Timber Lake (The Snowy Range Series, #2) (25 page)

Sonny mumbled, “I told you...”

“Yes, you did. And now I’m waiting for you to tell me the truth.”

“You don’t want to know the truth.”

Em cradled his face, tilting his head so he had to gaze into eyes the same golden shade as his own. If someone photoshopped away twelve or fifteen years, he and his sister would look like twins. She said, “Then tell me about Michael Brooks.”

“Michael?” Sonny shrugged, surprised at her interest. “There’s nothing to tell. He was assigned as my guide. I already told you how he got involved with the trapper. What else do you want to know?”

With a small smile deepening the lines around her mouth, Emily said, “How about you tell me when you knew you were in love with him.”

Bolting upright, Sonny sputtered, “Wait... what the hell are you talking about? I’m not...”

Emily put a finger on Sonny’s mouth and hushed him with, “You are. Ass over teacups, kiddo. The others might not see it, but I do. Clear as day.” She chuckled, the sound warm and inviting, as if in her care he could entrust her with his feelings, at least about Michael.

As much as he loved his sister, he wasn’t convinced it was safe enough for him to admit to a truth so personal, so he blurted, “But how?”

“The look that comes over you when you mention his name. How you jump when the phone rings, like you’re expecting a call. How you pinch your face to hide the disappointment when it’s not for you.” Emily shook her head in exasperation. “You’ve been mooning around here ever since you got home. Sleeping away the days, pacing your bedroom at night.” She pursed her lips and gave him the look. “Mom’s been worried about you. So am I.”

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, Em. His life is there, mine’s here.”

“Oh really. Seems to me you made it pretty clear this evening that you were carving your own fate, making your own choices, and...” she smirked. “...doing it your own fucking way.”

Sonny blushed crimson, the heat spreading up his neck to his ears. “Um, I guess I need to apologize to Mom and Martha.”  He grimaced with embarrassment. “I was, uh, distraught.”

Distraught.
He’d used that term when teasing Michael on their way back to camp. Threatening him with consequences he wouldn’t regret if the man kept aggravating him. The kind of consequences that had both of them howling at the canopy of spruce and the blanket of stars, their chorus of passion competing with the yowls of coyotes and the high-pitched whine of wind skipping across the treetops.

“Baby? Hon, come on, tell me...”

He didn’t remember collapsing into a ball, knees to gut, his arms wrapped around his head as he rocked in the agony of knowing he’d never again experience the glory of Michael’s caress, or put up with his incessant teasing. How could he go through life never sharing his warden’s commitment to being champion to those in his care? What had possessed him to turn his back on a man who put his life on the line to protect a selfish brat unwilling to see past his own ego?

The sobs he shut down, because he was unworthy of that kind of release. He needed to hold it close, not let it out for the world to see. The last thing he needed was his sister’s sympathy or pity. On the balance sheet of epic fails, he had more than enough recriminations to last a lifetime.

Emily peeled his arms away, securing them against his chest with her own. She whispered in his ear, “I’m not telling you this as your sister, or as a mother. I’m saying this as your best friend, Seamus. And as a wife. Love doesn’t come around often. When it does, you need to grab hold and not let go.”

Choking back the sobs, Sonny said, “I already told you, it’s too late.”

“That may be. But let me ask you something. Does this Michael Brooks feel the same way?”

He took a possible murder rap for me.
“I don’t know.”
Liar.

Squeezing his chest until he nearly swooned, his sister sternly barked, “Oh, I think you do, Seamus Rydell. When are you going to grow up and realize that it’s time to put your rules and woe-is-me attitude to rest? You want a life? I think you already have it, but you’re too afraid to jump in the deep end.”

Sonny objected, “There’s alligators in the deep end.”

Emily slapped his arm. “Don’t you metaphor me, brat. Listen to your older sister. I’m telling you the answers are right in front of you, so open your eyes and take a good look around. Before it’s too late.”

“But...”

“No buts. Let’s review shall we? You already told Mom and Auntie Marge to fuck off. Go Team Seamus. It’s about damn time. Two, you’ve got a job you like but it’s not where you want to be. Get a transfer or find a new job. Three, there’s a man out there probably wailing and gnashing his teeth because he let you get away. If not, well... his loss, so fuck him.” Skidding to a verbal halt, Emily licked her lips and asked, “You were fucking, right?”

