by Robyn Carr
He sipped his coffee. “Where are your clothes?”
She pulled the quilt around her. Her hair was still mussed from sleep and her cheeks kind of rosy and he wanted to pull her into his arms for just a little touch. A little taste. “I’ll get dressed in a while,” she said.
“No,” he said with a laugh. “Your wardrobe. Your luggage. You obviously don’t keep them in the kitchen.”
“Oh, that—there’s a closet in that bedroom—one of two closets in the whole house. Maid’s quarters, we think.”
“Ah,” he said. “So, I guess this means you’re going full speed ahead?”
“With the growing? Oh, yes. I’m so charged up I can hardly sleep at night. Want to go outside? Sit on the porch? I mean, there could be a totally crazy deer out there that hasn’t been completely intimidated by the excavation noise.”
“Sure,” he said. “And you can tell me about your greatest expectation for this exercise.”
“I think,” she said as they went back out the door, “that I’m trying my hand at becoming a commercial farmer. I don’t know if it’ll work until I know if I can grow the stuff, but I could farm exotic, rare, heirloom fruits and vegetables. The kind that are hard to produce. I would sell them to high-end restaurants that are looking for new and unique, fabulous foods.”
He sipped again. “Going to buy a fleet of trucks to deliver them to big cities?”
She laughed. “Nope. Going to call UPS or FedEx and send them overnight. They’re delicate—none of them have a long shelf life. And they’re not used in mass quantities, usually as side dishes or garnishes.”
“How do you make money doing that?”
She shrugged. “You become the best, with the best marketing campaign. And, of course, you start small and regionally. I’ve already identified target cities with five-star restaurants. I wouldn’t ship to New York—it’s too far. But shipping to Portland, Sun Valley, Seattle, Vancouver, San Francisco and the surrounding areas would not be a problem.”
He chuckled. “I have to admit, it’s gutsy and it actually sounds reasonable.”
“It’s completely reasonable! There is one ‘x’ factor…and that’s whether I can grow these rare, old seeds. I bought product from several different seed companies and I’ll check them out. My great-grandmother canned some, sold some fresh off the porch—we had a hard time getting by back then and she had lots of ways to supplement her income. This is a whole different story. If it works, buyers will order ahead of season, so I have to know I can deliver. It’ll take me six to eighteen months to figure that out.”
“But how long are you renting…?”
“Through summer. But things like moves and leases can be worked out. The one thing I can’t control is whether or not I can grow the stuff.”
“So, you’ll have fruit trees, too?” he asked.
“No trees,” she said, shaking her head. “There are a few apple trees on the property, but I’m not planting trees…”
“But you said fruits…”
“Tomatoes, tomatillo, melons, et cetera—are all considered fruits.” She smiled.
He felt a little pang of something. A jolt of some kind. She was awful cute. Incredibly smart and very cute.
Colin was a little startled. Cute was not in his vernacular. He felt those sizzling jolts when he was with women he would describe as hot or sexy or edible, but he had never before felt a single nerve-tingle for cute. He was too jaded for that. He reasoned this was probably only because he hadn’t been with a woman for so long and, further, because he assumed he probably wouldn’t be again, at least not for a very long time. And certainly not this one—although she was smart as a whip, she was too “girl next door.” He was attracted to women in low-cut tops with generous cleavages, microscopic skirts and four-inch heels. The kind of women you wouldn’t want your mother to meet.
“Is the eagle painting done?” she asked him.
“Done? Oh, no,” he said. “That won’t be done for a while. Maybe another few weeks.”
“Wow. Don’t you get bored, spending so much time on one painting?”
“I have several going at one time. I keep going back, improving, changing, fixing, getting them right. It’s hard to know when it’s really done. And sometimes when you think they’re finished, they’re not. More often, when you think they’re not finished, they really are. Sometimes knowing when to stop is more important than knowing when to keep working on it.”
“And then you sell them?”
He shook his head. “Haven’t ever sold one.”
