Blue Ridge Hideaway

by Cynthia Thomason

  “Yeah, I guess we do. I wouldn’t be in here if I hadn’t trusted Vince and Tony. Now what are we supposed to do?” Jack asked her. “You said we’d have the money to pay the lawyer.”

  “We will,” she said. “Clancy has a son here, and he seems reasonable. He and I have worked out a plan to get my five thousand back. The whole amount should be sent to Grant Schreiber on Monday. He will have it Wednesday at the latest.”

  Jack blew out a long breath. “Okay. Because what Clancy did is a crime. He should be stuck in this place. Not me. He stole from you, Dorie.”

  “Yes, he did. And, Jack, I’m going to stay here in the mountains for a few days, just to confirm the transfer of the money. But if you see the new lawyer before I get back, tell him to proceed.”

  “I will, but, Dorie, I need you here. You’re the only person who comes to see me. Your visits are all that keep me going.”

  Dorie couldn’t ignore the desperation in Jack’s voice. And she understood. He was just a kid, stuck in a man’s world, and with the worst possible sort of men. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. But right now getting the money is top priority.”

  Another long silence until Dorie broke it. “Jack, tell me you’ll stay strong. This will all be over soon. I won’t stop until your name is cleared and you’re free. I promise you that.”

  “I know that. And I’m sorry for wimping out on you. I’m sorry for everything. I know you’re doing all you can.”

  “Just hang tough, kiddo.”

  “Sure, I will. And I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  Like that was possible.

  “It’s not so bad,” he added. “I’m adjusting.”

  She knew he was teetering on the edge and exaggerating his state of mind for her sake, and she was grateful for his effort. She hated being this far away from him. For the past eight years, since their mother left, it had been just the two of them, surviving by depending on each other. She wouldn’t let him down. “That’s the brother I know and love,” she said.

  “You’re at that place you told me about, right?” he asked. “That Crooked Spruce place?”

  Relieved that the conversation had gone in a less painful direction, she gave him details about the outpost. “It’s still really cold here,” she said. “And the cell service is iffy, especially for my carrier.” She rubbed her arms through her sweater. “In fact, I had to climb halfway up Hickory Mountain to get a cell phone signal to call you. I’m freezing my butt off.”

  She looked down at the cabin. Through the porch screen she saw Bret dressed only in a flannel shirt and jeans. He struggled with a large carton, cutting the packing straps and tearing at the taped seams. Dorie wondered what was in the box. But mostly she marveled at how natural he looked, immune to the cold that caused her beach bones to ache.

  “Call me when you can,” Jack said. “I won’t try to reach you unless I have to.”

  “You got it. We’ll stay in touch. And Jack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you, baby brother. We’ll get through this.”

  “I know, Dorie. Someday, when I’m out of here, I’ll pay you back...”

  “Hey, let’s worry about that later. One day at time, okay?”

  She disconnected and headed back down the mountain pathway. Hearing her approach, Bret turned and raised his arm in a casual wave. Her heart gave an odd little kick in her chest and an unaccustomed warmth spread through her chilled body. She tried to shrug it off. She climbed the steps and went onto the porch. “What are you doing, there, junior...I mean Bret? Unpacking a gold-plated heater to sell the execs?”

  He ripped open the lid. “Funny. Actually this is a porch swing my sister sent me as a sort of lodge-warming gift. Since she’s due here any minute, I figured I ought to put the thing together.”

  “Need any help?” The offer slipped out of her mouth with relative ease. As long as she was stuck here for the next couple of days, and since the important details had been more or less worked out, she supposed she could pitch in around the place.

  He stared at her a moment and then jerked his thumb toward a toolbox on the floor. “How are you with a screwdriver?”

  “Flat head or Phillips?”

  “Flat.”

  She dug through the jumble of tools and found the right one. “Stand back and watch.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EASY TO ASSEMBLE with two people on the job, the porch swing was a thing of beauty and expert craftsmanship. Imported from Scandinavia, it was made of teakwood, polished to a fine satin sheen. The swing could easily accommodate three people, but with an assortment of plush cushions and a woolen throw, Dorie could picture someone stretching out for a gently swaying nap.

