Depths of Lake (3 page)

“No, Ma’am,” he says.
 
“I stopped by unannounced.”

“He was a friend of Cal’s,” I explain around the snake that’s trying to close off my throat.

“Oh,” Mom
says,
her expression surprised and sad for just a moment.
 
“Lord
rest
his soul.
 
He was a good man, wasn’t he?”

Lake nods.
 
“One of the best.”

“I bet you have some stories about that man that would blow our minds,” she says with a regretful smile.
 
“Have you met his parents yet?”

Lake nods.
 
“I’ve spent the morning with them.”

“That’s nice,” she says with a smile.
 
“They’re wonderful people.
 
I bet they appreciated you stopping by.”

The look on his face suggests maybe not.
 
It’s hard to tell.

“Well, a friend of Cal’s is a friend of ours,” she pushes past the awkward moment, reaching out and taking his hand in hers.
 
“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

I’m pretty sure my jaw drops open at the same time Lake’s brows furrow together.
 
Our eyes dart to each other at the exact same time.

“You should know that it will be rude to decline,” she says.
 
Mom raises an eyebrow at him.

“It really isn’t,” I say, shaking my head when Lake looks at me again.
 
“You don’t have to stay.”

“It really is, Riley,” Mom says.
 
She gives me a
look
.
 
“He’s a guest and a friend of Cal’s, and I’d like him to stay for dinner.
 
If he’s hungry.”

Lake glances at me again.
 
He’s looking for permission and I’m not sure if I’m capable of giving it.
 
I’m feeling…complicated, right now.

“It’s settled then,” Mom plows right on.
 
“You can leave your truck right there, and then come help me bring all these groceries in while Riley puts Radio away and showers.”

“Uh,” he says, again looking at me.
 
I’m too stunned to answer.
 
“Okay.
 
I guess.
 
Thank you.”

Mom gives him a wink and pulls forward toward the garage.
 
Radio nudges me with his nose.
 
Apparently I left the gate open.
 
I grab his reigns and absentmindedly start for the tack room.
 

Lake follows Mom toward the garage.
 
He looks over his shoulder and catches my eye.
 
He looks just as bewildered as me.

What the hell just happened?

I put Radio away.
 
I shower.
 
I listen to Mom and Lake quietly talking downstairs as I get dressed.
 
I’m tired and I don’t have anyone to impress, so I chose some old gray sweatpants and a brilliant pink T-shirt I got a few years back while on vacation with my parents to Hawaii that says HI in lime-green letters.
 
I tie my red hair up in a knot at the top of my head and go downstairs.

Lake sits at the table while Mom mills about the kitchen.
 
He looks up at me when I walk into the room, his eyes holding mine for a long moment.

“She kept trying to teach him, but he just kept falling off,” Mom says with a laugh, oblivious to my presence.

“Yeah,” I say, making her jump.
 
“Cal couldn’t stay on a horse to save his life.”

“He told me about that,” Lake says.
 
He finally does manage a small smile.
 
It’s lopsided, pulling up higher on the right side than the left.
 
I manage a tiny smile myself.

“It was pretty fun—” Mom cuts short when she turns around and sees me.
 
“What are you wearing, Riley?
 
Did you forget we have a guest?”

“Mom, I’m tired,” I say as I flop down on a chair.
 

“Really, Mrs. James,” Lake says.
 
“I don’t mind.”

Mom gives me a look, but goes back to what she’s preparing.

The two of them continue making small talk, occasionally talking about Cal, some about the Ranch, some about the service.
 
This is easy for Mom.
 
Talking with people and making them feel at home is second nature to her.

I listen mostly.
 
I observe Lake, trying to discern what it is about him that made Cal like him so much.
 
He claimed they were best friends.

Just from looking at him, it’s obvious he can handle himself in pretty much every situation.
 
Cal loved being a soldier.
 
He was good at it.
 
I imagine Lake was—is—good at it too.

If Cal had lived, at some point, he would have introduced me to Lake.
 
Being best friends and all.
 
Heck, Lake probably would have been Cal’s best man.

I can tell Lake isn’t normally one for many words.
 
When Mom asks him questions, he politely answers, but he doesn’t elaborate more than needed.
 
He speaks quiet and his voice is always low and slow.
 
It’s easy to imagine him as a southern boy.
 
But from the questions he’s answering, he’s a born and raised Washington man.

“Yeah, I’m from Woodinville,” he answers Mom.
 
“Lived there for forever.
 
So it was pretty surprising to find one of the guys I was serving with was from Redmond.”

Cal.
 
