Tender Absolution

by Lisa Jackson

  The Hunter apartments and Nadine’s cabin were just the beginning of his plan. He figured there were ample opportunities in Gold Creek, Coleville and the neighboring communities. He intended to specialize in remodeling rather than developing new projects. A lot of the buildings in Gold Creek were steeped in history and charm but nearly desolate in the way of modern conveniences. Most of the commercial property in the center of town had been built in the early part of the century and though attractive and quaint, needed new wiring, plumbing, insulation, heating and cooling systems or face-lifts.

  Ben was determined to find work, even if he had to swallow his pride and offer his services to Fitzpatrick Logging, though that particular thought stuck in his gut. He locked the single-wide trailer behind him. In the army, he’d learned about construction and had taken enough college courses at different universities and through correspondence to graduate as a building engineer.

  Now all he needed was a break or two. Hayden Monroe had given him his first. Dora Hunter had provided the second. It was just a matter of time, then maybe he’d settle down in this town, find himself a wife and… Thoughts of Carlie crashed through his cozy little dreams and he threw a dark look at the sky. Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? Ever since the day of Nadine’s wedding, when he’d first spied her through the binoculars, he hadn’t been able to quit thinking about her. She was on his mind morning, noon and night.

  And, as before, nights were definitely the worst, he thought, grimacing as he strode across the gravel to his pickup. He’d spent the past week tossing and sweating in his bed or under the spray of an ice-cold shower. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Carlie Surrett had gotten into his blood again.

  But not for long. She definitely wasn’t the kind of woman he intended to spend the rest of his life with. A hot-tempered New York model, a sophisticated photographer—an artiste, for God’s sake. No, the woman he’d finally ask to marry him would be a simple girl, born and raised in this small town with no ambitions other than to have a couple of kids and enjoy life. He knew it was an antiquated picture of the American family, but it was exactly the kind of family he’d wanted ever since he’d left the army.

  He had no room for Carlie in his life.

  Besides, she was the last woman he should want. He had only to remember back to that horror-riddled night of Kevin’s death….

  “Don’t!” he told himself as he noticed the first fat drops of rain fall from the sky.

  Muttering under his breath, he threw his briefcase onto the seat of the old truck and had started the engine when he saw the dog—a dusty black German shepherd—lying near the side of the trailer. He hesitated, knowing he was taking on more than he’d bargained for, then let the truck idle.

  Whistling softly, he climbed out of the cab. The shepherd’s ears pricked forward for a second and he snarled.

  Ben lowered himself to one knee and began talking softly.

  The dog growled.

  “This is not a way to make friends and influence people,” he told the animal.

  They didn’t move for a while, each staring the other down, before Ben whistled again.

  The dog didn’t respond.

  “Come on, boy.” Ben inched closer and watched the shepherd. Balanced on the balls of his feet, Ben was ready to spring backward if the dog decided to lunge. “Okay, now what’s going on here?” he asked as the animal issued a low warning. The shepherd tried to get up, stumbled and Ben saw the blood, a sticky purple pool, beneath the animal’s belly. With surprising speed, the dog attacked, snapping, and Ben jumped back. Now what? He couldn’t leave the animal there to die.

  Knowing he was probably making a mistake, he climbed into the truck, found his leather gloves, a shank of rope and a thick rawhide jacket. After spreading a tattered blanket in the bed of the truck, he approached the dog calmly as he worked the rope into a slipknot.

  “Okay, boy, let’s see what you’ve got,” he said.

  The animal lunged again, but Ben was ready for him, avoiding the sharp teeth as he slipped the noose over the dog’s head and barked out his own command. “No!”

  The animal froze.

  “Down!”

  Still no movement.

  “That’s better.” Ben fashioned a muzzle with some hemp and braved the snarling jaws to quiet the animal. For his efforts he was nipped on the sleeve. “You are a bastard,” Ben ground out, enjoying the fight a little. “I’m gonna win, you know. Whether you like it or not, I’m taking you to the nearest vet and you’re going to be stitched up so you can bite the next idiot who tries to take care of you.”

