by Glynna Kaye
“A compass?” Cubby asked hopefully, carefully handing his grandfather’s back to Sawyer.
“Yes, compasses. And whistles.”
Landon looked skeptical. “Whistles?”
“In case of an emergency or if you’d get lost.”
“I won’t get lost.” Landon squared his shoulders and cast his brother a challenging look.
Cubby puffed out his own chest. “Me neither.”
“Well, that’s good to know, but there are things we have to do before we can think of taking an overnight camping trip.” Not the least of which was winning over Therese and Ray, who—although they’d never said so right to his face—he had a sneaking suspicion didn’t approve of him.
And for good reason, even if they didn’t know the whole of it.
“So let’s not mention it to your grandma and grandpa just yet, okay? Not until I can talk to them.”
Expecting Tori might object, he was pleasantly surprised when the look and slight nod she gave him conveyed she agreed that would be a wise move. He didn’t quite know what to think of it, this newly acquired habit he was falling into of hoping to please Tori Janner...
Chapter Seven
“Tori?” Ray stood in the doorway of her apartment that evening. “May I speak with you a moment?”
She looked up from her sewing machine. “Sure.”
He motioned for her to follow him, and she locked the door behind her as she always did to keep the boys safely out of her sewing supplies. Needles and pins. Scissors.
“Therese seemed more herself tonight,” she commented as they walked down the hallway and past the sweeping staircase. “Although tired.”
“Yes, definitely tired.” They entered the high-ceilinged parlor. Ray sat down on an upholstered love seat, motioning her to a nearby chair. “Make yourself comfortable. This won’t take long.”
Make herself comfortable? Amid the antiques, velvets and brocades? Old sepia-toned photographs and fragile bric-a-brac added to the air of formality. An unhappy little boy hadn’t scared her off from the job offer, but this room in which she’d interviewed had come close. No doubt it fueled their big brother’s concerns about the active boys growing up here.
“Therese retired for the evening shortly after we ate.” Ray stretched an arm across the back of the love seat. “So I put the boys to bed tonight. Cubby was distraught about something that happened today, which is what I want to talk to you about.”
Her mind raced over the events of the day. The laughter. The brotherly bonding. What could have upset him? Nothing that she could think of unless the boys had piped up, despite Sawyer’s admonition, and begged to go camping. Then Ray had squashed the idea.
“Now before I continue—” his expression, to her relief, was kind “—I don’t seriously mind that you took the boys to work at the Outpost with you today. I threw off your schedule at the last minute.”
With a sinking feeling, she nodded. “But something upset Cubby?”
“He cried tonight as I tucked him in.”
“Because you said no.”
A crease formed between Ray’s brows. “Because I said no to what?”
“The boys...” She thought fast. “They’re always dreaming things up they want to do. I’m sure you’ve often had to say no.”
“Well, this time the tears were due to grief, not disappointment. Cubby’s missing his mother and father, and it seems this episode was triggered by Sawyer talking to them about their dad today. Stirring up memories. Showing them photos.”
Her heart wilted. “Honestly, Ray, I was there the entire time and there was no indication from either of the boys that learning more about their parents, particularly their dad, in any way affected them negatively. They seemed quite interested. Asking questions. Not a hint of upset.”
“Cubby harbors things deep down. You no doubt recall the meltdown at the ice cream shop?”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Tori said, her heart aching for the boy, “what triggered that?”
Ray ran a hand wearily across his eyes. “He was tired. We’d had a busy day. The twins are very different, you know. Temperament. Personality.”
She nodded.
“Anyway, he tends to be more of a Gloomy Gus.” Ray chuckled. “But what set it off is that we were looking at the menu when Cubby spied a woman out the window who he thought was his mother.”
“Oh, no.”
“He was excited and pressing himself up against the window, tapping on it and trying to get her attention.” Ray shook his head. “Before I knew it, he was halfway to the door. He was steaming mad at me, but I got him back in his seat, explaining that the woman resembled his mother but she was someone else. That his mommy is in Heaven. But he wouldn’t hear any of it. And that’s when you walked in.”
“A sad situation. And he was upset like that tonight?”
“Not to that extreme, thankfully. But nevertheless, his grief was renewed. When I questioned him, he talked about how his mom and dad had taken him and Landon hiking and on picnics. It appears he’s troubled by the memories.”
“I’m sorry, Ray. Neither Sawyer nor I picked up on that. In fact, I feel responsible because it probably was at my urging that Sawyer mentioned their father at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought it might be comforting to the boys to get to know the man their father was through memories Sawyer can share with them. I thought it might help Sawyer, too. He lost the same father the twins did.”
“I know you had good intentions, Tori, but—” He shook his head. “Cubby is an especially sensitive soul. Quick to shed a tear.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” She wasn’t sure how the words now poised on the tip of her tongue might be taken, but she felt compelled to voice them. “I remember at the ice cream shop you told him that big boys don’t cry. There’s nothing inherently wrong with a boy crying, especially one who had his parents torn from his life.”
