Charlee knocked on Mr. Gruber’s door. No answer. The screen creaked open and Charlee realized the knob was loose. She’d need to fix that later. Using her one hand to prop the screen open, she knocked again. “Mr. Gruber?”
A muffled sound came from inside. She took that as an invitation to enter. Light flooded the doorway. Deeper in the cabin she heard a yawn, but her eyes hadn’t adjusted. The cabin smelled stale, like old sweat and older food. She’d pick up some air freshener in town. “Good morning.”
The windows were covered with thick drapes so she moved to the front one and pulled it open wide. A hiss came from the bedroom. She dusted her hands. “Oh come on. It’s not that bad.”
He emerged from the bedroom wrapped in a dark green bathrobe that hung from his narrow shoulders. Mr. Gruber was in his seventies, thin as a rail with sunken cheeks and eyes and a patch of springy white hair on his head.
“What’s good about it?” he mumbled. “Other than the beautiful woman who came to greet me?”
Charlee spun and lifted her arms wide. “You’re too kind.”
“Ha! I’ve been accused of many things; being too kind isn’t one of them.” He shuffled over to the kitchenette counter and peered into the coffeepot as if steaming hot coffee would magically appear.
She placed her hands on her hips. “When did you eat last?”
He grunted in answer and opened the coffee can to shake grounds into the filter. He never bothered to measure.
“I saw you got a package from your daughter the other day. What did she send?”
He waved a hand through the air. “Some box of candy from where they’d traveled in the Caribbean.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
The ancient coffeemaker rumbled to life. “It’s exorbitant. Do you know what it must have cost to send? A box of candy not worth three dollars?”
“It’s a very sweet gesture. She loves you. Just like we do.” Charlee stopped at his feet and planted a kiss on his cheek. Whew. He was ripe. “So, did you finish your painting?”
He tossed his thumb toward the bedroom.
Without invitation, Charlee strode into the room and retrieved the sixteen-by-twenty canvas. She propped it on the easel by the front door, where the sunlight could illuminate it.
A hand went to her heart. A beautiful beach stretched across the entire piece. Turquoise water caressed by sugar-white sand, waves rolling gently with the sun peeking from a ribbon of brightly colored clouds. But it was the subject matter in the forefront of the canvas that took her breath. There, a woman with long, dark hair held up a chubby little baby girl, her mouth smiling, her eyes dancing. The woman wore a white dress that played in the breeze you could almost feel, her hair shimmering against the sun and the baby grinning a toothless grin as if the whole world were her playpen. “It’s beautiful.”
“Eh. It’s okay.”
“Was this from a picture your daughter sent with the candy?”
“Yeah. Had to make the baby thinner. She’s a porker.”
“Babies are supposed to be chubby.”
He grunted again and retrieved his cleanest dirty cup out of the small sink.
“Well,” Charlee said, turning her attention to the task at hand. “I’ll be going, but I just wanted to let you know, it’s going to be really hot today. A nice cool shower might make it tolerable.”
He pinned her with a piercing blue eye framed with wrinkles. “What you’re really saying is you haven’t gotten my hot water fixed yet.”
Charlee bit her lip. “Tell you what. You take a cool shower this morning and I guarantee I’ll have it fixed by the next time you need a shower . . . in a day or two.” If she had to call in a pro, she’d do it. But she’d really hoped she could hire a handyman. After a week, only three had answered the ad. And none of them sounded competent. But one offered to have his parole officer call her . . . as a reference.
She moved to the front door. “You really do have a beautiful family, Mr. Gruber.” He waved in answer, but before Charlee could escape, she watched his gaze fan to the painting. A deep longing filled his watery blue eyes. His hands came together at his waist, fingers fumbling with one another as if he wished he could reach into the painting and touch the subject.
“Good-bye,” Charlee whispered, not wanting to interrupt him as he stared at the image of his family. She understood that yearning, that emptiness left by those who’d once filled the now-hollow spaces of the heart. I know how you feel.
When Ian saw the Jeep, he whipped his motorcycle into the lumberyard’s parking lot in River Rock, Missouri. He’d know that vehicle anywhere and just seeing it caused the first bits of tension to trickle down his spine. The familiar sense of a pending battle caused little sparks through his nerves. Though he’d been home from Afghanistan a couple weeks, the sensation seemed as normal to him as breathing. This could go well. Or horribly wrong. And there just wasn’t any way to know.
He parked, threw a leg off his bike, and listened to her engine tick as he inspected the three people in the Jeep. The driver was MIA. Probably inside the lumberyard.
It was a strange crew to be sure. In fact, Ian would call them downright bizarre. He knew the Jeep though, knew it from a photograph when it hadn’t been lifted, when the wheels and tires were more of a normal size and when it didn’t tote three of the most unusual-looking characters he’d ever seen. A man squirmed in the passenger seat, a hat on his head and a kilt around his loins. He suddenly went ape-crazy, screaming about a bee and flying out of the Jeep. A moment later, he crawled back in and made no effort to cover himself as he bent to retrieve something from the floorboard. “Whoa,” Ian muttered, turning to the side as he got the flash of white flesh beneath.