  Carefully Ben carried the writhing dog to the truck and laid him, snarling and frustrated, on the tattered blanket. “Stay!” Ben commanded, knowing the dog was too weak to stand or leap from the vehicle. He climbed in the front, snapped on the wipers, threw the rig into gear and headed into town, hoping that Dr. Vance and the veterinary clinic were still on the west end of town.

  What was wrong with him? Ever since he’d landed in Gold Creek, he seemed destined on some sort of collision course with fate. First his battle with Hayden Monroe, then Carlie—hell, what a mess that was—and now the dog. The damned dog. One more problem that he didn’t need.

  * * *

  CARLIE RUBBED THE kinks out of her neck. She’d spent a long day in the darkroom and couldn’t wait to get home to a hot shower, a glass of wine and a good book.

  Just before leaving the studio, she’d called Thomas Fitzpatrick, agreed to take the photographs for the logging company’s annual report, and wondered why she felt as if she’d sold her soul to the devil. The man was just offering her work, after all; it wasn’t as if he’d committed a major sin. He’d visited her father, as promised, and broken the news to Weldon that his job couldn’t be held. Her father, always a prideful man, hadn’t fallen apart. In fact he’d been grateful that Fitzpatrick had promised to find another position for him as soon as Weldon was fit enough to spend four or five hours at the logging company. “You can work as many hours as you want, kind of ease into the job again,” Thomas had told Weldon as he’d clapped him on the back. “The logging company’s just not the same without you.”

  Her father had eaten it up, but Carlie had been unsettled by Fitzpatrick’s practiced smile and easy charm. She remembered that he’d once planned a career in politics and she didn’t trust him any more than she would a king cobra. He was too smooth to be real. And then there was all that trouble and scandal concerning Jackson.

  So why are you planning to do business with him? her tired mind demanded. For the money. Pure and simple. Just in case the bastard had lied to her father.

  As for Ben’s insinuations about the man, they were just plain false. She’d spoken to Fitzpatrick several times, her senses on guard, and each time he’d been a gentleman. Ben, damn him, had been wrong.

  But he’d been wrong about a lot of things, she thought darkly, wondering if he had an inkling of the fact that he’d nearly been a father…. The pain in her heart ached and she shoved those agonizing thoughts far away, where no one could ever find them.

  She drove to her parents’ apartment and managed a smile as she opened the door. “Hi! Thought I’d stop by—” She stopped in midsentence as she felt in the air that something was wrong—dreadfully wrong.

  “Carlie?” Her mother’s voice shook a little and her footsteps were quick as they carried her down the stairs. White lines of strain bracketed her mouth and she looked as if she’d been crying.

  “What’s wrong?” Carlie asked, her heart knocking.

  “Thank God you’re here.” Thelma’s voice cracked and she had to blink against an onslaught of tears. “It’s your father. He’s…he’s in the hospital.”

  “The hospital?” Carlie whispered, her heart pounding with dread.

  “He…he got that numb feeling again—you know, I
told you it happened a couple of times before—and he couldn’t move very well and I called the emergency number and an ambulance took him to County General…. Oh, Lord, it was awful, Carlie. I stayed with him for a couple of hours, just to make sure he was resting, but then the doctor convinced me I should go home, that there wasn’t anything more I could do. I didn’t want to leave him—” Her voice cracked and Carlie hugged her mother tightly.

  “Shh. He’ll be fine,” Carlie said, hoping for the best and knowing that her words held a hollow ring.

  “They’re sayin’ it might be a stroke—a bigger one. Oh, Lord, I can’t imagine your father all crippled up. It’ll kill him, sure as I’m standin’ here.”

  “Oh, come on, Mom, don’t think that way,” Carlie said, though she was smiling through her tears. A stroke?