“Jesus Christ, Emily!”

“All right, all right. Number four: go back to Wyoming, fuck Michael Brooks’ brains out and keep doing it until he says yes.”

“What if he still says no?” Sonny wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment.

“Then I’ll send Mom and Marge out to have a word with him.” She grinned like a Cheshire Cat. “I really doubt it will come to that, little bro.” Standing up, Emily reached down and helped Sonny to his feet. As he tottered uncertainly, she handed him the tumbler. “Here, drink this down and then I’ll get you some more. A man doesn’t often have a good reason to get shit-faced.”

His head reeling, Sonny asked, “What reason is that?”

With laughter in her voice, Emily said, “I’m going upstairs to pack your bag. Then I’m getting online and booking you a flight to Denver tomorrow and a rental car to drive to Laramie.” She paused at the stairwell. “They have hotels in Laramie, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t bother. I still have the rental cabin at the dude ranch where the mule and Peanut are. Owner’s looking after them for me.”

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to it. There’s nothing quite like flying three sheets to the wind.”

Nodding as he watched his sister disappear from view, Sonny wondered how he was going to pull off waltzing back into Michael’s life with nothing more than empty hands and a full heart. How did you even start that conversation?

How did you not?

The Invitation

––––––––

M
ichael was down to counting his blessings and composing his last will and testament, mostly to distract himself from the slap of razor on strop as Sally prepared to transform his face into her version of an acceptable appearance.

The woman hummed to herself as she eyed the edge of the razor with satisfaction. Turning to her daughter, she ordered, “Girl, make sure that shower curtain ain’t too tight around his throat.”
God, yes, please.
“Uh-huh, that’ll do. Now, go on out. We got customers.”

Dolly squeezed Michael’s shoulder for encouragement. Cody replaced her in the tiny office.

“Ma’am?” The teen reached over top of Michael’s head. “Finally found it.”

Michael rolled his eyes trying to see what the heck was going on. The door shut with a soft snick. He twitched despite being under strict instructions not to move and dislodge the hair clips keeping his unruly mop off his neck and away from his ears.

He mumbled, “I feel ridiculous.”

“That might be, son, but if I recall, you’re the one coming round asking for help.” She held a container with foamy suds under his nose. “Jes shaving cream. Need to lube ya nice and slick.” She snorted. Michael blushed, immediately regretting letting slip why he needed a make-over. He regretted even more permitting Sally to railroad him into allowing her access to his tender skin with a sharp object.

Getting conversational, Sally said, “Mah first, he had a nice one like this. Real even, ya know? Bits o’ red.” A forefinger under his chin tilted his head up and back. The metal hairclip dug into the nape of his neck. He thought,
ow, fuck, shit, damn
, and inhaled a vaguely coconut scent. Sally continued her examination of his beard. “Seeing lots o’ grey now. It happens.”

“What happens?”

“Stress, son, stress. Takes it out of a man. Wears on him, know what I mean?” He was sure he didn’t. “Bert, now... he was number two... Bert went early.”

Michael mumbled, “Sorry,” dredging up sympathy for Sally’s loss.

She released his chin and smacked her thigh. “Not that kinda going, son. Talking snow on the mountain. Pure white it was. Looked right distinguished.” She swirled the brush in the coconut-scented lather. “Now there was a man didn’t know when he had it good.” Michael was about to mumble sorry again, but Sally leaned down and hissed, “You could learn a thing or two, you know.”

He hated to ask, but it seemed expected, so he did. “Learn what?”

“Stop wishing, start doing.” She pressed on his chest. “Lean back some. Yeah, that’s good.”

Not sure if it was safe to move his lips, Michael waited until Sally went back to loading the brush with shaving cream. Unsure if she was criticizing or encouraging him, Michael muttered, “It’s just dinner. At Hank’s. I’m... whaddya call it?”

“Plus one?”

That didn’t seem right, but it was close enough. He muttered, “I guess. Anyway, it’s not a date.” He sounded defensive, mostly because in his own mind he worried Hank and his wife were setting him up in an effort to take his mind off his troubles. The last thing he wanted or needed was to meet somebody new, not when he was still hung up on Seamus Rydell.

He’d been drinking when Hank had called. Feeling lonely and out of sorts. He’d said,
“I dunno...
” Hank had grunted, “
Friday, the missus says get yourself cleaned up. Do you good to get out.”

