Along the Broken Road (4 page)

“The foot soldiers?”

“No. It was the guys who kept the vehicles clean and running smooth. If you don’t have a vehicle you can count on out there, you’re screwed. Everything fills with dust, sand, dirt. Everything clogs. It’s a constant battle, even when the vehicles are sitting at base. We could do our best work when our vehicles were up to the challenge.”

Gruber paused, a half sandwich in his hand. “What are you saying?”

“Well, you’re like that vehicle.”

He tossed the sandwich in the trash, brows high on his head.

“You’re an artist. What’s the most important component to your artwork?”

He shrugged and the bag made a crunching sound. “My brushes.”

“No.”

“Paints, canvas, inspiration.” Gruber huffed when Ian continued to shake his head. “You’re losing me, soldier.”

“
You
are your most important component. You can have all the paints in the world but without
you
to give it life, there’s nothing. You are your vehicle. It needs to be kept up so you can do your best work.”

Gruber emptied one bag of trash into another. “Hmm. I’ve never seen it that way, but perhaps you have a small point.”

Once Ian was able to get to the water heater, he quickly discovered it needed to be replaced. Mr. Gruber kept cleaning. By the time he had the old water heater pulled out, the cabin was spotless. And Gruber looked . . . lighter. Even younger.

Gruber folded a shirt and glanced around. “This place is roomy with all the junk picked up.”

Ian nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The older man scratched his ear. “Thanks.”

“Yes, sir.” Ian muscled the water heater out the front door. He’d need to find Charlee and see about getting to town to buy another one. Dripping with sweat, he figured a shower couldn’t hurt. She might want to drive him there and he didn’t really want her to have to smell his essence of sweat and stale cabin.

He turned to Gruber, who held the front door open for him. “If you see Charlee, could you tell her I’ll be at my cabin? We need a new water heater today. I’m gonna grab a shower.”

Gruber saluted. “Sure thing, Soldier Boy.”

Ian wiped the sweat from his hands onto his jeans. “See you later.”

Anger shot from Charlee’s gut to every appendage. After her conversation with Mr. Gruber she headed straight to Ian’s cabin, burning up the ground with each step. She banged on his door. No answer.

She should have known the innate problems associated with hiring a soldier for . . . well, anything. Already her artists’ retreat felt smaller with him there. More cramped, a bit stifled. She wished she’d listened to the inner voice that told her,
Danger, danger! Soldier in need of work and a world to absorb
. But he’d looked so sweet standing there at her Jeep door. So sweet and so . . . lonely. Alone in a world he’d gone away to protect. Curse her romantic notions about life and patriotism. They were going to bring her nothing but trouble.

She knocked again, this time letting some of her fury out with the pounding of her knuckles against wood. And she kept pounding. And kept pounding until, just on the other side of the door, she heard him yelling, “Okay, okay!”

Ian threw the door open, met her angry eyes with his own, and barked, “What? What is so important it couldn’t wait until I dried off?”

Bare chest, tan flesh, jeans, bare feet, wet, wet, wet. Water dripped from his dark hair onto his face and trailed in rivulets down his chest. He took the towel in his hand and rubbed it over his eyes. “You want to come in?”

“Yes.” She took a step, stopped. “No.”

He tossed the towel over his shoulder and the muscles in his arm bunched. There was a narrow scar on his left arm and another across his wide chest.

A flash of amusement entered his gaze. “So which is it? Yes or no?”

“Yes,” she said, but her voice sounded shakier than she liked. She breezed past him, hoping to gain some equilibrium. “You shouldn’t answer the door half naked.”

She hadn’t turned around, but could feel him inching closer. “You, uh, didn’t give me much choice.”

Before her, the wall was a nice steady place to focus. No dripping wet muscles, no dark eyes. For an instant she forgot why she’d been mad.

“Are you here about getting the water heater?”

Oh yes, that brought it all back
. She turned to face him. “Mr. Gruber said you yelled at him about his house.”

Ian used the towel to scrub his hair then smoothed the strands with his fingers. “Someone needed to.”

She tried not to watch. “Look, this isn’t a preschool and it’s not our job to teach these people how to take care of themselves. You were way out of line.”

Ian threw the towel on the kitchen chair and moved toward her so quickly, Charlee wanted to step back, but she didn’t. She’d learned with four brothers, you never back down. Never show fear.

When he didn’t speak, she continued. “You’re the handyman. Not the camp counselor.”

He stopped at her feet where their bodies nearly touched. “And I shouldn’t have any pride in my work?”

“Of course you should.”

“Then, to work well, all that crap in his house needed to be moved.”

“Look, this isn’t the army, Ian. You’re being paid to do a job. That’s it.”

“So, I’ve gotten my first complaint.”