She sat up straighter and her quilt slipped off one shoulder exposing her striped pajamas. They were almost little-girl pajamas. “Never sold one? How do you make a living?”
Again he chuckled. “I’m independently wealthy.”
“How nice for you. Do you plan to ever sell any or are you doing this for fun?”
“Right now painting them is more important than selling them,” he said.
“What kind of market is there for a…an eagle?”
He smiled at her. Straight to the point, wasn’t she? “Huge,” he said. “I didn’t realize that when I got hooked on animals. Wild animals, not kittens or puppies. I liked them better than bowls of fruit….”
She got a teasing grin on her face. “Better than nudes?”
He matched her grin. “I’ve never painted any nudes.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Was that an offer?”
She burst out laughing and he found the sound was perfectly charming. Charming? Yet another word Colin had never used before, but it suited her. And son of a bitch if it didn’t charm him!
“Oh, believe me, you can do way better than me! Maybe I could strip, wear my garden gloves, straw hat and rubber boots—that should get you a big Playboy commission!” And she laughed some more while he got an irresistible image in his head that he wanted to paint. “But seriously, who buys paintings of animals?”
“Wildlife art,” he said. “Look it up on Google sometime. It surprised the hell out of me.”
“So,” she said, sipping the coffee, “you’ve been at this for a while?”
What the hell, he thought. Everyone else probably knew, given his brother lived here. “I was in the Army. I was a pilot and crashed in a helicopter. I broke a bunch of bones, got some burns, was in therapy for six months trying to get back on my feet, and I painted.” He shrugged. “I’ve always done some drawing and painting, but it kinda looks like this is how I’m going to spend my time, at least for now. The Army retired me. So,” he said with a nod of his chin, “I’m trying to get good.”
“Oh,” she said, serious. “Sorry about the crash. You all right now?”
“Getting there. I get a little stiff and sore, but otherwise, pretty good.”
“And you’re here because…?”
“Because my brother is here and there’s also an abundance of wildlife. I have another brother in Chico, but no deer or fox or eagles around his house. I rented a cabin till hunting season opens in September. I should be ready to hit the road by then. Meantime, I can paint. My cabin is in a valley by a stream, very isolated. I’m already getting some good pictures of animals there.”
She sat up a little straighter. “What happens when hunting season starts?”
“I’ll be moving on. Oh, I’m sure I’ll visit sometimes. But before I decide where I’ll live next I’m planning to spend six months in Africa. The Serengeti. Maybe even head over to the Amazon.”
“Big game,” she said. Her eyes gently closed and he wondered if she could be visualizing it in her head the way he was—large canvases of elephants, lions, tigers, wildebeests….
“Big game for me—tiny, weird little vegetables for you. How do you think we’re going to do?”
“I don’t know how you’re going to do, Colin, but I’m going to kick some ass. I’m a marketing and public relations expert and I was taught to grow by the best—my nana. She could throw a diamond in the ground and grow a diamond vine.” She grinned. “You don’
t know me but, trust me, I haven’t been this excited in a long, long time.”
Four
Colin tried to limit dinner at Luke’s to once a week. He was accustomed to being on his own. It bothered him that he actually enjoyed it and it made him wonder if he was losing some of his independent edge. He was fond of Shelby; that sweet young thing was a treasure whom Luke surely couldn’t deserve. He got the biggest kick out of Brett. The baby was crawling now and trying to pull himself up on the furniture. Colin still had a problem with Luke and probably always would. Maybe because he was the oldest of the Riordian boys, Luke always took a patriarchal attitude—at least with Colin—acting as if he was the parent and this got on Colin’s last nerve.
There should be a statute of limitations on big brothering. They were only two years apart in age and Luke was not smarter or more experienced. Colin felt that after the age of thirty, brothers of all ages should become equals.
When he got to Luke’s, his brother met him on the porch. “Good, you’re here a little early. I need to talk to you. Let me get you a cola.”
“Skip it,” Colin said. “What’s on your mind?”
Luke took a deep breath. “Jack mentioned you stopped by for a beer. I asked him if he was sure that was a beer and he said he was sure.”
