Black Hills Baby

by Debra Salonen

  She gave herself a mental tsk. She should be happy that he appeared intelligent and curious. Those were great traits to pass along to a child.

  They left the History Center--which also served as the chamber of commerce office and civic meeting hall--by way of the back door. The building butted up to the three-stall Volunteer Fire Department, and in the shared patio area, the Sentinel Pass VFD Auxiliary held its annual chili cook-off fundraiser. “I thought we were going to your grandmother’s?” he asked.

  “We are. This is a shortcut. Are you okay? We can go back for the car if you’re tired.”

  He straightened indignantly. “Not at all. This is great.” He took two quick steps to catch up to her.

  She didn’t buy his enthusiasm. Despite the well-sculpted body mass she could not only see but also had felt on two occasions since his arrival, she had a sense that he didn’t work out regularly. Or maybe he did but wasn’t used to the altitude. “This isn’t mile-high Denver, but you do live at sea level. The altitude can do a number on a person until your body gets acclimated. Maybe we should get the car.”

  “No, really, Libby. I’m fine. The weather is gorgeous. Is it always this mild?”

  She snickered softly. “Weather is the main topic of people coming to the Post Office. I don’t give it much thought since I can’t do anything to change it.”

  His laugh was a rich rumble that came from deep in his chest. That formal stage training again? Don't forget he's an actor, she reminded herself. Even though there were times when he seemed genuine.

  They walked in silence, Libby leading the way along a narrow trail that wove between several residences. A couple of dogs came toward them barking, but once they saw it was her-–a regular on this path-–they wagged their tails and returned home.

  “Are there wolves in these mountains?”

  “I don’t think so. Naturalists reintroduced them in Yellowstone, but that’s pretty far to the west. I haven’t heard of any. There are a couple of people in town who have wolf-mix dogs. Or so they claim.”

  “Nice stream,” he commented a minute or two later. “Does it have a name?”

  The tiny waterway in question was seasonal, giving the town a quiet joy and lush abundance of wild flowers for a few months each spring.

  “Not really. It runs into Rapid Creek, which feeds Pactola Reservoir-–that big lake I pointed out on the way here. Gran might know if it ever had a name.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Eighty-seven.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. She’s pretty amazing. She was driving up till last winter. Something happened. We don’t know what, but one day she hung up the keys and said, ‘I believe it’s time I had a chauffer.’ Fortunately, Calvin still has a license.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. His smile was accompanied by a nod, as if she’d just confirmed something. Baffled, she overlooked a fallen limb and tripped. She went down on one knee. The damp pine needles and layers of decomposing deciduous leaves provided a soft cushion but the denim fabric turned dark blue from the moisture.

  He took her elbow and helped her up. His manner was a great more concerned than hers had been just a couple of hours earlier when their positions had been reversed. She felt herself blush.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “I could give you a piggyback ride.”

  She couldn’t prevent the laugh that erupted from her throat.

  “I could. I work out.”

  She fought the grin that wouldn’t stay suppressed. “I’m sure you do. Really. You’ve got muscles. I felt them. But I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “A hundred percent.”

  He nodded, then stepped back so she could proceed.

  “I think I owe you an apology,” she said, walking more slowly now that they’d reached Hayden’s Meadow, where as young girls she and Jenna used to collect wild flowers and harass bees on lazy summer afternoons.

  He drew up beside her. “You do?”

  “Uh-huh. I had a certain image of you. Probably from your press photos and some of the things I read online. I figured you’d be soft and used to having people do everything for you. And when you fell at my house, I wasn’t very nice.”

  “You were brutal.” The gleam in his eyes belied the criticism. “Not as tough as most of my critics, though. Some of them have drawn blood.”

  “Well, people in the public eye set themselves up for criticism. Even someone like me, who is a public persona in a very limited sense, has to be prepared to take the heat for what I’m doing. There will be people in Sentinel Pass who won’t approve of my decision. Others will think I’m crazy. And some will stop talking to me…for a while.”

