Home to Montana

by Charlotte Carter

  “Time to go in.” Turning to Rags, he said, “Sit. Stay. I’ll be back soon.”

  Greg hopped to his feet. “See you later, Rags. I gotta go see the guys.” He dashed off without a goodbye to his mother or Nick.

  Twisting her lips into an amused smile, Alisa said, “At Greg’s age, his peers are more important than his aged mother.”

  Laughing, Nick instinctively cupped Alisa’s elbow and they began walking toward the church entrance. He caught the scent of her perfume, something flowery and sweet. “You’ve got a long way to go before anyone would think of you as aged.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  As they approached the large double doors, Nick reluctantly released his grip on Alisa’s arm, her skin so soft and smooth she felt like velvet. After serving in the army and then landing in prison, he’d missed the softness of a woman. Her special scent.

  A man in slacks and an open-collar shirt stepped forward and extended his hand “It’s Nick, isn’t it? We met at the barbershop.”

  Caught off guard for a moment, Nick searched for the guy’s name as they shook hands. “Right. You’re Ward. Used to be a marine.”

  “Once a marine, always a marine. Welcome to Bear Lake Community Church.” He shifted his attention to Alisa. “Wife and kids and I plan to be at the diner after church. Potato pancakes all around.”

  She smiled and shook his hand. “I’ll make sure we don’t run out before you get there.”

  “Better not. You’d have a small riot on your hands.”

  Ward handed her the morning’s program and offered one to Nick. “Hope to see you Wednesday night at Ned’s.”

  “I’ll see how it’s going by then,” he hedged, unwilling to make a commitment and not sure how long he’d be in town. Still, he’d lasted three days in Bear Lake. So far he hadn’t had the urge to move on. That was a good sign.

  No doubt Alisa had something to do with it. Which wasn’t such a good sign.

  * * *

  Halfway down the aisle looking for a seat, Alisa glanced back over her shoulder, just checking to see if Nick was following her. Not that she thought he would. Or that he should. He’d probably pick a place to sit on his own.

  She’d never expected to see him at church. Nor had she expected to see him looking so handsome in new jeans and a button-down white shirt with the collar open.

  For a drifter, he looked way too appealing.

  The fact that he knew Ward Cummings surprised her, too. How could Nick be making friends so fast? He’d only been in town three days.

  Like with the workout business, maybe she’d been too quick to judge him.

  She slipped into a pew, smiled at the couple seated nearby and sat down. She glanced around the chapel looking for friends. The sun sparkling through the stained-glass window behind the pulpit sprinkled colorful bits of confetti across the congregation.

  Inhaling deeply, she bowed her head, making the effort to calm her mind and open herself to the Lord’s presence. Dear Lord, thank You for this beautiful day. Fill my heart and mind with peace. Watch over Mama and Greg. And Nick, she added, surprising herself.

  Without even looking up, she knew the moment Nick entered her row of pews. She tensed. Goose flesh rose on her arms as he sat next to her. Not too close, but close enough that she was aware of the breadth of his shoulders, the firmness of his thighs stretching the dark blue denim of his jeans, the way he linked his strong fingers together between his knees and bowed his head.

  Oh, dear... How was she supposed to concentrate on the church service with Nick sitting next to her? Or find the peace she usually did in church?

  For years, she’d been praying that she would not succumb to temptation again. Then Nick drifted into town, which was bad enough. But here he was at church, tempting her to have wildly irrational thoughts about him staying in town and a future they might have together.

  Utter nonsense. She knew better.

  She gritted her teeth as the organ music crescendoed and the congregation rose for the first hymn.

  Nick held out the hymnal, opened to the correct page, silently offering to share. She had no choice but to stand ever closer to him and grasp her side of the hymnal. Her shoulder brushed his, and she felt the heat of his body through his shirt and her cotton jacket. His baritone voice blended with her imperfect soprano, his words ringing with the power of welcoming God’s bright morning sunlight.

