Along the Broken Road (11 page)

Charlee sat at the table, back straight, arms folded over her chest and hugging herself. “Me,” she whispered. “He’s talking to me.”

Ian nodded.

“My father was a poet.”

Ian drew a deep breath because since she’d first followed him inside, he’d half expected her to bolt. She sat quietly, the fire gone out of her eyes, but replaced with a nostalgia, a flicker of the pain that only now was becoming an ever-deeper loss.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you right away. I didn’t know how.”

Her gaze left the floor and rose to him. He wished he could read her better. “You knew my father well?”

Ian hated the fact that tears again were threatening, his nose tingling, his throat tight. “Yes, Charlee. I knew him very well. He’s the—”

“He’s the CO you keep mentioning. The one with all the wisdom.”

Ian nodded.

Her head tilted and curly blond strands fell from her shoulder. “Why you?”

Careful here. She was much like a wild cat and if he gave her too much attention, she would run. “Your dad . . .” And as Ian began to speak of the man he’d looked up to, the man he loved, he realized he hadn’t only agreed to this for Charlee’s sake. He’d also come for Major McKinley. And Ian had come for himself. “We got close because I was from Oklahoma and he was from Missouri. A lot of common ground. But he took an interest in me right away. Man, I wanted to quit so many times, even considered going AWOL. I was a hard case, Charlee. One of the worst. But he wouldn’t give up on me.”

Charlee smiled. It was slight, tentative, but there.

“One day I asked him why. He said I was a tough nut to crack, but if he got through to me, he could reach anyone.” Ian pressed his hand to the journal cover. “And then he started talking about you. Wow, was he proud of you.”

Charlee leaned forward. “What?”

“He was. You could see it in his eyes.”

“All my dad ever did was try to talk me out of doing this.”

Ian shrugged. “Just because he didn’t want you to do it, doesn’t mean he wasn’t proud of your accomplishments.”

Charlee pressed her hands to her head. “This is a lot to take in.”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed and stood to put the journal away.

“Wait.” She pointed at it. “You’re not giving it to me?”

He turned slowly. “No.”

“But I just thought since . . . you know, the way things went—”

Ian returned to the table and set the journal between them. “His last request was to share it with you one page at a time. I’d like to honor that request, Charlee. Your dad always had a reason for the things he did. I’m sure there’s a reason for this.” As an act of trust, and allowing her to use her own free will, Ian shoved the journal toward her.

Charlee chewed on her bottom lip. Ian could see the war. Cold shot down his spine when she reached for the journal. But rather than take it, she pushed it back to him. “Okay,” she whispered.

And Ian’s heart almost exploded from his chest. He was going to get to keep the promise he made to Major McKinley. Now, he’d have to work on the promise he’d made to himself.

Charlee figured Ian wouldn’t be too surprised when she showed up on his doorstep early the next morning. She held up a Stanley thermos as he answered the door. “I brought coffee.”

“Come inside or sit on the porch?” He didn’t even look sleepy, though she was pretty sure she’d woken him up. Soldiers.

Her gaze flickered to his bare chest. “Porch.”

Ian turned from the door to grab a T-shirt. “You’re the boss.”

“Oh, wait. Can we go out to my spot? Maybe have coffee there? I was thinking you could read me some more of the journal. Plus, it’s not too hot this morning. That heat wave finally broke.”

One side of his face tilted into that devastating smile he had. Ian was no longer just the hot soldier living on her property. He was a link to her father, a man she felt like she’d never really known. They climbed into the Jeep and made their way to Charlee’s spot.

“Why is this your favorite place on the property? I mean, it’s pretty and all, but so are lots of other spots.”

She hopped out of the Jeep and looked around. Table Rock Lake shimmered with the sun’s rays dancing across it. “I don’t know. I just feel safe here.”

Ian nodded and unwrapped the journal as Charlee sat on the oak stump.

“I found this spot after clearing some of the brush. But . . .” She paused, eyes going to the lake and thoughts far away.

“Charlee?”

“But even when I first saw it, I recognized it. I’d been here before. I knew this spot.”

Ian followed her gaze. “Did you come here with your mom?”

“Once. She was pretty sick and it took us a while to get back here. The trail was hard to find.”

“Was your dad with you?”

“No.” But then, something occurred to her, a memory, from long ago. She took hold of Ian’s arm. “You know, I think he was with us. But he stayed back. Didn’t want to interrupt Mom. She was telling me how I could accomplish anything I wanted. Even if she was gone.”

“So, this is your favorite spot because of your mom. That’s nice, Charlee.”

The memory cleared as she thought back. Her mother’s words hadn’t been anything different from what she’d said a thousand times to her. That wasn’t what made it monumental. “No, I don’t think that’s why.”

And then, like a flood, like a rushing river, the memory cleared. “It was my dad.” Charlee planted her hands on either side of her because, suddenly, it felt like the hundred-year-old oak tree she sat on was swaying beneath her.

“My mom walked back to the truck parked beyond the trees. But my dad was staring at the lake and when I stepped over to him, it surprised him. He looked down and I saw tears in his eyes.” Charlee swallowed as the memory of her father materialized. “I’d never seen him cry. I guess he didn’t know I was still there until I slid my hand into his.”

