Whenever You Come Around (15 page)
“For what?”
“For asking me to join you today.”
“My pleasure.”
More than you know
.
E
VERY KID WHO’D EVER ATTENDED SCHOOL IN
K
INGS
Meadow knew the story of Zeb McHenry. How he’d arrived in what would soon become Idaho Territory. That was in 1862, the first summer of the Boise Basin gold rush. How he’d searched for gold in one of the streams in the mountains to the east and north of Kings Meadow. How he’d fought off claim jumpers. How he’d survived several brutal winters while living in a small, drafty log cabin. How
he’d used pans and picks, shovels and sluice boxes, and by the time he left these mountains three years later, how he’d made his fortune.
The remains of McHenry’s cabin and one of his sluice boxes were near a popular trail used by hikers, mountain bikers, and horseback riders. From there, adventurers could continue on to higher, more rugged terrain or they could circle back on one of several different trails to the valley below.
Charity spotted the familiar clearing through the trees and snapped a few quick photos before dropping the camera into her shirt pocket. Cocoa made a beeline to the creek and stood right in the middle of the rushing water, lapping it up with her tongue.
Buck and Charity dismounted and let the horses drink, too, while they took sips from their canteens.
About forty feet from the creek and up a gentle slope, McHenry’s cabin, most of its roof caved in decades ago, stood in a copse of trees. Although she’d seen the small one-room shack numerous times as a kid, she felt drawn to have a closer look. She tied her horse to a tree limb and then walked to the cabin.
Without a door—also missing for decades—the cabin had become a den for forest creatures. The dirt floor was covered with dried leaves and dead pine needles. A hole in the wall showed where a pipe had once carried away smoke from the fire, but scavengers had taken the stove long ago. When she peered inside, Charity was surprised by how tiny it truly was. How had Zeb McHenry lived in that confined space for months at a time without going stark-raving mad? She tried to imagine living like that and shuddered.
“Feeling claustrophobic?” Buck asked when he stepped to her side.
“How did you know?”
“It’s written all over your face.” He grinned.
Could he read her that easily? As before, it made her uncomfortable to think he could. She turned away, took her camera, and snapped more photos.
Down at the creek, Cocoa had started to chase something in the water. Perhaps a fish or a frog. Whatever it was, it had the dog jumping and barking and splashing. Her smile reappeared as she took pictures of Cocoa.
“Shall we eat?” Buck asked from behind her.
“Sure.”
They returned to the horses. Charity freed a blanket that was tied behind her saddle while Buck retrieved sandwiches and cookies from his saddlebags. Then they carried the items to a place in the shade.
Charity hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she took her first bite. “Mmm.” She closed her eyes and savored the peanut butter and jelly as if the sandwich were a gourmet meal. “Glad you thought of this.” When she opened her eyes again, she found Buck smiling at her. It made her feel breathless and a little exposed. She wished he couldn’t do that to her with such ease.
As if taking pity on her, he asked, “What have you heard from your parents lately?”
It was a question she’d grown used to answering. “They’re in Tuscany now. Mom wishes they could buy a villa and vineyard and go stay there every summer. At least, that’s what Dad says.” She took a few sips from her canteen and
then stared upward through the swaying ponderosa pines. “I think she’s watched
Under a Tuscan Sun
one too many times.”
“Don’t think I’ve seen that one.”
“Well, maybe it’s more of a chick flick, but I think you’d like it.” She looked at Buck again. “I’m glad they’re having such a good time. They really sacrificed to come up with the money to pay for it. I don’t remember a time when they didn’t talk about spending an entire summer in Europe, but I’d stopped believing they would actually do it. It would be awful if they went and it wasn’t everything they wanted it to be.”
“Yeah, that would be bad.”
Charity finished her sandwich and washed it down with more water before asking, “Do you bring people up here very often?”
