Along the Broken Road (6 page)

Charlee spun to look at the other table, where wide-eyed artists seemed more than a bit off guard. Wilma’s and Wynona’s heads tilted like lilting boats while Edward looked almost relieved he’d have help in the kitchen. “If you like cooking so much, take my shift,” he said.

Ian leaned back in his seat. “Nah, it’ll be more fun if we do it together.”

When Edward sighed and turned away, Charlee scrutinized the soldier before her. His dark eyes filled with amusement; his lips spread into that dangerous half grin. His hands pressed flat against the table. He’d managed to uproot and undo not only Edward, but the other artists as well. Except Gruber, who just seemed bored with the whole thing. Finally, those dark eyes broke their hold on her and he winked. “Don’t worry. I can cook.”

“Aren’t you tricky?” she whispered back. “I believe your CO would be very proud of you right now.”

One blink. Two. Ian’s gaze moving to the horizon, then far away. His mouth—full of mischief moments ago—lay lax now, slightly open. She watched as the light in his eyes dimmed. The mischief faded, being replaced by something darker, deeper, and if Charlee wasn’t wrong, much more painful.

The pain of a soldier come home.

Did people really know the sacrifice these men made? Ian was damaged. Of that, she was sure, but how damaged? She hoped one summer could repair the hurt. He had a right to enjoy a life free of the sorrows of war.

Her thoughts shifted to her brothers on foreign soil serving their country. Becoming damaged. Would they return with the same ghosts she saw in Ian’s eyes? Would they
all
return home?

It was a moment before she realized her hand had warmed. Charlee glanced down to see Ian’s hand gently covering hers.

He whispered, “Are you okay, Charlee?”

No. She wasn’t okay. She was a woman who’d lived her dream, only to discover she wasn’t sure it was what she still wanted—and if she didn’t do this, who would take care of the Mr. Grubers of the world? She was an orphan. She was a girl who prayed every night her brothers would make it home and a girl who worried they wouldn’t.

In her own way, she was a soldier. And she was damaged.

Without answering, Charlee rose from the chair. Fear and love drove her across the dance floor, across the yard and around the corner where a tree-lined path led to the sanctuary of her front porch. When she reached the steps, tears stung her eyes because she’d been foolish to think she could have a soldier living on her property without feeling his pain—her brothers’ pain—every day. She loved her brothers, bullheaded as they were. Charlee had convinced herself they’d all come home. Jeremiah was stateside, but that still left the other three. Her dad had died in combat last year. In her mind, her family had given enough. But now she knew there were parts of a soldier that never came home. There were things they left there, on the battleground, things one could never get back.

Charlee continued to cry as she entered her dark house. She cried for her brothers. And she cried for the innocence they’d never have again. When her eyes fell on the urn sitting on the fireplace mantel, she wanted to throw something at it.
Don’t you know I’m not equipped for this? I can’t hold a family together when they’re halfway around the world and you’re . . . you’re gone
. The kitchen light shone against the smooth porcelain of the urn. No answer from it, no reassurance. Charlee headed to bed without bothering to lock her front door. There was no reason. No one came out here. She was alone.

“I’m not sure what I said.” Ian retraced it in his mind as he stood from the table and moved to the four onlookers. Mortified that Charlee had run away and he’d been the cause, he stopped at the feet of those who knew her best.

“Sure have a way with the ladies,” Edward joked.

Wilma jerked, in unison with a muffled thump under the table. Edward jumped. “Ouch. You kicked me.”

Wilma pursed her mouth. “Don’t you worry, Ian. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Wynona reached out and snagged his hand. “That’s right, honey. It wasn’t you.”

Ian ran a free hand through his hair. “Could someone tell me what it was then, so we don’t have a repeat?”

Both sisters opened their mouths, but no words followed.

Edward took a bite of spaghetti. “Personally, I think it was you.”

He shifted his chair so Wilma couldn’t land another strike.