Two old women were arguing in the back, one with long white hair, the other with short spikes colored in an array that made her head look like a living firework.
Ian left his helmet on his bike and walked toward them, taking in the lumberyard and the tall, green mountains beyond. Surely, the driver would come out soon. And he hoped, one could even call it prayed, that it was whom he sought.
That’s when she emerged. Thick curls of blond hair, long legs, tan. Gorgeous. The mountain breeze caught her by surprise, causing her hair to cover her face. Her chest and torso were also covered by a large bag of . . . well, if he had to guess . . . manure. Or maybe potting soil. The man in the Jeep turned to face her just as she ambled closer.
“Come on, Char Char.” He lifted his skirt a bit and fanned it. “I’m roasting out here.”
Ian cut him with his eyes and wondered why Fancy Pants was too good to get out of the vehicle and take the bag. Rather than point it out, he sailed in, jogging the last few steps to her. When his arms encircled the load, easily lifting its weight, she greeted him with a curious frown, mostly hidden behind a pair of bling-y Hollywood sunglasses. Her cut-off jean shorts and tank top didn’t really go with the over-the-top shades, but so what? She was every bit as pretty as the photos he’d seen. “Let me help,” he said when she continued to hang on to the bag, the two of them chest to chest, separated only by manure in a strange face-off.
“I got it.”
He had to chuckle. “Yeah. I got it too, and we’re a little bit pretzeled right now. If you let go . . .” Ian shifted his weight.
The frown deepened.
“Look, lady, I don’t want to steal your manure, if that’s what you’re thinking.” His face was a scant few inches from hers, close enough to see the tiny dimple at the edge of her pursed mouth, a mouth that, though framed with tension, was still full and moist. A mouth he could kiss. Whoa there.
Now it was her turn to shift her weight. She did, and the bag tilted dangerously to one side. His face broke into a smile. “Really, I don’t mind helping.”
She released her hold and Ian released the breath he’d drawn in, one full of the scent of vanilla and thou
ghts he shouldn’t be having.
He nodded behind him. “You in the Jeep?”
She moved to the back of it and opened the little minidoor behind the spare tire. “Just cram it in.” Char Char shoved a tarp and some other bags out of the way, making a hole half the size of the manure.
Ian frowned. “Cram it in where?” He rested the edge of the bag on the Jeep, and she must have taken it as an invitation to work the thing into the too-small spot because instantly she started shoving. And grunting. And shoving some more, feet firmly planted, butt wiggling from side to side. That was difficult not to enjoy.
Finally, the manure was in and a bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face. She closed the door by bumping her shoulder against it. “Thanks for the help.” She flashed a white smile, spun, and headed toward the driver’s door.
“Wait.” He caught up to her. “Are you Charlee?”
Her foot stalled on the step, one leg up, hands gripping the handrails. She turned her head and looked at him.
Ian grinned. “I know your brother.”
Charlee slid the sunglasses from her eyes and tossed them on the dash. She inspected him for a moment, gaze narrowed.
Ian sucked a fresh breath. Her eyes were a mix of gray and blue. Neither shade, but somewhere between. They were a storm brewing on a clear day. “Jeremiah. Your brother?”
“Four brothers. Jeremiah, Isaiah, Gabriel, and Caleb.” She climbed on into the Jeep like she was going to leave, so Ian blocked her exit by positioning his body against the vehicle.
“I was actually headed out to your property.”
Charlee retrieved her sunglasses and slid them on. Hollywood bug eyes stared at him.
“Jeremiah said you needed a handyman for the summer.” He was pretty sure there was an eye roll accompanying her long exhale.
“There’s an ad on Craigslist. And a place to send your resume.”
When she started the engine, Ian reached in and placed a hand on the steering wheel. “I don’t really have a resume, ma’am.” Three sets of wide eyes watched the exchange from the passenger seat and backseat. The women had fallen silent.
The kilt wearer leaned forward and met Ian’s gaze with a snarl. “Are you an ax murderer?”
Charlee chuckled and punched him on the arm. “Goof, my brother wouldn’t send an ax murderer to work for me.”
Fancy Pants folded his arms over his chest, indignant. “He didn’t answer.”
“No sir. I’m not.”
The sunglasses dropped again, this time into her hand on the steering wheel as if she was ready to fight Ian for control if necessary. “No sir?” she echoed. “Yes, ma’am?” Her gaze shot down to his shoulders, where the straps of a military-issue backpack rested.
Ian watched her chew the inside of her cheek. Something was happening there, deep in those stormy eyes. They were softening, barely, but it was unmistakable. And something he could use. He hooked his thumbs on the straps of his camo backpack, dragging her attention to it again.
A long exhale from his blond target. “You just get home?” she asked, and for the first time since he’d met her, there was the tiniest hint of warmth in her voice. Her brows—the ones that had been slashed into a frown—were now raised on the inside edges . . . like she was looking at a puppy or something.
“Yes, ma’am. Been deployed in Afghanistan for the last two years.”
She blew another breath into his face and he tried not to drag it into his lungs. He failed.
She pointed at him. “Stop with the ma’am. I’m not eighty. I’m twenty-five. You can call me Charlee.”
