Troubled Waters

by Susan May Warren

  Safe. In his old bedroom in his mother’s condo.

  Not buried in an old fallout shelter tunnel, under piles of rock and dirt, the air foggy with the remains of the blaze that caused the cave-in.

  He pressed his hand to his chest, felt the ricochet of his heart beneath his palm, and shook himself away from the dream.

  The memory.

  The fact that he shouldn’t be alive.

  Pete swung his feet out of bed, pressed them into the carpet, and leaned over and pushed his hair back from his face. He should probably cut his hair—it gave a better image for the media for an incident commander to actually look clean cut, in charge, capable.

  Instead of the unruly man bun he’d insisted on keeping when he took the job, almost reluctantly.

  No. Completely reluctantly, and he’d been downright angry, really, that Jess hadn’t blocked his path.

  Told him the truth. Asked him to stay.

  But eight months had given him time to think. To date Aimee.

  To miss Jess.

  And then Dawson happened.

  Pete lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Probably his boss had been right to send him home, give him a couple weeks off.

  Shake off the residue of nearly being buried alive.

  The smell of breakfast—bacon, maybe eggs, and if he were lucky, buttermilk pancakes—wafted in under the door, stirred him out of bed.

  He got up, pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and headed out to the bathroom. He didn’t bother to shave but did brush his teeth and pull his hair—yes, definitely he needed a cut—into a bun.

  Oh yeah, he was a real prize. No wonder Jess hadn’t stuck around last night after Chet pulled him into his office.

  “Would you be willing to give the team a mountaineering refresher course?”

  Chet’s request gave him exactly the reason to hang around PEAK for a couple weeks. Hang around Jess, really.

  Sure, Chet. No problem.

  Maybe he’d figure out, now that he was back, just what to say, how to say it.

  Jess, I can’t stop thinking about you.

  Jess, give me another chance to earn your trust.

  Jess, you’re the only girl for me.

  No. None of that was right.

  Jess, I love you.

  He stared at his mug in the mirror. He should just say it. Tell her how she could tease him into a knot, and when she smiled at him, he forgot his name, and everything felt right with the world.

  More, how she was brave and smart and yeah, she had secrets, but he didn’t care about the past if he could have her future.

  Oh boy, he’d turned into a sappy romance novel.

  He had to woo her. Take it slow. Ease back into her life.

  But he wasn’t good at this. Yes, he could charm a woman out onto the dance floor. And once upon a time, even beyond that. But ever since he’d kissed Jess on a mountaintop, nothing else compared.

  Aimee hadn’t deserved the way he’d just left. But being nearly entombed had made him realize one thing.

  If he couldn’t have Jess, then he didn’t want anyone.

  “Pete, are you in there?” His mother’s knock came at the door, and he opened it.

  “Hey, Ma.”

  She patted his cheek. “I thought I heard you up. Pancakes are ready.”

  He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I missed you.”

  Her eyes widened, but she smiled. “Okay, then. Extra bacon for you.”

  He laughed and followed her into the kitchen of her condo.

  Sam was already sitting at the round breakfast table. Clean shaven, he wore a flannel shirt rolled up at the elbows and a pair of jeans. “Hey,” he said. “I meant to catch you last night.” He got up and extended his hand.

  Pete glanced at it, their conversation from months ago ringing back to him.

  “This is my chance, bro, to run my own show, prove myself.”

  “Just stay alive, Pete.”

  Pete met his grip, and then, weirdly, Sam pulled him into a quick, one-armed hug. “We gotta talk,” Sam said softly.

  He let Pete go, and Pete frowned at him, but Sam just reached for the plate of pancakes. “Mom, this looks delicious.”

  Looking at his mother, one would never know that she’d waged a battle with cancer. She’d never lost her hair in the treatment, but now it seemed freshly dyed a golden brown, thick and wavy around her head. And she’d gained enough weight for her body to appear strong, not emaciated. In fact, Maren Brooks seemed to glow with health.