  When they finished the hymn, she made it a point to reestablish a modicum of distance between them. Still, his warmth on her arm lingered.

  Her nerves on edge, the service seemed to drag. In his sermon, Pastor Walker waxed on for what felt like an hour yet she could barely concentrate or absorb his message of God’s love and forgiveness. She wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere Nick Carbini wasn’t.

  She’d never been so relieved to hear the final prayer. She stood quickly. Nick moved more slowly.

  “So are you going back to the diner?” he asked, waiting to cup her elbow again, easing her up the aisle toward the exit.

  “I usually do.” For a drifter, he certainly knew how to act like a gentleman.

  “I thought I might drive around a little. See if I can find the old house where I lived as a kid. Kind of get reacquainted with the town.”

  “Well, have a pleasant afternoon.”

  Once outside, she scooted away from him, drew a deep breath of fresh air and looked around the milling crowd of church goers for Greg. He was nowhere in sight, which was odd. Other children from the Sunday School were rejoining their parents. But no Greg.

  She frowned. Where could he have—

  The dog! Of course he’d make a beeline for Rags the moment he got out of class.

  She made her way through the crowd, her progress slow as friends greeted her. Finally she escaped and headed for Nick’s truck. She wasn’t happy that Greg had taken off without waiting for her. He knew better than that.

  She spotted him with Nick. And the dog, of course. Her stomach churned. That man had gotten her stirred up enough for one day. She didn’t need him and his dog taking over her son’s life.

  “Hey, Mom,” Greg shouted, grinning at her. Rags’s front paws rested on her son’s shoulders, his tail wagging as he licked the boy’s face. “Nick wants to explore Bear Lake. Can we show him around? Can we?”

  No! “Gregory, when I came out of church I couldn’t find you.” She used the stern voice her son would recognize as trouble. “You should have waited for me instead of running off over here.”

  He lifted the dog’s paws from his shoulders and put him down. “I thought you’d know where I’d gone.”

  “You think I’m a mind reader?”

  His expression turned petulant. “Sometimes you are.”

  “Not nearly often enough, apparently.”

  Grabbing the dog’s collar, Nick tugged Rags to his side. “I’m sorry. I should have realized you’d be looking for Greg and sent him back to find you.”

  “My son is not your responsibility. He’s old enough to know better himself.” She hooked her hand over his shoulder. “Come on, Greg. We’d better get back to the diner to help Mama. You know she wasn’t feeling well this morning.”

  He shot her a pleading look. “You could go home, and I can show Nick around. I know where stuff is.”

  Nick interceded. “Maybe another time, Greg. It’s better you do what your mother says.”

  Alisa had to give him credit for taking her side, not undermining her orders. Even so, she wished she weren’t discovering how nice he was. At this rate, when Nick left town she’d miss him almost as much as Greg would.

  Turning her back on Nick, she steeled her heart and vowed that wasn’t going to happen. Not this time.

  * * *

  Nick stood by his truck until he saw Alisa drive
off with her son. She was one strong lady. A woman who didn’t have much use for him, which made her smart, too. But standing next to her in church, holding the hymnal together, catching the lemony scent of her hair, had reached something down deep in him. A longing. A need that he’d never before recognized.

  A need he had to put back in its box and firmly close the lid.

  Rags shifted, alerting to someone behind Nick. He turned around to find the pastor strolling toward him. He wore a white clerical collar, light blue shirt and black jacket, which seemed to enhance his fluffy white sideburns.

  “That is one funny-looking dog,” the pastor said in his deep, jovial voice.

  “Don’t tell Rags that. He thinks he’s a pretty good-looking fellow.”

  “Ah, a suitably male self-perception.” The pastor extended his hand. “Robert Walker. New in town?”

  “Nick Carbini. Just passing through.” As they shook hands, Nick noticed the preacher wore the silver Latin cross insignia of a military chaplain on his collar.