“No, not often. I’ve hardly ever done day trips. Mostly I guide folks into one of the wilderness areas. Frank Church River of No Return is where I go the most. Occasionally I lead a group as far up as the Selway-Bitterroot or down to the Owyhee River. It all depends on the group and the length of the trip they want. Level of expertise matters too.” He shrugged. “Looks like I’m going to be doing more trail rides the rest of this season. Chet Leonard’s hired me to take care of his guests. The ones who want to go riding, that is.”
“Really? I hadn’t heard.”
He shrugged again. “It’ll be a different kind of work from what I’m used to. You know, being home most nights. But I’m thankful for it.”
There was such an ease about Buck Malone. A kind of centeredness that she’d made note of before. He was comfortable
in his own skin, her dad would say. It was a rare trait, and one she had to admire. Buck took life as it came—or at least seemed to.
She envied him that ability.
W
HEN THEY LEFT THE CLEARING NEAR
M
C
H
ENRY
’
S
cabin, Buck led the way. He chose a trail that was steeper at the beginning, but that opened up after only a quarter mile, allowing him to fall back and ride beside Charity from then on. The more time he had beside her, the better, he’d decided.
While she might have been content to ride in silence, Buck wanted to keep her talking. It was more than liking the sound of her voice. As much as he’d learned about her over the summer, he hadn’t learned enough. He wanted to know more. And so he asked her a question. Something about her writing to start with. When she reached the end of her answer and fell silent, he asked her something else. Whatever popped into his head. He had no agenda beyond knowing her better.
Finally, after close to an hour, she reined in and gave him a hard look. “Enough with the Twenty Questions, Mr. Malone.”
For a moment he thought he’d irritated her, but then he saw the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He raised his hands, palms up, in a I-couldn’t-help-myself shrug.
A little roll of her eyes said she didn’t believe him.
They nudged their mounts forward.
“Your turn,” she said.
“My turn for what?”
“Don’t pretend ignorance. I don’t believe you.”
Why did he feel so good? He couldn’t figure it out. He was almost euphoric.
“Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.”
“Something you don’t know. Hmm.” He rubbed his jaw between thumb and index finger. “I’m kind of an open book. Not sure what that would be.”
“All right. Answer this: why didn’t you go on to college like everybody expected? I know you said it just didn’t work out, but there must be more to it than that.”
He shook his head slowly. “You knew my dad died, right?”
“Two or three years after graduation, wasn’t it?”
“Two years after, and that whole two years I watched my dad die by degrees. It was tough, helping Mom take care of him, seeing him fight so hard even when there was little hope. Mom couldn’t have taken care of him alone. Not physically or emotionally. And even if she’d been strong enough, I couldn’t have gone to college. The scholarship wouldn’t have paid for everything. What money there was left after the medical bills needed to go to Ken so he could get his master’s degree. He was so close to it by the time Dad passed. Plus Ken was married with kids. He had a lot on his plate.”
He fell silent for a short while. She didn’t intrude on his thoughts.
“It took a long time to dig out of the medical debt. The last of it was paid off when Mom sold the house. Then she moved to live with her sister in Arizona. By that time I was working for the outfitter and discovered how much I liked it.”
When he glanced at Charity again, he saw surprise in her eyes.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know all of that,” she said softly, her gaze shifting toward a break in the trees. “I suppose I was too preoccupied with my own life to listen if anybody tried to tell me.”
There it was again, that flicker of pain and sadness. Buck hadn’t seen it since the day of Eddy’s birth, and he’d begun to wonder if it had been a fluke. The times he’d seen her since then, she’d seemed in good spirits.
“I’m sorry, Buck. I should have known how difficult it was for you.”
“It’s okay, Charity. You weren’t around, and I’ve never talked about it much. Probably plenty more folks than you don’t know how it was either.”
She released a soft sigh, then repeated, “I’m sorry, Buck.”
I
T WAS UNPLEASANT, CATCHING A GLIMPSE OF YET
another less than noble trait in herself. Buck had been kind, offering her an excuse for her ignorance, but the truth was she’d paid little attention to the trials and tribulations of others for far too long. She’d ignored even those closest to her. Maybe she hadn’t been a close friend of Buck’s, but
someone—most likely her own mother or sister—must have shared some of that news about Buck and his family. But Charity hadn’t been listening.
