A Reason To Live (Reason #3)

by CP Smith

  “Why do you babysit Mia?”

  “She gets into trouble a lot.”

  “What? How so?”

  “You name it, it’s happened.”

  “Okaaay,” I replied, deciding there must be a miscommunication on my part. I thought Mia seemed calm and rational. I couldn’t picture her causing trouble. Still, forewarned is forearmed. “I, uh, I plan to go up and see the bears with her soon. Should I be worried?”

  “Only if you’re standing in front of her.”

  “Sorry? I’m confused.”

  “Seems like you’ve been confused all day,” Maxine snickered.

  The door to the hardware store opened and Shane came out still scowling, heading for his truck. He loaded a box into the back then began to open his door when he caught sight of us and paused.

  I started to raise my hand to wave at him when Maxine said, “You know, Sage here is new to town. You should take her out for a drink sometime.”

  My focus shot to Maxine and then to Jake. His devilish smile turned more so and he replied smooth as silk, “Be a pleasure.”

  “That isn’t necessary . . . Truly.”

  “How about I take you to Last Call tonight and buy you a welcome to Trails End drink?”

  “Oh, umm.” Shit, I’m stuck. I couldn’t very well say no to Maxine’s friend after she took me in. “What I mean to say is, that would be nice, thank you.”

  Shane ripped open his truck door, catching my attention. He mumbled something under his breath as he climbed in and slammed the door. He had glared at our group before he started his truck, then he drove off in a tear, tires screeching as he pulled away.

  So much anger.

  He needed to deal with his guilt before he exploded.

  “That should just about do it,” Maxine muttered, smiling.

  “Do what?” Jake asked.

  “Oh, uh. I just remembered I liked the ax with the pink handle so I’m gonna go back inside and get it. Sage, we’ll head to the police station after this so you can talk to Chester, then head to lunch.”

  “What about the rest of your errands?”

  “Oh, um,” she hummed and hawed. “I forgot what I wanted to get. I’ll make a list when we get home and do it tomorrow,” she rattled off and then turned and headed back into the hardware store.

  Jake and I watched her go inside. She was getting worse as the day passed, so I whispered, “I’m worried about her. She seems off today.”

  Jake looked back at me with humor in his eyes, then he replied in all seriousness, “Naw, that’s just Maxine. She’s off every day.”

  ***

  Shane sat at the end of the bar and glared. He had a beer in one hand and his other was clenched tight as he watched Sage and Jake laugh. Max was scowling, which told him Mia had done something Max deemed dangerous. Any other night he would have sat at their table, but he wanted to avoid the temptation to shove his fist down Jake’s throat.

  When Mia started laughing at something Max said, he stood abruptly and headed toward Shane with a look of contained fear on his face. He stepped up to the bar and shouted out to Ralph for a whiskey.

  “What’d Mia do that has you riled?” Shane asked.

  Max waited for his shot to be poured before he turned to Shane. “Threw strawberries to Nala to gain her trust then picked up her new cub to determine the sex,” he grumbled. Then he threw back his shot and bit out, “I just had to fall for a woman with a death wish.”

  Shane chuckled as he raised his beer to his mouth, but it stopped midway when Jake moved his arm to rest on the back of Sage’s chair, leaning in to whisper something into her ear. Jealousy reared its head again and he grumbled, “Fuck,” as his fingers turned white around his bottle.

  At his expletive, Max followed the direction of Shane’s attention and shook his head. “Thought you weren’t interested?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Nothin’ complicated about it if you want her.”

  “I’m responsible for her sister’s death. It doesn’t get more complicated than that.”

  “I’ll repeat what I said yesterday. You’re not responsible, but that doesn’t matter until you believe it,” Max stated, looking back at Sage again. “Did she tell you she blamed you?”

  “No.”

  Max looked back at Shane and raised his brows.

  “She tell you to go to hell?”

  “No,” Shane replied, tearing his eyes off Sage.

  “She tell you she never wanted to see you again?”

