Along the Broken Road (13 page)

“Really?” His eyes opened.

“You’re used to using your bodies as a vehicle to accomplish a task. Think of belly crawling under barbed wire, light on your feet you are. You just have to use different muscle groups.” Now her hands were on his hips. “Where your partner is swaying side to side, you’re going to thrust your hips.”

Okay, whoa. Ian stopped moving and looked at her.

“Trust me. You are making a cradle for your partner. You see? She must have a foundation. You’re that foundation. Your movements are in sync with hers, but aren’t exactly the same.”

That made sense. Whatever. He just liked the idea of being a cradle for Charlee. His sister? Not too much. The strong percussion made it easy to move along. Wynona’s hands on his hips helped, and when he moved incorrectly, she used the switch beneath her arm to swat his leg gently.

He was surprised that after a few minutes, sweat was on his brow.

“Okay, that’s it for tonight.”

When he opened his eyes, he got another surprise. Everyone was gone. Dinner plates were cleared and Wynona was already walking off in the direction of her cabin, leaving him and Charlee. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. “That’s a workout.”

“Yeah,” he agreed and reluctantly moved a few steps away from her, reminding himself there was always tomorrow night. “I actually am sorry I got you into this.”

“It’s okay. It’s kind of fun.”

“Except the welts on my thighs.”

Charlee crinkled her nose. “She’s a tough teacher.”

They slid chairs under tables, the last bit of cleaning up that needed to be done. “Ian?”

Hearing the change in her tone and feeling it in the atmosphere made him stop. “Yes?”

“Were you with my dad when he died?” There was so much sadness in her words, he wanted to reach out and take her in his arms. But that wasn’t what Charlee needed right now so he pulled out a seat for her and then took one of his own while the gentlest of breezes worked to soften the words he was going to say.

“I was.”

Her fingers threaded together on the table. Above them a clear night sky twinkled with thousands of stars. “Can you talk about it?”

He couldn’t. But for her, he would. “We were pinned down. Separated from the rest of the unit. It was the last of a three-day mission. There were a lot of stray bullets and . . .”

“I know he was shot in the neck.”

All of the memories rushed into his mind. The smell of blood and wet concrete, the sounds of bullets firing, then striking. Concrete flying, hitting him in the eyes. “I tried to stop the bleeding.”

Charlee’s teeth clenched to block the words.

“He . . . talked about you, Charlee.”

This brought her head up. “What did he say?”

“He gave me instructions about the journal. Every detail specific.” Ian rubbed a hand over his face. “He said he wouldn’t be able to be here to share it with you and that task was up to me now. His writings, his words. He . . . he wanted to bring you the journal himself. That was his plan, to share it with you. He was going to get out. Retire. Spend the rest of his days close to you.”

Her eyes closed. “I could have gotten to know him while he was still alive. I would have liked that.”

“I’m sorry, Charlee.”

Her eyes opened and settled on Ian. “It’s okay. He sent you to me.”

Ian smiled, but there was no humor in it. “He knew I didn’t get along with my own dad. Maybe he thought this would help me too.”

“What happened between you and your father?”

Ian rubbed a hand over his chin. “He used anger to try to reach me when all I needed was validation.”

“Have you two worked things out?”

“No.” He pointed to himself. “Screwup, remember? He has a construction business and though I was expected to help out summers and eventually take over, I liked being in the kitchen with Mom more than being on the job site.”

“So you rebelled and went to culinary school.”

“After I rebelled and did the goth kid thing. Black hair, black eyeliner, and the real kicker, black nail polish.”

Charlee’s mouth dropped open. “No way. There’s no way I can picture you like that.”

“Believe it. He was so done with me at that point. I was a huge disappointment to him. Not just a disappointment, an embarrassment. You can imagine. He’d built a reputation as a strong, tough contractor.

“So, I packed my black hair color and black clothes and went off to culinary school.”

“And?”

“And I discovered you get more chicks without having black nails. It took a few months, but little by little the clothes and all became more normal.”

“And?”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “And that’s when I met the administrator’s daughter.”

“Wow. I heard the story from Mr. Gruber. She actually got arrested?”

“Yep. It would have been pretty hard to stay, so I quit. Seems to be a pattern for me.”

Charlee let her gaze drift to the horizon beyond them. “I don’t quit.”

Ian’s heart sank a little deeper.

“I run.”

“What?”

Charlee pulled a breath. “I run. When things get too hard. It’s my big character flaw.”

“More than your stubbornness?”

She narrowed her eyes, but the smile toying at her mouth betrayed her.

“More than your self-destructive independence?”

She pointed at him. “You know, you can be replaced.”

“Undoubtedly. Easily, in fact. That is, if you can find someone willing to work alongside a temperamental female.”

Her nostrils flared.

“My point exactly.”

Charlee let out a little laugh, but her eyes grew serious. “There’s no way I could replace you, Ian. You’re the link to my father.”

“Charlee, he knew what he was doing when he left word for you to spread his ashes.”

The color drained from her face. “You know about that?”

He nodded. “He said for you to not worry. You’ll know when . . .”

She finished for him. “And I’ll know where.”

Somehow, his hand had moved across the table. Ian realized his fingers had threaded through hers. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

He didn’t bother to release her hand and she didn’t bother to draw away. And there they were, two people who both loved a man who was a father first to one, then to both.

When they reached her front porch, Ian dropped a peck on her cheek and turned to leave. But Charlee’s voice stopped him.

“He must be proud of you now.”

Ian turned to face her, the light of her porch making a halo around her head.