Cal was from Redmond, not far from Duvall or Woodinville.

“I bet that was nice,” Mom says as she starts handing out plates.
 
We each stand and start serving up the hobo hash she’s made.
 
One of Dad’s favorites.
 
“I’m sure that made the services a little easier, having someone with common history.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he says as he sits back down with his plate.

“Ma’am,” Mom laughs with a shake of her head.
 
“You can call me Raelynn or if you have to, Mrs. James.”

“Mrs. James,” he says with a small tip of his head.

“Hush now and let me say grace.”
 
She does.
 
While she’s praying, I steal a peek at Lake.
 
His eyes are closed, his fingers gripped tightly together.
 
He’s taken his jacket off, and wears a hunter green T-shirt.
 
It stretches tight over his wide frame.
 
Dark, thick lashes stretch long over his closed eyes.
 
I study his hands for a moment.
 
They’re rough and scarred.
 
They’re hands of hard work and war.

Mom finishes, and we all say amen.

“You know,” Mom says as we start eating.
 
“When I saw your truck when I first pulled up, I thought you must be someone coming to apply for the job.”

Lake takes a moment to finish chewing his bite and then shakes his head.
 
“You all looking for some hired help?”

Mom’s chewing, so I answer for her.
 
“Someone to muck out stalls and do some heavy lifting mostly.
 
The pay isn’t good, so no one has inquired yet.”

“
You looking
for a job?” Mom asks slyly.
 
She looks from Lake, to me, and back to him again.
 

“Oh, uh,” he says, instantly uncomfortable.

“Mom,” I say, feeling horrified yet again.
 
“I’m sure he’s already got something lined up.”

She looks at him, expectantly.

“Actually,” he says quietly.
 
He looks beyond uncomfortable.
 
“I don’t yet.
 
Thought I’d figure it all out when I got home.”

“Well?” Mom asks.

“I’m sure a decorated soldier like him isn’t going to want some grunt job,” I say.
 
I’m feeling slightly panicked, and I can’t exactly pin down why.

“Well,” Mom says.
 
“The pay isn’t good, but we’ve got a little apartment above the barn.
 
It’s warm and dry.
 
And I’m a darn good cook, and I promise to always keep you fed.
 
And you can have all the free horse riding lessons you want.”

“Mom!”
I cry once more.

“What?” she says.
 
“I’m just offering.”

I stare her down, and she gives me back this little innocent look like she has no idea why I’m upset.

After a while, I finally steal a glance at Lake.

He looks exactly like he’s been caught in the middle of something.
 
His expression is uncomfortable and a bit uncertain.

But he looks like he’s thinking it over.

“I appreciate the offer, Ma’am,” he says.
 
He looks back at Mom.
 
“I don’t know that I’ll be all that good at whatever you need done, but I’ll give it a try.
 
I don’t want you paying me though.
 
I have a debt to Cal that I can never repay, but I’ll do what I can.”

“So, does that mean you’ll accept the job?” Mom asks.

He takes half a beat to think about it again.
 

And then he nods his head.
 
“Yes, Mrs. James.
 
I’d be honored to help out.”

“Well, all right then.
 
You can finish your dinner and then go get your stuff.
 
I’ll have the apartment ready for you tomorrow afternoon.”

Lake meets my eyes.
 
There are emotions behind those hazel eyes that I cannot identify.
 
One second he just looks calm and collected, and the next second I swear there’s a storm of sadness and regret there.

There’s also
a darkness
behind those eyes that only men of war can comprehend.

“Thank you,” he says, and I can feel it’s directed right at me.

CHAPTER TWO

“We don’t know anything about him,” I say as I dust the blinds.
 
Mom’s furiously washing the windows in the bedroom.
 
“We haven’t checked for criminal history, or drug problems, or anything.
 
He could be a serial killer.”

“I know this isn’t easy for you, but stop being dramatic, Riley,” she says.
 
There’s concern and understanding in her voice.
 
There’s also the barest hint of annoyance.
 
I hear the spray bottle being squirted again.
 
“The man is two days out of the service.
 
If he’s a Marine, that’s good enough for me.
 
It would have been good enough for your father, no questions asked.”

“It’s just so…” I struggle for words.
 
My feelings have been all up in knots ever since I saw Lake watching me ride.
 
“Sudden.”

“Honey.”
 
Mom suddenly appears in the doorway to the bedroom and crosses her arms over her chest.
 
“We’ve had that ad out there for a month.
 
You knew we were going to be hiring someone eventually.
 
This is not sudden.”

