by Katie Cross
Even though Adventura wasn't actually mine to save, a rising sense of responsibility had grown within me overnight. The feeling of being in this together ever since he gave the $500 back. Besides, if something happened to Adventura, I wouldn't have a hiding place or anyone in the world I could safely rely on.
More than that, however, was I wanted this for Mark. He was a good guy. Misunderstood. Energetic to a fault. But a good guy.
And his laissez-faire attitude was going to kill me.
Touring Adventura didn't help my anxiety, either. The land, tucked into the folds of the mountains and still thick with blooming green and gold, took my breath away. Fresh air brushed past my cheeks and removed some of my desperate fright. But under it all lay a sense of vast emptiness.
There wasn't much here to fix.
The kitchen was the largest building, with an attached dining room and open seating space to feed the campers and staff, but the shingles on the roof were in need of repair and a good slapping of stain on the dry wood. The cost of the stain alone would be hundreds of dollars.
A few outbuildings and smaller sheds dotted certain areas. No pavement appeared anywhere outside of the highway miles away—even the parking lot was dirt. Outside of the cabin where I slept, a few others I hadn't gotten a good glimpse of were tucked out of sight. Were those the ones he also wanted to rent? They seemed sort of close together. The commissary was the only other building. He had other perks, like the lake and the river and hiking in the canyon, but there wasn't much at Adventura.
My stomach sank with every mile Mark put on the engine. He'd point at something, slow down, and explain it. Campsites. Stream access. A place where a black bear had been spotted. Twice we crossed a burbling stream, shady parts edged with crackling ice. The entire place truly was lovely. A definite home.
But could he sell it as a retreat that people would pay for?
Finally, Mark took me up a trail that was clearly created by the four-wheeler. Eventually, he stopped it and killed the engine, then swung off. He extended a hand to me with an eager, bright smile.
“C'mere. There's a view of the whole camp.”
I slipped my hand in his and he tugged me off the four-wheeler. My skin thrilled to the contact of another human, even if wholly without romantic affection. Only a few paces away was the edge of a rock face that looked down. The tops of the cabins were visible from here, dark slopes against the green and spiny-branched backdrop. I'd seen the lake from the ground, but not so high. Rolling green spread out the other side of it, disappearing into more ridges and trees. The canyon walls were closer than I'd thought, leading back until the mountains disappeared in themselves.
The wild beauty took my breath away.
Mark sat down, a broad grin on his face. How was he this calm? How could he stand to look at all of this when he could be a few bad payments away from losing it? And why was he so unconcerned about the blatant problems in his plan? Mark usually came to me with his broad strokes ideas. Rarely did I get into the nitty-gritty with him, like now. Instead, I oversaw, advised, and he left to do whatever he thought best.
He drew me back to the present with a loud breath.
“Amazing.” He lifted both hands. “Isn't it absolutely amazing?”
We stared at the mountains, and they stared back. Somewhere around the rills of the peaks across from us would be the highway, hidden by twists and turns. I had absolutely no sense of direction, grateful that only one road led in and out, or else I would have gotten lost long ago.
“Very,” I murmured.
Mark leaned back on his palms, the backs of his shoes thudding against the rock his legs dangled off of like a little kid. I chose to sit back a little farther, legs crossed. The sheer drop below sent my stomach into a tumble at the mere thought.
After several moments, the quiet worked its magic. I lost the trail of anxiety that I'd been walking and let myself get lost in the quiet whisper of wind. My thoughts skittered like the leaves behind us. I closed my eyes, letting the sun warm my face again. When had I last sat outside to feel the sun?
Too long.
Grandma would never approve.
Mark kicked his heels in an alternating rhythm now, but it had a sort of cadence that seemed accidental. Even though he didn't speak, I could hear his thoughts moving. Likely, they never stopped. I could tell that some sort of calculation moved behind his eyes. Although overcome with doubts that he'd be able to save this place, I appreciated his moxie at trying.
Adventura was lovely, but its prospect was bleak. If he really wanted to make stable money off of it, it would need far more upgrading. My lips twitched as I thought of his idea a few months ago.
“Horses, Marie,” he'd said. “I think I need to invest in horses. There's a lot of grazing land out here, and we could use them for the summer camp. What do you think? Horses may draw in more people. My investors are thinking it over.”
While he rattled about horse therapy and autistic kids, my mind had gone down the trail of insurance needs, care, grooming, and basic maintenance. We'd spoken for over an hour about it, and he'd happily paid my consulting fee. Until now, I hadn't realized that Mark did nothing with the horse idea. Maybe it wasn't the worst concept, but the practicality behind it would be more detailed than he'd like.
No, that was a dead end.
My mind spun through other possibilities. How else could the land be used but still maintained for the money-making summer? My thoughts must have spiraled deep—or perhaps my face just betrayed me—because his voice broke into them. My thoughts scattered like grains of sand.
“It's going to be okay, Stella.”
When I looked at him, he peered at me with a curious, but steady, gaze. For a second, I was tempted to smile and lead him down a different track. Tell him that fear and concern weren't even on my mind. But that would be a lie, and I never lied.
“I hope so.”
