by Lori Wilde
Nothing fit.
The mutt stopped at the bottom of the steps, nose twitching, oversized tail wagging. Jillian extended the sandwich, and he took it from her hand with surprising gentleness.
It was gone in two quick bites.
He looked hopeful.
“You still hungry?”
Of course he was still hungry. His flanks were so lean that she could count his ribs. His hair was matted, and she feared he had fleas and ticks, so she was leery of letting him into the condo.
“Hang on,” she said. “I think I’ve got a can of chunked white albacore in the pantry.”
He hung on.
She got the tuna. He scarfed it down as quickly as he’d disposed of the peanut butter sandwich. When he was done, he sat on his haunches and looked at her. She was not a pet person. Had never owned one. Not even a goldfish. Her stepmother wouldn’t allow it, and she had no idea what to do with him.
You need to find his owner.
She knocked on her neighbors’ doors. The dog followed. No one claimed him. After an hour of canvassing the neighborhood, she ended up back at her condo.
“Right back where we started.”
The expression on his doggy face seemed to say, Story of my life.
She took him to the vet. She had nothing else to do, and it helped keep her mind off Blake and Alex and quitting her job and her crazy, wedding-veil-induced sex dream with a whiskey-eyed man in a sweat lodge.
“The dog’s been neglected,” the veterinarian told her. “He needs medicine.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“We’ll give him shots, clean him up, check his blood work, and he needs to be neutered.”
“I’m not going to keep him. I just want him healthy while I look for his owners.”
“I seriously doubt he has an owner. If you keep him, look into the neutering thing.”
“I’m not keeping him. I’m not a pet person. I don’t do pets.”
The vet prescribed medication. “Give him these pills once a month to prevent heartworms.”
“Hello, not keeping him.”
He pressed the prescription into her hand. “In case you change your mind.”
She wasn’t going to change her mind. She couldn’t change it if she wanted to. Her condo didn’t allow dogs.
When she got home, she called the Houston Chronicle and took out an ad. Then she went on the computer and posted on craigslist. Lost dog. She detailed his vital statistics and added her cell phone number.
“Now we wait,” she told the mutt.
He gazed at Jillian as if she was the most impressive person on the face of the earth.
“Remember, Mutt, I’m not a pet person, so don’t get attached. I’ll just break your heart.”
He looked as if he didn’t believe her.
“I will. I’m mean that way. Ask anyone.”
Her cell phone rang.
“Hey,” she told Mutt. “This could be it. Your long-lost family.” She flipped open her phone. “Hello?”
“Jillian Samuels?”
“Yes?” She hadn’t put her name on the craigslist ad. The call couldn’t be about the dog.
“This is Hamilton Green. I’m Blake Townsend’s attorney,” the man said.
At the mention of Blake’s name, she curled her fingers tighter around the phone. “Yes?”
“I need to speak with you in person.”
“What’s this about?”
“Mr. Townsend has left you an inheritance and a sacred responsibility. May I have my secretary pencil you in for a three-thirty appointment on Tuesday?”
“HOW WAS THE SWEAT LODGE?” Ridley asked Tuck as they drove to the construction site on the other side of the mountain the following morning. They were both working as contract labor—Ridley hired as an electrician, Tuck as a carpenter for a new spec house going up.
Ridley was behind the wheel of his SUV. Tuck was ensconced in the passenger seat wishing he’d driven alone. But he’d woken up in the sweat lodge that morning, and Ridley had just assumed they’d carpool to the job site.
Tuck shrugged.
“Did you have a vision?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You sure? Because sometimes vision quests can be pretty intense.”
“Mule deer in the bar ditch.” Tuck pointed not so much to warn his brother-in-law just in case the animal decided to dart into the road as deer often did in that part of the country, but to distract him from the conversation. That damn vision was imprinted on his brain. It made him feel horny and guilty as hell. He was afraid of his own subconscious, and the last thing he wanted was to have Ridley Red Deer analyze it.
His brother-in-law slowed.
The doe raised her head as they motored past, and she stared Tuck squarely in the eyes. The deer looked accusatory, as if she knew all about those shameful sweat lodge happenings.
You’re losing your marbles. Snap out of it.
“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Ridley asked. “It might help to powwow.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“That bad?”
“We’re not talking about this.”
“So you did have a vision?”
“That constitutes talking.”
“Gotcha. No talking about the vision quest.”
“Thank you.”
A long moment of silence stretched out. Tuck let out a relieved breath. Ridley was gonna drop it. He stared out the window, studying the fall scenery. This time of year, most of the leaves were gone. The snow on the ground was light, but there would soon be more.
“So how’d you end up in the lake last night?” Ridley ventured. Apparently, he just wasn’t going to let it go.
“My sister put you up to this conversation, didn’t she?” Tuck asked.
“How’d you know?”
“You’re not usually so intrusive.”
“Come on, dude. Throw me a bone. You know Evie. She’ll gnaw my ear off with questions if I don’t bring her something.”
“Sort of like what you’re doing to me?”
“So you can see how annoying it is.”
“She’s my sister. I know how annoying it can be.”