  “You look good, Mom,” Pete said as she put a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him.

  “I’m just so happy to see my boys back at the same table. A little impromptu family breakfast.” She put her hands on Pete’s shoulders and squeezed.

  Pete glanced at Sam, who seemed to force a smile. Weird.

  He dished himself up a couple of pancakes, ladled on the syrup, and dug in.

  “Best breakfast I’ve had in months,” he said, his mouth full. “They don’t have food like this at the FEMA camps.”

  His mother sat down and dished herself up some pancakes. “Last I heard, you were fighting that oil fire in eastern Montana. The news made it sound like half the state was on fire.”

  “We had to call out the National Guard. The fire took out an entire town. We had to rescue a group of people from a fallout shelter under a hospital. There was a cave-in during the rescue op.”

  He took a drink, painfully aware of how his throat had closed up.

  “I hope no one was killed.”

  He swallowed, found his voice. “Nope.”

  She reached out, squeezed his arm. “I’m just glad you’re home. Are you here to fight that fire in the park? I can see the smoke from here.”

  “No. I came home . . .” Where to start? To escape his nightmares? Chase down Jess? “I had vacation time.”

  “And he spent it driving into the park last night, right into the fire, and rescuing one of our PEAK teammates.”

  Pete looked at Sam, raised an eyebrow. And Mom needed to know that, why?

  “Oh my.”

  “I was fine, Mom.”

  He shot another look at Sam, this time adding a glare.

  Sam didn’t flinch.

  “I’m sure you were. You know what you’re doing.”

  He did, thank you.

  “Actually, I’m glad you’re both here.” She put her fork down. Reached out to touch his hand. She touched Sam’s with her other hand.

  Pete froze. “Mom, you’re okay, right?” Oh please, let this not be about the cancer.

  “Oh, honey. Yes. I’m fine. I still go in for my monthly chemo shot, but the cancer is in remission.”

  But she still held his hand.

  He looked at it, then back to her.

  “I have better news. I . . . I’m in love.”

  Pete stared at her. “What—”

  “I knew this was coming,” Sam said darkly.

  Pete pinned his gaze on him. “You knew?” He turned back to his mother. “You’re in love? With who?”

  “Whom. And it’s—”

  “Chet King,” Sam said with a tone of near accusation.

  Chet?

  He looked back at his mother. “Really. Wow. When . . .”

  “Right after Sam got hurt.”

  Which was why Sam had figured it out. Because he’d lived with Mom while he recuperated.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” This he directed at Sam.

  “Because I’m blind and didn’t realize it until Willow said something.”

  “I just love Willow, Sam,” Maren said. “I really think it’s time to ask her to marry you—”

  “Wait—you’re going to ask Willow to marry you?” Pete said.

  “Maybe . . . yes . . . probably. I don’t know—but Mom, seriously, Chet?”

  Maren let go of Pete’s hand. “He’s lonely. And I’m lonely—”

  “You have me!” Sam said. “And Pete. And your church an
d—”

  “I’ve been a widow for thirteen years, Sam. I think it’s okay if I start dating again.”

  “And fall in love?” Sam said, and Pete just looked at him. “What, are you two going to get married?”

  Whoa. Pete just might need to break out the defibrillator on his brother, the way he seemed to be turning all shades of purple. “Pump the brakes, bro. This is a good thing. Mom deserves to be happy, right?”

  Sam opened his mouth, but his mother answered.

  “I am happy. But I realized, Sam, after you got hurt, that life is too short to let old hurts and fears keep me from something more. I like Chet—no, I love Chet King. He’s kind and sweet and smart and—”

  “And Pete’s boss,” Sam said.

  “Not anymore.” Pete folded his arms over his chest.

  “And practically a father figure to me—”

  “Exactly,” Pete said. “Which means you should be happy.”

  “And he’s . . . old.”

  Pete had nothing except a slow grin that slid up his face.

  “Okay,” Sam said, holding up his hand. “Okay. I realize I sound a little crazy. Willow is always saying I don’t do well with change.”

