded his loaded gratitude, responding with a curt nod. He hadn’t made any friends with his stormy retreat yesterday, but his morning spent hoeing a section of the strawberry patch, along with a face-to-face chat with Gabe, had softened Ruby’s attitude. Although he avoided the father subject, he managed to apologize with sincerity to Gabe, who forgave him with a smile and an embrace. The unconditional response made Joe burn with shame.
Ruby’s voice warmed. “Come back soon, Joe.”
Rip emitted a slow whine as they pulled out of the Garden. Joe rubbed his hand over the dog. “Finally found a place to call home, Rip?”
The affirming bark opened a festering wound in Joe’s soul.
Mona was watering her flowers when Joe pulled in. She grimaced and waved her hand in front of her nose, as if the fumes from his truck soured the air.
He grinned and sauntered up the walk, swinging his keys. “Let’s go!” he called.
Mona frowned at him. “Go where?”
“Devil’s Kettle, remember?”
“I thought you were kidding. No, I have far too much work to do. I have to paint the windowsills, and you still have to patch the hole in my ceiling.” She turned away and dragged the hose to her poplar sapling.
Joe crossed the yard in two giant steps, wrapped one arm around her, and grabbed the hose with the other.“Nothing doing. You’re a chicken.”
She fit so well inside his casual embrace, the sudden urge to bury his face in her hair and smell her smooth skin made his pulse notch up. He took a calming breath and settled for the spark that lit in her green eyes.
“I’m not a chicken. I have work to do.”
“Fine,” he said mischievously, “concede me the winner.”
He could have happily hid himself inside her furious gape for a year.
She raised her hands in surrender, releasing the hose into his grip. “Okay, smarty, I’ll go to the Devil’s Kettle, if you’ll finish watering for me and promise to fix the hole in the ceiling tomorrow afternoon.”
He bowed low. “As you wish, milady.”
Mona rolled her eyes, but he saw a smile push at the corners of her mouth. She darted toward the house. “Let me change clothes.”
He thought her faded jeans and University of Minnesota sweatshirt looked just fine.
She disappeared inside the house, and he turned to the sapling. She’d done a decent job, by herself of course, of planting the tree. Someday it would shade the yard, and she could put a garden table and chairs under its arms. Or he could build her a pair of Adirondack chairs and a picnic table.
Reality hit him like a cold gust. He wouldn’t be here long enough to start sharing in her future. But maybe, if Gabe still lived at the Garden, he’d be back for a visit. That thought made him hum.
A car door slammed, slicing through his melody. Joe whirled, and the song died. Brian, dressed like a biker in a black leather jacket and matching jeans, swaggered toward the house, a sappy grin on his face. Joe wondered if he was wearing a black T-shirt to complete the ensemble. Brian saw Joe, and his smile dimmed. “Hey, Joe.”
“Brian,” Joe countered.
Brian entered the gate and ambled up to the sapling.“Nice maple.”
“It’s a poplar.”
“Right.” Brian stuck his hands in his pockets. “Have you seen Mona?”
Joe bristled. “She’s going up to Devil’s Kettle with me.”
“Really? I haven’t been up there for a long time.
Maybe I’ll tag along.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed. He was about to clip out a reason why Brian was not suitably dressed for a hike through the wilderness when he heard screams from the backyard. An earsplitting crash, then Rip’s low barks merged with Liza’s angry shouts.
“Sounds like you have trouble,” Brian commented dryly.
Joe restrained the urge to turn the hose on him.
“You’d better see what’s up.”
Reluctantly, Joe dropped the hose at the roots. “Can you turn off the water for me?”
Brian nodded, humor glinting in his eyes. Joe gritted his teeth and sprinted toward the backyard.
Liza had Rip by the scruff of his neck. Her eyes blazed and he thought he saw actual fumes spiraling from her ears. “This mutt of yours just destroyed a day’s work. Keep him out of my shed!”
Joe cringed and reached for Rip. “Sorry, Liza. I’ll tie him up.”
Her eyes flashed. “If I ever catch him in my shop again, I’ll mold him into something!”
Joe nodded and dragged Rip to the porch door. He 102 threatened the dog with a low growl, then went in search of rope. Finding one in the pile of rubble and garbage next to the back steps, he tied it to the dog’s collar, knotted it tightly, and attached the other end to the railing. “I’ll get you a leash in the morning,” he soothed. “Until then, you stay put.” Rip sunk into the dirt and hid his muzzle under his front paw. Joe scratched him behind the ears.
“Now, c’mere and help me clean this up!” Liza ordered.
Joe trudged to the shed. Liza had swept the cement floor, where hardened shards of earthenware curled like ribbons of chocolate. She handed him a garbage bag.“Hold,” she commanded, gathering the broken pieces in a dustpan and dumping them into the bag.
“How’d it happen?”
She shot him a withering look. “I had the bowls laid out on those sawhorses, and Rip charged in and upset the shelf.”
Joe glanced at the sawhorses. “I’ll make you a real shelf, Liza.”
She stopped and considered him a moment, the dustpan on her hip. “Okay, buddy, you make me a shelf and I’ll forgive your mutt.”
Joe grinned. “Consider it done.”
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“And,” she added, “I’ll tell you what you have to do to make Mona’s heart melt.”
Joe nearly dropped the bag. “What did you say?”
Liza laughed at him, delight illuminating her face.
“You two are a matched pair!”
Joe tied the corners of the bag and threw it over his shoulder, beating a hasty retreat.
Mona stood at the window, watching Joe lug trash from Liza’s shed, still reeling from his quick embrace, if one could call it that. Something about his presence drew her in, threw her heart into overdrive, and turned her knees to jelly.
She sat on the bed and hung her head in her hands. She couldn’t afford to take her eyes off her goal. She had a deadline and a mountain of work to accomplish. She didn’t have time to dance about to the tune of love—especially with a man whose days with her were numbered.
Shaking his image away, she dug into her closet and unearthed a pair of clean Levi’s, a white T-shirt, and a windbreaker. Under the bed, she located her hiking shoes next to a pair of grimy socks. She’d have to descend to the cellar and do laundry when she came home. She prayed the washer the previous owner left worked. If not, maybe Joe could fix it.
You’re a chicken. The teasing echo of his voice made her cringe. His blue eyes did strange things to her common sense. What was she doing taking a day off to hike the Devil’s Kettle?
She’d been up the Kettle trail on occasion in years past with her father. Once, they’d sent a log over the falls, watching it race downstream and finally disappear into the Kettle, a swirling teapot-shaped mass of rock and granite. The log never resurfaced; local legend suggested the Kettle swallowed everything that went in. The memory made her shiver. Perhaps this wasn’t the wisest idea.
Glancing out the window at the marshmallow clouds billowed against an azure sky, she decided her fears were nonsense. A hike would be good for her soul. The breeze singing through the pines always had a peaceful effect on her, and she definitely needed some distance from her obsessive focus on the house. She had enough time, after all, to finish the repairs. A day in the woods, reminding herself of God’s creativity, sounded like a pleasant balm to her overworked, worried heart.
Happily Ever After Page 9