  Thelma sniffed, attempted a smile and failed miserably. “I tried to call you, but by that time, you were already gone.”

  “So what did the doctor say? What exactly?”

  “A lot of things I didn’t understand,” she admitted and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “The gist of it is that your father’s out of immediate danger, whatever that means.”

  “Well, it sounds encouraging.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Thelma wrung her hands and walked into the kitchen with Carlie, fearing the worst, following behind. “They’ve taken more tests and well, they practically wore poor Weldon out with all their poking and prodding….” Her voice faded and she stared out the window to the rainy winter night. “All we can do is pray.”

  Carlie’s heart seemed to drop to her knees. Her father couldn’t be seriously ill, could he? He’d always been so big and strapping—a man’s man. Now he was frail?

  “Come on, Mom,” she heard herself saying as she walked on wooden legs. “Let’s go see how he is and I’ll talk to the doctors. Then, if we think we can leave him, I’ll buy you dinner.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Don’t be silly, Mom. I want to. Now get your coat.”

  Thelma didn’t argue and Carlie ushered her out to the Jeep. The ride to the hospital took less than thirty minutes and Carlie spent the entire time willing her father to live, to be as strong as he once was.

  She’d always depended upon her father. Whenever she had been in trouble, she’d turned to him, listening to his advice. He was kind and strong, not well educated, but wise to the world and she’d adored him. Even when they’d argued, which had happened more frequently in her teenaged years, they had never lost respect for each other because of the special bond they shared.

  It had been he, not her mother, who had been hurt when Carlie had turned her back on Gold Creek. He, who had in those first few months when she’d been starving in Manhattan, sent her checks, “a little something extra to help out,” though she knew he’d grumbled loudly and often about her decision to move to New York. He’d never liked the idea of her modeling, wearing scanty clothing and being photographed; he’d felt personally violated somehow. However, Weldon Surrett had offered a hefty shoulder when she’d needed to cry on one and then been baffled when she no longer reached for him.

  He hadn’t approved of her love for Ben. Years ago he’d warned her about both Powell boys. She’d ignored him and when, in the end, he’d been right, he’d never mentioned the fact. Of course, he hadn’t known that she’d been pregnant when she’d left Gold Creek. That little secret was hers and hers alone.

  Her father had been hurt badly enough when she’d gotten married on the spur of the moment but had tried his best to like his new son-in-law, though they’d met only once and Paul had been disagreeable. But Weldon hadn’t so much as said “I told you so” when the marriage had failed.

  Oh, Dad, don’t die, she thought desperately. She wasn’t done needing a father. For the past few months she’d convinced herself that she’d returned to Gold Creek to help him, when, she decided as she squinted through the drizzle on the windshield, it had been she who had needed help to figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

  One thing was certain. It was time she stopped running. Time to face her past. Time to mend fences. Time to start a new life. Time to tell her father she loved him and time to deal with the one loose end in her life, the one dangling thread that still had the ability to coil around and squeeze her heart: her feelings for Ben.

  But she couldn’t think of Ben now, not when her father was battling for his life. She drove the Cherokee into a spot near the emergency entrance, slid out of the Jeep and hunched her shoulders against the rain as she and her mother dashed across the puddles forming on the asphalt of the parking lot.

  On the third floor of the hospital, in a semiprivate room, Weldon Surrett lay in the bed, his face slightly ashen, the left side slack. He was sleeping and his breathing was labored.

  “Dad?” Carlie whispered, and he blinked his eyes open. It took him a second to focus before he smiled a little. “How are you?”

  “Still kickin’,” he replied though he coughed a little and his tongue seemed thick.

  “You gave us both a scare.”

  He chuckled and coughed again. “Keeps you on your toes.”

  “Sure does.” She grabbed his hand and held it tightly between her own. His grip was weak, but he was still the man who, singing in a deep baritone as he arrived home from work each evening, would scoop her up in his arms and swing her in the air. He’d smell of smoke and the outdoors and he would force her to sing along with him while her mother clucked her tongue and told them they were both mindless.