His eyes scanned hers. She wanted to create some space between them because he was standing too close. Close enough she could see tiny flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes, close enough she could pick out the scents of spice and pepper in his aftershave. He’d shaved, she realized. The day-old stubble gone, revealing surprisingly smooth skin. Charlee swallowed. “I’m sorry. What was the question?”

“Mr. Gruber complained.”

Her shoulder tipped up. “Actually, it wasn’t really a complaint.”

She watched as he released a bit of the tension from his shoulders.

“He wanted me to come in and see how his place looked.” Her gaze fell to the floor when she said it. His bare toes, tan and manly, were almost touching the toes of her work boots.

“He was proud of it,” Ian whispered. And though she would have expected him to rub that in, he didn’t. He just seemed pleased.

“Yes, he was. Very. But, I don’t want to have to worry about someone treating my artists badly.”

“You know, when I look around, they all look like big girls and boys to me. Not so much in need of a mommy.”

Frustration shot into her gut. “Then stop trying to be one.”

“I’m sorry. That was out of line. You’re the boss.” He was used to subordination.

“That’s right.” She turned from him and headed for the door, hoping the air outside would be clearer. Hoping it wouldn’t smell like pepper and sin. But her feet shuffled to a stop when she thought of Mr. Gruber’s face when he’d asked her to come in. “Look, I may seem a little overprotective, but they’re artists and they’ve spent their whole lives being misunderstood by society. I give them a safe place where they can just be themselves without fear of . . .”

And then there he was. Right behind her again. “What about you, Charlee? Have you been misunderstood by society?”

Off in the distance, McKinley Mountain towered over the retreat. Was she misunderstood? Yes. Not just by society, but by everyone she’d ever cared for. Except her mother. There was heat at her back. Ian had moved close enough to change the temperature around her. She took one step forward, turned her focus back to Mr. Gruber and the incident. “I don’t want this to happen again.”

“I get it. But
I
gave Gruber something today too.”

She angled just enough to see Ian over her shoulder and waited for him to answer.

“Self-respect.”

She couldn’t argue with it. She should have known she’d have a war on her hands if she hired a soldier. They were always looking to put things in order, always landing on the side of discipline. “This is a safe place, Ian. I want to keep it that way.”

He smiled; it was slow and genuine. “Sounds good to me.”

Was there a hint of longing in his words? Charlee wasn’t certain so she chose to focus on the task ahead. “I can drive you to town in an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Whatever had been there was gone, replaced by a distinct playfulness to his tone.

She walked away mumbling, “Stupid army men.”

CHAPTER 3

“Nice truck,” Ian said as he climbed inside the late 1980s model Chevy Silverado. He’d already placed the water heater in the back and sandwiched it with a concrete block so it wouldn’t roll around. It was three in the afternoon and the sun was a vindictive ball of flame above them.

“Thanks,” Charlee said. “Sorry there’s no air.”

“Windows are good.” He watched her shift into reverse to back it out of a garage nestled behind the main hub area. He hit the button and his window went down. His gaze scraped over to her legs. There was something inexplicably hot about a pretty girl driving a truck with a stick shift.

“I called the hardware store. They’ve got the same model as this one.” Charlee used her thumb to motion into the back of the truck.

“Sorry it wasn’t reparable.”

“Eh, I figured.” She brushed a hand through the curls snaking around her cheeks as they picked up speed on the dirt road.

She turned the radio on to a country station and Jason Aldean’s voice filled the cab. “So,” Charlee said and smiled over at him, “what are your plans after the summer?”

He rubbed his hands along his pant legs. Well, that really was the question, wasn’t it? “My sister wants to introduce me to someone who may want to hire a foreman for his construction business.”

When she reached the main road, Charlee peeled out, throwing gravel. Once the wide truck tires met the paved road, they screeched. “Why wait? Why didn’t she plan to introduce you right away?”

Because of you
. Instead, he said, “He’s not ready to hire for a couple more months. My sister’s getting married and he’ll be at the wedding. The guy is a cousin of her fiancé. She figured it would be a great time for him to get to know me.” Plus, Ian had a mission. And he wasn’t sure how long it would take. He’d told his sister the soonest he could meet the guy would be August at the wedding. That would give him several weeks to accomplish his task.

“That makes sense, I guess. More social. Might give you the upper hand over the other applicants.” Her brows rose in a quick motion and a smile touched her mouth. “Did you meet Jeremiah in Afghanistan?”

Oh, this could get sticky. He really needed to deflect too many questions about that, at least for a little while. “Well, I was there for two years. Did he ever tell you about the terrain?”

She glanced over. “The mountains? How it’s not all sand like people think?”

“Exactly. It was really pretty in some areas. A little like home, but tropical.”

“Where’s home?” She rested her elbow on the window.