  “Enough,” Shane gritted out. “You’re starting to sound more like Maxine every day.”

  Max smiled then looked back at Sage one more time. He caught her staring in Shane’s direction. “I’ll agree that I’m like Maxine sometimes,” he smirked. “And just like my mother, I can be tenacious when I see the truth in front of me.”

  “What truth is that, Max?”

  “I’m thinkin’ this is similar to what you did with Mia, but in reverse. Now you’re punishing yourself instead of waiting for me to kick your ass.”

  “Big man, you could try, but it wouldn’t be an easy task,” Shane clipped, feeling his temper rise.

  When Sage leaned away from Jake, her back rigid in reaction to his closeness, her focus shot to Shane again.

  Max guffawed, “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this.”

  “Enjoy what?”

  “Watching you fall.”

  “It’s not gonna happen.”

  Max tapped the bar for Ralph to fill his shot glass again, then threw it back before leaning in and laying a little more truth on Shane. “Newsflash, Shane, you’re halfway there. The right push is gonna send you into the abyss and you’ll never surface again. Trust me, I know. You just need to pull your head out of your ass and see what’s right in front of you.”

  “Max, there’s nothing in front of me but a path to heartache.”

  “You’re wrong. Your future is in front of you. You’d see it if you’d stop looking at the past,” Max answered, slapping Shane on the shoulder, leaving him to ponder those words of wisdom.

  Shane had had enough torture and advice for one night, so he threw some bills on the bar, rose from his stool, and headed for the door. He looked back one last time before he left and caught Sage watching him. “Leave it be; nothin’ but pain there,” he reminded himself and walked out.

  His phone rang as he opened his truck door, so he paused to answer. Pulling it from his pocket, he noted it was Gregor MacGregor calling.

  “You got Shane.”

  “Shane, my boy,” Gregor replied cheerfully. “I’m hoping you can help me out of a pickle. I hired a cook for our three-day expeditions, but she doesn’t have any rafting experience. Do you have time to train her in water safety tomorrow?”

  Not wanting to be tied down to one particular job, Shane floated between Max, Gregor, and the new addition to Smith’s Mercantile. Now that Max was back, his schedule was wide open and he figured Gregor knew that.

  “Why are you hirin’ an inexperienced rafter for your advanced expeditions? That seems an additional headache, Gregor.”

  “The boys are lousy cooks so I need a woman’s touch at the skillet

  “All right, but you should have hired someone with rafting experience to cook. Devil’s Run is no place for a beginner.”

  “She’ll be fine. She’s got a fire in her belly that tells me she doesn’t back down from anything.”

  Shane sighed as he climbed into his truck. “Fine, tell her to meet me at Little Big Horn at nine tomorrow morning.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Shane,” Gregor replied, hanging up quickly before Shane could ask the woman’s name . . .

  Four

  Nose and Toes out of the Water

  The road leading to Little Big Horn was narrow. A canopy of pine trees suppressed the sun’s rays as I maneuvered around tight bends and steep inclines.

  Gregor’s text the night before was brief. Be at Little Big Horn at nine. Ask Maxine for directions. I didn’t
know whom I was meeting, but I figured it didn’t matter. So, with a map in hand, I found my way to the clearing that abutted the Yukon River. Nervous about getting lost, I’d left earlier than was needed and arrived first.

  Parking to the side so Gregor’s guide could pull past me, I climbed out of my Jeep and took in the river. The Yukon was slower moving in this section, but I could hear the rapids further down. Towering canyon walls tapered the river as boulders directed the water through narrow openings, creating the class four and five rapids. I’d never been rafting, and to say I was stoked about learning today was an understatement.

  Maxine had lent me her neoprene base layers called Hydroskins and waterproof outer layers called Dryskins since the water was close to freezing. I was shocked at first that she had a need for them—being in her sixties, I wrongly assumed she would avoid an activity like rafting—but I was learning quickly that age didn’t stop Maxine from anything she wanted to do. Except pursuing a man she wanted.

