Along the Broken Road (14 page)

A stream of tears ran down Charlee’s face. “He really was going to do this. Come here himself to share the journal with me.”

Ian nodded.

The soft sound of her crying became louder as her mind undoubtedly wound around the injustice.

Ian opened his arms and she moved silently into that place of safety. He held her while she cried with the firefly lights twinkling above and the soft sound of the lake nearby.

He hoped sharing this with her here, now, hadn’t damaged how she felt about her spot. Ian knew something about this place Charlee didn’t. This was where, someday, she’d spread her father’s ashes.

CHAPTER 7

The next five weeks passed in a blur with Charlee throwing herself into work. It was how she processed things, and Ian had been great to give her the time and space she needed, all the while ready with a journal entry at any given moment. The retreat was looking good for all their hard work, and Charlee and Ian spent days slaving away in the hot sun and evenings talking. That is, when they weren’t in dance lessons after dinner.

But this morning had been rough. She’d had a dream, a bad one, spurred by the journal entry Ian read to her the night before. These days he mostly read straight out of the journal, but had made copies of each page so she could keep each message once he read it.

Her mind turned to the dream. Her father was in a giant glass bubble filling with sand and she was on the outside, screaming at him to get out. He couldn’t hear her. Over and over throughout the night she’d dreamed the same thing. Charlee reached to the nightstand, where the newest journal entry lay on the top of the stack. Once they reached the end, he’d give her the journal. And she’d already decided to give him the copied pages. Her father was a man Ian loved. She’d like him to have a copy of his words.

Charlee had run the gamut of emotions in the last few weeks. One entry would make her sad while the next happy. She wished she could have seen her father like this, like the man of the journal, because as she remembered him, it was almost as if he and her father were two completely different people. Charlee reached for the letter and placed it before her eyes; as the bleary words cleared, the smallest voice told her not to reread it, but she couldn’t stop.

Dear Charlee,

The chaplain came by yesterday and shared a story with me. A parable, he called it, about how a good shepherd will leave the flock to go after one lamb that’s gone astray.

I can’t stop thinking about the story. Many times I’ve left the safe place to go after one of my men. Worked my way under the radar, found myself in hostile territory. I’ve saved lives, sure. That’s my job and why the army sees fit—even at my age—to keep me right here on the field. It’s my commitment to my troops. They’ve put their trust in me and their very lives in my hands. I don’t think I’ve failed them, Charlee.

And yet . . .

And yet I have to wonder . . . What if you’re the lamb that’s wandered away from the flock? Out there, alone and exposed, calling for help with only the wolves close enough to hear your plea.

And what if I’m the shepherd who is supposed to find you? I’m not even there, Charlee. And that makes me think about life. What if I was given one task? One treasure was entrusted to me? And what if—in spite of the lives I’ve saved and the good I’ve done—what if I failed the only mission that really mattered? You, Charlee. I don’t want to have failed you but I fear I have. Even though I plan to return to you soon. What if . . . what if it’s already too late?

Charlee folded the paper and crawled out of bed, refusing to focus on the letter and instead on all the things she needed to accomplish.

An hour later, she was splitting wood beside her cabin when Ian rounded the corner, his hands full of vegetables from her garden. “These looked ready, so I thought I’d save you the trip.”

She sank the ax into the wood and brushed at her brow. “Thanks.” Charlee turned and headed into her house, where country music drifted from the stereo. A classic George Strait ballad.

“You okay?”

Just inside the door, she spun. “No. I’m not.” She turned back around and continued on.

Ian followed her. “What’s wrong, Charlee? Did something happen?”

She huffed and dropped the greens on the kitchen counter. “It’s not fair that I didn’t get to know him when he was alive. I’m twenty-five. I’ve been an adult for a long time. He was here, Ian. Eighteen months ago. Six months before he died. He’d told me we were going to spend some real time together. But all he did was work. That was his chance.” She brushed away angry tears.