“Oklahoma.”

“Oh, not too far.” They reached town and Charlee went inside the hardware store while Ian helped the workers load the new water heater. She came out with her arms full. She held two potted plants in one hand and a receipt in the other. The fragrant greenery filled Ian’s nose as he moved in to take some of the stuff. For the first time since they’d met, she gave the load to him without flinching. His face split into a smile. “Hey, I think you’re getting used to me.”

She quirked a frown, her brows disappearing beneath those rhinestone sunglasses, and she got into the truck.

Just after she pulled out, she slowed the truck. “Do you like ice cream?”

“Yeah.” Who didn’t like ice cream?

She pointed to a small, cone-shaped building just off the road. “Mind if we stop?”

“Sure.”

Charlee pulled into the gravel drive and hopped out of the truck. He followed her toward the walk-up counter, barely glancing at the offerings.

She screeched to a halt halfway there and turned to face him. “Don’t tell.”

His brows rose. “Excuse me?”

She huffed. “You can’t tell them when we get back. You have to promise.”

“Uh.” But really, what was there to say? She was a grown woman. Did she really have to have approval to eat ice cream? This was getting too weird. “Why?”

Frustration at having to explain flickered in her gaze. “Because it’s King Edward’s night to cook and the rest of us have an agreement not to eat before dinner. We all have to suffer through together.”

Amused at her, he tilted closer. “You told me I’d love King Edward’s food.”

Charlee waved a hand through the air. “Oh, let’s face it. No one loves his food. It’s horrible.”

“Aaah, so you’re a liar?” he teased.

“No.” Innocent eyes blinked. “I like to think of myself as more of a person who goes by the spirit of the law, not the letter of the law.”

He tilted a touch closer, his face coming down to where only a few inches separated them. To the unknowing onlooker, they might look like two lovers on a date discussing which type of milk shake to share.

Body language was everything. And he’d learned to read it while deployed. Charlee wasn’t backing away. But he figured she didn’t have much of a flight gene. With her it was all fight. She probably didn’t have the sense to back down from an angry rattlesnake. “Well, I think your secret’s safe with me. But it will cost you.”

The wind grabbed her hair and tossed it right into him. He fought the urge to breathe it in.

“How much? A hot fudge sundae is only worth so much.”

“I’ll think about it and let you know. Better yet, I’ll just let you know when and how you can pay up.” He hadn’t meant for that spark of sensuality to accompany his remark. But he knew it did because he saw it reflected in her eyes, eyes that darkened if only for an instant, then returned to the shade of a swimming pool at dusk.

He moved to the counter to order. The guy standing on the other side was wearing a red-and-white striped shirt and hat. He craned his long neck to look around Ian, practically ignoring him. “Hi there, Charlee.”

She stopped alongside Ian, her arm scraping against his. “Hi, Rodney.”
Sweetness in her tone. “How are you feeling?”

As soon as she said his name, red snaked up his throat and settled on the apples of his cheeks. “You know, I’m doing okay.”

Ian glanced over, watched her smile broaden. “No hug?”

Rodney wiped his hands on his towel and came around the counter through a screen door. He pulled Charlee into an embrace that lasted a little too long for Ian’s comfort.

When Rodney finally stepped back, she looked him up and down and Ian had to swallow a couple times because something was stuck in his throat. Heat flashed down his arms. That’s when it hit him he didn’t like seeing Charlee be so nice to some other guy when she barely tolerated him.

Charlee took the tall, skinny guy’s face in her hands. “You look great, Rodney. Gaining some weight, right?”

“Not fast enough. Who’s your friend?” Rodney seemed concerned, but returned to his post on the other side of the counter.

Charlee placed a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “This is Ian Carlisle. He’s working for me for the summer. He just returned from Afghanistan.”

Judging by the frown on striped guy’s face, he must not have liked the fact that Ian and Charlee would be together for the entire summer. Ian held a hand out, shoving it right through the window. “Nice to meet you, Rodney.”

Rodney stared at the outstretched hand a few seconds then slowly lifted his. Ian gave him a firm handshake—an act of mutual respect.

“You too, Ian.” It was almost a question.

Geez, he’d only been gone from the states two years. Didn’t anyone shake hands anymore?

Rodney turned his attention to Charlee. “The usual?”

She nodded.

Ian looked down at her and for the briefest second, it felt like a date. He forced that image from his mind. “What’s the usual?”

“Hot fudge, bananas, marshmallow, and extra whipped cream.”

“Ew. Seriously?”

She challenged him with a wide-eyed stare.

Ian turned back to Rodney. “I’ll just have a hot fudge sundae with pecans.”

Charlee drummed her fingers on the counter while they waited.