“I always figure it out.”
That much was true. He figured something out usually, even if it was patchwork and eventually abandoned. His life was littered with bandaids, but even those had slowly side-stepped him places.
Where did the steady trust in himself come from? How could he so easily spin ideas and just hope to find the money? There needed to be a firm plan. A path to find the people that would do the rentals. A known, trusted source for each step that we could logically move into next.
“It's pretty simple, really,” he said as if he were talking to himself now. “We already have the space to rent since you are kind enough to move to the attic. There are no upgrades that need to happen aside from basic cozying up, which is easy. So we have one week to find someone—or several someones—to rent it. The path is clear.”
“Right,” I said, my tone deadpan. “As if that were so simple. As if companies don't spend thousands of dollars every day in lead acquisition.”
He laughed. “We don't need thousands of dollars.”
My frustration was palpable. “How are you going to find those people? Leads? Paid traffic? Do you have some sort of . . . connection in Jackson City or . . .”
He grinned, which stopped me short. There was a little too much rugged attractiveness about his beard, his quirky hair, and the bright set of teeth behind his lips. Lips that, I admitted to myself, I looked at a few too many times today.
“With the steadiest, most reliable asset I have,” he said.
“What's that?”
“My unflappable charm, of course.”
Turned out, he wasn't kidding.
Two hours later, we drove back down the highway toward Pineville but pulled off before we arrived in town. Mark didn't say where we were going as we bounced down a paved road that turned into dirt and eventually a worn two-track with dead weeds in the middle. Instead, his forehead remained slightly puckered with thought. I held onto the seat and tried not to panic.
When Mark had ideas, sometimes they got weird.
Fifteen minutes later, he stopped at a small, gr
ay house with two windows framed by dull red shutters, a porch with a swing, and a giant gray truck. The charming little place was tucked up against a hill at the foot of a sprawling mountain, like everything here. When I stepped outside, I could hear the tinkle of a creek nearby.
“Where are we?” I asked as I stepped out.
A man with salt and pepper hair and a lined face stepped onto the porch in a pair of cowboy boots and a long flannel shirt. The screen door slammed shut behind him with a crack. The knees of his jeans were worn to soft white patches. He half grinned, and it looked so much like Mark that I knew immediately who he was.
His father.
“Hey, Dad.” Mark started around the front of the truck and toward his father, who stepped down a few stairs, gaze on me.
“Hi.”
Mark motioned to me. “This is my friend, Stella. She's staying with me for a while. Stella, this is my father, Jim.”
I nodded. He returned it. A fishing pole leaned against the front of the house near the screen door. Mark stopped a few feet away from the porch and half-tucked his hands into his pockets. He seemed at ease. Jim, at first sight, didn't strike me as a talker.
Mark dove right in.
“Is your Cuban friend, Camilo, still painting these days?”
If Jim noticed my sudden surprise at the question, he gave no indication. Instead, he frowned at the dirt. “Not sure,” he finally drawled. “Why?”
“Trying something new.”
Jim snorted, but his lips twitched with a smile. “I can ask him.”
“Do you have his number? I'll call. No need for you to break your quota and talk to more people than me for the next week.”
Jim snorted with warm amusement, then pulled a phone out of his pocket and tossed it to Mark. Mark scrolled through and seemed to text something to himself because I heard the buzz of his phone a second later. Meanwhile, Jim glanced at me again. A silent question lived there. One I didn't want to acknowledge or have to answer, so I pretended to study the creek.
Why are you living with my son? he seemed to want to say.
“You like to fish?” I asked him.
Jim nodded. I couldn't help but wonder if Mark had so much to say because he felt that he had to fill the silences his dad may leave behind.
Mark tossed the phone back to his dad. “Thanks, Dad. Good to see you. Need anything?”
“Nope.”
And just like that, we were back in the truck, rumbling back toward the highway. Jim disappeared inside with a brief wave, and I blinked.
Wow. That was . . .
“What?”
Mark asking the question made me realize I'd spoken out loud. “Oh.” I shook my head. “Sorry, I . . . I'm just . . . that was so quick.”
He shrugged as he flipped on the blinker and turned toward the highway. Cars whizzed past. The Zombie Mobile needed a lot of land to get its slow engine up to speed, so he had to wait for several minutes. On our way here, he'd driven on the side of the road to get going fast enough.
“I see him pretty often,” Mark said as we chugged along in a break of traffic. “He actually wanted to live at Adventura because of the river running through the canyon, but the fish aren't great there.”
“Really?”
He laughed. “Really. Fishing is his life right now.”
“You could have just called him.”
“Yeah, but I like to see him. He doesn't get a lot of human interaction since the divorce. Doesn't really want it, to be honest, but he loves to see us.”
Divorce. I filed that away in my head for later. Something I hadn't known.
He glanced back at me. “You don't visit your parents for short periods of time through the week?”
“No. They're dead.”
“What?”
His shocked cry gave me a sense of relief. Most people were awkward at moments like that, and I always ended up attempting to soothe them for what happened in my life. At least Mark owned his surprise.
“When I was five.” My breath whooshed out of me. “They were in a car accident. I don't remember much. Grandma raised me. We had already been living with her for a while, which made it a lot easier at first.”