  “Critics all, my mother used to say. She believed that you could never please everybody all of the time, so you had to listen to your own heart.”

  “A wise woman. In case I didn’t say so in my emails, I’m sorry for your loss. I know how difficult it is to lose your parents.”

  He lifted his chin and swallowed. “You did. Online, I mean. You were nice. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to do this.”

  One. “Can you explain the others? I’m still a little unclear about why you’d come all this way for…well, the gold, of course, but…”

  He looked away, a frown marring his perfect looks. “It probably sounds cowardly, but I really needed to get away. Escape, if you will. Too many memories everywhere I turned.”

  She understood. And sympathized. Even if she wasn’t sure that was the whole truth. But she let the subject drop because her grandmother’s house was just around the bend. One part of her wanted to warn him about Calvin’s unusual home, another wanted to see his unrestrained reaction.

  “Holy shit,” he exclaimed a minute later. “A real live Hobbit house.”

  The tiny one-story rammed-earth home was an engineering masterpiece with rolled eaves, one-of-a-kind chimneys on either end of the building and a quirky fence made from antique metal bed frames. The landscaping was an overgrown jungle of green punctuated with flowers. Behind the house, if given an opportunity, Calvin would proudly show off his vegetable gardens, which he lovingly cultivated with heirloom plants.

  “Cal was a very successful pharmacist in Sturgis. He sold his former place for over a million and decided to have fun with this one. All the doors and bathrooms are wheelchair-accessible. Perfect for an elderly couple -- although Gran would skin me alive if she heard me use that word. She still tells people she doesn’t know what she wants to be when she grows up.”

  “I like her already.”

  They walked to the front door, which Gran had painted flamethrower-red – “Just to get people excited.”

  “Nice color.”

  “She likes it. Or did,” Libby added under her breath. Lately her grandmother’s mind seemed to slip out of the present and into a reality that didn’t seem to have a time and place.

  She turned the knob and walked in. “Knock-knock. Gran? It’s me, Libby. I brought someone for you to meet.”

  An excited, high-pitch yipping obscured her grandmother’s answer, if there was one. “Onida,” she whispered. “Gran’s toy poodle mix. Brace yourself. She doesn’t have enough teeth to hurt, but she does bite people’s shoes and the occasional ankle.”

  She shook off her postal uniform windbreaker and tossed it on the couch, which was littered with crotched throw pillows. Springing quickly, she managed to catch the small apricot-colored dog before it could attack Cooper. “Quiet, there, Oni. Good girl. Be still. You’ll have plenty of time to devour Cooper after he meets Gran.”

  The woman in question pushed a streamlined black walker that Libby had never seen before into the room at a brisk pace. She stopped about a foot from them and looked from Cooper to Libby and back. “’Bout time you got here,” she said with a nod of her pure-white head.

  An odd shiver slid down Libby’s back. She was certain Gran meant that statement as a criticism for
not coming to visit her for a few days, but Gran had been looking at Coop when she said it.

  “Gran, I brought someone for you to meet. His name is Cooper Lindstrom.”

  “I knew the Landstroms back before their jewelry became so popular. And expensive. There was a time you could only buy it in the Black Hills. Now you find it at Wal-Mart.” She gave a snort that made it clear how she felt about that.

  “No relation,” Coop said, stepping forward while making sure to stay of reach of the dog that still shivered with bared teeth in Libby’s arms. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs.…um…McGannon?”

  He looked at Libby for confirmation.

  She shook her head, but before she could correct him, Gran answered. “I was that once upon a time. Then I was a Tyler. I liked that name pretty well. Now I don’t know what I am.”

  Libby set down the dog with a warning not to cause trouble and went to her grandmother, putting an arm around her thin, stooped shoulders. “You’re still a Tyler, Gran. Mary McGannon Tyler. That’s your full name. Remember?”

  Supplying the missing information seemed to help. Gran smiled. “Well, there you go. The facts as we all know them. My granddaughter likes facts, don’t you, Libby?”