“About the lake …”
Tuck sighed. “I was feeling sorry for myself. Took a boat ride on the second anniversary of my wife’s death. That’s not so crazy.”
“In the middle of the night? In Colorado? In October?”
“Hey, at least it wasn’t February.”
“Valid point. Although if it had been February, you could have just skated out on the lake.”
Ridley shut up again, but this time Tuck was afraid to count on the silence. Note to self: Find another carpool buddy.
“Your sister loves you. She worries.”
“I know.”
“We both care about you.”
“I know that too.”
“There is life after Aimee.”
That one he wasn’t so sure about it. He might be breathing, but it sure as hell wasn’t much of a life. Walking around with only a small shred of heart left inside him.
“You should start dating again.”
Tuck folded his arms over his chest and stared determinedly out the window. “I’m not ready.”
“Evie and I could double-date with you. If that’d make it easier.” Ridley stopped at an intersection behind a green garbage truck.
Tuck focused on an banana peel dangling from a crack in the truck’s tailgate. “Not interested.”
“How about Sissie Stratford?”
“Aimee didn’t like her, and she’s got that phony laugh.”
“Too bad Lily Massey got engaged to Bill Chambers. Aimee liked her and she’s really pretty.”
“I’m sure Bill isn’t thinking it’s too bad Lily said yes to his proposal.”
Ridley snapped his fingers. “I know. What about Lexi Kilgore? She’s nice.”
“She’s older than I am.”
“Plea
se, by what? Three years? Evie’s two years older than me, and it makes no difference at all.”
“Lexi’s nice enough, but there’s just no spark there; besides, she talks too much.”
“What about that new bartender at the Rusty Nail? Have you see her?”
“I haven’t been at the Nail in weeks.”
“She’s cute. Blond. I know you have a thing for blondes. I think her name’s Tiffany or Amber or …” Ridley snapped his fingers. “Brandi. It’s Brandi. Her name is Brandi.”
“How very bartendery of her.”
“So, you want me to introduce you?”
“Rid,” Tuck growled. “I appreciate the effort, I really do. But I’m just not interested.”
“You do know what my cultural beliefs are in regard to the vision quest, right?”
Tuck shrugged. “You might want to make that a little clearer for me.”
“When you’re a young man entering adulthood, or you’re at a crossroads in your life, my tribe believes the vision quest guides you on to the next phase in life. You, my friend, are at a serious crossroad.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “Okay.”
“The dream you had in the sweat lodge is a harbinger of what’s ahead,” Ridley continued. “Not what’s behind you.”
Tuck pondered that one. A harbinger of what lay ahead. Hmm. So he was going to be sexually molested by a wedding veil–draped dervish? The thought made him both uncomfortable and excited.
The excitement disturbed him.
“So about this vision. Maybe you’re confused by the symbolism and you need me to interpret—”
“I’m turning on the radio now. What program is it that you really hate?” Tuck reached for the radio dial and snapped it on. He didn’t want to discuss this. “Yeah, here it is—Rush Limbaugh.”
Ridley laughed. “Okay, I get it. Please spare me Rush. I’ll shut up about the vision quest. But when you’re ready to talk—”
“I know where to find you.”
Chapter Four
All weekend long, no one called about the dog.
By Tuesday, Jillian was convinced no one was going to claim him. Poor baby. She knew what it was like to be unwanted. “I guess I’m stuck with you, Mutt.”
The dog didn’t seem to mind.
Jillian was starting not to mind so much either. Sure, he shed hair all over the place, so she had to vacuum every day, and he had the bad habit of chewing on her shoes, but she was surprised by how much the dog lifted her spirits.
It was a pity. She’d found someone worse off than she was and that cheered her up.
“I’m only keeping you around because you make me feel good about myself,” she told him.
Mutt seemed cool with that too.
“Can you behave yourself while I’m off to see Blake’s lawyer? No shoe chewing? Especially stay away from the Jimmy Choos. If I’m unemployed much longer, I might have to sell those suckers on eBay for some quick cash.”
Mutt wagged his tail.
“Okay, I’m taking you at your word. But to be on the safe side, I’m shutting you out of the bedroom. And fair warning—if I’m keeping you, we are looking into that whole neutering thing.”
The dog lowered his head. Amazing how he seemed to understand her. Who knew that dogs could be so cool?
At three-thirty on the nose, Jillian walked into Hamilton Green’s office. She’d tried not to think too much about what Blake could have left her in his will. Thinking about it made it too real. She still wasn’t ready to fully accept that he was gone.
Maybe he’d left her his marble chess set. She’d like to have that to remember him by. As she settled into the chair across from the lawyer in his plush scholarly looking office, the tears she’d yet to shed thickened behind her eyelids.
“Thank you for coming, Ms. Samuels, and please accept my condolences on the loss of your mentor.” Hamilton Green had a broad flat face, a Jay Leno chin, and salt-and-pepper hair that gave way to male pattern baldness. You could tell he’d never been handsome, not even in youth.
“You knew Blake was my mentor?”
“We golfed together. He spoke of you often and with great fondness.”
