Whenever You Come Around

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  What do I believe about love?

  Charity hadn’t ever been in love. Not really.

  In high school, there’d been a secret crush on Buck. Not love. Hormones.

  In college, after the experience with Jon, after she lost the baby, she’d returned to the party scene, this time as a place to forget. Although alcohol was always around, she’d never allowed herself to become drunk. She’d feared that loss of control ever happening again. She’d gone out with different boys, hoping for love but fearing any intimacies. Even holding hands had made her want to flee. And above all else, she’d never let any of them see the real Charity.

  Many years later, after many men, many dates, many close calls, there had been Nathan. Fun-loving, successful, live-life-to-the-fullest Nathan. She’d wanted to love him, tried to love him.

  Again she wrote, not caring that it was no longer about her novel.

  Maybe something’s wrong with me. Am I incapable of loving someone in that deep way? The way Mom and Dad love each other. The way Terri and Rick or Sara and Ken love each other. And am I unlovable too?

  She stopped again and closed her eyes. She rolled the questions around, looking at them with what she hoped was an unbiased perspective. “I’m not unlovable,” she determined after a lengthy stillness. “And I’m not incapable. I can love someone. Really love someone. But it must be someone who loves me too.”

  She thought about the romance novels she’d been reading in order to understand the genre better. Then she thought about the story she was writing, about the roadblocks to love she’d thrown up in the paths of her hero and heroine. And then she realized how very much she wanted the characters to fall in love and find their future together. Not simply to satisfy readers. She wanted it to happen to satisfy herself. She needed to see it happen in the pages of her story. She wanted to believe in it. Believe in it way down deep inside.

  Through the kitchen window—open to a lovely morning breeze—she heard Cocoa bark a greeting, followed a moment later by the deeper rumble of a man’s voice. Not close enough to hear the precise words but close enough to know it was Buck who spoke to the dog. Unable to stop herself—not even wanting to stop—she left the leather-bound journal and gel pen on the table, got up from the chair, and walked to the back door, stopping on the stoop.

  Buck was leaning over the fence to stroke and scratch Cocoa, who sat in the grass before him. The dog responded with a few happy slaps of her tail against the ground. Buck straightened, and his gaze went straight to where Charity stood. “Hey. Good morning.” He bumped the brim of his hat with his knuckles, pushing it higher on his forehead.

  “Morning, Buck.”

  He opened the gate and strode toward her, Cocoa at his side. He looked good. Real good. Cowboy-hero material for sure.

  You’d look rather yummy on a book cover. Heat rushed into her cheeks, and a delicious sensation tumbled in her stomach. Maybe I’ve been reading too many romances.

  “How are you?” he asked, either not seeing or ignoring her blush.

  “Good. Busy.” There was something different about him. What was it? “You’ve got both your boots on!” she blurted when she figured out what it was.

  “Yep.” He grinned. “Today’s the first time. Took some hard pulling, but I got it on. Just hope I won’t have to cut it off when the day’s over.”

  “I hope so too.”

  He tilted his head back, removing the shade from his eyes. “I’m going for a ride up in the hills and wondered if you’d like to go with me.”

  “Oh, I don’t—”

  “Come on, Charity. You’d enjoy yourself, and the fresh air would do you good. You’ve been cooped up working for days. I’ve hardly seen you go outside. You haven’t even come over to ride.”

  A frisson of pleasure whirled in her stomach at the discovery that he’d been watching for her. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me to keep riding, now that you’re able.”

  “Sure, I want you to. I’ve still got six horses that aren’t doing the work they’re used to. And you still like to ride. Right?”

  She nodded.

  “Then come with me. This’ll be my first time up in the mountains since getting my casts off. Probably better I have someone with me. You know, in case my ankle gives out or something.”

  Buck’s ankle wouldn’t give out on him. She would bet good money on that.

  “Please come.” He gave her one of those slow grins of his.

  When had she become helpless against that smile? And she couldn’t refuse him. She wanted to go. She wanted to ride in the mountains like she used to, and if she was honest, she wanted the ride to be with Buck.

  “All right,” she answered at last. “I’ll need a few minutes to change my clothes.”

  “No rush. I’ve still got to load the horses in the trailer. Come on over when you’re ready.” He reached down to pat the dog’s head again. “Bring Cocoa. She’ll have a good time too.”

  Mom would say I need my head examined. She turned and reentered the house, hurrying up the stairs to the bedroom. I should be writing, not riding. She removed her shorts and pulled on jeans, socks, and boots. But maybe I’ll learn something I need to know while we’re out there. Something my story needs. That would be a good thing. A productive thing.

  Hair in a ponytail, she placed a baseball cap on her head and pulled her hair through the opening in the back. A citified cowgirl, if ever there was one, she thought as she looked at her reflection. But it was the only hat she owned. And besides, she’d never been a real cowgirl. No one would expect her to own a proper cowboy hat.

  Before leaving her room, she sprayed sunscreen on her exposed skin, adding an extra dose to her fingertips that she then spread across her nose.

  By the time she exited the house, Buck was loading the second horse into the trailer attached to his truck. Cocoa lay in the shade, observing the activity as if bemused by it all, but she didn’t remain there for long. She was up on all fours the instant Charity opened the passenger door of the truck.

  “Is it okay for Cocoa to ride in the cab?” she asked. “She’s never ridden in the bed of a truck before.”

  “Sure,” came the reply from behind the trailer.

  Charity stepped to one side. “Come on, girl.”

  The dog flew into the cab as if she’d been riding in this truck her whole life. Feeling light in spirit, Charity followed. The trailer door creaked closed, and she heard the bolt slide into place, locking it. Moments later, Buck got in behind the wheel.

