Keep On Loving you

by Christie Ridgway

  He took a moment to enjoy his view: the sweet oval of her face framed by her long brown hair, the curve of her brows, the lush bow of her mouth. Certainty washed over him, and he strode forward, eager to get on with this day and the rest of his life.

  Her head came up when he was three strides away. She blinked in surprise and held out her hand to him in artless welcome. Grinning, he took hold of her fingers and slid into the chair beside hers.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  He kissed her mouth, then pressed another to her warm hair, taking in the scent of her shampoo. It was on her pillowcase at night, on the thin pillow they shared when they were wrapped around each other in sleep. “I couldn’t stay away.”

  A blush turned her cheeks a soft pink. “We’ve only been apart a few hours.”

  Enough time for him to arrange their afternoon and enough time for her to study. “Did you get what you wanted done?” Attending an online college one or two courses at a time meant her degree would take her longer than his four years, but it worked perfectly into his plans.

  “Well...”

  “I saw you staring out the window instead of studying,” he said. “So I won’t feel guilty in the least for springing you now.”

  Her brows came together over her small straight nose. “Springing me how? Springing me why?”

  “The why is that you work too hard. The how is my secret.” He snapped shut her laptop.

  “Hey—”

  “Don’t tell me conscientious Tilda Smith didn’t save her work.”

  Her mouth twitched. “Okay, I saved it.”

  He grabbed her hand, pulled her to her feet. “We have places to go. Things to do.”

  “Places to go?”

  If only she knew. Without another word, he ushered her into his car. From there, he took off for a mountain town twenty-five minutes away.

  “This took some research, but I think I have a new experience for you,” he said, pulling into the parking lot adjacent to a three-story cedar-shingled medical building with smoky windows and a sign reading Orthopedic Specialties.

  Her expression was curious as he took her by the hand and led her toward the lobby. “Do you have some injury I’m not aware of?”

  “Not me, but I think this place is in business thanks to falls while other people are skiing, boarding or climbing.”

  A reception desk sat front and center. “Hello,” a young woman said. “Who are you here to see?”

  Ash quickly scanned the board over the woman’s head. “Uh...Dr. Szabo.”

  She nodded. “Third floor. The elevators are to the right.”

  He considered limping toward them but decided that was overkill. Instead, he led a wide-eyed Tilda in the indicated direction.

  “Elevators?” she stage-whispered.

  She’d told him, in a recent dark, late-night confession, that she’d never used one. He’d been disbelieving, until she’d pointed out that even the local hospital was one story. And he’d been unable to come up with a single building in the Blue Arrow Lake village that had an obvious need for something other than stairs to a second floor.

  Some of the more luxury residences around the lake might have the convenience, but not one that he—and apparently, she—had visited.

  “Press the button right there,” he said, pointing toward the faux-paneled wall.

  And with a small smile curling the corners of her mouth, she did.

  They stepped inside when the doors slid open. “I can’t believe you found this!” she said.

  Ash pushed the button for the third floor.

  Her eyes went wide. “We’re really going to visit Dr. Szabo?”

  “No, we’re just going to ride this thing up and down until you’ve had enough or a half hour passes. Because then we have someplace else to go.”

  To his gratification, they went up and down for twenty minutes. When they were alone she wore a broad smile on her face. If other people stepped inside, she’d look down at her feet and, God, it was so cute because he could tell she was trying to play it cool, even on her twenty-fourth trip.

  At the twenty-fifth, she said she was getting a little woozy, so they walked back through the lobby on legs that felt as if they’d been at sea.

  Ensconced in his car again, she looked at him with alert expectation. “Next?”

  “Another surprise.”

  He figured she got it when he made a turn at the sign indicating Airport. She twitched and her gaze slid his way. “Um...”

  “You’ve never flown before, either, right?”

  “Right.” Her fingers clutched each other in her lap. “I’m not sure...”

  “You’ll like it,” he said, hoping.

  Her hand was cold as he guided her across the tarmac. “A helicopter?” she asked, as she saw the aircraft up ahead.

  “For a bird’s-eye view. They fly slow and low.”

  “How did you arrange this?” Her fingers squeezed his.

  “It’s a charter. This is their business. Tours.”

  Her eyes went wide. “It must cost so much. Too much!”

  “Don’t think about that. I don’t want you worrying about anything.”

  Even the pilot could tell she felt apprehensive. He smiled and shook their hands with a sturdy grip. “Welcome aboard,” he said. “Most everyone is nervous their first time on a bird.”

  “This is her first time in the air,” Ash told him.

  “Then I’ll make sure our flight is smooth and extra special.”

  He helped Tilda climb into the backseat and put on a headset with a flexible attached mic. Ash settled in beside her and slipped on his own. Then he laced his fingers with hers and smiled. “Relax,” he said. “I’ve done this before with my family. Wait until you see the view.”

  Her hold tightened on him as they took off and he elbowed her when he saw her eyes closed tight. “You shouldn’t miss this, pretty girl.”