  Bret attached the bronze-colored chains to large metal hooks in the ceiling which he’d oiled so the swing didn’t make a sound when he set it rocking. He stood back and looked at the results of their labor. “What do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Dorie said. “Maybe you could add a couple of pillows at the arms to make it even more inviting....”

  “This is a man’s retreat, Dorie. We don’t need fluffy pillows.” He scratched his chin. “For that matter, as nice as this thing is, we don’t really need a swing.”

  “Are you saying women aren’t allowed here?”

  “Not at all. I’m just saying that I doubt many will come.”

  “You might be surprised. Women are executives, too, you know. And many of them are wilderness campers. If they come, now they have a swing...if they can keep the men off it.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll see. I’ll keep track of my guests and email you the gender ratios.”

  The thought of giving Bret her email address, remaining in touch even to a small extent, brought a tiny flutter to her stomach. Of course, they wouldn’t stay in touch. He wouldn’t send her any numbers. He’d just be happy to know he was a vision in her rearview.

  He pointed to the arched driveway entrance to his camp. “Just in time. My sister will be pleased to see the swing all assembled.”

  A minivan pulled up to the lodge. Three boys got out and ran up to the porch. One of them, a slender kid with hair slightly darker than Bret’s light brown, headed directly for Bret. He reminded Dorie of her brother at that age. Hair in his eyes, suntanned and healthy, baggy pants, a hoodie and Converse sneakers.

  “Dad!”

  Bret wrapped his arms around the kid. “Welcome back, Luke. Did you have a good time?”

  “Best ever. It was great.”

  “Best ever, eh?”

  Did Dorie imagine the veil of disappointment in Bret’s eyes?

  Bret held the boy at arm’s length and ruffled his hair. “You avoided all barbershops, I see.”

  “No time,” Luke said.

  A woman, tall, plumper than her brother, with highlighted dark hair, came up onto the porch. “I suggested haircuts for all of them,” she said. “But I was vetoed.”

  Bret gave the other two boys quick hugs before opening his arms to his sister. “Thanks for this, Julie,” he said. “I’m sure you had your hands full this week.”

  “Nothing to thank me for, Brat. You know I love McDonald’s and Dave & Buster’s.”

  Not wanting to intrude on a private family moment, Dorie remained in the shadows behind the swing. She wondered why Julie had mispronounced her brother’s name. Mistake?

  Luke caught Dorie’s gaze and lightly tapped his father’s arm. “Dad?”

  Bret looked down.

  “Somebody’s here. Is she a hiker?”

  “Oh, sorry.” He motioned Dorie over. “This lady stopped by yesterday to check the place out.”

  Julie’s eyes widened and she looked Dorie over with interest. Dorie felt a flush creep up her neck. She hoped Julie wasn’t adding her own i
nterpretation to Bret’s innocent explanation.

  Bret made introductions, and even though she knew the names wouldn’t matter soon, Dorie committed them to memory. Julie was Bret’s older sister. Her sons, Mark and Randy, his nephews. And Luke, his pride and joy.

  “Why don’t you boys go inside and find Grandpa?” Bret said.

  “Grandpa’s here?” Luke shouted and all the boys stampeded inside.

  “Oh, boy, Grandpa,” Julie said, giving Bret a familiar sort of look. “Talk about having your hands full.” She focused on Dorie when the boys had gone in the lodge. “So what do you think of the place?”

  “It’s interesting,” Dorie said. “Quite a concept.”

  “Yeah, you’ve done a good job with the place, Brat,” Julie said to her brother. “I’m proud of you. You going to be ready by May first?”

  Bret shrugged. “As we say up here, ‘If the creek don’t rise.’”

  “Ho, ho, ho!” Clancy’s booming voice preceded him out the porch door. “My baby girl is here!”