Wynona squeezed Ian’s hand in hers. “Charlee is a very special kind of creature.” Wide, expressive eyes rimmed with tiny wrinkles blinked up at him as if willing him to understand. “She’s unique.”

“Yes,” Wilma agreed. “Unusual. Complex.”

Ian coaxed them on, but neither woman said more. He wanted to understand Charlee. Needed to, if his mission was to be accomplished. “And complex, unique, unusual people frequently fly away from dinner without warning?”

Wilma scooted in her chair. “No. Charlee feels the blows of the world deeply. She’s an empath.”

A what? Okay, this wasn’t helping. It was like another language.

Mr. Gruber dropped his hand to the table. “Oh good Lord. What they’re trying to say, soldier, is that you don’t get to know someone like Charlee in one night. She’s got layers. The strongest women sometimes have the weakest hearts. Charlee didn’t get upset with you . . . Whatever you did. You got into her heart and for her that’s a little bit scary. Understand?”

Around them, the wind kicked up. Yeah. He did understand.

“Eloquently put, Arnold.” Wynona released Ian’s hand and patted Mr. Gruber’s. Gruber made a face and pulled away.

“So, what should I do now? Go after her?”

At the same moment he heard two different answers from the four different artists. The men landed on the side of yes. The women landed on the side of no. He opted to listen to the women on this one.

“Give her time,” Wilma said and the nod of Wynona’s head had her agreeing. Long white strands floated around Wynona with the breeze, a soft, encouraging smile on her face.

Ian realized she must have been some knockout in her younger days. And a dancer too. And he had a suspicion she’d been a bit on the wild side. “Okay. Give her time. I can do that.”

By the time he got back to his cabin, he wasn’t sure. Something about being around Charlee threw him off guard in too many areas. Only one summer then life could move on. With that in mind, he found the journal in the dim light the moon cast through the open window shade.

Ian angled himself in the chair so that moonlight lit the page. Not that it needed to; he’d memorized so many of the entries all he needed was the first few words to get him started.

Some were titled; some weren’t. But all were important, each one cutting right to his heart.

Charlee,

The eyes of my mind picture you. Standing on the front porch watching a sunset. It is sunrise here. Bullets zinging over our heads, but that doesn’t change the blue sky. Its umbrella covers us, reminding the boys it’s the same sky they grew up staring at when they were young and would lie on their backs and make shapes from the clouds. I can picture each one as a small child. I can see a father scooping each into his arms. It wasn’t that long ago they rode bicycles and skateboards, not that long ago they learned to drive and perhaps experienced a first kiss. Oh, I look into their young eyes and I see the children they were. But they’re men now. Each one a man with scars and memories no one should have to live with. Of course, it’s not all bad here. They’re building who they are and who they’ll be for the rest of their lives. They’re learning that all days must end. That’s what I tell them. “Keep your head down and your spirit up,” I say. “This day, like all others before it, will end. How it ends is your choice. Who you were this morning and who you’ll be tonight—that’s up to you. You can’t control what happens to you, but you do have a say in how you handle it.” Those are words for you too, Charlee. You can’t control what happens to you. But you do have a say in how you handle it.

Ian closed the journal. This was going to be harder than he imagined. Though he didn’t know what he expected, Charlee was a lot more—what was the word Wilma used?—complex than he’d thought. And his physical reaction to her didn’t help. He’d heard so much about her, he felt he already knew her before he came. And seeing her, meeting her, well, he’d assumed that would destroy the fairy-tale person he’d created in his mind. She was just flesh and blood. He needed that fairy tale destroyed. Because he already cared about Charlee much more than he should. And because of her stubbornness, once she knew the real reason he was here, there was a very good chance she’d throw him out. Caught between two McKinleys, Ian had no clue what to do. On one side, there was duty. On the other side, a woman he’d grown to love from afar. There was no easy way out. If he’d thought the war was difficult, this was a thousand times worse. And he was the one calling all the shots. He had to go ahead and tell her. About the journal, about everything. He couldn’t wait any longer. Though there’d been specific instructions to let her get to know him before dropping the bombshell, it was just wrong to be here, to have this agenda and not come clean about it. He was going to tell her. At the very first opportunity.