  With my Hydroskins already on, I pulled out the Dryskins and began pulling them up my leg. I heard a vehicle approaching, so I turned as I finished dressing. An old, black truck came around the bend and I recognized it immediately.

  Shane?

  He came to a halt at the opening, and I covered my eyes so I could see past the morning sun. He was staring at me—his jaw ticking in anger for some reason—then he gunned the engine and pulled in. His door opened wide and he bound out. He slammed it hard before he barreled down on me.

  “You’re not working for Gregor,” Shane ordered, catching me off guard.

  “What? But he hired me yesterday.”

  “Call him back and tell him you changed your mind.”

  “I don’t understand? Why would I do that?”

  “His three-day excursions are for experienced rafters, not a beginner. You’re in over your head.”

  “Gregor didn’t seem concerned,” I argued.

  “Gregor’s been rafting so long he thinks Niagara Falls is a walk in the park,” Shane returned sarcastically.

  “But I need this job. I have limited savings until this stalker business is behind me and Trails End is a small town with a limited job market. Look, Shane, I’m a strong swimmer and catch on quickly. Please, just show me the ropes today and I’ll prove I can do it.”

  Shane clenched his jaw again, but he didn’t say no. I stood locked in place while he decided, hoping he would see reason. After waiting a moment more, he finally muttered, “Shit,” and turned toward his truck.

  I let out my breath and tried to relax as he walked away. Unprepared to spend time with Shane after being in his presence twice the day before—both times uncomfortable—I was off-kilter and unsure of myself.

  Is it me or the reminder of Emma Jane that pisses him off?

  “Stay focused, Sage. Learn to raft first, worry about Shane later. If you don’t have a job, you can’t stay here to help him,” I mumbled then moved toward his truck.

  There was a tarp over the back of his truck secured with bungee cords. He unhooked them as I walked up and pulled it back, exposing what looked to be a two-man raft. He pulled out two life vests and helmets, tossing them on the ground before he wrestled with the raft. Once the raft was out of the truck, he threw the vests and helmets inside and carried it to the edge of the river.

  He grumbled, “Safety first,” as he picked up a life jacket. “This is your PFD. Portable floatation device. Keep it on at all times when you’re on the water.” He flipped the jacket over, pointed to a cushioned flap on the back, and then continued. “When you wear it, make sure the pillow isn’t tucked into the back, it’ll keep your head above water if you fall in.”

  Shane helped me get the vest on and secured the four buckles, tightening the straps. When he was satisfied it was secured, he tugged on the top to check the fit, leaning in close to my face as he did. I held my breath at his nearness, keeping my focus trained over his shoulder as he worked. When he was done, he leaned down, picked up a helmet, and put it on my head. I couldn’t help but look at his mouth while he adjusted the strap. It was at eye level.

  “Make sure it’s not so loose that it slips over your chin,” he instructed in a clipped voice. I was in a haze when he spoke; distracted by the way his mouth formed the words. He smelled like musk, maybe sandalwood, and the heady scent made my toes curl.

  When he paused for my acquiescence, I couldn’t form a sentence, so I nodded that I’d heard him. He turned after I agreed and repeated the same with his own vest and helmet. Once done, he grabbed two paddles out of the back of his truck and handed one to me, and through it all, he still scowled while he completed his tasks.

  “The paddle,” he started in a business-like manner, “has an inner core that is metal, so don’t let go of it unless you want to knock someone’s teeth out. One hand should always be on the T-grip, even if you’re stationary. When you stroke, hold the shaft with one hand and the T-grip with the other. Use the whole blade when you stroke, not just the tip. Also, don’t use your arms; you’ll tire out quickly. Lean forward into the stroke like this and then lean back as you pull.”

  “Got it. One hand on the tip, one hand on the shaft, and use my back not my arms as I stroke,” I muttered as he demonstrated the correct form for paddling.

  Shane didn’t continue for a moment, so I looked up. He had an odd look on his face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “T-grip, not tip,” he rumbled low, then turned and walked over to the raft.

  I was beginning to think he hadn’t had enough coffee.