  “I’ve needed to do this, Charity. Never has been a summer when I’ve been out of the saddle this long. Not as far back as I can remember. Even in the winter I spend time with my horses and ride whenever weather permits.” He turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life. “I thought we’d ride up to McHenry’s Sluice. That ought to make it about the right length of ride.” He steered the truck out to the road and turned left. “When was the last time you were up that way?”

  “Hmm. Probably when I was twelve. The Girl Scouts had a campout up near the cabin.” The memory—a happy one—made her smile. The girls and their leaders had been sound asleep when one of the horses got loose and started walking away, stepping over sleeping bags and skirting the campfire. It had caused quite a commotion.

  Buck drove to a public parking area in the outermost curve of the valley. Years ago, the county had cleared and leveled the ground, then covered it with dirt and gravel. Ever since, vehicles could be found in this lot during all seasons of the year. Hunters. Snowmobilers. Cross-country skiers. Trail riders. Hikers. Mountain bikers. But for some reason the area was empty of trucks and trailers when Buck and Charity arrived.

  Buck parked his pickup near a tall pine tree that would offer the cab some shade later in the afternoon. He and Charity got out, Cocoa following Buck out the driver’s side door. They unloaded the horses as if they’d been doing it together for years and were both silent as they began to saddle up their respective mounts. Charity found it a comfort
able silence. Did Buck feel the same?

  She glanced over the seat of the saddle in his direction. There was something graceful about the way he moved. Graceful, yet masculine at the same time. And watching him brought that fluttering sensation back into her belly.

  She lowered her gaze to the cinch and tried to concentrate on the task at hand, not the man standing a short distance away.

  BUCK HAD BEEN STRETCHING THE TRUTH, TRYING to convince Charity that he might need help, wanting her to think something could go amiss with his wrist or ankle. Sure, neither were up to full strength or mobility, but he was strong and mobile enough for the intended ride. Still, he would have said close to anything just so she would agree to come along with him. He’d wanted her company that much. He’d wanted it even though he probably shouldn’t.

  He liked her even though he probably shouldn’t.

  She wanted marriage. He didn’t.

  She lived in the city. He was a country boy.

  She drove a Lexus. He drove an old beater truck.

  She was obviously used to the finer things. He was content with the simple.

  He would be foolish to let his feelings go beyond what he might experience for any neighbor. Casual friendship at most.

  But when he glanced at Charity as they rode side by side along an old logging road, he knew he’d begun to want something more than friendship. It wasn’t because she was beautiful—though she was. It was more than that. She intrigued him. Sometimes she confused him. And always he found pleasure in being with her, even when neither of them said a word.

  She turned her head and caught him watching her. “What?” She rubbed her upper lip. “Do I have something on my face?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “I was enjoying the beauty of nature.”

  Charity blushed a lovely shade of pink. It was clear she’d understood his meaning.

  With perfectly bad timing, Cocoa began to bark in excitement. Buck tightened his grip on the reins. “Easy, boy,” he said to the horse.

  Cocoa kept right on barking.

  “What do you see?” Buck and Charity asked in union.

  That surprised them more than the canine commotion, and—once again in unison—they laughed.

  “All right, Cocoa.” Charity motioned with her hand. “Free.”

  The dog crashed through the underbrush, chasing something Buck couldn’t see. He hoped it was a deer and not a bear, cougar, or skunk. All were possibilities.

  Charity must have had a similar thought. Her expression grew worried. “You don’t think she’ll get into trouble, do you?”

  “You never know. Maybe you should call her back. Just to be on the safe side.”

  Charity pursed her lips, and the whistle that came forth caused the horses to jerk up their heads in alarm. Cocoa reappeared out of the forest a few moments later, tongue hanging out and looking as if she was extremely pleased with herself.

  “Who taught you to do that?” Buck asked Charity.

  “Do what?”

  “You know what I mean. That whistle. You made my ears bleed.” He pressed a hand to the side of his head.

  She grinned. “Nobody taught me. I’ve always been able to do it. Ever since I was a kid.” She turned her gaze back to the road. “You should hear it when I use my fingers.”

  Buck laughed again. One more reason to be intrigued. Charity Anderson could look as pretty and feminine as possible one moment—complete with sky-high heels—and then whistle like a foreman in a sawmill the next.

  They rode in silence for a short while, Cocoa staying a couple of yards ahead of the horses, as if she knew where they were going. Maybe she did.

  When the turnoff came into view, Buck pointed to it. “We’ll take that trail there on the left. We’ll have to go single file for a while. The trail’s narrow. Why don’t you take the lead?”

  “Great. That’ll let me take better pictures of what’s up ahead of us.” She held up a small camera, not much bigger than the palm of her hand.

  Buck didn’t blame her for wanting to take photographs. The time of day was just right for it, sunlight slanting through the trees at the perfect angle. Gold shades mingling with greens. Light chasing dark. Occasional glimpses of rugged mountain peaks in the distance.

  But there were things about the area that couldn’t be captured in a photograph. The breeze that felt cool upon the skin. The sounds of chipmunks scolding from tree limbs and a woodpecker’s tap-tap-tap in a tree deep in the forest. The air that was scented with pine. Even the dust the horses’ hooves stirred up smelled good to Buck.

  He silently thanked the Lord for letting him grow up in Kings Meadow, for letting him know these mountains like the back of his hand. He belonged here. It was as much a part of him as the color of his eyes and hair.

  Charity twisted in the saddle and snapped a picture of him, then grinned before facing forward again. “Thanks, Buck,” she called back to him.

  “For what?”

  “For asking me to join you today.”

  “My pleasure.”

  More than you know.

  EVERY KID WHO’D EVER ATTENDED SCHOOL IN KINGS 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.