I look at her, and rub my nose, pretending it’s the dust that’s bothering my eyes.
 
I’m not crying, but something is wrong with my tear ducts.

Mom crosses the small living room and wraps her arms around me.
 
I stand there stiff, just trying to keep everything in.

“I know this isn’t going to be easy, having Lake here,” she says quietly into my hair.
 
“He reminds you of Cal, and that’s why you’re feeling the way you are.
 
But we need the help.
 
He needs to heal, and so do you.
 
So let yourselves do that.”

I chew on my lower lip and finally hug Mom back.
 
It’s so she won’t back away and see the moisture that’s pooled in my eyes.

Because she nailed it right on the head.

Lake is a lot like Cal.
 
And Cal’s gone.

“I love you,” Mom says, patting my back.

“Love you, too,” I reply, taking a quick sniff and blinking back the betraying tears in my eyes.

We don’t say much else as we continue cleaning the apartment.
 
It collects a lot of dust, being located above the barn.
 
And no one has lived in it for over a year.

It’s small, but it does the job.
 
The stairs lead right up into a little living room with a sun-faded green couch and an overstuffed chair we got at a yard sale.
 
There’s a simple kitchen and a small dining table.
 
Just off the living area
is
a bathroom and a bedroom with a queen-sized bed.

The perfect space for a single man.

I pause as I’m wiping down the kitchen counters.
 
Well, I’m assuming he’s single.
 
I never asked and it never came up last night.

Just as Mom finishes vacuuming and I’ve finished putting fresh sheets and pillows on the bed, there’s a knock on the door.

A second later, it opens and Lake takes half a step in.
 
He’s got two bags, one over his shoulder,
the
other in his hand.
 
They’re military green.

“Sorry, I checked at the house and the garage, but didn’t find anyone.”
 
His eyes are hesitant.
 
He looks so cautious and something that isn’t quite scared.
 
Like he’s carefully walking around minefields.

“That’s just fine,” Mom says with a smile.
 
She waves him in and starts wrapping the cord up.
 
“We’ve just finished sprucing the place up for you.”

He sets his bags down on the floor and his eyes take in the place.
 
It’s hard to tell what he thinks of it.
 
His expression doesn’t give much away.

He wears jeans again, boots, a long sleeved T-shirt that hugs his toned arms and chest.
 
His jaw clenches and unclenches, the tendons there standing out sharp.

“Thank you,” he says simply.

I can suddenly feel Mom’s eyes on me, and I look at her.
 
She’s got this little smile on her face that makes me uneasy.

I realize it’s because I’ve been staring and watching Lake’s every move since he came in.

“We’ll, uh, let you get settled in,” I say awkwardly.
 
“I’ll be down in the barn when you’re ready and then I’ll show you around.”

Lake just gives a little nod, and Mom and I clear out.

I wait for her to say something as we haul our cleaning supplies back to the house.
 
For her to tease me or to make some kind of romantic suggestion.
 
My stomach sinks from the dread of it.
 
But my mom knows me.
 
And she doesn’t say anything.

Once I’ve finished helping her put things away, I head back out to the barn.
 
Most of the horses were put in the pasture this morning.
 
I walk to the last stall—to Sir Devil.

His dark coat is dull with dirt and his mane is tangled and frizzy.
 
This is a champion horse that should be ridden in big fancy shows and has the potential to make his owners some good, solid money.

But he won’t let anyone touch him.

I grabbed a saddle on my way in here and I take it, some leather soap, and a stool into his stall.
 
He backs into the far corner when I come inside and stomps his hooves and snorts.

“Yeah,” I say as I set the stool in the furthest corner from him.
 
“I know you don’t like me.
 
Or anyone.”

I sit on the stool and set the saddle across my lap.
 
I start working it over, cleaning it deep and hard.
 
It’s Mom’s saddle.
 
She doesn’t ride more than once or twice a month, but I still keep it in top shape for her.

“You know, someday, I’m going to ride you,” I say without looking up at him.
 
“I’m going to get a saddle on your back, and you’re going to listen to me.
 
You’re going to realize that I am not your enemy, and we’re going to be friends.”

Sir Devil throws his head and whinnies loud.

“You can throw all the fits you like, but that’s the way it’s going to be,” I say with the shake of my own head.

The horse snorts again, almost as if he’s mocking or challenging me.

“Do they listen when you talk to them?”

I turn to see Lake through the panels.
 
He stands just outside the stall, his hands in his pockets.

His feet are wickedly silent.
 
His pose should seem relaxed, but there’s tension in his shoulders, like he’s always ready for something.
 