  “There are three main parts to a raft. The floor, the thick outer tube, which you sit—” He paused and mumbled, “Christ,” for some odd reason, then cleared his throat and continued. “And the thwarts that run across the raft for stability and balance.” Shane then pointed to an inflatable brace running crossways on the raft. “There are three thwarts on the bigger rafts Gregor owns. You use them to secure your feet so you don’t fly out of the boat during rough rapids.”

  “Got it. They secure my feet so I don’t fly out . . . But what if I do?”

  “Nose and toes out of the water,” he answered.

  “Umm. Can you be more specific?”

  “Yeah, we’ll practice in a bit. First, get in the raft and I’ll launch us from the bank so I can work with you on your form.”

  Following his instructions, I reached out and took his hand so he could help me into the raft. Then he shoved off from the bank and settled in across from me.

  “Normally, I would put you in front and myself in the back as the rudder, but I want you within reaching distance. Now, there are only a few calls that are given when rafting with a group: forward, back, all forward, high side, and if we need to turn around, then one side is told to paddle forward while the other side paddles backward.

  “Got it.”

  “Plant your right foot under the front thwart and your left foot under the back thwart.”

  I did as he said and he nodded when he was satisfied.

  “Good. For now, since the river is slow, we’ll practice all forward. That means you don’t stop paddling until I say so. And we do it in sync. Got it?”

  “Got it. In Sync, not Backstreet Boys,” I replied smiling.

  Shane’s constant scowl finally lifted and his lip twitched.

  “All right, smartass, let’s do this.”

  For the next two hours, we practiced paddling. We ran a few grade three rapids (which rocked, by the way), then he taught me how to float nose and toes out of the water, and why that was so important. Feet can’t become tangled or pinned as easily, causing you to drown, if you lie on your back. You can also use your feet as buoys to bounce off the large rocks and boulders.

  Overall, I think I did well, and by the end of the training session, Shane actually smiled.

  “Well?” I asked as he carried his raft back toward Little Big Horn.

  “You’re not like Mia, that’s for sure, but you still have a lot to learn.”
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  “What does that mean exactly? Is she some sort of hot shot rafter?”

  Shane began to laugh so hard that he dropped the raft.

  “What?”

  That was the first time I’d heard Shane laugh since I met him and I felt the stroke of his laughter in my bones. Between the sound of his voice and the happiness shining from his eyes, I felt intoxicated and off balance.

  “Mia, a hot shot rafter?”

  “Didn’t you just say I wasn’t as good as Mia?” I breathed out.

  “No,” Shane scoffed,” I said you weren’t anything like her. Which means you passed.”

  “So she isn’t . . . she isn’t athletic, I take it?” I stumbled over the words, still trying to find firm ground. Lord, the man, had an effect I’d never experienced.

  “No, she isn’t athletic. Clumsy is being nice; more like a disaster waiting to happen. Max’ll have gray hair before he turns thirty-five, keeping her alive.”

  “Ah, well, that explains what Jake said yesterday,” I replied.

  Shane grew quiet as I moved to help with the raft, but he picked it up and started toward our vehicles before I could help.

  “Let’s get you back so you can go home and change clothes,” he said, his tone dry and emotionless. Just like that, he’d gone from carefree and laughing to sullen.

  “Thanks,” I replied, concerned. “I’m freezing even though Maxine’s gear kept me dry.”

  He’d picked up his pace and I tried to keep up, but his long legs ate up the distance quickly. He paused from time to time to check on me, but he didn’t say a word when I caught up. Once we got within fifty yards of the vehicles, his pace increased again and he pulled ahead. He was tossing the raft into his truck when I arrived, so I handed him my helmet and vest.

  “Thank you for the lesson,” I said as he secured his gear.

  “Least I could do,” he mumbled and then turned to leave.

  “Least?” I asked, confused. He looked over his shoulder and the answer was written in the stormy color of his eyes. Least meaning: he felt responsible for my sister’s death, so therefore, it was the least he could do.