They continued down the mountainside, silence surrounding them at last. Even Cocoa grew quiet, trotting along nearby, no longer looking for small game to stir from the underbrush. Wondering if she’d spoiled the day for Buck, Charity looked over at him. He didn’t look upset or troubled. Either he wasn’t or he was good at hiding it.
As the pine trees began to thin, Buck pointed off to the south. “Look. There’s the backside of the Riverton estate.”
Her gaze followed his outstretched arm. She could see the tall, wrought-iron fence and brick posts. Ponderosa pines mostly obscured the house beyond the fence.
“Too bad about Jon.”
Charity’s throat tightened, but she managed to ask, “What do you mean?”
“He lived large and crashed hard.”
“Are the two of you still friends?” She held her breath as she waited for the answer.
“Can’t say that we are.” Buck frowned. “Not since high school. Jon took a path that I wasn’t willing to walk down, and he didn’t have time for anyone who didn’t want to live and think the same way. After he came home from college, I saw a smallness, a meanness, in him that I didn’t recognize when we were younger. Booze and drugs only made it worse, and he was into both. As long as Sinclair was alive, he managed to keep his son a little in check. Once the old man passed, it was a fast slide downhill for Jon. He managed to lose everything his father spent a lifetime building.”
A shudder passed through Charity. She remembered the meanness. She’d seen it up close.
“I pray for him when I remember to,” Buck added, his voice low.
Pray for Jon
. That voice in her heart made her breath catch again.
Pray for him
.
Never. She could never pray for him. Not after what he’d done to her. Not after what he’d taken from her. If not for him—
“Charity?” Buck’s hand closed around her horse’s reins, stopping him. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, feeling as though her throat were caught in a vise.
“You can trust me, you know. I’m your . . . friend.”
My friend
. It felt good to hear him say that.
“I’d like to help if I could. Even if it’s only listening.”
She met his gaze and shook her head a second time, unable to speak. The secret was lodged too deep inside. A decade of silence had sealed it there.
“Okay.” He let go of the reins. “But remember, I’m here if you need me.”
If he didn’t stop being nice and sensitive and kind, she was going to burst into tears. She clucked to her horse and continued down the trail.
B
UCK WASN
’
T ANYBODY
’
S FOOL
. H
E
’
D NOTICED THE
change that came over her when she’d seen the Riverton estate. Her face had gone white, then flushed. He’d heard the difference in her voice when she’d asked about Jon. Two plus
two always made four. And Jon plus a girl? All the way back to high school, that combination had meant trouble.
What did he do to you?
Buck wanted to know the answer . . . and dreaded getting one. Both. Equally. At the same moment. But she would have to tell him in her own time and in her own way.
If
she ever told him.
He nudged his horse and caught up with her. “We’ll take that cutoff to the left,” he said.
That hadn’t been his original plan, but the alternate trail would get them out of sight of the Riverton estate faster. That’s what was important to him now. He just wanted to take care of Charity.
Take care of Charity
.
Not that long ago, Buck had been determined to look out for number one and only number one. So why did taking care of Charity suddenly sound so good to him?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know that answer either. Because if he acknowledged it, everything would change—including Buck himself.
C
HARITY AWAKENED SLOWLY THE NEXT MORNING TO
find sunlight pouring through the curtains of the bedroom window. She hadn’t slept this late or this soundly in ages. Odd, wasn’t it? That she would sleep so well despite the anxiety she’d felt after she and Buck had come near the Riverton estate.
“You can trust me, you know. I’m your . . . friend.”
She pulled the pillow over her face, letting Buck’s words echo in her memory again and again, savoring the pleasure it gave her. A person could never have too many friends. Too many
true
friends. And she knew without doubt that Buck’s would be the true kind of friendship. She would be thankful for it even after she returned home and her life got back to normal.
Back to normal
.
She pushed the pillow aside and sat on the side of the bed.
