The Man from Pine Mountain

by Lisa Jackson

  * * *

  In the morning, he lingered as long as he could, then left Flintlock in the barn, insisting that she needed some sort of transportation. In the end, she reluctantly relented.

  She spent the next two days cleaning the dining hall and decorating the room with a few strings of lights she’d brought from home and a small tree she’d cut herself. She planned on spending Christmas Eve alone and attending church on Christmas morning. As for the pageant…she wasn’t quite sure she could watch the festivities.

  And what about Brett?

  She shoved that thought aside. Dealing with her complex emotions concerning Brett was too difficult. Instead, she concentrated on the everyday facets of her life.

  The new bridge—a temporary structure at best—was finished the weekend before Christmas. Three huge beams, milled at the Cascade sawmill, were used as supports, and heavy planks were nailed carefully over the beams. Though wide enough for only one vehicle, the bridge was sturdy, and Libby could shore it up at a later date if she planned to open the camp again.

  “Looks like you’re back in business,” Brett said after crossing the bridge in his Bronco and parking near the dining hall.

  Libby’s heart beat faster at the sight of him. She wondered if she’d made the right decision, living without him, but she was determined not to second-guess herself. “All I need is my Jeep.”

  “Bill Yeltson called this morning. It’s finished. I thought I could give you a lift into town.”

  When they drove into Cascade, the little community felt as familiar as a favorite old slipper and was bustling with activity. The Christmas tree situated at city hall was blazing, and a holiday bazaar, complete with baked goods, quilts, dollhouses and ceramics, was in full swing at the grange hall.

  She sampled cranberry cake and bought a dozen cookies along with a couple of handcrafted ornaments for her little tree. Familiar Christmas carols wafted through the grange’s warm interior, and the merchants chatted freely with their customers.

  Libby remembered attending the bazaar each year. Her mother had always helped with the quilting of several patchworks during the year, and had baked rum cakes and banberry tarts the entire week before the festivity. As the melody of “Silver Bells” swept through the hall, memories flooded Libby’s mind. She missed her parents, and the security she’d felt in this small town.

  Though she loved the excitement of the city, a part of her still belonged here, with these people who had lived in Cascade for generations.

  “Hey, Libby, how about a cup of hot cranberry-apple cider?” Sandy Van Pelt stood on the other side of the counter separating the kitchen from the main hall, where the dry goods were displayed. “It’s on the house if you buy a piece of my mom’s gooseberry pie.”

  “How can I resist?”

  Libby picked up a paper plate with a thick slice of pie, and while Brett talked with one of the nearby ranchers about a bay mare, Sandy, wearing a red-and-green apron over her protruding belly, joined Libby. “I shouldn’t, you know. My doctor’s telling me I’m gaining weight too quickly, but I figure, who cares? This might be my only chance to gorge myself and get away with it. You know, a slice of pie for me and a cookie for the baby.”

  They chatted while they ate. Sandy was obviously very much in love with her husband and was content to live the rest of her life as a wife and mother in Cascade. “I’m even going to quit my job at the sawmill after the baby gets here…. Well, I’m going to try. At least for a year or two, if we can afford it. I’d like to have another baby right away, and then I figure I could baby-sit, take in other people’s kids for a little extra spending money.” She sighed happily as she swallowed a bite of her lemon meringue pie. “So, enough about me. What about you and Brett?”

  Libby shifted uncomfortably in her folding chair. “What about us?”

  “Well? Are you dating, or what? I remember you two were gonna get married once, and from the way he looks at you I figured I’d be hearing the sweet sound of wedding bells sometime soon.”

  Avoiding Sandy’s probing gaze, Libby said, “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  A million reasons, starting with he doesn’t love me and doesn’t ever want to settle down! “I’ve got a life in Portland. I’ve just finished my training to be a nurse practitioner, and I’ve got some offers to consider before I open my practice. That’s part of the reason I came back here—to sort things out.”