“Bet she's amazing to turn out someone like you.”
I grinned with my whole face. “Yeah. She totally is.”
Mark's gaze darted to mine and back to the road several times before finally focusing again. I cleared my throat to soften a sudden tension in the air.
“So, Camilo?” I asked and turned slightly to face him.
Mark laughed. “Yeah, probably a dead end, but I'll pursue it out. There are a few other options that we're going to chase in town, but they're in neighborhoods. You'll be out of the way of town so no one has to see you.”
“It's not that extreme, Mark.”
“Not yet,” he said easily as if running from your boss and his twisted attraction was so normal. Still, I appreciated his attention to these sordid details of my life. It made it seem more real because some days I still couldn't wrap my head around this being a thing.
I couldn't help but feel a bit intrigued with what I had already seen of his plan. I'd always seen the results of Mark's attempt to salvage his life back together, never the actual grasping for straws. Seeing him in his element—which appeared to be uncertainty—was a whole new game. Although I still felt uncomfortable with all the murky details, I couldn't help but wonder if maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.
In the end, I didn't ask, because I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
12
Mark
The next morning, I stood just outside my cabin home and frowned. Nestled amongst broken pine cones, pebbles, and a few slivers of pine needles lay a subtle set of tracks. They marched past the cabin, about three feet away from the door.
“Kitty cat,” I murmured. “What are you doing here?”
At one point, the cougar seemed to have stopped, started toward the porch, then decided against it and veered away. A bit too bold for my liking. I grabbed my phone, thinking of Stella. I'd have to remind her not to leave her little closet alone at dusk or in the early morning.
Maybe we should schedule runs together. The thought of her in the mountains alone didn't sit well with me.
Mark: Seriously, Justin. Where are you? This cat is now at my place and I need your dog.
The message to Justin was sent but didn't deliver right away. My gaze narrowed. Where was he anyway? Justin spent way too much time with my sister as it was. They'd been “officially” dating for almost a year now. Plus, he rarely took Atticus with him. The dog belonged in the mountains.
Before I could text him again, a new Hearts of Fire notification popped onto the screen. Shanti. She wanted to meet up for dinner. I hesitated, thoughts settling on Stella.
Did I want to go with Shanti?
Yes. But . . . I'd rather watch another 007 movie with Stell.
As a rule, I rarely turned a woman down that seemed non-crazy and who also put effort into meeting. The women that expected me to do all the work had never been good news. Shanti was going two hours out of her way to meet me for dinner in Jackson City on her way across the country to see a friend in Seattle. We'd been writing back and forth for a few weeks now, and she always made me laugh.
Shanti: I'm still up for Mexican if you are. I'll be at the junction that takes me your way and need to know if you're still willing.
Mark: You bet. I'll send you a pin on where to meet on Maps.
Shanti: Yes! I'm excited to officially meet you tonight, Mark Bailey!
Her text was accompanied by practically 5,000 heart emojis, then the Mexican flag and what appeared to be a burrito. I sent back a thumbs-up as the front door opened and Stella peeked out. She wore her running gear and a questioning half-smile.
“Hey.” I shoved the phone back in my pocket. “Listen, the cat is back.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You have a cat?”
“Not one I'd recommend you pet
ting, and if you can hear it purr, you're probably already dead meat. Literally.”
I gestured to the prints with a toe, careful not to disturb them. Her eyes widened as she appeared to comprehend what it meant. Then I snapped a picture and sent it to Justin with a thumbs-down emoji.
Mark: Get back here before I have to buy myself a dog. Or at least send Atticus.
Stella grimaced, then shivered as she stared into the trees across the parking lot. “So that means a run by myself is not an option.”
“I just wouldn't recommend going alone while it's wandering so close. Once Atticus is back, you can run with him. He'll keep you safe.”
She shifted, warily eyeing the prints. I motioned inside.
“Let me change and we can go together.”
Stella was quiet for most of the run until we slowed to a walk not far from the parking lot on our way back. My concern over the cougar washed away with the exertion. If I didn't hear back from JJ, I might borrow Thor, a Rhodesian Ridgeback, from Ellie, Maverick's other daughter. That dog would scare off an African lion.
“Who is that?” Stella asked.
She froze. Her panting slowed to hard breaths. She had her hands on her hips as she inclined her head toward Adventura, where two people climbed out of a small, eco-friendly car. A cluster of trees mostly obscured the view of us from where we stood on the road. Such a hippie car meant only one person.
I forced a smile, but couldn't help a sudden tension all the same.
“My brother.”
Stella started to walk again but eyed me as if I had a weird look on my face. I tried to act like nothing unusual had happened. JJ and Lizbeth hadn't come around much since their wedding, which was probably for the best. I loved them both for different reasons.
And that was a bad thing because some love was strictly forbidden: like my twin brother's wife.
“Oh,” Stella said.
Lizbeth and her bright red hair appeared out of the passenger seat. JJ glanced over his shoulder as we turned into the parking lot, then waved. A bright smile from Lizbeth and a little squeak of surprise followed. She jumped a little, waving.