Rodney returned with Charlee’s concoction and a good old-fashioned hot fudge sundae for Ian. He handed them out the window. “No charge.”

Ian had already dug a twenty out of his wallet. He held it in midair.

Rodney nodded to it. “Really. No charge. Thanks for serving our country.”

Ian would have argued, but what could he say? Slowly, he slipped the twenty into his wallet. “Thanks. Very much.”

It wasn’t the fact that someone was willing to offer him a few bucks’ worth of ice cream. It was the fact that they remembered, were aware that young soldiers put their lives on the line every day, living on foreign soil, missing out on time with their families.

As they turned to walk to a picnic table, Charlee bumped his shoulder. “Nice gesture, huh?”

Ian was a little choked up. “Yeah. Seems like a good guy.” He wasn’t fishing, no, not really, wasn’t trying to determine the relationship between this guy and Charlee.

“He’s a good friend. Known him forever.” Charlee slid onto the seat across from Ian and took a bite. “Mmm.” Her eyes closed and Ian was glad because that sound wrapped right around his gut and shot downward.

Charlee opened her eyes and winked. “I don’t think he really liked you at first.”

“I think what he didn’t like was that I was with
you
.”

“What?” Her spoon dug into the whipped cream again.

“He’s got a crush on you, Charlee.”

She pointed at Ian with the spoon. “Don’t say that. He does not.”

Ian’s sundae was melting so he took a giant bite. “He totally does.”

Charlee shook her head, concern pinching her brows. “No. He couldn’t; I mean he knows about . . .”

This brought Ian’s gaze up. “About what?”

Charlee looked lost in her own thought. “Not what. Who. And you know what? I don’t want to talk about it.” She flew off the picnic table bench and headed for the truck.

Ian remained seated, took another bite. “How you gonna eat that and drive a stick shift?”

She squared her shoulders and came back over to the table. “I can’t.”

Ian grinned up at her. “You can sit down if you’d like.”

She plopped onto the seat. “Okay, but as far as that other stuff, I don’t want to talk about it.”

He shrugged. “No one’s asking you to.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay then.”

And they finished their ice cream with Ian wondering just how far he was going to let this go before he admitted the real reason he was there. He pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t something he could just come out and say to her. He knew that. Had been told that. She’d need time. She’d need someone she could trust. But how much would she trust him when she learned the truth? His appetite for ice cream was gone.

He wasn’t doing this for himself; that’s what he needed to remember. This was to honor a promise he’d made. Whatever the outcome for him, it couldn’t matter. Helping Charlee understand was what mattered. And that would take time. But at least he was seeing some cracks in that granite shell of hers. At least those walls seemed to be eroding just a touch.

“You okay?” Charlee’s voice. Soft and tender.

“Sorry. Got lost in my own head there for a few seconds.”

There was a speck of whipped cream on her lip. “I saw that. You know, I understand that it’s got to be pretty difficult to enter society again after being deployed so long.” Her tongue captured the whipped cream while her fingertips grazed the edge of her dish.

Ian stayed quiet. It was. For so many more reasons than he could say.

“If you ever need to talk . . .”

His eyes came up to meet hers. Sincerity drifted from her, that tiny glimmer he’d noticed when they first met and she’d softened when she realized he was a soldier. It made sense. She had four brothers in the military—as far as he knew, they were all deployed right now—and her father had died a military hero. “Thanks.” It was all he could manage because what made life in society difficult for him was her. Her and the secret he carried. Her and the truth that had to come out. Her and the fact he needed to change her mind about things she’d been resigned to for a long time.

Charlee stood. “Let’s go home.”

Ian swallowed. She’d chosen the word,
home
, specifically. He already knew her well enough to know that. Home was the safe place. Home was where you worked out your problems. Home was . . . it wasn’t his home and it would never be. But that was okay. He appreciated the gesture. Ian painted on a smile. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

Charlee stood at the kitchen window staring out over the hub. Wynona and Wilma were placing a row of white lights around the umbrella of one of the round tables. The new lights gave a soft glow to the space. Charlee loved it. She loved the hub and the platform where four round patio tables anchored the dance floor. The
dance floor
was what Wynona had dubbed the large square space, and it really did resemble a dance floor. Of course, it had never been used for that purpose since she’d opened the retreat. Charlee grinned as she watched Wilma and Wynona string lights on the other tables. Tiki torches in full flame also helped illuminate the space and kept the bugs and mosquitoes to a minimum. Along with the whimsical decorations of a hundred artists who’d left their mark, the dinner space looked magical. This was one of her favorite times of the day because it was her opportunity to recharge, relax, and just enjoy. It was the one time of day she felt most connected to the purpose of Marilee Retreat. It was when she was just another artist, not the proprietor. Not the fixer of things, not the redeemer of lost items or the smoother of arguments.