CHAPTER 4

The next day, Charlee was gone but had left instructions for him on what work to do for the day. Done by noon, he searched out Mr. Gruber.

“Morning,” he said, at the foot of Gruber’s steps.

Gruber offered a rare smile. “Nice work with Edward yesterday. I’m assuming you can cook.”

“Yes, sir. I actually attended a culinary school before joining up.”

Gruber pointed to his own coffee cup. “You want one?”

Ian was already drenched in sweat. Coffee didn’t sound good. “No thanks.”

“Why’d you join if you were in culinary school?”

“Uh, well.” Ian sighed. “I got the administrator’s daughter into a little trouble one night and was given an ultimatum.”

Gruber leaned back, brows furrowed and looking instantly angry. “You get his girl pregnant?”

Ian blushed. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. I just . . . well, for kicks we broke into a college’s private swimming pool. I got stuck in a locker room when the door shut behind me. Someone called the cops and they arrested her. Didn’t find me. It didn’t sit well with her father.”

Gruber’s face was twisted into a disapproving frown. “I expect not. You don’t seem like a rabble-rouser to me, Carlisle.”

Ian nodded. “Back in the day, I was. Not now. Joining up changed all that.”

“Yep. Had a bit of wildness in myself back in the day. Joined up at age seventeen.”

“You were in the military?”

Gruber sat a little straighter. “Beginning of Vietnam.”

“Army?”

“Navy.”

Ian’s finger trailed the wood on the banister. He wasn’t here to chat about the military. He needed answers and though Gruber was a crusty, temperamental old man, he also seemed to be the one who knew Charlee the best. “Is Charlee avoiding me now?”

Gruber was wearing a sweat-stained ball cap. He lifted it and rubbed a hand over the springy hairs on his head. “Ah, I wouldn’t think so. Women are easy enough once you understand them.”

“And how long does that take?”

Gruber’s face broke into a crooked smile. “Not sure; I’ll let you know when I get there.”

Ian chuckled and set the rocking chair into motion. The squeak, squeak, squeak of wood against porch floor calmed his nerves.

“Before she passed, my wife used to say, ‘I don’t need you to fix it; just let me talk about it.’ ”

Ian’s chair stopped abruptly. “What’s that mean?”

“Means shut up.”

He nodded, wished there was a manual, planted those words deep into his psyche. “Shut up, got it.”

Gruber pointed a long, slender finger at him. “But you better talk when they need you to or they say—” and for the next few words, the edges of his mouth went down and his voice went up, “—we never communicate.”

Ian drew a deep breath. “Should I be taking notes?”

“Nah. It’s simple. Shut up and talk. And while you’re thinking about all that, you could go work on the fence line.” Gruber closed one eye and pinned him with the other. “It’s real important to Charlee to get that fence line complete before her brother moves onto the property next door.”

“Charlee seems like she loves her brothers. Putting up a fence suggests they don’t get along. What’s your take?”

“They all get along fine.” Gruber drained his coffee cup and sat it on the porch floor where a water ring waited for it. “Just doesn’t want them in her business. Doesn’t want people dictating what she does. That’s her business, not theirs, and I agree with her. Both her parents are gone and she doesn’t need someone trying to take their place.”

Oh boy.

“About that fence . . .”

Charlee spent the day in town to avoid Ian. It wasn’t him particularly; it was just the whole thing. He made her miss her brothers. And worry about them even more. Really, more worry was the last thing she needed. But when she looked in his eyes, saw the pain he was trying to leave behind, saw the fight and the battle that still plagued him, well, her nurturing gene kicked into high gear. After leaving town, she drove home and found Ian at dinner with the rest of the clan.

“I hadn’t expected you to work on the fence today,” she said, stepping up to the table where he sat chatting with the sisters and King Edward.