  Julie put a smile on her face. “I saw the old Honda,” she whispered to Bret. “I knew before your announcement that you’d had an invasion of the dad variety.” She hugged Clancy. “Pop, what’s new?”

  “Same ol’, same ol’.” He quickly glanced at Dorie and looked away. “You know me.”

  “I do.” Taking Clancy’s arm, Julie ushered him inside the lodge. “Let’s check up on those boys before they destroy everything Brat’s done so far.”

  When just the two of them were left on the porch, Bret said, “That’s my family. Now you know all of them, minus my mom. And, of course, Julie’s husband, who’s always at home making money to support my sister’s extravagant habits.” He looked at the swing. “Like buying expensive presents.”

  “I saw her looking at it,” Dorie said. “I’m glad we got it assembled in time.”

  “Try it out,” he said. “You can be the test subject.”

  She’d been dying to do just that so she took advantage of the offer. She sat on the far right side, leaving plenty of room. Amazingly Bret sat, as well, hugging the other side.

  “It’s all right,” he said.

  “It’s wonderful.” She set the swing moving with her toe. “By the way, why does your sister call you Brat?”

  “You don’t think it’s appropriate?”

  “Well...”

  “Actually, it started the Christmas morning Jules was thirteen and I was ten. I got a spy set, and for the next three years my sister’s life was a misery of espionage. Since then, the name just stuck.”

  The sun had made its way over the mountaintop and it warmed the porch through the tin roof. Dorie felt lazy and comfortable. The swing was as smooth as a metronome. The breeze held just a nip of coolness. The company...best not to think about that. She stood. “I’d better get inside and do the breakfast dishes before your sister thinks you left that mess.”

  “And I guess I’ll give Pop time with Julie while I peel more paint.” He rose and walked toward the door. “Call if you need anything.”

  She went inside, cleaned the kitchen and had just sat down with a second cup of coffee when Julie came in with a cooler and set it on the counter. Dorie held up her mug. “I’m buying.”

  “Sounds good.”

  While Dorie served the coffee, Julie unpacked the Styrofoam box and piled food next to the sink.

  “What’s all that?” Dorie asked.

  “Lunch. I figured I’d probably have four hungry men to feed. Now I have five, counting Pop. I never know if Bret’s going to have anything in his fridge. And I couldn’t chance putting my two eating machines back in the van on empty stomachs.”

  “Looks like you’ve got enough for an army,” Dorie said.

  “I do. Three kinds of deli meat, potato salad, chips and fruit. Obviously I’m hoping you’ll volunteer to eat some of it.”

  “That’s nice of you, but I have things to do....”

  Julie waved a package wrapped in butcher paper under Dorie’s nose. “Roasted seasoned chicken breast. You can’t tell me you’re that busy.”

  Dorie laughed. “I’m not. But I get to help.”

  “You’re on.” Julie went to the cupboard and removed plates and glasses. Dorie retrieved condiments from the refrigerator.

  They worked side by side sharing inconsequential bits and pieces of their lives while watching the three boys through the kitchen window. After a few minutes, Julie said, “So how long have you known my brother?”

  Dorie paused. An honest answer would only result in more questions. But she liked Julie and she decided to take a chance that a simple but truthful statement would satisfy her. “I don’t know him well,” she said. “Like he said, I just got here yesterday.”

  Julie meticulously sliced a tomato. “To check the place out, right?”

  Dorie layered slices of roast beef on a platter. “Not exactly.”

  “You’re not interested in The Crooked Spruce as a vacation destination, then?”

  Dorie shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so.” She put the tomato slices on a plate next to lettuce leaves. “I know it’s none of my business, but I guess the big sister in me takes over at times, and I get curious.”

  “I understand,” Dorie said. “I’m a big sister myself.”

  “So, had you met my brother somewhere before coming here?”

  “No. I didn’t know he would be here. I didn’t even know he existed.”

  Julie set her knife on a plate and looked at Dorie. “Now this is getting really interesting. Then why did you come up this mountain? Hardly anyone knows this place is here. I can’t imagine that a young woman like you would be interested in The Crooked Spruce.” She smiled. “No gender bias intended.”