“I know you miss him.”

“No. That’s just it. I don’t miss him. We were on different planets and I was sad when he died, but sad for all the things we never had. And that was okay because people can’t give you what they don’t have.”

Ian crossed the room to stand closer, but gave her plenty of space. Charlee needed that—space. Especially when things got to her.

“But there was an artist, a poet inside him. We could have shared that. Talked about the books he loved, how he saw the world through not only the eyes of a major but through the eyes of a poet. And he was right here.”

Ian knew the major had visited Charlee months before his death, but he’d not talked much about the trip, just the list of things he’d accomplished to help lift some of the weight. “In the journal entry we read at your favorite spot, he said he’d seen you but he guessed he hadn’t been ready to talk.”

“For two weeks he was here and all he did was work on the place. Fixed the holes in the cabin walls, cut back the trees overhanging the walk paths, built a new storage shed. Right here, Ian. I could have known him in that two weeks’ time and do you know what that would have meant to me?”

Ian stepped closer, gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “I know.”

“He spent more time clearing brush than talking to me.” A tear threatened, but she wouldn’t give in to it. She was done crying over the could-have-beens.

“He thought he was doing the right thing for you, Charlee. Right or wrong, he was trying to help.”

She let a long breath slip from her mouth. But a nauseating sensation followed it up from the very depths of her being. “I just wish I could miss him, instead of missing everything we didn’t have. I miss the man in the journal, but it just doesn’t seem like it’s really my dad.”

Ian pulled her into his arms. She didn’t resist. She went willingly. At this point, they’d spent many hours in each other’s arms with pounding samba music in the background and an audience of aged artists. But this was different. Intimate but firm. Strong but tender. They were alone. Charlee and Ian. And in each other’s arms. She tilted back to look at him.

Ian dropped his forehead to hers. “How can I make you better?”

She was surprised at the ideas that shot through her mind. “Dance with me?”

A slow smile spread on his face. The music in the background, a mournful love song, took center stage as Ian’s right hand slid to the small of Charlee’s back. His left hand drifted down her arm and interlocked their fingers. Rather than draw their arms out in true dance fashion, he let his arm bend, folding her into him, their clasped fingers resting near their hearts. With confidence born of many nights of dance lessons—though the music couldn’t have been more different—Ian spun Charlee around her kitchen floor until all the tension and sorrow melted from her.

If he could only make it melt from him as well. He tried not to crush her against him, but everything in him wanted to hold on tighter. With so many of the journal entries read, he’d started to feel as if Charlee might be slipping away. Summer would end. The wedding was in a few days and that marked the end of August. Time was closing in on them. On him. He had introduced Charlee to the sensitive side of her dad, but she still had so many unresolved feelings. Would he be able to stay long enough to help her sort through all the emotions? Or would summer’s end and the job offer—if it came—cut their time off when the first signs of fall emerged? In two days, he’d be leaving for the wedding. In two days he’d have to face his father, his mom, entertain a potential boss, and dance a samba. Wynona, his dance instructor, had given him an A-plus, something she swore she never did. And that meant one more thing he and Charlee shared was ending.

When the music stopped, he continued to dance, but angled to look down at her. Ian brushed blond curls from her face. “Do me a favor?”

She looked up at him.

“Miss me while I’m gone.”

A saddish smile touched her lips. “You’ll only be gone for a few days,” she reminded him, then sighed. “But, yes. I’ll miss you.”

Ian drew her closer, closed his arms around her, and held her tightly because a few days away from Charlee was going to feel like an eternity. That’s how it was when you were a soldier who had finally found his way home.

CHAPTER 8

Charlee sat a glass of iced tea at the table and chuckled at the sight before her. Mr. Gruber had bought a cell phone and Wynona was teaching him how to use it. The group of artists lounged in deck chairs and had just watched a brilliant sunset beyond the mountain. Ian would have loved it, Charlee realized, the way the reds and oranges set fire to the mountainside. She hadn’t lied to him. She really did miss him and he’d only just left.