It’s easy to see how he would have been a good soldier.

“Always,” I say, turning back to the saddle.
 
“Might not happen right away, but I haven’t met a horse I couldn’t ride yet.”

“You must be good at your job.”

“That’s why I do it,” I respond as I finish up the cleaning job.

“Is it really?” he asks.

I look over at him, my brows furrowed together.
 

“Seems to me you don’t talk to horses and work twelve hour days unless you do it because you love it.
 
Not just
cause
you’re good at it.”

I stand, slinging the saddle across my shoulder and letting myself out the gate.
 
“So you’re an insightful, deep kind of guy.”
 
I walk past him toward the tack room.
 

“Not really,” he says.
 
I don’t hear his feet following me, but his voice doesn’t grow distant.
 
“I’m a pretty simple kind of guy.”

“Hmm,” is all I respond as I open the door and step
inside.
 
The smell of leather is strong and comforting.
 
I slide Mom’s saddle back onto its rack.
 
I check the rat trap Mom set last night and find it empty.

“Well, how about I show you where everything is and explain what we need you to do?”
 
I face Lake, my hands braced in the doorframe.

“Sounds good.”
 
He gives a small little nod of his head.

“As I’m sure you already guessed, this is the tack room,” I say, turning and waving my hand in its direction.
 
“You shouldn’t ever have to do too much in here.
 
I’m kind of guessing you don’t ride.”

He shakes his head.
 
“Never been on the back of a horse before.”

I’d guessed.
 
I close the door and walk over to the next one.
 
Pull it open.
 
“This’ll be one of your main jobs.
 
The stalls need to be mucked out five days a week.
 
Manure goes in Mom’s compost pile.
 
You can have Sundays and Wednesdays off.
 
Wheelbarrow here, shovel there, straw there, as you can see.”

I point everything out as I list it off.

I close that door and start walking down the aisle of stalls again.
 
“I rotate the horses out twice a day, so you’ll muck the morning stalls of the morning horses while they’re out the pasture, and then the afternoon ones.”

Just then, Chico and Bear dart into the barn and Chico is instantly jumping up on Lake and Bear sniffs his boots.

Lake smiles his first real smile I’ve ever seen on his face.

It’s still lopsided, pulling up higher on the right side than the other.
 
But his eyes brighten, and his entire face looks younger.
 
And something squeezes in my chest.

He squats down, rubbing Chico’s ears and then scratching Bear’s back.
 
Chico’s butt wags back and forth furiously, and Bear’s huge bushy tail fans me, even from five feet away.

“Looks like they like you,” I say, giving the smallest of my own smiles.

“Looks like it,” Lake says, not looking up from the dogs.
 
“What are their names?”

“Chico and Bear.
 
I’m sure you can guess who’s who.”

“Hey, Chico,” he says quietly as Chico jumps up into Lake’s lap, nearly knocking him over since he’s squatting.
 
“Hey, Bear.”
 
Bear’s tongue is hanging out, drool dripping onto Lake’s pants.

He doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

“Do you have very much experience with animals?” I ask.
 
I shift my weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
 
This would be one difference between Cal and Lake.
 
Cal didn’t like dogs.
 
More specifically, he didn’t like their hair.
 
Or their drool.

Lake shakes his head.
 
“Not really.
 
But I was good friends with Hank, the German Shepard bomb detection dog in our platoon.
 
Thought I might get a dog of my own when I got back.”

“You can borrow these two rascals for now,” I say.
 
“They’re always happy to have extra company.”
 
I turn and walk out the barn.
 

I show Lake the chickens; show him where their feed is.
 
Show him where the hay is stored and where he can get water for the animals.

The sun shines brilliantly overhead.
 
The air is chilly, spring still upon us.
 
I checked the forecast this morning.
 
The rain that’s coming in a few days looks worse than originally predicted.

We cross to the garage, and I flip the light on.

Both Mom’s and my trucks sit inside.
 
Beside that is the 1967 Shelby GT500 Dad always planned to restore before he died.
 
It was his pride and joy, the fact that he’d gotten his hands on such a rare gem.
 
But it sits there, unfinished.

In the next bay over is the tractor.

“Have you had any experience with tractors?” I ask when Lake stands at my side.

“I think I can handle it,” he says.
 
There’s a bit of a smile pulling in one corner of his mouth.

“You drove tanks or something over in Iraq, didn’t you?” I say, trying hard not to roll my eyes.

“Something
like
that,” he says simply.
 
He walks into the garage, over to Dad’s car.
 
Lake runs his fingers over the hood, and peeks inside the window.