  “What a shocker,” Pete said.

  Sam shot him a glare. “I just need a second here to catch up.”

  “Chet is five years older than I am,” his mom said. “That’s it. And believe me, we’re not that old.” She looked up at Pete and winked.

  “Mom, for cryin’ out loud!” Sam said.

  Pete grinned at her.

  Sam stood up. “C’mon, Pete.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to find out what Chet’s intentions are.” Sam bent down, kissed their mother on the cheek, and strode out of the kitchen.

  “Apparently I’m in a Hallmark movie now,” Pete said. “Sorry, Mom. But congratulations.”

  She smiled at him. “Go calm your brother down.”

  Fat chance. Sam sat in his truck stewing as Pete climbed in and shut the door. He pulled out before Pete had buckled in.

  “What’s your deal? Mom in love? That’s awesome.”

  Sam’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

  “And you and Willow? Are you really going to ask her to marry you?”

  Sam’s shoulders rose and fell.

  “Take a beat here, Sam. It’s no big deal.”

  “What if Chet starts flying again?” Sam glanced at Pete. “What if he gets killed?”

  “I don’t think . . . I mean, that’s what Kacey is for, right?”

  Sam shook his head. “Chet is a doer. He’s getting better every day, and someday he’s going to get back in that cockpit. And I just don’t want . . . Mom can’t lose another husband.”

  Pete sobered then, his smile dimming.

  “Besides. She loved Dad with everything in her. How can she love someone else?”

  Pete looked out the window.

  The smoke hung over the mountains, hazy in the morning light. Miles was out there, fighting with his old crew—he should probably be there with them.

  But, weirdly, the thought of jumping into the flames ran a shudder through him, and he heard his own voice drifting up from where he’d pocketed his nightmares. “Get out! The wall’s coming down!”

  They pulled up to the PEAK HQ next to Chet’s truck. Pete jumped out, followed Sam into the office.

  Jubal, Chet’s lab, rose on his haunches, giving a warning bark as Sam entered.

  Yeah, that was probably the right move, because Sam seemed undaunted. He went right up to Chet’s office, knocked once, and then pushed the door open.

  Pete followed him in, apology on his lips.

  Chet was standing at the window, arms folded, his back to them. “I love her enough to wait,” he said quietly.

  That took some air out of Sam.

  “Wait for what?” Pete said, because it seemed Sam was fresh out of words.

  “Wait for you two to warm to the idea of your mother and me together.”

  Oh.

  Chet turned. “Maren called me a few minutes ago,” he said. “Sit down and let me fill you in.”

  Sam clearly had no intention of sitting, but Pete went over to the sofa and sat on the arm.

  “I’m not a romantic man. I don’t know why Ruthie married me, stuck with me after the war when I sort of lost my mind. But she did, and once God got ahold of me, I tried to be a good husband to her.” He shook his head. “She put up with a lot from me, but I was grateful for her.”

  He walked over to his desk, sat down. “After she died, a part of me died too. PEAK kept me going. And then we crashed. I laid in that snow with two broken hips, begging God to take me home. But he didn’t.”

  He shook his head, his mouth a thin line. “I was angry with God for a long time after that. Hated being sidelined. If I couldn’t have Ruth, then I wanted PEAK. And then Ben came back, and I realized that maybe I could do something with the rest of my life. I called Kacey and watched her and Ben patch things up, and that was enough.”

  He looked at Sam. “And then you went missing. And your mom . . . well, we became friends. I drove her to Bible study and we went out to dinner. And started talking to each other. And pretty soon, I realized I was in love with her. I had probably been fighting that feeling for a while, but one day, it just sneaked up on me, and I realized God had given me a second true love.”

  Pete glanced at him, the words “it sneaked up on me” finding their way inside.

  “It doesn’t have to be right now. But I hope to marry her soon. Because time is tickin’ and I don’t want to wait too much longer to spend my life with the woman I love.” Chet stood up then. “So, if you’re wondering what my intentions are—it’s to marry your mom. To love her, cherish her, and take care of her for the rest of her life. And I’d surely like your blessing.”