Mr. Gruber had received a box of candy from his daughter and King Edward was stuffing his face.

“Shhh!” Gruber yelled, pressing the phone to his ear and pointing at it with a crooked finger. “It’s Ian.”

Charlee stood behind him and didn’t want anyone to see how excited she was to hear if Ian’s time at his parents’ place was going well or not. She knew there were issues with Ian’s dad and she hoped for the best.

Gruber listened, then placed his hand over the bottom of the phone to address the artists who’d gone quiet. “He doesn’t sound good.” That was all Mr. Gruber said and Charlee’s heart lurched. She came around the table and sat where she could watch Gruber’s expression.

“Just one more day, son. And you can come back here. I know your momma’s proud of you for coming and I’m sure sorry about that Brenna person.” Gruber was so tender it melted Charlee’s heart, until she heard the name
Brenna
. Ice chips in her veins. That was the girl Ian once loved.

When Gruber hung up the phone, Wilma waved her hands. “What? What’s happening?”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, concern deepening the lines around his eyes. “Well, it’s about what Ian expected far as his dad’s concerned. But the kicker is this Brenna girl.”

Charlee flattened her hands on the table. “She’s there?”

“Oh, she’s there all right. Even staying in the next room with her new fiancé.”

Charlee’s hands fisted. A strange sensation of first jealousy then anger scalded her insides. “They put his ex-girlfriend in the room next door with her fiancé?” There weren’t words to project her disgust.

“How insensitive,” Wynona said.

“Poor dear.” Wilma shook her head.

Charlee just couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. “Next door? As in
in the same house
?”

Wilma’s hands covered her face. “Oh, this is just awful.”

Wynona slammed her hands on the table. “We have to do something.”

Charlee’s gaze skittered to the sister with the long flowing hair.

Edward swallowed a mound of candy. “What can we do? We’re here. He’s there.”

Mr. Gruber straightened. “Yep. I agree. We gotta have an intention.”

Wynona placed a hand on his. “I think you mean intervention, Arnold.”

Wilma paced the dance floor, clucking her teeth. “We’re going. All of us. We’re going to that wedding.”

Gruber scratched an ear. “I’m not real up on manners and all, but I don’t think you’re supposed to crash a wedding.”

Wilma turned to face him. “Oh, we’re not crashing. We’re Ian’s gift.”

Edward choked on a piece of candy.

“It’s perfect. Gruber, call Ian. Let him know we’re on the way in two hours. I’ll be taking photographs at the wedding and you will use one of them to do a portrait of the happy couple after the day is over. Wynona, you’ll be blinging anything and everything the bride wants to sparkle at the reception. Now we don’t have a lot of time, so Arnold, make that call.”

Just as he was getting ready to hit “send,” Wilma stopped him.

“Wait! Charlee, you’re the most important piece of the puzzle here. We have to know you’re on board.”

On board? With four crazy artists getting ready to scam their way into a wedding? Oh yeah, she was into that. But then Wilma’s words caught up to her. “What do you mean, I’m the most important piece?”

Wilma shrugged. “You don’t really think the four of us showing up will make things any better, do you? We’re just moral support. But you . . .” Wilma came around the table and lifted her hands out to her sides. The next thing she knew, Charlee was being scrutinized by the others as well as they turned and prodded her. “You are the star.”

Around her she heard comments like, “We’ll need to clean her up. Wrangle that hair. Makeup.”

“Whoa!” Charlee stepped from them, realizing the plan and her part in it. “You want me to act like his girlfriend, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Edward patted her back. “Geez, Char Char. For a smart girl, you sure are dense.”

“Now, do we need to go shopping?” Wynona’s bright eyes blinked expectantly.

“No. I have clothes.”

Four flat stares doubted her words. “I do. Really. I have dress clothes, heels and everything, you’ve just never seen me in them.”