  “We can always use medical help around these parts,” Sandy pointed out.

  From the corner of her eye, Libby saw Brett, and she wondered if he’d overheard any of their conversation. She shook her head and cradled her cup of cider in her palms. “I don’t think so. I’m used to city life now.”

  “But you’re a small-town girl at heart.”

  “Sandy! We could use a little help in here,” Irene Brennan said over the heads that were clustered at the counter.

  “Oh-oh, duty calls.”

  “Let me help!” Over Irene and Sandy’s protests, Libby donned an apron and washed her hands. “You certainly pinch-hit for me when mom was sick,” she explained, smiling as she started cutting thick wedges of carrot cake.

  Brett had to return to the ranger station, but he was back in Cascade by the time the bazaar ended. During the afternoon Libby had broken down and bought a quilt and an antique dollhouse, though she really didn’t need either one. But the quilt reminded her of the happy years she’d spent as a child at her mother’s knee while Marla had pieced together tiny squares of calico, and the dollhouse was something she’d always wanted but had never been able to afford. Someday, she thought as she packed the Victorian replica in the back of her Jeep, she might have a daughter.

  Someday.

  * * *

  Her little tree looked pathetic. And Libby was lonely. Without Brett, the dining hall seemed empty and cold. She’d placed the dollhouse on a table near the window and thrown the new quilt over the back of the sagging couch, but still she felt empty inside.

  She thought of her apartment in the city—a studio in southeast Portland. It wasn’t particularly charming, but it was cheap, and it had been her home ever since she moved to the city. The single room with its kitchen alcove and bad plumbing held no fascination for her either.

  I’m in no-man’s-land, she thought as she walked onto the porch and looked up at the sheer face of Pine Mountain. She knew approximately where the ranger station was and she wondered what Brett was doing. The ache in her heart seemed to go on forever and she suddenly realized that she’d never stop loving him—not entirely.

  Surely someday she would marry and she’d love the man she wed, but she doubted that she’d ever feel the same raw passion, the deep emotional whirlpool, that she experienced whenever she was with Brett. Even now she could see, in her mind’s critical eye, the slash of white of his smile, the warm whiskey color of his eyes, the way he looked when he blinked his eyes open upon first awakening in the morning.

  First love, last love, she thought, and had to squint her eyes in disbelief when he appeared before her, astride Slingshot. Her lungs constricted and her heart squeezed at the sight of him, sitting tall in the saddle.

  “I was just thinking of you,” she said as he dropped to the ground and icy snow crunched beneath his boots.

  “Only good thoughts, I hope.”

  “About you? Never,” she said teasingly, unable to keep from flirting with him.

  His lips curved upward, and his voice lowered, “Now, Miss Libby, don’t tell me you were thinking of anything wicked or wild or wanton?”

  “Me?” she responded as the first few flakes of snow fell from the sky. “Not on your life.”

  He took her into his arms and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “What would I have to do to get you to stay?”

  Just say you love me, she silently cried, her eyes beginning to burn as she stared up at him. “You…you couldn’t.”

  “Not even if I was extremely persuasive?” he asked, kissing
her so slowly her heart began to pound. He found the zipper of her jacket and tugged on it. With a slow hiss, it opened.

  “Not even then—” When his hand surrounded her breast, she gasped. Suddenly he was kissing her, anxiously, hungrily, his body hard and straining.

  “I’m warning you, woman,” he said, lifting his head to stare into her eyes. “I can be very persuasive.”

  “Prove it,” she said, and before she realized what was happening, he’d carried her back into the cabin and they were making love on the new quilt, firelight crackling around them, the tiny Christmas tree glowing in the corner of the hall.

  I could be happy here, she thought as she gave herself to him body and soul, though deep in her heart she knew it would never work. Much as he wanted her, Brett still didn’t love her. She’d spend the night with him, but she would leave in the morning—Christmas Eve morning. Staying any longer would tear her up inside. She’d pack up her tiny tree and her supplies and take her new dollhouse, her quilt and her memories back to Portland.