Mr. Gruber was just dishing plates when she arrived. He motioned her with a spatula dripping with cheese. “Sit. I don’t want it to get cold.”

Ian grinned up at her. “Bossy, isn’t he?”

“Mmm. You have no idea.” She spun and moved to the empty table while Gruber placed a generous helping of lasagna on Ian’s plate. “Thank you, sir.”

He picked up the fork and was just getting ready to take a bite when Gruber barked, “Now get outta my seat, Lunch Box, or you’ll be eating that through a feeding tube.”

Charlee rolled her eyes. Ian hustled out of the seat and moved to her table, plate in hand, fork perched on the edge. “May I?”

Her hands covered her face. “I’m so sorry about this.” She leaned in. “They’re hopeless busybodies.”

From above her, Ian winked. He really was a lovely specimen to look at, with his easy smile and toned body. She’d spotted him earlier through the tree line as he worked. He’d been bare from the waist up, his jeans worn and snug on muscled legs, his tool belt hanging carelessly and at just the right angle to draw a girl’s attention. Whew. It was hot out tonight.

“You want me to turn on the fans?”

Oh, dear Lord! She hadn’t said that out loud, had she? “What?”

“You’re holding your hair up.”

Oh. She was. She’d scooped the mass into one fist and held it off her neck. Ian’s gaze drifted down from her eyes to her throat and all that exposed skin of her neck. He licked his lips and something in her stomach thudded.

“No.” She dropped the mass and hoped it would cover her. Stupid idiot of a guy made her feel naked. “I’m not hot.”

A twinkle, a blink. Ian sat down and she was pretty sure she’d heard him mumble, “That’s highly debatable.”

Gruber paused at their table and filled her plate. Here they were again, alone and having dinner. This could so quickly turn into a disaster. Best to stick to business. “The fence.”

“I got your list done and was told that was your ongoing project.”

“You did a great job.” Charlee scooped a generous helping of Gruber’s cheesy lasagna into her mouth. There was no need to act dainty. She wasn’t dainty and this wasn’t a date where she had to pretend to be sweet and demure. This wasn’t a date at all. Even though the night’s sky was dressed in perfect romantic fashion, the kind lovers stargazed at while planning their futures. Even though the giant trees swayed with the softest of breezes creating a gentle whisper like a song for couples only. She could feel sauce at the edge of her mouth but didn’t bother to wipe it away. Definitely not a date.

When Ian’s gaze stalled there, her tongue darted out to catch the runaway sauce. But what entered his eyes didn’t help the situation. He actually looked hungrier.

He leaned back, lungs expanding and showing off the tone of his pecs. “I finished the other stuff, so I figured why not?”

“Well, it shows a lot about your character.”

His fork paused halfway to his mouth. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Huh?”

“Putting up a fence to keep your brother out shows a lot about your character.” His gaze dropped as soon as he said it.

Charlee huffed. Below her line of vision was a lovely helping of lasagna that Soldier Boy had just ruined. She used her fork to move the ricotta cheese around on her plate. “Look, you don’t understand and you don’t need to.” She actually had a whole bunch of words in her head to spew at him, but he already looked sorry for saying it.

“I, uh, tend to say all the wrong things at all the best times. I’m really sorry. Stupid mouth gets me in more trouble.”

Well then. Charlee didn’t know exactly how to handle that. So, she didn’t.

They each took a few more bites. But her mind kept spinning. “Look. I love my brothers, but they are all up in my business all the time when they’re around.”

“Do you see them often?”

“They all four wander in and out when they’re on leave. Our family home is still here, in town. It remains their home base.”

“Have they always been so protective of you?”

Charlee thought back. “Yes. I think it got worse after our mom died.”

“How so?” Ian pushed his empty plate away and leaned forward.

“They went into hyperprotective mode where I was concerned. I went into nurturing mode. Thought it was my job to raise them all. Even though Jeremiah is almost six years older than me and I was only twelve.”

His dark eyes grew troubled. “That’s a lot for a young girl to carry.”