Ian smiled. “Oh, we’re about the same age.”
“Me too,” kilt man said. He was obviously at least twice that old.
The two women in the back piped up at that. “We’re all twenty-five.”
“I really could use the job, ma’—I mean Charlee.”
The spike-haired woman reached forward and shook Charlee’s shoulder. “Let’s keep him,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Charlee turned, sending curls in an arc around her tan shoulders. “I don’t want my brother choosing who I hire. It’s none of his business.”
“Oh, come on,” firework lady pleaded. “He’s so sweet and handsome, and I just want to squeeze his cheeks.”
The kilt wearer checked his fingernails. “He’d be great for my nude study.”
Ian blinked, removing his hand from the steering wheel like it had burned him. He took a step back.
Charlee pivoted to face him, a devious grin on her face, and eyes dancing with mischief. “You really want the job?”
A tentative “yes.” But Ian’s heart was pounding.
“Enough to do a nude study for King Edward?”
Giggles from the backseat and Ian had to wonder if he’d fallen right down Alice’s famous rabbit hole. “Uh . . .”
Kilt-wearing King Edward nodded vigorously.
“I, uh, guess?”
“You know about building stuff?” Charlee propped a foot on the gearshift and Ian kept his gaze from trailing down to her tanned leg.
“I’m not bad.”
“Minor plumbing, construction, a little wiring here and there?” She scooted around as if settling in to give him a thorough interview.
He nodded. “I’m pretty good. Worked with my dad all my summers growing up in his construction business. We did a lot of remodeling, lots of this and that.”
“See, Charlee. He’s a master this-and-thatter.” From the backseat. “Can we see him with his shirt off?”
Charlee bit her cheeks, causing the dimple on the left to deepen.
Ian’s mouth opened a little as his silent plea reached to her. He was pretty sure his face was blazing red.
Gray eyes sparkled. “Won’t be necessary.” But those eyes trailed over his shoulders and chest and dang it, it kind of made him feel like a piece of meat. It also sent a hot bolt shooting right into his gut. When the wind kicked up, Charlee gathered her mass of hair in a fist. “We’ll give you a try for one week. But I’m warning you, it’s not going to be easy. And I don’t put up with any crap.”
He nodded, for the first time feeling like he’d made progress and maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to honor his promise. He wasn’t too surprised when she poked him in the chest with her finger. “And I swear, if you’re here to spy on me and report back to my brother, I’ll burn your clothes and send you into town naked.”
Ian cleared his throat. Maybe this was the wrong Charlee McKinley. Oh, who was he kidding? She was everything he’d been warned about. And more. “Understood.”
“Or worse. I’ll turn you over to King Edward and he can paint you in the most unflattering and smallest of light.”
Okay, so there could be repercussions, but it hardly mattered. He got the job. It was the first step. Maybe the most important because if she’d said no, everything might have ended right here. “Thanks for taking a chance on me.”
An even stare was his answer. Without warning, she started the engine and popped the clutch on the Jeep. “Follow us.”
She peeled out of the gravel drive and Ian jogged back over to his motorcycle. The dust trail marked her direction. He followed, hoping he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew. Could he meet this challenge? He was a six-year military veteran with two years deployed in Afghanistan under his belt. And one conversation with Charlee McKinley had him feeling like a new recruit.
CHAPTER 2
They turned on the second dirt road and Ian couldn’t help but appreciate the rugged beauty of the land. Would be great for hunting, he decided when he passed a deer trail at the edge of the road. For what felt like the first time since being in the states, he took a deep breath. Finally, things that had to come together were. For Ian, it was the first step in a new beginning, complete with a dirt road leading deeper and deeper
into the Ozark Mountains. The path was canopied by giant oaks and evergreens that towered above like sentries guarding the forest. He loved the woods. Loved being outside, loved being home from the Middle East where there was no sand and no one shooting at him.
When the property opened up before him, he tried to take it all in. It looked like it could have been a camp at one time, but everywhere—and he meant everywhere—there were signs of a much artsier handprint. The artists had claimed every inch of space, from the brightly colored tennis shoes hanging in one tree to the large metal animals resting atop spears in the front yards of really cool cottages. Giant metal flowers dotted the area where real flowers should have been planted. They ranged in size, but all were gigantic and whimsical and really, to him, a little bit creepy.
Charlee jogged over as he took his duffel off the motorcycle. “So, you can choose one of the cabins. I mean, I’m assuming you need a place; if not, that’s fine. You can show up each morning at eight and leave at five. I know it’s long hours, but there’s a lot I want to get done.”
Did she ever stop to take a breath? Ian readjusted his backpack.
“So, do you?”
He blinked. “Sorry. Do I what?”
She kicked a clump of dirt with her foot. “Need a place?”
“Oh. Yes ma’am.”
She speared him with her eyes.
“Charlee.”
“Better.” Her head tilted and she gestured in an arc.
“There are several cabins empty here in the hub.”
Ian’s heart dropped. The hub was close enough that if he woke up screaming, someone would surely hear and he’d get fired before even getting a chance to prove himself.
Along the Broken Road (The Roads to River Rock Book 1) Page 2