Edward wrinkled his nose. “They’re not camo, are they?”

Charlee rolled her eyes. “No. You all just worry about yourselves. I’ll be ready in an hour.”

Edward leaned closer, sniffed. “Does that give you time to shower?”

She cut him with a look then dropped her gaze on Mr. Gruber. “It gives us
all
time to shower.” Although, since Ian’s arrival and his interaction with Mr. Gruber, the man was staying cleaner, keeping house, and even walking a little taller. She’d even caught him and Wynona flirting. Maybe in a world of artistic chaos there was a little room for discipline.

When she turned to her house, she heard behind her, “Go. Go, Cinderella. The prince is waiting.”

King Edward drove the Jeep so Charlee could sit in the back with Wynona, who gave her an over-the-road manicure complete with oil being rubbed into her cuticles and massaged into her calloused hands. No polish, thank goodness, the Jeep’s shocks weren’t what they used to be and painting could have been a disaster. But Charlee admired her nails, trim and neat and without the usual dirt clumped beneath. Wilma had invaded her closet and chose a white sundress for today and a more formal dress for the wedding tomorrow. On her hands and knees, Wilma had discovered the stiletto heels Charlee had purchased on a whim while in Cabo during a spring break. She also had tall wedge sandals that complemented the sundress. It had been so long since she’d actually dressed up, she had barely recognized herself in the mirror. And now she was wishing she had backed out of this whole thing.

Her hand fell to her stomach as they turned off the highway and began pulling down the long winding driveway that led to Ian’s family home in good ole Oklahoma, just one state over.

“Nice digs,” Mr. Gruber said from the front seat as the sprawling home came into view. It was a multilevel ranch style that wasn’t so big it looked pretentious, but big enough for a good-sized family with lots of kids and grandkids. The Oklahoma grass was thick and green and the landscape similar to home.

Seeing the place where Ian grew up had Charlee fighting a powerful dose of nerves. Acting like a girlfriend could cause all kinds of residual problems later.

“Remember.” Wynona squeezed her hand. “
Be
the part.”

Mr. Gruber angled to look back at her and scowled when the streetlight reflection hit his eyes. “That boy was overjoyed when he found out you were coming.”

Charlee swallowed. “Really?” Poor Ian. It must be horrible here.

“Over the moon, little girl, so you just pour it on thick and make that Brenna rue the day she agreed to stay here.”

Charlee bit her bottom lip until Wilma shrieked. “No! Your lipstick. Please, dear. Don’t ruin all our lovely work.”

Charlee had allowed the sisters to darken her makeup. It wasn’t like her, but she had to admit, she looked pretty. Even if it took Wilma five watercolor brushes to paint on the shimmering smoky eye shadow. If Ian needed someone in this situation, she was glad it was she. “I got your six,” she whispered to no one.

They stepped out of the Jeep and Charlee smoothed her sundress as the front door swung open. It was a wide double door with ornate etchings in the oval glass. A couple of young kids came rushing out with a middle-aged lady right behind them. She was all smiles and arms already open wide. As she neared the Jeep, Charlee could see the resemblance to Ian. Same tilt of a dark head, same almond-shaped eyes. This had to be his mom. The woman was tall, trim, and headed straight for her as if on a mission. Charlee stiffened as arms wrapped around her and hugged, words gushing from the woman’s mouth. “Just beautiful. Of course, you’re Charlee. Ian’s told me so much about you.”

The wind grabbed Charlee’s hair and threw it behind her back. “He has?”

“I’m Rosy.” And Rosy hooked her arm through Charlee’s. “Everyone, please come in.

“It’s wonderful to meet you all.” She stepped toward the house and the horde followed, no one bothering to talk, because with Rosy, it just wasn’t necessary. She could carry both sides of the conversation. “Wilma and Wynona, we have room for you here in the main house. And Mr. Gruber and is it . . . King Edward?” She didn’t pause for him to answer. “I’ve put you two in the bunkhouse. But don’t worry, the bunkhouse is really quite lovely.”