  “None taken.”

  When Dorie didn’t immediately provide more information, Julie chewed on her bottom lip. “Oh, no,” she said after a few seconds.

  “Oh, no, what?”

  “You didn’t come here for Bret. You came for Clancy!”

  “Well...”

  “What did he do now?”

  Dorie didn’t want to explain her situation again so she just said, “He’s your father, Julie. I don’t really need to bore you with details.”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s my father, all right, so nothing you could tell me would surprise me. But it’s your call whether to fill me in with his latest escapade.” She washed a second tomato under the faucet. “But I’ll just guess that it has something to do with money. And I’ll also guess that you don’t owe him any.”

  Dorie smiled. “I don’t want to tattle. Especially now that I’m seeing some positive characteristics in Clancy.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “It’s obvious he loves his children.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Julie said. “After Mom divorced him, for reasons that were never really explained to Bret and me, Pop did the best he could. Sometimes he even gave us the majority of his paycheck before he wandered off for a day or two.” She smiled. “Bret and I learned money management at an early age. Most of that knowledge stuck with Bret. Not so much with me.”

  “Did your mother move away?” Dorie asked, thinking of her own situation.

  “Not for a while. She stayed close enough to supervise our upbringing. She even made a few halfhearted attempts to redeem Pop. But when Bret and I were teenagers she moved to California. She wanted us to go with her, but by then we liked our schools and our friends. We even liked Pop, with all his faults. So we decided to stick it out.”

  “That must have been hard,” Dorie said.

  “It was, but we always stayed in touch. And we visited her. Truthfully I never had any hard feelings toward Mom. Can’t say the same for Bret, though. He was the youngest. I think he resen
ted her move.”

  Dorie unwrapped a package of sliced turkey. “I’d say you both turned out pretty well.”

  “We’ve had our issues, but who hasn’t. I guess I’m kind of scatterbrained. At least that’s what my family believes.”

  Dorie smiled at her. “Scatterbrained in a good way, I’d say. I haven’t seen that trait in your brother.”

  “Oh, no. Bret’s biggest problem, in my opinion, is that he’s like a moral compass, a straight arrow to the point of almost being stuffy. And he’s a planner. You know...save a hundred pennies and someday you’ll have a dollar.”

  Dorie layered bread slices on a plate. “Seems like his plan worked well for him in the case of The Crooked Spruce. This could be a good investment.”

  “It’s more than an investment,” Julie said. “It’s a necessity.”

  Though she wanted to know what Julie meant, Dorie didn’t feel comfortable prying into Bret’s private life, so she kept quiet.

  “Did he tell you anything about his wife?” Julie asked after a moment.

  “No.” She didn’t know if she should hear such personal details from Julie. “He’s been trying to work things out between your dad and me. We haven’t talked about personal stuff.” Well, I have because he coerced details out of me, but he hasn’t.

  “He’s a private person. Always has been, but he’s gotten even more introverted since Miranda was killed.”

  “His wife was murdered?”

  “No, not murdered. She died in a boating accident. She was on a Sea-Doo in Biscayne Bay and collided with an eighteen-foot speed boat. It was horrible. Both Luke and Bret saw the whole thing from shore.”

  The tragic story along with the scents and sight of all that food spread out in front of her suddenly made Dorie feel nauseous. She backed away from the sink.

  “Are you okay?” Julie asked. She pulled a chair from the table for Dorie to use. “I’m sorry. We’ve lived with this for over a year now, but I forget how it sounds to people who didn’t go through it.”

  “That poor little boy,” Dorie said. “And Bret...”

  “It was really rough for a while. The paramedics tried to save Miranda, but she died before reaching the hospital. And you know the irony of the whole thing? Bret didn’t approve of her getting the wave runner, but she wanted it so badly. So she talked her father into buying it for her. She came from this wealthy Miami family. Her daddy was very indulgent, couldn’t refuse her anything.”