  Sam looked like he’d been punched.

  Pete, however, got up and went to the window. Stared outside at the empty barn where the PEAK chopper used to sit.

  The chopper that had, just yesterday, nearly killed the only woman who made him feel like sticking around.

  No, he didn’t want to wait to spend his life with the woman he loved, either.

  Pete could nearly hear his heart thumping, feel the heat whooshing up through him, buzzing through his body, turning it to fire with the realization of the truth.

  He’d come home to marry Jess Tagg.

  “C’mon, Dex. Do me a solid here. Buy the Montana Rose.” Ian stood in his bare feet on his deck, a thin layer of sweat over his body. His hands still bore the marks of the boxing tape, freshly unwound from his fists.

  His muscles burned from the workout, more frustration than fury as he hit the hanging bag.

  It never seemed to fully cleanse the regrets from his system.

  But he couldn’t live in the past anymore, let his mistakes, the what-ifs tether him here. Even if Sierra did manage, as usual, to creep inside his dreams.

  He’d woken with the old memory fresh in his mind, the one where he’d pulled her into his arms, setting the longings free.

  The one where, for a long moment as he’d kissed her, she’d surrendered to him, belonged to him, and he to her.

  Right before he’d destroyed everything with his obsession to find Esme.

  No more obsession.

  “Why would I want to buy a yacht?” Dex said over the phone.

  “Because you don’t have one.”

  “I don’t need a yacht.”

  “You need this one. She’s a real beauty. One hundred and forty-six feet. Six staterooms, a private spa, a Jacuzzi, four Jet Skis, and a theater. I’ll sell it to you for a bargain rate. I got it for sixteen mil—I’ll sell it to you for ten.”

  “Ten million for a boat you’ve never even taken out?”

  “I have a crew of five on call. Seriously, it’s yours—take her out. Take Noelly with you.”

  “Not unless you’re going, pal.”

&n
bsp; Ian shucked off the towel and hung it on the back of one of his dining chairs. The sun had cleared the jagged horizon in the east, but the smoke from the fire blotted it out, diffusing the light, turning the entire sky to a pale burnt-orange.

  The acrid odor hung in the air, and even the breeze felt sooty.

  “I don’t like water—you know that better than anyone.”

  “It’s probably a lemon. I’ll get out to the high seas, and it’ll spring a leak.”

  “Dex—”

  “Listen. You take me for a scoot around the Caribbean in your little runabout and I’ll think about it.”

  “The sooner I sell the boat—and the ranch—the sooner I can move to Texas.”

  A pause.

  “Really? You’re serious?”

  Ian walked off the deck onto the stone patio, near the fire pit. He should have installed a pool, probably, but . . . well, again, he wasn’t big on water. Even when you could see the bottom.

  The Shaw Ranch still ran cattle, but only a handful, which he’d sell off this spring. And in the meantime, he could lease the land.

  As for the house . . . well, he had no affection for a place that had only brought him heartache. Memories of Sierra embedded every room, starting with their offices, then the living room, the kitchen.

  She belonged here just as much—maybe more—than he had. She’d helped him decorate the place, helped him find the leather furniture, the rough-hewn dining table, the wool rugs, the Charles Russell oil originals.

  In fact, the house hadn’t even been finished when he’d found her here, standing at the frame of the picture window, looking out over the mountains.

  Her black hair had nearly reached her waist then, and she wore a beanie flopped to one side, a satchel over her shoulder, green cargo pants, a tie-dyed shirt, and flip-flops.

  Not exactly his idea of an executive secretary, despite what his neighbor Chet King had implied.

  “Hardworking, dependable. She attends my church.”

  Ian had only needed someone to run his house while he traveled, keep his appointments in order, and field his mail. Then she turned, landed those hazel-green eyes on him. “I’m Sierra, and if you put curtains over these windows, you’ll be destroying the soul of this amazing house.”