  “That I do.”

  “The truth and nothing but the truth, so help me Goliath.”

  Libby laughed and hugged her as tightly as she dared. To Cooper she explained, “Goliath was our St. Bernard. When I was a little girl and I did something wrong, I used to blame Goliath. Gran would make me swear to tell the truth or she’d punish Goliath.”

  Gran looked at him and added, “One thing you should know about my granddaughter--she's got a tender heart. She could never stand by and let a poor, dumb animal take the blame for something she did. That’s how she learned that the truth hurts for a minute, a lie for long, long time.”

  “Very profound,” Cooper said, his tone oddly stiff. “What happened to Goliath?”

  “Perforated bowel. Ate something sharp. Poor little Libby cried for a month.”

  She hadn’t thought about Goliath in years, but suddenly the memory was very fresh. She’d blamed herself for his death because she’d left her Barbie dolls outside and the dog had dismembered one to the point where they never found an entire leg. A few weeks later, when the vet suggested the damage to the dog’s intestine might have been caused by a sharp object-–possibly something plastic--she’d pictured the leg poking clean through his belly. She’d had nightmares until her father assured her Goliath’s death wasn’t her fault. But Gran hadn’t been that generous.

  We’ll never know for sure, but your conscience is going to believe one thing, no matter what your pa says. Next time someone tells you to put your dolls away, you’ll do it, won’t you?

  How funny, she thought, that Gran would bring up Goliath at a time when Libby’s conscience was working overtime. There was a reason Libby hadn’t mentioned her baby-making plan to her grandmother. Even now, Gran would have cut through Libby’s weak rationalizations like a surgeon with a laser.

  Chapter 6

  Coop didn’t have a chance to call Shane with an update until the next morning. Libby went to work well before the sun had crested the tops of the trees behind his little house. She’d left him a note on the tiny table beside the kitchenette.

  Coffee in the fridge. Cream and sugar, too. (Ants.) He assumed that was meant to explain why the sugar was refrigerated, not that he was welcome to add ants to his coffee, if he was so inclined. Lunch at the P.O.?

  He glanced at his watch. It was only ten. He had two hours to kill, and the morning was too pleasant to spend at a computer in her house. He’d made an effort to help her move it out of her bedroom to a more central location the night before, but they’d encountered a stumbling block. The old house didn’t have a lot of phone jacks, and there wasn’t one in the dining room.

  She’d assured him he was welcome to use it where it sat, but he was oddly reluctant to enter her bedroom. He didn’t want to examine the reasoning behind that disquiet. So, in the meantime, he could use his cell phone…if he could find a spot with a clear signal and enough bars.

  He held it out in front of him like a divining rod. Finally, on a slight rise near the path leading to Mac’s house, he got four bars. He tapped Shane’s number.

  “Reynard here.”

  “Her grandmother looks like Yoda.”

  “And good morning to you, too, Cooper. By the way, just a suggestion, but if I were you I’d refrain from making that comparison when you’re talking to Libby.”

  “Well, duh. I’m not that dumb. This is just between you and me. When you’re casting the role, think Yoda-esque.”

  “Got it. Does she speak in the same singsong, backwards thing?”

  “Not, I think, so much. But if I were Luke Skywalker I’d be a lot happier.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because somehow she tricked me into going hiking on some old railroad trail with Libby. If I were Luke, I could use my Jedi powers to get out of it.”

  “Can’t you simply say you don’t like to hike?”

  Cooper cleared his throat. “She implied that I wasn’t fit enough to keep up.”

  I bet he can't handle Daughterty Gulch. Flatlander feet do better on the easy trails. Like the one they made out of the old railroad line, the old woman had said.

  Shane hooted. “The old lady threw down a gauntlet you were powerless to refuse. Brilliant. I wonder how she knew you couldn’t resist a challenge -- even one you're sure to fail.”

  “When have I failed?”

  “I can name two triathlons.”