Colin put his hands on his hips. “So, let me guess. You informed him he shouldn’t sell me a beer?”
Luke shook his head. “No, but I’m counting on you making a decision not to order one.”
“Why don’t you just stay out of it, Luke? I’m capable of managing my own life.”
Luke shook his head. “Colin, you can’t be doing that—you know that. Alcohol is a drug!”
Colin ground his teeth. “I didn’t come here so you could micromanage me. Believe me, I learned more in treatment than you’ll ever know. I want you to let me make my own decisions. I’ll be fine.”
“Listen,” Luke said, clearly trying to be patient. “I know you’re still coping with a lot of stuff. I’m just trying to keep an eye on things so I can help and—”
“That’s what I don’t want, don’t you get that? I don’t want you keeping an eye on a lot of things!”
“Beer is not the answer!” Luke nearly shouted.
“Believe me, three beers in six months is not me looking for answers! You gotta back off before you really piss me off!” Colin shouted back.
“I know you’ve had some challenges, but—”
“Some challenges?” Colin asked hotly. “I lost my life! I lost my career, the one thing I really lived for—flying! I lost my body and, for a while, my brain! You gotta stay off what’s left of my fucking back!”
“Yeah, I just don’t want you to lose it all again! Christ, man, you got your painting! You’re getting along!”
“You call this getting along? You think this is what I want?”
“Colin, it’ll get better, you just have to—”
“I have to try to stay steady!” Colin yelled. “You have to back off!”
And with that he turned, nearly jumped down the porch stairs, got into his Jeep and got the hell out of there before he got any hotter. Any more stupid. Luke had always gotten to him, or he’d always gotten to Luke; he wasn’t sure which. But he’d wanted to throw a punch. Nothing could be more ridiculous than that—Luke would’ve swung back, and while his body was so much better, it was not ready for a fight. Five years ago he’d have whipped Luke’s ass, but now? He was still healing; brittle and off balance. He’d probably just end up rebreaking some things.
He went home. Where he wished he did have a beer!
He was no longer hungry. He turned on his bright lighting, brought out the four-by-four canvas of the buck. He attached two photos to the top of the canvas—one of the animal he’d caught on camera at the river and a second of a nicer-looking background. He was usually able to get a little lost in the painting, but not this time. And when he heard a car or truck engine about a half hour later, he steamed up all over again. How like Luke to follow him with the fight!
But it wasn’t Luke.
“We’d better have a talk,” Shelby said from behind him. She’d let herself in.
He turned, palette and brush in hand. “I thought you were Luke.”
Shelby closed the door and walked into his brightly lit cabin. “Some advice,” she said. “If you want to keep Luke out, it would be best to try the door locks.”
He put down the palette and brush. She was such a beautiful, tiny thing in her boots and jeans, suede jacket, hair down to her butt. She was twenty-seven, but she looked even younger. “Aren’t you afraid of a typical Riordan screaming match?” he asked her.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she said. “Riordan men have a lot of flaws, but they’re always civil to women. Let’s talk. This has to stop.”
“Shelby, Luke had no reason to jump on me. I wasn’t using drugs of any kind. I just had a couple of beers, a few weeks apart….”
“Not that, I don’t care about that. This is about the conflict you have with Luke and he with you. He claims not to know how it all started, but that doesn’t matter. He’s your brother. He cares about you. Somehow you and Luke have to come to terms. There’s no reason to tear up the rest of the family over whatever it is.”
“The rest of the family learned to live with it by the time we were eight and ten,” he said.
“I didn’t,” she replied. “Brett didn’t.”
He was stunned silent for a moment. Briefly ashamed. “Aw, Shelby…”
“I can understand how it gets on your nerves to feel like someone’s always watching you. If we hadn’t nearly lost you, maybe Luke would go a little lighter…”
“Doubtful,” Colin said. “He has a tendency to take charge. Taking charge is fun for him. Not so much for me.”
“He loves you. He cares.”