There had been more, but in the end he’d agreed. Now here it was, Friday morning, with his clean-up detail sawing away at his three month growth of beard and a shaggy pelt on his head that made him look like a sheepdog. Just not as endearing.

Strong, blunt fingers stretched his skin. He shut his eyes and pretended he couldn’t hear or feel the rasping, scratchy tugs from ear to chin. Two short, one long. Repeat. He held his breath and tried not to dwell on why he’d been desperate enough to agree to Hank’s offer.

It was complicated, but it wasn’t rocket science, and he didn’t need his shrink to enlighten him about the particulars. He’d survived. Because of one man. Now that man was gone from his life. All because he’d let his damn arrogance make decisions that weren’t his to make.

What he wanted was just one chance to say his piece to Seamus Rydell, so much so it haunted his waking hours. But at night, in the hot metal box he called home, the nightmares of being strung up and sliced open joined the guilt and regrets. Like a double whammy, it flooded him with anxiety so intense he paced like a tiger in its cage. Wetted with the stink of his own sweat and weighted down until he couldn’t breathe, let alone sleep, he’d lost weight and gradually he was losing hope.

George had said...
time and space, boy, time and space
. Well, he’d done the time, more than three long months of it. He’d given space, though not a day went by he wasn’t searching the government sites looking for Dr. Rydell’s name and contact number. He could have asked Paul, but doing that would have raised a red flag. His boss had done him a kindness by letting him hang around the office despite his being on medical leave. Rocking the boat and dredging up a painful time wasn’t in anyone’s best interests.

The season had wound down, with him manning phones, filing reports and monitoring the new guy brought in to replace him. Now, at the end of October, with the first snow on the ground, they were closing up, preparing to shut the gates across the scenic byway.

It had taken three months for Michael to come to terms with a decision he’d been mulling over. Nothing life altering, nothing like having Sonny walk out of his life. But easy it wasn’t.

Sally patted his shoulder and whipped the lathered and whiskered piece of plastic off his chest. She replaced it with a towel and asked, “You sure you want to leave it long?”

Nodding, Michael smiled and teased, “I’m thinking I need a man bun. Dolly said it’d look sexy.”

“Oh she did, did she. Well, I like my men lookin’ like men, if you get my drift.” She harrumphed and snipped some stray hairs. “Your head.” Shrug.
Snip, snip
. “I’ll jes tidy it up.” Hair flew as she mumbled, “Jes don’t get that whole metrosexual look. Really don’t.”

He’d meant it to be a joke, about the damn bun, but Sonny had told him how his sisters did him up when he was a teen. Eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow, the works. They’d used a scrunchie to wrap his blond curls high on his head. He’d been mortified. Not that they’d done it, but because he’d liked it. A lot.

Just the thought of Sonny, his golden eyes limned with dusky shadows, was enough to kick Michael’s libido into overdrive. He folded his hands on his lap, hoping Sally wouldn’t notice. Fortunately, she was too busy complaining about his sartorial choices to pay attention to the state of his jeans. He grimaced as the woman gathered his shaggy brown hair and gave it a vicious tug, holding it tight as she secured it with a band.

Stepping away, Sally pursed her lips and called, “You, girl. Get your ass in here. You need to see this.” Michael cringed, not sure if he wanted to know.

Dolly sauntered in, followed by her boyfriend. They moved around in front of Michael and tipped their heads to one side, giving him a once over. Cody blushed. Michael had no idea why, though curiosity won out and he reached up to palm the ball of hair. Tendrils escaped the binding. He fingered them, wishing he had a mirror.

Sally deferred to her daughter, asking, “This it?” Was it his imagination or was Sally warming to the look?

Grinning, Dolly said, “If that don’t do it, nothing will, Ma.”

Michael and Cody both yelped, “Do what?”

Sally waved the teens out of her office while muttering, “Never you mind.” To Dolly she barked, “Get his stuff into the dryer.”

Appalled, Michael barked, “You don’t have to...”

Ignoring Michael’s objections, Sally directed Cody to see Michael’s truck was fueled and ready to go. When it was just the two of them again, Michael said, “Not sure how to thank you, ma’am. If it hadn’t been for you and the kids, it’d have gone a lot harder than it did.”