“Hi, Mrs. Cook,” Charity said.
“I hear you’ve come to stay for the summer.”
“That’s my plan.” She could have added that she had a book due in September. In truth, the book was already many months past due, but her new make-or-break deadline was September first.
“We’re all so proud of you, dear. You’re a shining success story.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Cook.”
Feeling like a total fraud, Charity yanked a shopping cart free from the others and started down the first aisle.
BUCK’S BROTHER, KEN, RAN HIS HAND OVER THE saddle Buck had finished making the day before. “Nice. Who’s it for?”
“Kimberly Leonard. A gift from her husband.”
“There’s a city girl I never expected to stick around for long.”
Buck glanced down at the leather bridle on his workbench. “I guess love’ll do that to you. But I wouldn’t know for sure. You’re the one who’s lucky when it comes to love.”
“No argument from me.” Ken chuckled.
Buck meant what he’d said. Ken was definitely lucky in the love department. Ken and his wife, Sara, had fallen in love in high school, married while Ken was still in college, had three kids in quick succession, and now, ten years later, they were expecting their fourth. Buck on the other hand had never found a woman who made him want to settle down to the life of a family man. Not yet anyway. Maybe someday. He hadn’t given up hope for it to happen. But it would take someone special.
“You getting ready for a trip?” Ken asked, intruding on Buck’s thoughts.
“Yeah. I leave next week. A dozen boys and two leaders from their church are packing in for a week to clear some trails. All but one are bringing their own horses. I’m told the boys and leaders are all skilled riders.”
“That’ll be nice for a change.”
“You’ve got that right.”
Buck loved his work as a wilderness guide. What wasn’t to love? Spending most of the summer and early fall on horseback, riding through the beautiful Idaho backcountry, sleeping under the stars. Oh, it wasn’t perfect. Some of his clients weren’t ready for the trips they went on, whether that was their riding skills or their ability to rough it or—worse yet—both. When that happened, a trip could be challenging. But even then, he loved what he did. It was a simple life. He made enough money to feed his horses and pay his mortgage. And in the winter, he had the saddle shop work to keep him occupied and bring in a little money every now and then.
Changing the subject, he asked, “How’s Sara?”
“Tired.” His brother’s expression turned grim. “This pregnancy’s been a lot harder on her than the others. I’m worried, to tell you the truth. She might have to go on bed rest until the baby’s born, and that’s not easy with three kids to look after.”
“If there’s anything I can do, all you gotta do is ask.”
“Thanks, Buck. I appreciate it.” Ken turned on his heel. “I’d best be moving on. Sara gave me a list of things I need to do before I go home.”
“Tell her I’m praying for her.”
“I’ll do it.”
After Ken left the small saddle shop in the center of town, Buck bid the owner a good day, then drove to The Merc. He parked his truck a couple of spaces over from a silver Lexus. He’d seen the luxury SUV parked in the Anderson family’s driveway when he’d left his house this morning. Had to be the same one. There weren’t a whole lot of cars like that one in these mountains. A whole lot meaning none.
Only one person he knew would have a car like that and be at the Anderson house—Charity Anderson herself. He hadn’t seen her in person in a long time. Years. But he’d seen her picture in the newspaper a couple of times and heard about her plenty. Not many Kings Meadow High graduates went on to publish a series of bestselling novels for young adults before they turned thirty. Which made folks around here proud of her success.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Charity came out of the market, pushing a cart full of bags. At least, he thought it was her. Only he didn’t remember Charity Anderson being such a knockout. The photos in the newspaper hadn’t done her justice. She wore skinny jeans and a sky-blue fitted top and high heels that didn’t belong anywhere in these mountains. When she glanced up and saw him, she stopped still, a strange expression crossing her face before it was replaced with a smile.
“Hi, Buck.”
“Hey, Charity. Is that really you? Our paths haven’t crossed in a month of Sundays. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” She used the remote to open the back of her vehicle. “How about you?”
He strode over to help load the canvas bags full of groceries into the car. “Here. Let me get those for you.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to—”
“My mom would tan my hide if I didn’t help a lady.”
Charity took a step back, leaving him more room to work.
He had all the bags loaded into the vehicle in a matter of moments. After closing the rear door, he turned toward her again. “How’s the trip for your folks so far? Are they having a great time?”
“Yes. I had an e-mail from them last night. They’re still getting over the jet lag but are enjoying the sights of London before they head to Paris.”
