Always on My Mind (9 page)

Ned Sutton had taken one look at Casper
 
—attired in a clean
pair of khakis, a dress sweater he’d dug out of his closet, and one of his dad’s ties
 
—and offered him the job. It helped that Casper and Ned had trekked nearly all the back trails during their high school days.

Dude, seriously? You’re back
 
—and willing to get a real job?

But what choice did he have, really?

“And where’s the best place to go for
 
—you know, beginners?” the man asked. He glanced at his wife as if he was referring to her.

Casper played along. “We have a trail that overlooks Deep Haven called the Pincushion Trail. It’s well-used, so it’s groomed and gives you a fantastic view of the lake. As for others . . .” He walked to the desk, to the pile of brochures, and handed him one. “Here is a complete guide of trails in the area.”

The man took it, shoved it into his pocket. Handed Casper the skis. “We’ll need a set for the wife, too. And anything else she wants.” He winked at Casper, who didn’t know what to do with that.

But he fitted them for skis, boots, bindings, poles, and even that outfit, as well as hats, mittens, and face guards.

“You can stop back in tomorrow to pick up your equipment from the shop.”

Ned clamped Casper on the shoulder as they left, packages in tow. “You’re my hero. Or maybe my secret weapon.” Ned wore a black vest emblazoned with the Wild Harbor logo. With his nearly white, curly blond hair and football build, Ned had charmed his way into the hearts of too many girls in high school
 
—was probably still leaving broken hearts scattered around Deep Haven. Hanging with Ned had cemented Casper with a similar reputation, although he’d never been the kind to take relationships casually.

Which clearly led to today and Casper’s struggling to assemble the pieces of his shattered pride.

“You know, you have a future in retail if you want it.” Ned’s father, who purchased the trading post twenty years prior, had recently left the management in his son’s hands while he headed to warmer climates. “I need a good manager, and I think I’m looking at the perfect candidate.”

“I dunno, Ned.” Casper headed back to the ski-fitting area, where the man and his wife had tried on boots, and closed up boxes. “I’ve never seen myself as a manager.”

“Maybe it’s time to start. You can’t be a treasure hunter forever.”

“Archaeologist.”

“Whatever. You’re good at this. Think about it.” Ned checked his watch. “And take a lunch break, will you?”

Ned disappeared to the front of the store to help a customer while Casper returned the boxes to the back room, located upstairs. Speckled, graying pictures of fishermen docking their boats and hawking their catch lined the store, the place filled with legacy and legend. Sometimes, when he worked late, Casper could hear the voices of the past, feel the hum of adventure and conquest, of courage bred into the early voyagers, and feel like he hadn’t completely betrayed himself.

You’re good at this. Think about it.

Shoot, he didn’t want to be good at this. But maybe if he wanted to start over, get the past out of his system, find his footing, he’d have to embrace a new kind of life.

He jogged downstairs to the office and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going to Pierre’s. Want a slice of pizza?”

Ned shook his head as Casper stepped out into the bright sunshine. Frigid wind off the lake bullied its way down the collar of his jacket, and he zipped it up, bracing himself against the subzero temperature. His dress pants did nothing to protect him, so he
hustled down the street, away from the lake, cutting through the park on his way to Pierre’s. At least he’d worn his hiking boots instead of silly dress shoes.

He ducked into Pierre’s Pizza and added himself to the line.

“Casper, you’re back!” This from Claire, who now managed the restaurant. She and her husband, his brother’s friend Jensen, worked as caretakers of the resort homes across the lake from Evergreen. The homes untouched by the forest fire two summers ago.

Pixie Claire wore her short dark hair back in a blue bandanna. As Casper approached the counter, he noticed the baby shape under her apron. For the love of pete, he couldn’t escape this sudden bloom of pregnant women. “I see congratulations are in order.”

“Oh, I still have about five months left.” She ran her hand over her tummy. “But Ivy and I will have school chums.”

He managed to keep his smile intact, but frankly, everywhere he turned, something reminded him of Raina. Of the baby.

“How long have you been home?”

“Just a couple weeks. I’ve been helping Darek repair one of the cabins. We had a pipe burst and had to gut the place.”

“Oh no
 
—”

“Yeah, but he knows what he’s doing. He hopes to have it ready for Valentine’s weekend.”

“I have no doubt he’s glad to have you home. If anyone can help him fix the place up, it’s you.”

Right. “Well, I’m working at the Wild Harbor too.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

“No judging. A guy has to earn a living.”

She laughed. “Casper, the day you settle for a suit and tie is the day I stop singing love songs. We all depend on you to live the wild adventure we can’t have.”

He knew she meant it as a compliment, but her words dug into him, turned the day sour. “The only adventure I’m after today is two slices of pepperoni.”

“Right,” Claire said and boxed up his lunch, put it in a bag. “By the way, the Blue Monkeys are playing at the VFW for Valentine’s Day. I hope you’ll come.”

“Absolutely,” Casper said. “Great to see you. Say hi to Jensen.”

The wind swirled in off the lake and grabbed at his collar as he stepped out of Pierre’s. He tucked his head down and headed back to the store, turning at the corner to stay out of the wind.

If anyone can help him fix the place up, it’s you.

See, that was his problem. He just kept meddling, thinking he could somehow show up and solve everything. The curse of the middle child, perhaps, this idea that he had to fix it, had to keep the peace.

In fact, the meddling could be a sort of adventure too. Sheesh, he should have seen that.

His meddling would die
 
—right here, right now, today. From now on, Casper Christiansen minded his own business. Punched in at work, grabbed a hammer when asked . . . but no longer would he show up like some Oliver Twist, hands extended, practically begging for more of other people’s problems.