  “Don’t suppose you brought me a beer?”

  “Not this time.”

  “Smokes?” he asked hopefully.

  “The doctor would kill me, and I thought you gave those up years ago.”

  “Smokeless ain’t the same,” he said. “But I’ll take chew if ya got it.”

  “Like I always carry around a can of tobacco,” she said with a smile.

  “You should’ve today,” he managed to get out.

  “Don’t talk,” she said, still holding his hand. “You go back to sleep and we’ll stay with you awhile.”

  “Sorry I’m such lousy company.”

  Her throat clogged. “You’re good company, Dad. You always have been.”

  He squeezed her fingers before closing his eyes again and Carlie fought the hot sting of tears. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered and though he didn’t open his eyes again, she felt him try to squeeze her hand a second time.

  They waited until he’d drifted off, then Carlie decided it was time she spoke to the doctor. Her parents had led her to believe that her father had suffered a “mild stroke,” which was stronger than the smaller ones he’d experienced. The doctors hoped that after a little recovery, some intensive physical therapy, new medication and a change in diet, he’d be able to resume most of his usual activities. But seeing her father looking so weak, as if he’d just walked a thousand miles, she knew better. And it scared the living daylights out of her.

  * * *

  BEN SAT AT the computer, the one luxury he’d afforded himself, and worked with the rough drawings Nadine had given him. At first she’d wanted to rebuild the cabin as it was, but Hayden and Ben, agreeing for the first time in years, had suggested that she’d need something a little more modern, with two bathrooms instead of one and a couple of bedrooms rather than a single. She could still keep the loft, but she’d have an expanded kitchen and a fireplace that served as a room divider so that it could be seen from both the kitchen/nook area as well as the living room.

  “Looks like I’m outnumbered,” she’d responded, with a slight trace of irritation in her voice.

  “It’s just more practical,” Ben had explained.

  “But I liked it the way it was.”

  “So did I.” Hayden had wrapped his arms around his wife
’s waist and kissed her on the neck. “This will be essentially the same floor plan, but a little more modern.”

  “You can even have a laundry room,” Ben had quipped.

  “And a sewing room with enough space for your machine, a desk and—”

  “Okay, okay, already! I’m convinced,” she’d said with a smile. “Just as long as I get to design the room layout.”

  So here he was, struggling with her rough sketch, adjusting the size of rooms and placement of walls for duct work, support beams, plumbing, electrical wiring and taking into consideration the slope of the land, watershed and a million other things that would be required before the county would approve her plans.

  By noon he was stiff from sitting, so he drove into town to the Buckeye Restaurant and Lounge. The establishment hadn’t changed much in the years that he’d been away. The booths were still covered in a time-smoothed Naugahyde.

  “Ben Powell!” Tracy Niday, dressed in a gingham dress and brown apron, slid a plastic menu onto the table in front of him. “I heard you were back in town.”

  “You heard right.”

  “Just passing through?” she asked.

  “I think I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Please. Black.”

  He opened the menu as she hurried back to the kitchen. He’d known that Tracy was in town, of course; Nadine and his father had written him while he was in the service. She’d been nearly destroyed after Kevin had died. Three weeks later she’d dropped the bomb with a mind-numbing announcement that she was pregnant with Kevin’s baby. Ben had already left Gold Creek when Tracy had told his father the news.

  She’d given birth to a healthy baby boy eight months after Kevin had been buried. George had helped her out a little as her own family had nearly disowned her. Things were better now, or so Nadine had told him. Tracy worked at the bank during the week and put in a shift or two at the Buckeye on the weekends.

  She returned, flipped over his coffee cup and poured the coffee from a fat glass pot. “You know,” she said as she set the pot on the table and grabbed her pad, “Randy would love to meet you.”