  “Been out of the army long?”

  The chaplain’s question startled Nick and struck an uncomfortable chord. How had he known? “Four years, sir.” He stood a little straighter.

  “Just so you know I’m not a mind reader, Ward Cummings, who was greeting visitors this morning, mentioned there was a new vet in town.”

  “We met briefly at the barbershop in town,” Nick admitted.

  “Good man, Ward. I met him first in Iraq. He’d seen a lot of action there.”

  “Yes, sir.” The preacher had served in-country in Iraq?

  Glancing around, Nick tried to figure out how to make a hasty escape. Chaplain or not, he didn’t want to talk about the war. Particularly not his service in Afghanistan or what had happened to him there.

  “I spend a couple of days a month at the VA outpatient clinic in Kalispell. If you’re looking for assistance to land a job or need some help with anything, there are good people there to give you a hand.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” He released Rags from his leash and picked up the dog’s water bowl and the throw rug.

  “I’d better let you go, Carbini. Not talk your head off like my wife says I have a tendency to do.” He chuckled at himself. “If you’re still in town next Sunday, hope to see you in the congregation again.”

  “I’ll try, sir.”

  Pastor Walker handed Nick a business card. “Call if you want to talk. Anytime.” He turned and walked back toward the church entrance.

  Nick jammed his card into his pocket, opened the truck door, and Rags jumped inside. Only when Nick got behind the wheel did he realize his hands were shaking and cold sweat beaded his forehead.

  Had the pastor noticed that? Had he seen through Nick and knew about his nightmares and flashbacks? And that’s why he suggested the VA clinic. So far the VA hadn’t done much for him. The prison chaplain at least had tried.

  Determined not to succumb to his fears, Nick cranked the ignition and pulled a U-turn right in the middle of the church parking lot. He’d take a look around town, then get back to the diner where no one knew about the images that tormented him.

  Chapter Six

  Back at the diner, Alisa hurried upstairs to change clothes. The Sunday morning brunch crowd was already beginning to fill the main room, and she’d soon be seating people in the room they used for private parties in the back.

  She stuck her head into Mama’s bedroom and found her sitting in her rocking chair by the window.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “I’m just bone weary, but I’ll be fine by dinnertime.”

  “Rest as much as you need to, Mama. We’ll take care of everything.” Alisa began unzipping her dress. “Looks like we’ll have a good brunch crowd. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

  Mama waved her off. Slipping off her dress as she went to her room, Alisa worried about her mother. Usually Mama was like a storehouse of energy. No matter how hard she worked, Mama’s energy didn’t flag. Alisa wondered if it was time to get Mama to the doctor for a checkup, a challenging task at best.

  After changing, she went downstairs, where Dotty and Tricia were all but galloping to keep up with the orders from a nearly full house. Alisa pitched in, seating guests as they arrived, giving them their menus, bringing them water and refilling coffee mugs. A good percentage of the patrons were locals she knew, so she exchanged pleasantries, checked up on their children and generally tried to make them feel at home.

  Ward Cummings, his wife Betty Ann and his two teenage sons arrived, as promised.

  “No need for menus,” he said as she seated them at a table in the back room. “We’re all having those potato pancakes you promised to save for us.”

  “I have them on special reserve just for you folks. I’ll let your waitress know.”

  Smiling, she went to the fountain to get them their waters. After three tours of duty, Ward had been pretty messed up when he returned from Iraq. According to Betty Ann, who had confided in Alisa, Ward had had nightmares and anger issues. But Betty Ann had stuck with him. Over time, things had simmered down, and Ward had gotten his life back together.

  To Betty’s great relief. She’d once said some war wounds were harder to heal than others.

  She carried a fresh pot of coffee to Henry Stephenson’s table. Henry owned and operated Bear Lake Outfitters, a business that offered trail rides into the nearby wilderness area. A grandfather, he and his late wife had practically raised their grandson Bryan by themselves. Sitting with them was Jay Red Elk, Henry’s wrangler who handled most of the trail rides these days.