  With a deep breath, she opened them, and then they went wider as she took in the scenery. Below was the small-and-getting-smaller airport and its vicinity. Around them were the mountains, draped in white and dotted by dark green trees. Their trip took them over several small lakes and above ski runs busy with tiny ant-like figures moving down the wide slopes. They saw narrow ravines and broader valleys and then they were above Blue Arrow Lake, the homes along its borders looking like Monopoly game pieces, the village something from a child’s toy set.

  They left that familiar setting for a sweep nearer the tallest peaks of the mountain range, where they spied a fire lookout but not any other sign of human life. The mountains were awe-inspiring from this vantage point. Unspoiled and unpopulated, they stood like sober, imposing sentinels.

  “Beautiful,” Tilda murmured.

  “They’re the walls of your world,” Ash said, then pointed beyond to a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at it. “But there’s more to see and do and discover outside the gates.”

  She gave him a strange look and slipped her hand from his hold to tuck it around her waist. He let her have her silence but not her hand, and taking it back, he cradled it firmly in both of his for the rest of the flight.

  Back on the ground, she remained quiet as they returned to his car.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked, worried about her mood.

  Her mouth turned down. “I’m thinking how you’re going to get on a plane and leave in a couple of weeks.”

  Relief nearly made him spill his plans. But it was too early for that, so he silenced them both by taking her into his arms and kissing her until her fingers clutched the back of his jacket and her face was flushed.

  “Time to feed you,” he said, opening the passenger door and gently pushing her inside.

  She glared at him, an ex
pression of thwarted passion on her face. He laughed and took in deep breaths as he made his way around the car. So far, so good.

  If all the rest went as planned, next time he flew he’d be holding her close all the way across the Atlantic.

  He found the fish-and-chips place he’d located not far from the airport. As he nosed into a parking space, she cast a curious look at him. He tried to hide his sudden nervousness with a smile. Had she guessed?

  “Here they serve, uh, the favorite thing I ate in London.” He had no idea if the restaurant was any good, but he’d thought it might be a fun way to bring up the topic. “Have you had fish-and-chips?”

  “I’ve had fish sticks and French fries, does that count?”

  “You’ll have to tell me if you taste the difference,” he said. His stupid nerves were doing something to his stomach and he hoped he could eat. As they walked across the parking lot, he reviewed his talking points.

  His posting in London was for six months. She could stay with him there for that time with nothing more than a passport—which she could apply for at the Blue Arrow Lake post office.

  He knew from experience that the generous stipend his company offered for living expenses would cover them both. She could continue with her online classes, and without having to pay for rent or food or gas for her car, she could afford tuition to take more of them if she’d like.

  He’d be happy to cover that cost, too, but he didn’t think she’d agree.

  Most important of all, they’d be together. Together, building a life. Building a future.

  Ash settled her into a booth, then went up to the counter to order a beer for each of them to enjoy while they studied the offerings. The place wasn’t busy, it was just after five, but it smelled delicious, and if he could just get his jumpy belly under control he guessed the food would be great.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, over her plastic-coated menu as he slid a beer her way.

  He must look as apprehensive as he felt. “Terrific,” he said, playing over in his head how he planned to begin. I’m in love with you, Tilda. Come away with me. Trust me to create something good between us.

  They made their selections and Ash returned to the counter to place their orders. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Tilda’s back, her head bent over her phone.

  “Son,” a voice said.

  Ash nearly leaped out of his skin. He glanced over, saw his father right beside him. The man wore his usual retirement-wear of khakis and a golf sweater, but the garment was buttoned wrong and there was what looked to be a coffee stain on one sleeve. “Jeez, Dad, I think I lost a life.” He took in his father’s grim expression. “Are you all right?”

  His father didn’t blink his bloodshot eyes. “What are you doing, Ash?”

  “What are you doing? I thought you and Mom were staying at the Palm Springs house for another few days.”

  “I brought your mother back up here, but I’ve decided to leave her the car and I’m taking a private flight back to the Springs place in about an hour.”

  Odd, that, as well as the tense set to the man’s shoulders. “Is there a problem?”

  His father’s intensity didn’t abate. “Son,” he said again. “What are you doing?”

  When Ash opened his mouth, his dad didn’t give him a chance to speak.

  “What are you doing,” he continued, his gaze jumping past Ash, “with her?”

  “You mean with Tilda?” Okay, he hadn’t told his parents about her or about the progression of things between them. One, because his parents had been out of the mountains since the relationship ramped up, and two, because he wasn’t thirteen years old with an eighth-grade crush. Ash glanced back, saw she was still in their booth, her back to the two of them.

  “I’d like you to meet her—” he began.

  “Not a good idea,” his father replied.

  Huh? “I’m seeing her, Dad, and it’s serious.”

  Pain contorted his father’s even features. “Shit, Ash.”

  His father rarely swore, and only while watching football.

  “Shit, Ash, what?” He didn’t understand this. “She’s great. And I’m—”

  “She’s not the right kind of girl for you.”

