Animal Prints: Sweet Small Town Contemporary Romance (Michigan Moonlight Book 1) (17 page)

“Pretty much.” He shrugged. “I can always make a living as a photographer, but I’ve poured nearly everything I have into the project.”

Alongside the road, the scenery changed to forests of pine trees interspersed with orchards and fruit stands welcoming summer tourists. People here helped others, banded together, like Ian said, but he wasn’t from a small town. He didn’t have that sense of belonging to family or place like she did. She reached out and touched his arm. “You’re helping me with my fundraiser. What can I do to help you?”

“Come see what I’ve collected so far.”

“Is that why we’re on the way to Boyne?”

“Yeah.” He reached across the seat and took her hand. “Do you mind?”

“No, I want to.” He’d seen what she was passionate about at the farm; it was her turn to gain some insight into him.
 

“Your car’s not in a two-hour parking space, is it?”

“It’s behind Lexy’s café. She won’t have me towed.” Colette grinned. “I’ll just owe her an explanation.”

He turned his head, giving her a melancholy smile. “Nice to have people who check up on you.”

“Most of the time.” Colette studied his profile. How many years had he spent on his own without a close relationship to family? Still, he didn’t push people away who got close from what she’d seen. He certainly hadn’t pushed her away. If anything, learning more about him just made her care for him more, and he seemed to accept that happily enough. As she considered this, the land outside the window began to roll and the mountains of Boyne came into view up ahead.
 

Ian pulled up to a villa overlooking a golf course under construction. The villa was two stories in the Chalet style with a balcony facing the ski slopes. Paths led from the villa in the direction of the ski lodge and lifts, a quarter mile in the distance. They walked up an outside staircase to the balcony, arms linked, and entered the main room. Large skylights in the cathedral ceiling flooded the space with light, balancing the dark leather couches and rustic furnishings.

“Something to drink?” Ian walked to the connected kitchen and opened the fridge.

“Whatever you’re having,” Colette mumbled, her attention drawn to the stacks of photographs scattered around the room. A large computer monitor attached to a laptop sat on the dining room table with a printer. Ian returned with a couple sodas and booted up the computer.
 

“I like to print my images,” he gestured to the eight-by-ten photos covering every flat surface in the room. He handed her the drink where she waited in front of a picture of three men standing on the deck of a boat. They had their arms around each other, but steely expressions on their faces. “The three brothers I interviewed on the UP before going to Grand Island. They own a fishing business together inherited from their father.” He drew her along to a woman with a small child in her arms. The woman stared straight at the camera, uncompromising and determined, while the child smiled. “She’s from just outside of Akron, Ohio. When she got home, she found out her husband had lost his job, but he never told her while she was overseas. They lost their home and live in a two bedroom apartment with three kids.” Before Colette could speak, he steered her until she stood in front of a portrait of a middle-aged man with his arm around an older woman. “That’s his mother. He lives with her now in an assisted living unit in Winter Haven, Florida. You can’t tell in the picture, but both his legs are gone below the knees.”

“I don’t know what to say, Ian.” The overwhelming number of stories left her staring at him.

“I don’t some days either. You just have to remember it’s not all bad. There are some great stories of people returning to their lives or finding a cause they feel passionate about.” Ian picked up a photo of a young man in a marine uniform. “Sergeant Maynard from Philadelphia. He told me he had a juvenile rap sheet a mile long, but the marines took him anyway, trained him, sent him to Afghanistan for two tours. Now, he’s a recruiter back in his home area trying to help other troubled kids.” Ian walked back to the computer. “I want to show you the proposal I sent to my agent.” He clicked through several screens until Colette saw a video opening. “Just watch.” He pulled a chair out for her in front of the monitor and walked from the room.

She sank into the chair, not knowing what to expect. The video contained bits of interviews with veterans and their families, numerous still photos, some black and white, some color. As the images played, Ian’s voice explained how the book would be organized, its purpose to raise awareness and capture the struggles of those who served, and his hopes for its success to provide a starting point to discuss veteran affairs. Colette wiped a tear from her eyes as the last picture faded on the screen. The poignancy of the photos and message send shock waves through her. She looked around for Ian.

On the balcony, he stared over the golf course with his back to her.

His intensity made more sense to her now. This afternoon taught her how much the project meant to him, and why he was determined to see it through. She understood that sort of drive, but hers was calmer: building something slowly but surely, which would sustain itself for years to come. His story, on the other hand, needed to be told now. The time to help or at least appreciate the sacrifices of these veterans was now.
 

When she reached the balcony, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his back. The warmth of his body and the sun sank into her. He tensed, but stayed where he was.

She took in a breath for courage and pulled his shirt from his waistband. The exit wound on his back was three times the size of the entry point, a well of red surrounded by white scar tissue. To her surprise, he didn’t pull away from her, but let her explore.

“Will I live, Dr. Peterson?” Although the words were joking, his tone was serious.

“I don’t know much about bullet wounds or human medicine, but I’d say you’ll live to enjoy many more years thanks to some surgeon’s good work.” She tucked his shirt back into his pants and came to face him. “Weren’t you wearing a bulletproof vest?”
 

“The bullet went just under the edge.” His ring finger touched the scar thoughtfully, and his thumb pressed another place slightly above it, but she wasn’t entirely sure he was aware he was doing it. “Another hit higher up, but the vest stopped it. I had a hell of a bruise from that one.”

“What happened?”