  Her future was somewhere else, without Brett, without the heartaches of the past. Though she’d intended to spend Christmas here, she’d go back to the city, where she belonged, and start her new life, knowing that she’d put the past to rest.

  * * *

  The day before Christmas dawned clear, but the air between Brett and Libby was thick and murky with unspoken emotions. He didn’t try to talk her out of leaving, just kissed her gently on the lips and said, “Do what you have to do.”

  Methodically she packed her Jeep while Brett snapped a lead rope on Flintlock and saddled Slingshot. “So what will you do with this place?” he asked as she put a new padlock on the door.

  “I don’t know. Sell it, I guess.”

  He rubbed his jaw, not meeting her eyes. “Makes sense, I guess.”

  “I might donate it to the church. Even though Dad bought it with his own money, most of the years it was open it was run for the congregation.”

  “I’m sure the congregation would appreciate it.” He stared at her for an endless moment, and the sounds of the mountains, the rush of water spilling over the stones of the creek, the hum of tires on the highway in the distance, the flutter of the wings of winter birds, seemed to echo in her heart. “I’ll miss you, Libby,” he said quietly.

  Her throat felt suddenly clogged. “And I’ll miss you.”

  Without so much as a wave, he climbed into Slingshot’s saddle and, with a clucking sound, began the trek back to his cabin, leading Flintlock behind him. Libby wanted to run to him, to tell him that she loved him, to say all the silly romantic things that were lodged deep in her heart, but she didn’t.

  She needed marriage and children and a future of growing old with one person. He needed no one but himself.

  Ignoring the tears that were damp against her lashes, she climbed into the Jeep, started the engine and drove across the new bridge. Through the branches of the trees, she saw Brett and his horses climbing the steep terrain, and she wondered if she’d ever see him again.

  “Forget him,” she told herself, and snapped on the radio. The strains of “White Christmas” boomed over the speakers, and tears continued to drizzle down her cheeks. Why she was so miserable she didn’t really understand, but as she drove into Cascade she felt as if she were on the road to her doom.

  CHAPTER NINE

  He couldn’t let her go. Not without a fight. Whether she knew it or not, she belonged with him. Here. In Cascade. By the time Brett had returned to the ranger station, he knew that he had to stop Libby, that he had to convince her to stay with him, that he wanted her to be his wife.

  At the barn, he whisked the saddle and bridle off Slingshot, rubbed the gelding down quickly and tethered both animals before climbing into his Bronco and tearing down the hillside. Packed snow and ice made driving treacherous, but he didn’t care.

  The phone in the truck rang, and he picked up the receiver, half expecting the caller to be Libby. Instead, he heard the dispatcher for the volunteer fire department.

  “Fire broke out at the mill. All men on duty,” she commanded. Brett gritted his teeth. His showdown with Libby would have to wait. He glanced toward the horizon and noticed the cloud of black smoke billowing to the sky. “Son of a bitch,” he ground out as he stepped on the throttle and the Bronco’s wheels spun crazily.

  * * *

  Libby was driving out of town when she passed the church and parsonage where she grew up. Without understanding her reasons, she slowed the Jeep to a stop at the curb and let the engine idle as she watched nine or ten children playing in the snow. Bundled in scarfs, hats and mittens, they laughed and screamed as one group tried to build a snow family while another, more rambunctious group engaged in a serious snowball fight.

  Her heart squeezed. How often had she, as a child, waited for school to be let out for the holidays so that she and the neighborhood kids could build snow forts? She watched as an older boy was chased by three younger girls who were hurling packed snow balls at him. He ducked behind a huge sign that announced the potluck dinner and pageant slated for Christmas Eve.

  Tonight.

  Should she stay?

  No way.

  But why not?

  Because if you stay, Brett Matson will break your heart.

  Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe she should stay and take a chance on Brett. They could have a child…another baby. Her jaw tightened as she realized that she still had unfinished business with Brett. She’d come back to Cascade to face her past, and yet she hadn’t owned up to the fact that she loved Brett, that she wanted to marry him and bear his children. He might laugh in her face, or try to let her down gently, and if he did, well, then she’d have to realize that he wasn’t the man she thought he was. But there was a chance…a slim chance…that if he knew how she felt, he might tell her he loved her.

  She sent up a silent prayer as she wheeled the Jeep back toward town. Her heart was beating as quickly as the wings of a frightened bird, and her hands were sweating on the wheel, but finally she was going to set her life back on the right track.

  Gritting her teeth, she started planning her speech, but then she heard the first horrifying wail of a siren. She pulled the Jeep over by instinct, her heart thudding, and a fire truck and a rescue vehicle, lights flashing, roared past. More screaming sirens filled the air as police and fire trucks all headed out of town.

  Her heart in her throat, Libby cranked the steering wheel one more time and followed the emergency vehicles. A cloud of smoke, black as obsidian, roiled toward the sky. With a sinking heart, she realized that the sawmill, where many of the townspeople worked, was in flames.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, tromping on the accelerator and beginning to pray.

  * * *

  The sawmill was bedlam. People, healthy and injured, were streaming out of the open gates, running away from the roaring flames that were shooting skyward.

  Firemen were dragging heavy hoses and hooking them up to pumps to attack the blaze that was consuming one of the sheds. Heat, in crackling waves, scorched the air. The fire chief barked orders, people coughed and screamed, and those who were uninjured stared through the mesh of the fence to the work yard, where the fire burned out of control, melting snow and threatening other buildings.

  “Hey, lady, where do you think you’re going?” the chief yelled as Libby tried to brush by.

  “I can help. You’re going to have wounded, and I’m a nurse.”

  “I don’t need anyone fouling up—”

  “You need volunteers,” she countered, and he seemed to relent a bit.

  “We’ve alerted the hospital in Bend. Ambulances are on their way.”

  “Good. Then I can help sort out the most severe injuries.”

  The chief didn’t argue any further, and he quickly introduced her to the paramedics. They worked side by side as people walked or were carried to them. Libby examined each person, determined the extent of the injuries and ranked them, worst to least.
Smoke clogged the air, burning her eyes and throat, and huge jets of water streamed toward the blaze pumped through gigantic hoses.

  “Must’ve been a ‘lectrical spark,” one of the wounded said. “In shed C, near the saw. I never seen nothin’ like it before.”

  “Shh… Looks like they’re getting it under control,” she said, examining the man. And the flames, burdened by the water, did indeed seem to be dying.

  Firemen ran throughout the yard, and she recognized Brett as one of the volunteers, but she didn’t have time to talk to him. While he tried to save buildings, she was busy saving lives. Many of the victims were only slightly injured—a few burns and cuts that would be painful but would heal. However, one man had been blinded, and another’s back was burned severely. They were loaded in the first ambulance.

  The firemen had contained the blaze and the worst of the burn victims were on their way when she heard Brett shout. “Libby. Over here!” His face was streaked with soot, and his expression was grim. Beside him, on a stretcher, was a woman who was writhing in pain.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered when she recognized Sandy.

  “She fell. Thinks she might be losing the baby.”

  Libby felt her face drain of color as Sandy moaned low in her throat.

  “Please, no… Please…no!”

  Libby knelt beside her friend. “Hang in there. You’re going to be fine. So is the baby,” she said firmly, though at that point nothing was certain.

  “But the baby—”

  “Is tougher than you might think,” Libby said, forcing a smile, though her insides were frozen. She remembered all too vividly lying in the hospital bed, feeling a vast emptiness and the paralyzing fear that she’d miscarried. “Now, calm down. Show me where you hurt.”