“Your father. He must be proud now.”

Ian wished that were so. “He’s not. But it’s okay. I know Major McKinley is proud of me. To me, that matters the most.” With the wind at his back, he turned and walked away.

The following week, and after several dance lessons that had Ian’s libido working overtime, he hauled the wood he’d cut to Charlee’s favorite spot and went to work. He knew she loved it here, beneath one oak tree and sitting on the stump of another, but Ian wanted it to be grander for her, more comfortable. He hauled the wicker bench from the back of the truck—he’d purchased it in town—and set about building the pergola roof that would shelter it. Large floral cushions would complete the look, and the lights he’d purchased would give it a whimsical glow.

Just before dusk she found him. He’d planned to bring her there tomorrow morning to check out the work, but Charlee was nothing if not nosy and she must have sniffed him out.

“Oh my gosh!” She hopped out of the Jeep.

The sound of her excitement cut right to his heart. “You like it?” He’d been a little worried; she was so bossy and particular. He wasn’t sure if she’d like it or be mad at him for taking the liberty without permission.

Her hands flew out beside her. “It’s incredible!” The sun was setting beyond the mountainside and casting long strips of gold on Table Rock Lake. He’d angled the bench so she could watch the sun go down, the shadows lengthen and disappear, clothing the lake in darkness. She turned to face him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You haven’t seen the best part.” He motioned for her to come closer and took her by the hand. Ian led Charlee to the edge of the pergola and pointed to the post. “Flip the switch.”

When she did, the roof of the pergola lit up with what looked like a thousand fireflies. She squealed.

“Now, flip the second switch.” Her eyes met his in the golden light, glowing with a mix of anticipation and excitement, and the whole thing sent Ian’s heart right over the edge.

When Charlee flipped the other switch, the lower branches of the oak tree lit up with the same firefly lights. She gasped. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her hand was on her heart and she might just as well have reached physically into Ian’s chest and squeezed his until it stopped beating. Mission accomplished.

“Will you sit with me for a while?”

He was covered in sawdust and dirt, sweat and a few drops of blood. He didn’t want to ruin her first sunset with his stench. “Yes. As long as you want.”

They sat on the bench and watched the stars brighten above. “Ian, this was really sweet of you.”

He smiled in answer.

“I hope one day the woman you end up with knows to appreciate you.”

He swallowed. “I’m a pretty easy guy to please.”

“You deserve someone really special.”

He couldn’t agree more.

Charlee’s eyes narrowed in concentration and he could almost see the wheels in her mind spinning. “What’s the most important thing to you? You know, in a woman?”

That her name be Charlee McKinley
. He cleared his throat. “The most important?”

She angled to face him, her eyes having gone curious, almost catlike in that manner they had. “Your deal breaker.”

He thought about it. “I gotta have someone who’s got my six.” When he opened his mouth to explain it, meaning, someone who has his back, he stopped because he could see she understood.

Charlee nodded. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Ian smiled. “Someone I can count on. Everything else is negotiable.”

She laughed. “Everything?”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “I’d prefer if she didn’t have a mustache.”

Charlee scooted closer to him and took his hand in hers. “Thanks for doing this. It’s really a special place to me and you made it even better.”

He tilted her hand to his lips. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Will you read to me?”

He left her only long enough to go retrieve the journal from the truck.

Dear Charlee,

It’s quiet this morning at the base. The sun is rising over the edge of the building across the street from where I sit.

Yesterday was hard.

I received bad news about one of my young soldiers. His name is Kip Reyser, a wealthy kid from Lansing, Michigan. He’d recently found out he was going home.

He’d never bragged about being a rich kid. He kept his head down, worked hard like all my soldiers do. But when he knew he was going home, we started hearing the stories about summers in the Hamptons, his dad’s private jet, flying to Europe on a whim. That happens when a soldier knows he’s going home. Life and excitement bubble out of him. He was no exception. Even those who try to hold their composure fail. There’s a fresh light in their eyes. It’s beautiful, Charlee. I wish you could see it.

Yesterday I got word Kip’s parents were killed in a plane crash. I had to give him the news and watch him die inside while all his plans for returning home to a loving family disappeared. He kept swallowing, nodding his head, saying, “Yes sir.”

Finally, I told him, “It’s okay to break, soldier.”

And he did. Right before my eyes, Charlee. I held him while he cried. And I’m not ashamed to say I cried right along with him.

And when I leaned back to look at him, I saw you reflected in his eyes. I saw that same bewildered look, that orphaned look you had when your mother died. I also saw your brothers there, swimming in that young soldier’s tears. And every single reaction you each had when I told you Momma wasn’t coming home. Jeremiah, trying to be strong for the rest of you, Gabriel, looking inward and finding solace in his music. Caleb, so small then, only eleven, stiffening his mouth, trying to be brave like his big brothers. Isaiah, the quiet thinker, roaming around the house putting things into place. And you, Charlee. You took my hand and held it in yours. So frightened, but so determined to be strong.

Charlee, something happened when I told that young soldier about his family. I realized time can be short. I’ve spent a lifetime as a soldier and now I think maybe it’s time to spend the rest as your dad. I’m getting out, Charlee. And I think you and I need to devote some real time to getting acquainted all over again. I know I tried to do that a while ago, but I guess I wasn’t ready. I’m not good with talking. You’ll have to teach me.

I want to see what you’ve done with the place since I was there last. Is my toolshed still standing? Do the shutters need paint? To be completely honest, I need to know if that frightened little girl I remembered yesterday . . . I just need to know she’s okay.