Ray snorted. “Unfortunately, we’ve had way too many tears around here. The boys—particularly Cubby—have discovered waterworks are especially useful in manipulating their grandma.”
“But tears,” Tori prodded, her heart heavy, “aren’t as useful when it comes to swaying Grandpa?”
“I see right through them.”
“You know, though, Ray, children need to grieve. Just like adults.” Her thoughts again flashed to the memory of her father angrily trying to stop her from crying. “It’s healthy for the boys to work through their loss. They need the freedom to talk about their mother and father openly. To share memories with each other and with you. Do you and Therese allow them to do that?”
Ray, looking uncomfortable, stood. “Memories make them sad. I love those two whippersnappers, and I don’t like to see them hurting. And while I won’t go as far as to forbid you from taking them to the Outpost when necessary, please do me a favor. Ask Sawyer not to talk about his father in the presence of my grandsons.”
* * *
Two days later, Sawyer glanced over at Tori seated in the front of his pickup. “Do you mind if we swing by my place on the way into Hunter Ridge? I need to pick up something I forgot this morning and it will save me from having to backtrack after I drop you off.”
A check needed to be postmarked today to avoid a late penalty.
“I don’t mind. I’m curious to see where your place is.”
She was? He hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed. It wasn’t a showplace cabin like some in the region. But from what he’d gleaned during the drive to and from Show Low, she enjoyed Arizona history. His place might interest her as more than just a roof over his head.
They’d had a busy day. With measurements in hand, she’d accompanied him to a business liquidation sale in Show Low and helped him select shelving for th
e storage room as well as two wood-framed, glass-fronted display cases. He’d go back for them tomorrow with a borrowed Hunter’s Hideaway stock trailer.
“My place is nothing fancy,” he added, picking up where the conversation had left off. “But it’s a genuine old-time cabin that used to serve as a store and post office in Hunter Ridge’s earliest years, before the main business district shifted higher up on the forested mesa.”
He slowed to turn off the main highway, then they headed down a steep, winding incline that bottomed out at the bridge crossing Hunter’s Creek. As they made their way back up the other side, just short of the city limits, he turned onto a narrow gravel road, its curving length lined with oaks and ponderosa pines.
“It’s a historic site? But your family isn’t originally from around here, is it?”
“No. We’ve been mostly urban desert dwellers for several generations, but some of us—Grandpa, Dad, me—eventually gravitated to the high country. This place was going to ruin, slated to be torn down, but when I was a teenager my grandpa saw its potential and snatched it up about the same time he bought the Outpost. We’d started renovating it on weekends and holidays and when he passed away not long after I graduated from college, I took over the Outpost and continued work on the cabin.”
She nodded with interest as they bumped along the road.
“You know, Tori, I’ve been giving more thought to that camping trip the boys want to go on.” He glanced at her, expecting to see interest in her eyes, but she’d turned to stare out the passenger-side window. Come to think of it, she’d been unusually quiet today, as though something were weighing on her mind. “I was thinking of taking them to one of dad’s favorite spots. Great views. Good fishing. Lots of wildlife. Think they’d like that?”
“Probably.”
Probably? Not the enthusiastic response he’d come to expect of her. When the boys had first presented the idea, she’d thought it would be a wonderful experience. If the Selbys agreed to the trip, of course.
“The kids haven’t said anything to their grandparents about camping yet, have they? You know, before I’ve decided how best to approach them?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
He glanced at her again as he skirted the truck around a pothole. “You know you’re welcome to come along, too, don’t you? The boys would love it. And if you’d feel more comfortable, I’ll ask Luke and Delaney to join us, or maybe Grady and Sunshine. Their Tessa isn’t that much older than the twins, is she?”
“Just a year. Kindergartner.”
Was she considering going? Or had his teasing about turning her into an outdoorsman created some anxiety? Maybe she feared he might ask her to bait a fishhook or skin a critter or something.
“You know, though, Sawyer, it might be—”
“There it is.” He pointed ahead as through the trees he spied his two-story tin-roofed cabin’s wide front porch. As always at the sight of it, a sense of coming home rose up within him. The location, although feeling remote, was actually not far from civilization, a reasonably walkable distance from town if you didn’t mind hoofing it through some rough terrain.
Tori leaned forward. “I love it, Sawyer! It’s so cute.”
He grinned. Now, that reaction was all Tori.
He had to admit, with sunlight dappling down through the pines, it looked as if it had nestled there forever, anchored by a solid stone foundation and logs aged a soft brownish gray. This wasn’t a modern “kit” cabin as she’d probably seen in those log home magazines at the grocery store. No, this was the real deal. Around a hundred years old. Slightly behind the main structure was a separate work shed he’d hauled in from another location and a double carport that was later attached.
He pulled to the side of the lane, jumped out to open a steel gate, then drove through. “I’ll only be a minute, but do you want to come in?”
“Do dogs bark?” She laughed as two of them dashed around the far corner of the cabin doing just that.