“Wrong place, wrong time.” He shrugged.

“Nope, not good enough.” She rested her hands on his chest.

He let out a long sigh. “We were about twenty miles outside of Baghdad, in a convoy moving toward the city. The Humvee ahead of mine hit a roadside bomb, then the firing began. Everyone dove out of the vehicles seeking cover. In the process, I got hit.”

She nodded, imagining the situation. “Wouldn’t your back have been to the shooters if you were running for cover?”

“Shit. Most civilians don’t realize that. Should have known you’d see it.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I turned around to take a picture.”

She moved her arms up to circle his neck and tugged at him to lower his face to hers. Just before his lips met hers, she paused, “Was it a good photo?”

“Don’t know. Lost my camera.”

Chapter Ten

When Ian stepped out of his car early on Saturday morning at Cherry Ridge Farm, Colette was already sitting in the driver’s seat of one of the green veterinarian trucks, waiting for him.
 

“You sure you want to do this?” She handed him a travel mug of coffee when he slid onto the passenger seat. He put a camera bag at his feet and took a gulp.

“I want to see what you do on the farms. It’ll look good on your website.” He settled into the seat as she pulled out of her driveway, headed inland. In the morning light, her skin looked rosy and soft. He wanted to stroke his finger down her cheek, but stopped himself. His feelings for Colette grew by the day. Sharing the plans for his book with her took him a step closer to her. A step he couldn’t retreat from. It also made it more difficult to tell her the truth.
 

“You’re quiet this morning,” she observed.
 

“Just thinking.” He couldn’t resist reaching out to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear and touching her cheek. “How often do you visit farms?”

“Every other Saturday. Dad and I take turns.” She balanced the mug against the steering wheel as she drove.

“What are we going to see today?”
 

“We’ve got four stops. Two horse farms, a dairy farm, and,” she took a sip of coffee, “the Hendricks’ place.”
 

“Why do I detect a shudder in your voice over that?”

“You’ll see.” She turned the truck down a country lane. “The first three places will be pretty routine. At the Hendricks’ place, you never know what you’ll find.”

As promised, the horse farms were well kept with herds raised for breeding. Colette inspected all the horses, dispensing vaccinations as she went. Despite the manure smell, the dairy farm had the cleanest barn Ian had ever seen. Colette wandered into the enclosure where the cows waited to be milked mechanically, running her hand over some animals and lifting up the hooves of others.
 

Ian shook his head at how comfortable she was walking without a hint of nerves among animals that weighed a thousand pounds. When she’d washed up at the dairy farm and steered the truck down yet another country road, he finally had to ask. “Okay, tell me what to expect at the Hendricks’ farm.”

She smiled out the windshield and Ian thought he caught a suppressed giggle. “They have a bizarre collection of animals. Some are what you’d expect. Horses, cows, pigs, goats, chickens and the like, but a few years ago they acquired a permit for exotic animals.”

“What kind of exotics?” Ian asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“At last count, one grizzly bear, four giraffes, a couple gray wolves, a baboon, three monkeys, two camels, and a mountain lion. They haven’t gotten approval yet for tigers and African Lions. When they do, they’ll have to find new vets. Dad and I have to draw the line somewhere.”

Ian tried to formulate an appropriate comment, but the words “grizzly bear” and “mountain lion” got stuck in his head. When he imagined Colette treating a baboon, his internal cringe showed in the fists his hands made. “Why the hell would anyone want to own those animals?”

“At first, they were going to breed and sell them to zoos and other collectors. But they got attached to several of the animals and now they’re like pets.” Colette pulled into a driveway and stopped at a gate.

“Do they roam around?”

“Some of them do. That’s why they have the extra fencing.” Colette pointed at the high row of double fencing stretching in both directions from the gate. “They do have cages for the more dangerous ones.”

“Like the grizzly!” Ian exclaimed, his palms suddenly slick with sweat. He grabbed her arm when she opened the door. “You sure it’s safe?”

“Ian, I have to open the gate.”

“I’ll get it.” He undid his seatbelt and looked around for any sign of animals before getting out of the truck. After he opened the gate and she drove through, he saw the grin on her face.
 

Yeah, real funny, that his highly understandable terror of bears and mountain lions was hilarious to her.
Great way to make an impression, Ian.

“We’ll start with the domestic part of the farm before moving on to the exotics.” Colette said when he returned to the cab.

“Works for me.” He responded, relieved at the brief reprieve.
 

They drove to a farmhouse painted a shocking color of green with barns scattered around it. The barns ranged from lemon yellow to bright pink to saffron orange. Ian tried not to gawk at his surroundings or at the long-haired farmer who came to greet them. His bib overalls fit tight to his expanding belly with no shirt underneath to hide the generous rolls of flesh. Ian couldn’t say how old he was, but he must have been in his fifties or sixties judging by the strands of gray hair hanging down and the wrinkles on his face.

“Collie.” The man hugged Colette to his sweaty chest, nearly crushing her. Ian moved forward, his face going rigid with an unexpected jealousy. “I thought it was your Dad’s week.”

“We switched.” Colette gave the man a dazzling smile, the kind that
he
wanted from her. Colette seemed comfortable with sweaty man’s hands on her, but he wanted to toss her back in the truck and leave this freak show of a farm. “Dusty, I’d like you to meet Ian.” Colette rested her hand on Ian’s bare arm and he felt somewhat reassured. “He’s taking some pictures for my website. Do you mind if he takes photos here?”