Charlee stuttered to a stop. “Oh, we don’t want to impose.” And her heart was hammering because in the list of rooms and who belonged where, Rosy had left her out.

“Impose? No! It would be an
honor
. You all took in my boy and from what I understand have been treating him like family for weeks.”

“Really, we can get hotel rooms in town,” Wilma said, the obvious impending scenario easily read on her face.

Rosy brushed a hand through the air. “Why, I wouldn’t hear of it. You’ll be much more comfortable here. We’ve got a big family and they’re spread out all over town at various houses. I got rooms ready for them that are sitting empty. A good bit of our out-of-towners are at Ian’s uncle’s ranch. We come from cattle ranchers, both Ian’s father and I, but he wanted to be a contractor.” She threw her hands into the air. “Voilà. Here we are. Contractors sitting in the middle of cattle country.”

“Your home is lovely. I thought it looked like a
real
ranch,” Wilma offered.

Charlee had to agree. The sprawling home, white fence line, smooth, rolling hills. Very ranchy.

“We own the land from the road to that far line of trees. Beyond that is my family’s property.” Rosy had pivoted to show them the space. She squeezed Charlee’s shoulders. “We’ve got lots of room for your friends, Charlee. I’d be heartsick if they went to town to stay.”

Charlee forced a smile. Then she paused because a strange sensation crawled over her. Eyes on her. Someone watching. She tried to gather her hair, but the wind was unmerciful, blowing it around and fluttering the dress she wore, causing it to cling to her flesh.

Rosy stepped away, leaving her at the base of the steps, and Charlee felt suddenly alone. And a bit panicky.

Wilma leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Remember, be the part.”

And that’s when her eyes came up and she saw him. Standing at the front door, hands in the pockets of his crisp new jeans and mouth hanging open. His gaze trailed from her head down, lingering, pausing, stalling on her legs in the tall wedge sandals. Charlee swallowed.

From behind someone gave her a little push in his direction.

She mounted the steps focusing on Ian’s dark, sparkling eyes. He mouthed, “Thank you,” and for some inexplicable reason, those silent words drove Charlee to him. Her breath caught as she read all the emotions that swam in his eyes. Relief, happiness to see her, maybe even a little desire. There was also a bit of shock seeing Charlee all dressed up like a Barbie doll and all for him. Her feet chewed up the ground and the sounds of everyone behind her faded into oblivion when she realized all Ian had done for her in the short few weeks he’d been with her and all she could do for him right now. As she neared, a car pulled into the driveway, horn blasting. Though her focus was pinpoint, something made her turn. And there, in the passenger seat, was Brenna. She knew instinctively the dark-haired woman had to be her.

Charlee turned from the oncoming car and set her focus on Ian. His face, his mouth, still open in an
O
, and his beautiful, beautiful eyes.
Be the part. Just be the part
.

As she neared, his hands slipped from his pockets slowly. When Charlee finally reached him, it was like a tidal wave had held her back. She threw her arms around him, one over his shoulder, and pressed her body to his. Her other hand tangled into his hair and Charlee found his mouth with hers and pressed a kiss that had him first stunned, then warming, melting into her and drawing every ounce of strength from her.

Somewhere behind she heard someone say, “Oh my.”

When Charlee broke the kiss and opened her eyes, the former pain she’d seen on Ian’s face seemed gone. He quirked a smile and didn’t loosen his grip. She smiled too. “I was instructed not to mess up my lipstick,” she whispered, for his ears only.

His dark gaze, now filled with desire, flickered down to her mouth. “You’re incredible.”

She started to pull out of his grasp, but he held her there. “Did Brenna see it?”

He flipped his hair to get a quick look without anyone realizing. “Yep. All bug eyes and mouth hanging open.”

“Good.”