“Glad to hear it. Are you up here for long?”
She didn’t answer at once. “For the summer, actually.” The words seemed to be forced out of her, as if she didn’t want him to know.
“The summer? I guess that means I’ll see more of you then, now that we’re neighbors. You knew I bought the place next door to your parents, right?”
“Yes, I knew. But I don’t plan to be out and about much. I’ll be writing most of the time. And listen, I really must get back to the house. There’s still much to do before I can get to work.”
It wasn’t often that Buck got the brush-off, but that was what this felt like. Had he offended Charity sometime in the past? He didn’t think so. What could he have done? He hadn’t known her well, back when she lived in Kings Meadow. As he recalled, she’d been a quiet, bookish sort. A little on the plain side, really. Nobody that stood out in any special way. Definitely different from the woman before him. “Sure,” he said at last. “Don’t let me keep you.”
Buck took a step back and started to turn around. Something solid struck him with force against the back of his knees, knocking him off balance. He heard Charity make an alarmed cry as his feet flew out from under him. He tried to break his fall with his hand. Despite it, he hit the ground hard. There were a few moments when he felt nothing but surprise. Then the pain shot through him. A white hot haze of pain. So bad he couldn’t be sure where in his body it came from. He closed his eyes against it.
“Cocoa. Bad dog.” Charity’s voice seemed far away. “Get in the car. Get in the car now.”
Buck groaned and tried to push himself up from the blacktop. The pain became more specific as his right arm crumpled beneath him.
“Buck.” Charity knelt beside him. “Oh, Buck. I’m so sorry. Cocoa never jumps out of the car unless I release her. Never. I don’t know why—”
Someone called Charity’s name.
“We need the EMTs, Mrs. Cook,” she shouted back, looking toward the store entrance.
At least, Buck thought the store was in that direction. The world felt upside down and inside out right now, so he couldn’t be sure of anything.
“I think you’ve broken your wrist. Try to hold still.”
“I must’ve twisted my ankle too.” He spoke through clenched teeth, the pain focusing in that new part of his body. “It’s like it’s on fire.”
“The EMTs will be here soon.” She took his left hand in hers and held on firmly.
Buck squeezed his eyes shut again. He didn’t doubt something was broken. A couple of somethings more than likely. He’d been busted up before. Both arms. Several of his ribs. A concussion. But never at the start of the tourist season. If he had a broken bone or two, as suspected, he would be
in a world of trouble. He’d have to find another guide to fill in for him on the trips he had booked in the next few weeks. Finding somebody good on such short notice wouldn’t be easy, and nothing about this accident was going to help his bottom line.
Oh, man. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped nothing was broken.
Hoped . . . but knew better.
The story continues in Robin Lee Hatcher’s Whenever You Come Around.
An Excerpt from
A Promise Kept
Allison
May 2011
THIS WASN’T THE LIFE ALLISON KAVANAGH HAD imagined for herself, but it was what her life had become. Like it or not, she had to get on with it.
She turned the key in the lock.
Hidden away in the mountains north of Boise, the two-story log house—built many decades before but completely remodeled on the inside—was open and airy with a state-of-the-art kitchen, modern efficiencies throughout, and spectacular views of the rugged Idaho mountains from every window. The place had been left to Allison four years earlier in her great-aunt’s will. Never in her wildest dreams had Allison imagined she would end up living in it one day. Perhaps Aunt Emma had seen the future a little more clearly than she had.
Welcome to your new home.
A lump formed in her throat, but she fought back the tears. She was weary of crying—it was all she’d done for months and months. Sometimes it felt like years and years. Setting her mouth, she dropped her purse onto the small table inside the front door.
Some of her own furniture filled the living room. She was glad of it. Made the place feel a little less foreign to her. Not that it was foreign to her. She’d visited her aunt’s home many times throughout her life, and after it had come into Allison’s possession, it had served as an occasional getaway, a place of peace when life’s storms became too much to handle.
Dear Aunt Emma. The sister of Allison’s maternal grandmother, Emma Carter had been considered somewhat of a “rebel” in the family. Never married and financially independent because of her success as a nature photographer, added to sound investments and careful spending, she’d lived as she pleased. Oh, the stories Aunt Emma used to tell about World Wars I and II, the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression. If ever a woman was born with the gift of storytelling, it had been Emma Carter. No wonder Allison had adored her.