Sawyer climbed out of the truck and the two canines immediately silenced and sat, tails wagging, awaiting permission to move forward to greet him. He rounded the truck and opened the passenger-side door. “It’s okay. You can get out. These guys won’t jump on you.”
She came to stand by him, looking apprehensive at the size of his furry family members. One, a black, white and brown mix, bore traces of an Australian shepherd bloodline and something obviously larger. The other, black as coal, was mostly Labrador.
“Tori, meet Blackie.” He pointed at the Lab mix.
She made a face at him. “Now, that’s an original name.”
He laughed as he indicated the mottled one. “And this is Louie.”
“Hi, boys.” She knelt, and Sawyer signaled to the dogs, who quietly approached, tails wagging, for her to pet. “What sweethearts.”
“Hear that, guys? Your fearless leader lives in a cute cabin and his dogs are sweet. Go figure.” He squatted to rough up Louie’s neck fur.
Without any urging, Tori followed him up the porch steps and into the house. What would she think of it?
* * *
No, she didn’t mind a slight detour.
Inside, as Sawyer disappeared down a hall and she heard his footfalls heading up a staircase, she looked eagerly around the open space. There was something appealing about a cabin, especially one that had history tied to the region. His was as cozy as a hobbit home with all the expected trappings of a male domain. Natural stone fireplace. Recliner. Wide-screen TV.
In front of glassed French doors that were no doubt a recent addition, a large oak table with mismatched wooden chairs graced an oval woven rag rug. To the right was a kitchen, lending a modern element to the structure, although its cabinetry appeared to be weathered wood. Did Sawyer cook much? Or was he one of those masters of the frozen microwave meal?
She eased down onto one of the woven-seated stools at the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the downstairs space. She’d enjoyed their trip today, with Sawyer entertaining her with tales of working at Hunter’s Hideaway as a teen. In turn, she’d related her hopes of establishing a business similar to the one she’d shared with her grandmother in Jerome.
She didn’t, of course, include anything about the contributing role that Heath had played in dismantling that enterprise. To her relief, Sawyer genuinely seemed to take her quilting aspirations seriously, not condescendingly as her former fiancé had done. But despite the easy back-and-forth nature of their conversation today, she hadn’t relaxed. Not for a minute.
Throughout the trip she’d searched for the courage to slip in Ray’s request that Sawyer refrain from discussing his father with his little brothers. She was responsible for planting that idea in Sawyer’s mind, and now she had to tell him it was a bad idea?
Frustrated, she glanced down at a square, flat-bottomed basket sitting on the counter, crammed with odds and ends of junk mail. Idly, she reached for a colorful fast-food flier and unfolded it. Coupons for burgers and fries. She smiled. They’d expired in December. At least the next ad she pulled out for an oil change and car wash had another week to go on it.
Yes, she needed to tell Sawyer what had happened, but he’d feel hurt—and probably angry—at Ray’s directive, and also concerned that he’d caused Cubby distress. What if Sawyer saw the twins before she told him and unknowingly said something that again disturbed one of his little siblings? That wouldn’t be fair to any of the Banks brothers.
She pulled a few more fliers from the stack. Flashy-looking ads for well-known Vegas casinos. Special deals on rooms, dining, shopping and shows, offers made in hopes poor suckers—like her dad and mom—would settle in at a slot machine or poker table and empty their pockets. Or savings account.
Shaking her head, she tossed the fliers back into the pile just as Sawyer reappeared, carrying what seemed
to be two small photo albums.
“So what do you think of the place?”
“It’s fabulous. I don’t know what it looked like before, but it’s amazing.”
“It was in sad shape. Big sections of the roof caved in, broken windows, rotting floors. Ancient wiring and no plumbing.”
“As in no...?”
“No running water or indoor bathroom. But now, I’m pleased to say, there are one and a half bathrooms.”
She laughed. “Bravo.”
He filled her in on the decision to renovate rather than restore so modern conveniences could be incorporated. She could tell he was proud of the place, pleased with how it was turning out.
She nodded to the items in his hands. “Are those pictures of the renovation?”
“Actually—no.” He handed her one of the albums.
Puzzled, she opened the gray padded cover of the first book, her heart jolting at a reprint of the same photo Sawyer carried in his wallet and had shown his brothers. As she slowly paged through the album, one photo at a time, each tugged at her heart. Picture after picture of him with his older brothers, grandfather and father enjoying outdoor adventures.
“I thought they’d like having pictures of when their dad was a kid. And their Banks grandparents. And of me, too, you know, when I was their age, doing stuff with Dad. I slipped in some pictures of them with their folks at the back.”
She glanced at the burgundy album still in his hands.
“They’re identical,” he said, catching her look. “Do you think they’ll like them?”
She drew a shaky breath. “They will love them. This is truly special, Sawyer.”
His eyes brightened at her words. But how could she tell him that right now might not be a good time to share these memories with the boys?
“Sawyer—”
At the blast of a vehicle’s horn she startled. Frowning, Sawyer placed the photo albums on the counter, then she followed him to the door. Luke Hunter’s crew-cab pickup was pulling into the drive with a slatted stock trailer hitched on behind.