  She refilled their coffee mugs. “How’s the outfitting business these days?”

  “Jay’s got a bunch of hunters he’s leading out tomorrow,” Henry said. “If he can keep ’em sober, they ought to bring back a deer or two.”

  “They’ll stay sober,” Jay said with a shake of his head. A big man, the hint of his Blackfeet heritage was evident in his prominent cheekbones. In contrast, his blue-green eyes had no doubt been inherited from a different branch of the family. “I’m not planning to hang around with any man who’s been drinking and has a gun in his hands.”

  Alisa thought that was a smart decision on the part of the dark-haired guide.

  “Enjoy your pancakes,” she said to Bryan. As usual his mother was nowhere in sight. Krissy Stephenson seemed to have little time for the boy, which was a shame. About three years older than her Greg, Bryan was a good kid.

  Some single moms didn’t know what they were missing.

  * * *

  Nick parked his truck across the street from the house where he’d lived as a kid.

  Not much more than a clapboard cottage, a thin thread of smoke drifted up from the chimney. A toddler’s swing hung from the branch of a gnarly pine tree, and a stroller sat on the front porch. The gate on the picket fence across the front of the yard had long since been broken.

  His throat tightened as he remembered living in that house. He pictured his father sitting in the old recliner downing a can of beer, the third or fourth that day. His voice loud and angry, complaining that dinner wasn’t ready. His mother’s hurried footsteps on the worn linoleum in the kitchen, the sound of pans clanking on the stove, her soft voice, “It’ll be ready in a minute, Sam.”

  Tears burned at the back of his eyes. After all these years he remembered the sweetness of her voice. Her quiet laughter when they made pasta sauce from scratch. And her bleak eyes as she lost her battle with cancer.

  His chin quivered. “I’ve missed you, Mom,” he whispered to himself. So many years moving from place to place with his dad, and he’d missed his mother every single day. Still did.

  Rags shifted in the backseat and poked his nose over Nick’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

 
“I’m okay, boy. I’m okay.”

  He hooked his arm under the dog’s neck, and gave him a few scratches under his chin. Looking across the road again, Nick rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He cleared the painful lump in his throat.

  Shifting into Drive, he pulled onto the narrow road and drove away.

  He took the road that circled the lake. Out on the water, two water skiers in wet suits cut back and forth in the wake of their speedboat. Near the opposite shore, a couple of sailboats moved gracefully in a light breeze. Families sat on their private docks, smoke from barbecues drifted on the same breeze. Kids stood with fishing poles, their lines in the water.

  None of those experiences had been Nick’s as a kid. No boat rides or barbecues. No fishing except with an old stick and some line he’d found tangled in the bushes. He’d never caught a thing.

  Idly he wondered if Alisa knew how to fish, and he smiled to himself imagining her in chest-high waders. That would be quite a sight to see.

  * * *

  During a late afternoon lull in customers in the diner, Alisa was behind the counter rolling place settings in napkins when Nick strolled in. There wasn’t much pep in his step. His shoulders slumped. His eyes looked tired with more than a hint of melancholy.

  Her chest filled with empathy. His afternoon hadn’t been a happy one.

  “Hi,” she said with a brightness she hoped might dispel his mood. “Just coffee? Or are you hungry?”

  Still wearing his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the good jeans he’d worn to church, he slid onto a stool. “Coffee first. Then I’ll try one of your famous buffalo burgers.”

  “One black coffee comin’ up.” She plucked a mug off the stack and grabbed the coffeepot. “You found your way around town all right?”

  “Yeah.” He watched as she poured his coffee.

  “It’s changed some since you were here. The municipal park and dock are new. We have some nice festivals there during the summer. Country-and-western music. Art shows. Folk dancing exhibitions. They bring in quite a few tourists, which is good for business.”