“How do I get on with my life, Aunt Emma?” she whispered.
If Aunt Emma were still alive, she would have answered honestly and directly. No mincing words. Emma Carter had never sugarcoated anything for anybody. Not even for her favorite—as she’d always called Allison—and only—as Allison had pointed out in return—great niece. But Aunt Emma was gone. Allison would have to find the answers on her own or muddle along as best she could without them.
She passed through the living room and walked down the short hallway to the master bedroom. The new queen-sized four-poster she’d purchased sat against the opposite wall, bare of bedclothes other than a quilted mattress cover. Staring at the bed, she felt her aloneness afresh. It burned through her like salt in an open wound.
She looked away.
In a corner of the bedroom sat her large desk and credenza. It too was naked. Allison hadn’t entrusted her MacBook, large external display, or printer to the movers. Those important items were still in her car in the driveway.
A design deadline loomed closer. She’d best get her office set up and make certain the Internet was turned on as promised by the cable provider. Her to-do list was too long to ignore, even for a few days. And besides, keeping busy took her mind off many less pleasant realities. Immersing herself in work had been her salvation. For years, really, but especially over the past eleven months. Ever since the day she’d uttered her ultimatum.
The lump in her throat returned. She swallowed again.
“Tough love” some would have called her take-it-or-leave-it demand, and she’d been certain tough love was required in the situation. But she’d believed what she said would be that last straw, that illusive bottom, those words that would change everything.
They had changed everything. Just not the way she’d hoped they would. Not the way she’d wanted. Not for the better. Not as promised.
Why didn’t You keep Your promise?
It was the most she’d said to God in a while. The ability to pray seemed to have shriveled inside of her. One more loss added to so many others.
With a shake of her head, Allison retraced her footsteps to the living room, went out onto the wide redwood deck that circled three sides of the house, and descended the steps to her pale gold SUV parked in the driveway. From behind the driver’s seat she released her dog from his crate and set him on the ground. Gizmo sniffed at his new surroundings.
“You stay close. I don’t want an eagle or a bear having you for lunch.” The tricolored papillon perked up his ears, and she couldn’t keep from smiling. “You’re such a good boy.”
She’d bought Gizmo from a local breeder to help fill the vast emptiness that had surrounded her after her husband walked out the door, leaving her and her ultimatum in the dust. Having an active puppy around had helped ease the emptiness too. There was always something she needed to do for the little guy—feed him, take him for a walk, give him a bath, let him out to do his business.
She’d read somewhere that owning a papillon meant never going to the bathroom alone, and it was true. Gizmo followed her everywhere. He slept on the unused right side of the bed. He sat near her feet when she ate, a hopeful expression on his face even though she never let him eat table scraps. He curled up beside her on the sofa while she watched television. He lay in his dog bed under her desk when she was on the computer. He was her constant and best companion, and she loved him for making her feel less alone.
Perhaps she would become that crazy old lady who lived in a log cabin in the mountains, talking only to her dog. Or dogs. She could get Gizmo a friend or two. Or maybe she should acquire a half-dozen cats. She could give herself a funky haircut and let it go all frizzy and kinky. She could dress in bright, baggy clothes. But then, who would know if she was crazy or not? Who would see her? A dense forest separated her from her nearest neighbors, and she was miles up a winding highway to the nearest town. Not to mention that her only child, Meredith, lived halfway across the country.
A crazy old lady. She closed her eyes and released a sigh. Forty-five wasn’t old, but some days it seemed like it. Some days forty-five felt like ninety.
She went to the back of the Tribeca and opened the rear door. Her LED computer display was in its original box with a handle. She grabbed it along with her laptop case and headed into the house. And for the next several hours, while she hooked up electronics in the bedroom and the living room and otherwise settled in, she managed to keep her thoughts from returning to the sad place they too often traveled to.
That was no small victory.
The story continues in Robin Lee Hatcher’s A Promise Kept.
About the Author
BESTSELLING NOVELIST ROBIN LEE HATCHER IS known for her heartwarming and emotionally charged stories of faith, courage, and love. The winner of the Christy Award for Excellence in Christian Fiction, the RITA Award for Best Inspirational Romance, two RT Career Achievement Awards, and the RWA Lifetime Achievement Award, Robin is the author of over sixty novels.
Love Without End: A Kings Meadow Romance Page 22