And he’d make a fantastic manager for the Wild Harbor Trading Post.

He was standing at the curb, about to jaywalk between two cars, when he saw someone emerge from the antique store on the corner. In fact, he’d thought the place closed, so the figure caught his attention.

He stilled. Backed up for a better view.

A powder-blue jacket, a pink scarf, white puffy earmuffs
 
—it
could be any tourist bumming around town. But for the long black hair, braided down her back.

He ducked into the nearest alcove
 
—that of the historical society
 
—out of sight and peeked around the edge.

She’d stopped at the corner, looking both ways before crossing, and he got a good, perfect, breathtaking view of her face.

High cheekbones, a smattering of delicious freckles over her nose. Pensive amber eyes that could drill through him, make him forget his name, his destination.

He pulled his head back, tasting his thundering heart in his mouth.

Raina.

Back in Deep Haven?

He peered around the corner again and spied her headed down the street. Ready to run smack into him.

Please, Casper, leave me alone.
Yeah, bumping into her would really scream
moving on
!

He ducked inside the historical society, moving away from the door.

“Casper Christiansen, what on earth are you doing?”

Running? But he turned at the voice and found Edith Draper standing in the foyer. A display of grainy black-and-white pictures under glass depicted a brief overview of the history of Deep Haven, and on the wall, brochures and maps showed the evolution of the area from the days of the early voyagers to the present.

Edith Draper might be the one person who’d lived through every era in Deep Haven. She wore a sweatshirt with the words
Far north of ordinary
, the Deep Haven logo underneath, and a pair of black pants, her white hair styled and neat. Glasses dangled from a chain around her neck.

“Hello, Mrs. Draper,” he said, watching out the window. “I . . . I was cold?”

“And now you’re just lying to me.” She stared out the window. When Raina walked by, Edith clearly saw how he turned his back to her, just in case.

“My, my, we have a situation, don’t we?” She raised an eyebrow. “And who is that young lady?”

“No one,” Casper said. His gaze fell on a box of books and clothing. “Is that a nautical compass?” He picked up the round brass object nestled in what looked like a genuine fur
shopka
. He opened it. A cord attached the lid to the body.

“It’s a sundial compass,” he said. “Wow, I’ve only seen a couple of these. In fact, Fitz, our dig director, had one.”

Edith came up to inspect it. “We didn’t know what it was. It had all these strange hash marks over each number
 
—”

“See, it has an internal magnet to orient the sundial, and then the shadow that is cast by this cord gnomon falls on the number and tells the time.” He closed the lid, turned it over. “There are instructions on the back. And . . .” He peered at etching on the side. “These must be the initials of the owner. T. D. W.”

Edith reached down and pulled out the fur cap. “A voyageur cap!”

“It’s amazing how warm these are. My dad used to have a couple made of rabbit. This one looks like it’s made from beaver. You untie these flaps here, and the ears fold down, as well as the nape in the back.” He demonstrated, then handed the hat back.

Edith took it, considered him. “Your mother mentioned your love of history, but I had no idea. You know, we need some help around here
 
—”

“I have a job.”

“Good, because we can’t pay you. But maybe this will interest you.” She tugged on his arm and led him to a storage closet off the main display area. “We’ve had a shortage of help recently.”

He stood there, staring at the collection of books, maps, shipping and fishing memorabilia, clothing, shoes, utensils, photographs
 
—and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. “Where did you get these?”

“This came from the Linnell estate in Hovland. Evidently Carl Linnell worked for the government, and when they purchased the land up in Mineral Springs, intending to tear most of the old buildings down, he couldn’t bear losing all these artifacts. So he saved them. His children donated them to us, but we don’t know where to start.”

He walked over to a box and pulled out an ancient tuxedo with silk lapels, torn at the shoulder. “Interesting acquisition from Mineral Springs, a voyageur trading town.”

Edith leaned in, raising an eyebrow. “My thoughts exactly. It seems that a smart young man who loves history might enjoy cataloging these finds and maybe even tracking down their history.”

She pulled out a wallet-size date book. Stuck her finger through a hole in the pages.

Casper took it and opened the cover. The writing appeared nearly unintelligible, the ink smudged with water and the elements. And the hole seemed to tear through the pages as if . . . shot?

He closed the book. Took another look at the memorabilia. Maybe the best way to forget his past was to dive into someone else’s. And it wasn’t like he’d run into Raina buried in memorabilia at the historical society. “Mrs. Draper, I would be delighted to help you.”

She smiled. Patted his cheek. “Young man, you’re the answer to my prayers.”

With any luck, his dad didn’t even have to know about the disaster in cabin three.

Not that Darek would lie to him or even not tell him . . . eventually. But news of trouble at the homestead was the last thing his father needed during his second-honeymoon trip to Europe.

Besides, Darek had handled it. And with the addition of a brand-new electrical socket and ceiling light fixture to replace the one shorted out by the flood, he’d managed to overhaul and rebuild the cabin in three hardscrabble weeks.

Just in time for Valentine’s Day. And if the website bookings were accurate, they just might be full.

Love to the rescue.

He grabbed his wire clippers and tape and climbed the ladder to the socket. The low afternoon sun flooded into the room, turning it amber and stirring the scent of the new wood floor, the freshly laid carpet, the rehung and painted Sheetrock.

The door opened. “Knock, knock.”

Darek smiled down at the sight of his wife entering the cabin. She wore her dress coat, UGGs, and carried a white deli bag.

“Hey there, handsome.”

“I’ll be right down.”

“Take your time. I have to sit for a second.” She slid onto a chair. “I can admit, I never thought that I’d consider five degrees a heat wave.”