Beside her, Ian sniffed and Charlee realized this was probably hard for him too. She reached over and took his hand in hers. “It was just a moment, but in that moment, he was someone else. He cradled me in his arms and told me he loved me. Told me everything would be okay. Mom would always be watching over us from heaven.”

Ian’s face was wet with tears.

“Then he squared his shoulders, smoothed the wrinkles out of my shirt, and put on his soldier face. He told me to be strong and I promised him I would. I never saw him cry again.”

“I did.” Ian’s touch became a caress, holding her hand in his to give her strength.

Charlee frowned.

“The last time he talked about you.”

Her eyes closed. Her mouth quivered.

The early sun’s rays trickled through the shadow of the mighty oak nearby, causing slashes on the ground. “Charlee, do you want to hear another journal entry?”

She inhaled the crisp mountain air around her. “I’d like that.”

Ian gave her hand a squeeze and released her to open the journal. Across the lake, a great blue heron landed, tapped his beak at the edge of the water and searched for food. Above him, the sky was softening shades of morning, peaches and pinks that would eventually burn off to deeper hues. But right now, it was gentle. Charlee slipped her hand back into Ian’s as he began to read.

Dear Charlee,

I spoke with your brother yesterday. And the sound of his voice made me think about what a fortunate man I am. I hear you in his voice. I hear your mother. Why an amazing woman like her ever chose a man like me, I’ll never know. It’s like God dressed an angel in flesh and sent her to me. Only, once she was gone he realized heaven wasn’t as bright a place. She always wanted a little girl. Dresses and bows and ribbons. And then you arrived and wouldn’t wear a dress to save your life. She’d just shake her head and blame me. Then one day when you were nine or ten, she found you drawing. I had a stack of important documents and you’d found them and decorated the whole lot. How could I be angry? She was so elated that you’d spent so long on them. Your mother loved to draw and paint when we were young. But being a wife and mother, she’d put her paints in a drawer. Until you showed interest. More interest than a normal child should. It was her excuse to dig out her paints again. I’m telling you this because I don’t think you know . . . you’re the one who gave that gift back to her when it was all but gone. You made that last couple of years even better for her. And that made them better for me as well.

Charlee pressed her lips together. “He loved her so much. Can you imagine love like that?”

Ian’s hand came up to touch her cheek. “Yes, Charlee. I can.”

For three days Charlee and Ian worked side by side on various projects while Charlee worked to process what having her father’s journal meant to her. It was like glimpsing into the past. In some ways, it was like having the conversations with him she’d never gotten to have. In the journal, he spoke of things he’d never talked about. His love for her mother, what it meant when one of the boys called him to visit. She hadn’t called him often because most of the time was filled with crackling dead air, and she always felt like she was keeping him from more important things.

Ian gave her room to digest. She needed that because the man in the journal was a very different one from the father she’d grown up with. But somewhere in her heart, she’d always known there must be more to him than discipline and order. Had she seen glimpses of that tenderness when her mother was alive? Maybe those memories were buried beneath the years of running a tight ship once her mom was gone. Charlee had determined to help him. Cook the meals, keep the boys in line. Make sure everyone had clean clothes. Make sure Caleb remembered to wear underpants.

Ian gave her space to contemplate, time to absorb. He didn’t ask questions, just let her be. For the last three days she’d worked mostly in a comfortable silence with Ian at her side. They’d cleaned every gutter on every cabin, moved piles of wood to a new location and even erected a lean-to to keep the firewood dry. Ian had shared two more pages of the journal with her and in each she learned that though her father had loved his job, his heart was far away. In Missouri. With Charlee.

As she stepped from the Jeep on her way to Ian’s door, her eyes trailed to the toolshed. Her dad had rebuilt it when he’d visited her six months before he died. His tool belt was now a constant adornment on Ian’s hips and for the strangest reason, that felt right, like it was meant to be. Charlee forced the thought away. She and Ian had a job to do. She’d arrived a few minutes early and found Ian’s door open wide but she still knocked. She wouldn’t want to catch him naked or anything.

Inside, Ian passed from the bedroom into the living space, ear tipped to his shoulder and his shirt in his hands. He motioned for her to come in.

Something jerked in Charlee’s stomach because—though she’d seen him with his shirt off before and rather enjoyed the view—she couldn’t stop her system from reacting, and that spelled trouble. The kind she didn’t need.

Charlee stepped in and could tell Ian was frustrated. The phone between his ear and shoulder must have been the source of aggravation. He only gave Charlee a fleeting wave then turned from her, planting his feet on the floor near the table.

Charlee’s gaze drifted over him. Shoulders, narrow hips, jeans that fit so amazingly, and work boots. His body was tan from working in the sun and it only added to his beauty. She’d love to sketch him. Her artist’s eye drew the line of muscle along his side, then his lower back where a spine split the area into two powerful parts. Seams of muscle ran along—

When his words into the phone snapped her attention, Charlee blinked.

“Love you too.”

And the conversation went on, but a flash of red snaked across Charlee’s vision. Love you too? It bothered her. And then it bothered her that it bothered her.

“Kristi, you look beautiful in anything you drape on your shoulders. Don’t worry about it.”

Kristi? At that moment, Ian turned, gave Charlee a wink and mouthed the word
sister
.

Charlee released the air she’d been holding and hoped he wouldn’t notice.

But Ian’s eyes stalled on her, first narrowing, then widening with surprise and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a bit of amusement.