“He’s a control freak,” Colin said.
“Also true,” she said. “And so are you or you’d just answer his concerns without a fight every time.”
Colin was suddenly deflated and he sat down in the nearest chair, hanging his head. When he lifted it, his eyes were sad. “Please,” he said to Shelby. “Sit down for a second.”
She sat in the chair nearest him, leaning toward him, her hands on her knees.
Colin took a deep breath. “I have been alerted about problems with cross-addiction. For several months I didn’t even gargle with mouthwash that contained microscopic amounts of alcohol. I’ve never been a big drinker. Oh, there were times I could overdo it with my boys, but I wasn’t irresponsible—no DUIs in my history, no bar fights, no issues. I don’t think a beer once a week or month is going to be a problem for me. But still—there isn’t any liquor of any kind in this cabin. Go ahead,” he said. “Check.”
“I’m not going to check.”
“I never had a drug or drinking problem, but over a month of lots of Oxycontin right after the crash is a whole different animal. It’s powerful stuff and I was having a lot of pain. I think it’s possible if I’d had my medicine flipped to a nonnarcotic after a week or two I wouldn’t have faced this problem, but that’s hindsight. I have to go forward with the knowledge that I tried to buy it on the street, I was that panicked at the thought of running out. That’s addict thinking. Trust me, I’m aware.”
“Why couldn’t you just talk to Luke about it?” she asked.
“It’s complicated,” he said. “First of all, Luke never listens. He never minds his own goddamn business. He’s real judgmental, which happens when you know everything. And I have bigger problems—I’m trying like hell to get some kind of life! This isn’t what I had in mind.”
“The paintings, Colin,” she said, letting her hand wave at the room, gesturing at all the paintings nearly done, leaning against the walls or up on easels. “They’re so good. Just amazing.”
“But this is not what I planned. I like to draw, paint, build… But I love to fly! I wasn’t going to stop—I was going to fly until the FAA stopped me. I knew the
Army would force me out eventually, but I planned on doing civilian rescue chopper flying or news chopper or corporate flying. But now, with a history of drug treatment and hospitalization for depression, that’s out of the picture. Even I wouldn’t hire me.”
“I’m sorry, Colin. But I think it was the right decision. Treatment.”
“No argument there. I was only on the oxy merry-go-round for a month—I was in the pen with people who’d been addicted for years. To that and to even worse stuff. Multiple stuff. Now I might be just kidding myself, and we’ll see, but those folks coming out of long-term addiction to multiple drugs probably shouldn’t risk the occasional beer. I used oxy for thirty days and don’t really know how long my addiction was and, by the grace of God, I got caught the first time I tried to buy it on the street. My chances of getting beyond that? I’d say they’re good! To tell you the truth, that’s the least of my problems—I don’t even want a painkiller. I have aches and pains, but a life I didn’t choose was left to me. And I have a big brother who can’t back off and let me figure things out.”
“The lifestyle change must be so hard for you.”
“You have no idea,” he said. “If it’s not bad enough that I’m starting over, I’m forty with a sketchy record of rehab and other stuff, and a whole crop of twenty-five-year-old hotshots ready to fill my slot. Now look, I’m not going to go off the deep end. I’m not going to complain or take drugs or drink myself into a blind stupor, but if Luke doesn’t stop riding me and taking my temperature all the time, I might just go completely crazy. Or deck him. Or move. After all—most of this is his fault.”
Shelby sat up a bit straighter. “Luke’s fault?”
“I struggled to keep up with him my whole life. I admired him so much, I watched every move he made. But I wanted to be a helicopter pilot from the first time I saw one banking across the sky. Then Luke stumbled into a chopper pilot slot in the Army and made it look fun and easy. He made it look like it was his idea. For me, it was way more than that.” He leaned toward her. “Shelby, it was the best thing I ever did in my life. It became my passion, my lover, my best friend. I know Luke hates this, but I was good. I was a natural. If Luke was good, and he was, then I was incredible. That machine was made for me. I love flying.”