The pressure behind her eyes tightened. She realized she’d known Blake longer and more thoroughly than she’d known her own father.
The lawyer steepled his fingers. “I’m certain his fondness for you is the reason he appointed you as executor.”
Her throat constricted. “He did?”
“Blake also left instructions in his will that you be the one to scatter his ashes over Salvation Lake.”
The announcement took her by surprise. “Me?”
He nodded. “The will still has to be probated, of course, and as executor, you’ll be checking up on everything. But as it stands in Blake’s current will, he left the bulk of his estate to legal aid charities. You were the only individual mentioned in his will. He had a new will drawn up the week after his daughter’s death.”
Jillian’s nose burned. She bit down on her bottom lip. Honestly, while Blake had been her mentor and they’d been close, she hadn’t truly realized she’d meant so much to him.
“He left you his property on Salvation Lake.”
“Where is that?” Blake had never mentioned anything to her about owning lake property.
“Salvation, Colorado. It’s a small tourist town north of Denver. The house was built in the sixties, and it has never been renovated. It’s been vacant for years. I have no idea what condition it’s in or even the approximate value of the property.”
“Blake left me a lake house?” she repeated, still unable to believe it.
“He did at that.”
“And he wants me to scatter his ashes on the lake?”
“Yes.”
It was a lot to absorb. Emotion clotted her throat at the notion of scattering Blake’s ashes. Alone. Suddenly, her world seemed very small, indeed. She had no experience with this sort of thing. She didn’t even have anyone she could ask. Blake would have been the person she would have turned to for such advice.
“Here’s a copy of his will and the keys to the house.” Hamilton Green pushed a manila envelope across his desk toward her.
“The house is paid off?”
“Free and clear.”
She took a deep breath, determined to do her duty firmly and without negligence. This is what Blake wanted. She would not disappoint him.
“And here are Blake’s remains.” The lawyer picked up an urn that had been sitting on the floor beside his desk and handed it to her.
At the weight of the urn, a tumult of emotions flipped through her. Sorrow and surprise, uncertainty and confusion, despair and yet at the same time, a small unexpected flicker of hope.
Blake had left her a lake house in Colorado.
It was almost as if he’d thrown her a life preserver in her moment of greatest need.
Salvation.
A fresh start. From the grave, Blake was offering her a fresh start. He’d given Jillian her first job; now he was giving Jillian her first home.
She stared at the urn and the manila envelope and the keys, and in that moment, she just knew what to do.
Accept Salvation.
RIDLEY RED DEER was worried about his wife’s little brother.
He shouldn’t have put Tuck in the sweat lodge. Clearly, from the way he had been acting, he hadn’t been ready for whatever had happened in there. It had been like sticking a six-year-old on a Harley without a helmet and telling him to take off. A vision quest was heavy-duty mojo.
On the second anniversary of Aimee’s death, Ridley had felt guided. He thought the spirit had spoken to him, telling him to shove a soaking wet, drunken Tuck into the sweat lodge to renew his ragged soul. But he could see that Tuck had been unsettled by whatever he’d experienced.
Doubt gnawed at Ridley. Evie had been right.
His wife was always right. It was damned aggravating.
Thing of it was, Ridley couldn�
�t undo it. Tuck had already been initiated. He’d seen something. The only way Ridley could help him was to get him to discuss what he’d seen.
But Tuck was not inclined to talk.
Ridley picked up a six-pack of Michelob on his way home from work and dropped by the lake house. He found Tuck huddled on the dock in a deck chair, staring at the sunset with a University of Colorado blanket thrown over his lap.
“Are you remembering how cold the water is this time of year?” Ridley asked.
“Hey, buddy,” Tuck greeted. “Have a seat.”
Ridley dusted snow from the deck chair beside Tuck and plunked down. He twisted the top off a longneck bottle of Michelob and passed it to his brother-in-law before opening a second one for himself.
They said nothing for a long time. Just sipped and watched the sun slide down the sky. Finally, Ridley broke the silence. “You still planning on staying at the lake house?”
“Yes,” Tuck said fiercely. “Starting next spring, I’m renovating the house the way I promised Aimee. I should have started it when Blake deeded the place to me four months ago, but I just couldn’t summon the energy.”
“It was pretty weird how Blake just deeded you the land out of the blue,” Ridley said.
“I guess he felt guilty.” Tuck’s voice caught. “Blake never came back to Salvation after the divorce. I suppose he held on to the cottage simply because he planned on giving it to Aimee one day. She had her own key, and he’d given her permission to use it anytime, but their relationship was so strained that she didn’t want him to know we were here. She wouldn’t let me tell him that she was dying.”
“That’s hard-core.”
“Aimee just couldn’t forgive her father for cheating on her mother and busting up the family. I tried to talk to her about forgiving him, but as sweet as she was, forgiveness was not one of Aimee’s virtues. If you ever got on her shit list, you were banned for life.”
“That must have been really hard on her dad,” Ridley mused. Thinking about becoming a parent was causing him to consider things in a different light. He wondered what he would do if he ever found himself in a situation like Blake Townsend’s relationship with his daughter, and he couldn’t fathom it.