  Coop felt his cheeks heat up. “I had bad bike juju. You were with me in Hawaii. Come on, man. Two cracked rims? What are the chances? And the time before that my entire wheel assembly fell off. I’m jinxed.”

  Shane’s laugh grew louder. “Uh-huh. So, when are you going hiking?”

  “Depends on the weather. Maybe Saturday. Libby wants me to get better acclimated. She drew me a map outlining a couple of short hikes in the area. Nearby. So, I don’t get lost. Did I tell you she didn’t take off work? My God, she’s supposed to be deciding if I’m going to be the father of her child and she doesn’t take any time off to hang out with me. What’s that about?”

  “Maybe she needs the money and would prefer to spend any vacation time taking care of her new baby.”

  “Oh. Good point. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Because you never think of other people first, Cooper, he could almost hear his mother say. I think of you first, but do you think of me when you’re making your big plans? Of course, not. You never think, son.

  He’d heard that complaint often enough.

  “Anyway, I’m going to check out the Mystery Spot. Don’t you love the image that name provokes? Libby says it’s a local tourist trap that her best friend’s father built forty years ago. Apparently, he was some eccentric genius physicist who spent the summers running the place. It’s about a mile outside of town.”

  He’d really enjoyed sitting beside her at the lunch counter of the small café on Main Street while she was drawing her map. Her pride in Sentinel Pass came through even though she tried to downplay what a special place it was. He thought he understood why she didn’t go on and on about it: she didn’t want him to get any ideas about moving there.

  Not that that would happen. As much as he liked what he’d seen so far, he was only interested in how it served his purpose.

  At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

  “Are you taking pictures?” Shane asked.

  “When I can. I’m trying not to be too overt. I don’t want anyone to ask why someone who is leaving right away wants photos of the place. Did I mention that Libby’s grandmother said I have flatlander feet?”

  “You know I hate it when you jump from topic to topic without warning. But it makes sense. You live at sea level…literally.”

  “Still. That was blunt. Even Yoda wouldn’t have said that. But I th
ink it’s something we can use.”

  Shane was silent for so long Coop thought he’d lost the connection, which was sketchy even if you stood in one place. The night before he’d tried to reach Daria, his assistant. He got through once, but not for long enough to find out how Rollie was doing.

  Maybe I could talk Shane into swinging by and checking on him.

  “Coop,” Shane said his voice low and serious, “I’ve been thinking we should try to find another way to dig you out of this mess. Have you seen the gold mine?”

  “Not yet. But from what Libby’s brother says it’s not going to produce the kind of return I need to get Mom’s monkey off my back anytime soon. There’s gold there, but the cost of getting it out makes it almost not worth the effort.” Libby had left him at the cabin shortly after they gave up their aborted attempt to move the computer then marched through the trees to the house she’d pointed out as her brother’s.

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “Which is why I really need this show to come through, Shane. And the way things are falling into place here, I swear this was meant to be. Sentinel Pass is funky as hell, but it’ll make a perfect setting for our story. Are you working on a script?”

  Shane sighed. “I have other projects, Coop. Previous contracted obligations.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re a busy guy. But I need a favor. Could you run out to my house and check on my neighbor? He’s an old geezer who will talk your leg off if you let him, but he hasn’t got any family in the area…well, none that’s worth a plug nickel, as Mom would say. Just make sure he’s got something to eat in his fridge, okay? And find out if my house has been raided by the police because of the wild parties my assistant has been throwing.”

  “Can’t hear you. Losing the connection.”

  Coop wasn’t sure he believed him. “Okay. Later then.”

  He closed the phone and dropped it into a pocket of his Calvin Klein cargo pants. He rubbed his hands together, looked at his feet, cushioned in four-hundred-dollar running shoes he’d bought when he’d had iron-man aspirations. They didn’t fit quite right, but he was determined to show Libby and her grandmother that he was made of stronger stuff. Nordic stuff. His ancestors sailed the icy waters of the North Atlantic, pillaging and plundering. He’d keep up with Libby even if it killed him.