  His eyes widened. “She’s twenty-one. A woman. And what ‘kind’ is the right kind?” He couldn’t believe his father was a snob.

  “I misspoke, then,” the other man ground out. “I only mean you shouldn’t be with that woman.”

  Ash stared. This couldn’t be the man who’d raised him not to prejudge anyone. “You don’t even know her,” he pointed out. “How can you—”

  Then his father interrupted him again, another surprise in itself. “Look, Ash, I’d like to save this for another time, but you’ve backed me into a corner here—”

  “I’ve backed you into a corner?” He’d respected his father his entire life and always strove to earn his dad’s respect in return. But this was nuts. What could he possibly have against Tilda?

  “The fact is, I have a plane to catch.” His father wiped his hand over his mouth and Ash noticed the gray cast to his skin. “And there isn’t a good way to say this anyhow, I suppose.”

  “Say what?”

  “Your mother told me I was the one who’d have to tell you,” his father muttered. “And maybe I should wait, but seeing you with that young woman...”

  Ash had never seen his father like this. Stressed-out and strung-tight. Something big had surely pushed him to the edge. “Tell me what?” Ash demanded. “What’s going on, Dad?”

  Then his father spoke, revealing information that rocked Ash’s world. When the other man walked off, Ash felt angry, betrayed and literally ill. Standing there alone again, his only cohesive thought was that the designs for the life he’d been anticipating ten minutes before had completely evaporated.

  Because how could he plan for a future when his past was a complete fraud?

  * * *

  TILDA HEARD ASH’S footsteps approach their booth and looked up. Everything inside her went colder than her apartment at midnight in midwinter. She put off questioning him for a moment, holding on to the day, the rightness of the two of them together for another fifteen seconds. The elevator experience had been funny and fun, the helicopter flight exhilarating, but the best part was, by Ash giving those to her, he’d told her something important.

  That he’d seen her.

  For months, she’d been the household help who cleaned up after other people, soundlessly, efficiently. Mac said their goal was to give homeowners the impression their houses were tended by magic and they did this by not leaving so much as a fingerprint on stainless steel or a footprint in a plush rug. If the homeowners were in residence, they put their phones on vibrate and returned calls away from the house so the sound of their voices wouldn’t be in the air.

  Working the catering gigs had been the same. She’d been paid to be a convenience in the life of the host, like an appliance or a piece of furniture.

  With Ash, it was different. He’d seen her and heard her. Knew her.

  They’re the walls of your world, he’d said about the mountains. But there’s more to see and do and discover outside the gates.

  Thanks to him, she’d begun dreaming of that other world. She’d begun to truly believe she wasn’t trapped by poverty and circumstance and that another life awaited her, all because he’d found value in her.

  Now she knew if she had that life, it would be without him.

  Because she could see, too, and that fact was written all over his face. Dread formed a lump in the pit of her stomach, joining the ever-present guilt that she’d been trying to ignore since he’d returned to her bed. “What’s wrong?” she asked. She had to say something.

  “Every fucking thing,” he muttered. Then he drew in a deep br
eath. “I have to take you home.”

  Of course Tilda didn’t protest. There was no point. Hadn’t she always known, in her heart of hearts, that it would come to this? So the ride back was silent. When they reached her apartment’s parking lot, she slid a look at him, committing to memory the classic handsomeness of his face, the burnished golden-brown of his hair.

  The tires of the car crunched on the gravel, then all went silent as he braked. Ignoring the burn behind her eyes, Tilda gathered her belongings and reached for the door handle.

  “Wait,” he said. “I...I should explain.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I should. I have to.” He lifted both hands, then slammed the heels of them against the steering wheel. “Fuck! This is all so fucked up.”

  “Ash...”

  He turned his head and his tension was clear in the way his flesh seemed stretched over the elegant bones of his face. “I don’t even know who the hell I am anymore.”

  Her temples pounded. “What happened?”

  “What I know is I’ve been an ass.”

  “No—”

  “Yes. I thought my life was so golden. I thought decent and deserving Ash has all this great stuff going for him.”

  “You are decent and deserving.”

  “I said I didn’t look down on you, Tilda, but...shit, of course I did.”

  Directing her gaze to her lap, Tilda twined her fingers around each other there, meshing them so tight her knuckles turned white.

  “Mr. Fucking Perfect was going to share with you all the good things he had because of the good people who had raised his fucking golden self. I was going to persuade you to go to Europe with me.”

  Her head came up. She stared at him.

  “Yeah. Where you could have an opportunity to better yourself.”

  “You thought that?” she asked, her face going hot.

  “Not in so many words. But boy, was I feeling magnanimous. Ready to share with you all the glory that was Ashton Robbins, son of John Fucking Robbins.” His laugh was short and raw. “But in truth, John Robbins was fucking another woman. The man I’ve admired and wanted to emulate my entire life has been fooling around behind my mom’s back for years. He confessed to her today, and then he told me.”