“I didn’t mind it. Unfortunately the boys still treat me like I can only survive on my own when they’re away at war. And I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces when they get back if they don’t rescue me. I don’t need to be rescued.”

And that’s when he did it. Ian rested his forearms on the table and trapped her in that dark gaze. His words were barely a whisper and all but lost in the sound of the breeze. “Everyone needs someone to rescue them.” One second ticked by. Then two. Then three. And something in Charlee’s heart twisted because there was a place, a place deep, deep inside her where she wanted a shining knight on a white horse. Someone who wouldn’t just lift her, but someone who would give her wings. And that, she knew, didn’t exist.

Flickering lights above her twinkled their own Morse code. If only they could flash the answers to life. The wind intensified, mountain gusts moving the treetops, the rustling sound increasing until it drowned out the questions. Ian had a right to his opinion. And Charlee had a right not to give a crap what he thought about her.

Noise from the other table drew her attention. She realized it had been a while since she’d spoken and Ian wasn’t the least concerned. He’d turned around in his chair and was locked in some good-natured argument with Gruber about army versus navy. His hand was flat on the table. Why she reached out and snagged it, she didn’t know.

He turned to look at her and the talk at the artists’ table went on without them. She gave his fingers a light squeeze. “I’m really sorry about last night.”

Ian held her gaze as she slowly released his hand. And though they were no longer touching, she could feel the sear of his flesh against her skin. She wasn’t good at apologies. Growing up with her brothers, one tended to get it right the first time or suffer unimaginable goading. Or clam up, set your face as flint and hold your ground no matter how wrong you were.

When he offered the faintest of smiles, Charlee pulled her lower lip into her mouth and bit down. “I . . .”
I what
? She couldn’t easily explain what had happened last night.

“No need to apologize. And no need to explain. Okay?” His velvet voice offered assurance; the tilt of his head and open demeanor exemplified his willingness to let it go.

“Okay.” She took another bite. “No. It isn’t okay.” Charlee squeezed her eyes shut for a few moments and nodded toward the other table. “They’re kind of . . . protective of me.”

“The artists?”

Charlee could tell he wasn’t certain if she meant them or her brothers. “Both them and my brothers. But right now, the artists. I was in a bad relationship a few months ago and now I think they’re bent on playing matchmaker.” She motioned at him with an upturned palm. “Unfortunately for you, you’ve passed their bar.”

“Lucky me,” he joked, but a flicker of relief and, dare she say, anticipation skated across his features.

“I’m not looking for any kind of relationship deeper than employer and handyman.”

Ian tilted toward her. “My CO said the best things in life happen when we aren’t even looking for them.”

Charlee bristled. “As do the worst.”

“Touché.”

She flashed a quick smile. “So, now you know my secret.”

His eyes leveled on her. “You’re safe with me.”

Fire shot right into her stomach. Safe with him? She doubted that. She couldn’t even trust her body’s reactions. Cold and angry one second and . . . well . . . hot and bothered the next. “You mean
my secret
is safe with you?”

Tiki light danced in his smile. “Yes, Charlee.” It wasn’t exactly patronizing. It was patient, willing to wait. Blasted soldiers knew how to wait for the right moment, then sail into a guerrilla attack and make the kill. “Your secret is safe. In fact, one day I’ll tell you mine.”

Seemed fair. But as she watched his shoulders tighten, noticed the muscles of his jaw harden, she knew Ian wasn’t ready to talk. “When it’s time,” she said, and was shocked at the display of emotions that danced across his face. Relief, seeming to lead the parade.

“Really?”

“When you’re ready to share your secret, Ian, I’ll be ready to listen.” The sound of other voices and banter had all but disappeared around them.

The seriousness of the conversation was palpable enough to grow legs and walk away. But it didn’t. It stayed right there between them.

Ian worked the muscle in his jaw. “You mean that?”

She could almost hear the gears turning in his head. Weighing something. “Absolutely.”

“Friends, then?”

“Of course.” Liberation flooded her. Friends, she could handle.