Along the Broken Road (The Roads to River Rock Book 1)

by Heather Burch

  EPILOGUE

  Charlee McKinley, soon to be Charlee Carlisle, stared out over Table Rock Lake. The small gathering at her favorite spot reminded her of all the things she had to be thankful for. Beside her, Mr. Gruber was holding Wynona’s hand; the two were an official couple now. King Edward—dressed in his finest kilt—was flanked by Jeremiah to his right and Wilma to his left. There’d be a more formal memorial later, but Charlee knew some things were ending and some were beginning and monumental moments needed to be marked with a ceremony. She’d made a silent promise to her father that she’d spread his ashes when she knew where to do it. Mr. Gruber knew that as well, and that’s why he’d insisted they gather today.

  Charlee reached down and found her strength by taking Ian’s hand. This was hard for him too, she knew, and for Jeremiah, though both men stood soldier straight, hands clasped behind their backs until she interrupted Ian’s at-ease pose. He gave her a sad smile. Her gaze fell across the path beside the pergola where Ian had placed the painting Mr. Gruber had done for her from a photograph he’d snapped of Charlee and her dad during his last visit.

  In the painting, Charlee and her father sat side by side on the oak stump with her favorite spot in the background. Her dad looked so alive in the painting, it felt as though she could reach in and touch his face.

  The sun warmed her cheeks and the peaceful quiet of woods and water surrounded her. This was a safe place. She gave Ian a nod and he opened the journal to the passage she’d chosen.

  Ian cleared his throat and began to read. “What incredible gifts come from the love two people share. When I first met the woman who would become my wife, my heart stopped beating. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and though we were from different worlds, we fit. We fit as if we’d been created to be one. I never understood real love until I met her. I never understood loving unconditionally until tiny Jeremiah was placed in my arms. I never understood the power of a father’s love for his daughter until I held Charlee, her soft baby skin against my battle-calloused hands. Love is a gift. It is to be cherished. It is to be nurtured. And most of all, it is to be enjoyed. If I could give my children one piece of advice, it would be this. Find it. Capture it. And never, ever let it go.”

  Charlee opened the lid of the small urn. They’d spread the remainder of his ashes when her brothers could be there, but this was her way of telling her dad that she’d gotten the message loud and clear, that she’d never again run, and that everything was going to be okay. She tilted the urn and the breeze grabbed the ashes and carried them to the lake. Charlee closed her eyes, offered up a prayer. She turned to face Ian. “I do miss him,” she whispered. “I was wrong when I said I only missed what we never had. I miss him, Ian. So much.”

  “I know, Charlee.” He dragged her into his arms as the others remained silent. “I miss him too.”

  She looked up at him. “And he knew I would. And that’s why he sent you. You rescued me.”

  He cupped her cheek. “Everyone needs someone to rescue them.”

  She nodded. “He took care of me. Even after he was gone.”

  “Yeah,” Ian said and pulled her closer. “Me too.”

  She turned to the lake and watched the ashes drift with the current. If life were a river, she’d found her shore. If life were an ocean, she’d found her moon. And if life could go on forever, she’d want to capture this moment and put it in a bottle. It was the moment when everything came together, everything made sense; it was the moment she’d actually realized that things may not be as they appeared, but if one was willing to continue along the broken road, they’d land at the most amazing of destinations.

  NEXT IN THE ROADS TO RIVER ROCK SERIES BY HEATHER BURCH

  Read on for a sneak peek of Down the Hidden Path, the next Roads to River Rock novel by Heather Burch, coming winter 2015.

  DOWN THE HIDDEN PATH

  Dear Dad,

  It’s fall here and the leaves are changing. The colors are unusually vivid this season, the deepest red, the brightest yellow, and richest orange I’ve seen. Or maybe it’s that I’ve been gone so long, staring at endless shades of olive drab, I’d forgotten the beauty of autumn. I drove out to the cemetery yesterday to visit the Havinger family plot where Mom’s buried. I wondered if we should contact Grandfather Havinger and see about having your urn placed there by Mom’s grave; it just seems wrong that the two of you aren’t together.

  But I know that’s not what you asked for. Your words echo back to me. “We had your mother in life. We can let them have her in death.” You were always so strong, so fair—even with those who didn’t deserve it. Of everything you taught me about life, three things stand out. How to be a good man, how to be a good soldier, and how to be a good father.

  The first, I daily strive for. The second, well, I suppose I’ve done. The third . . . the third I hope to one day do. And I guess that’s what this letter is about.

  I’ve put in my time for Uncle Sam and though the journey was both long and radically difficult, I find myself missing it and wondering what life would be today had I never signed up. I don’t know how to be a civilian, Dad. I’m a little bit scared I’ll fail at it. What advice would you give me if you were standing here at the water’s edge, enjoying the grand display of colors and life? I really wish you were here. I really wish I could hear your voice one more time.

  Your son,

  Jeremiah

  Jeremiah McKinley wadded the letter and dropped it on the last embers of the early-morning campfire. It had been the pre-dawn hour when he left his house and walked down to the lake’s edge, where he’d started a fire with wood and kindling he’d gathered earlier in the week. There was still a chill in the air and it went straight to his bones, because for the thousandth time, he wondered what he was doing back in River Rock. Fog rolled off the lake, great billowing clouds that rose and disappeared as the sun trekked over the mountaintop.

  Jeremiah turned to walk back up the winding path to his house, the place he’d throw his time and attention into until he figured out how to be normal again. When he thought of the road ahead, though apprehensive, he was also excited. He’d open a hunting and fishing lodge right here on Table Rock Lake. And instead of carrying a gun to kill insurgents, he’d carry one for hunting deer or wild pigs or turkey. Plus, he was near his sister, Charlee, and that made him happy.

  Jeremiah shot a glance in the direction of Charlee’s land and her ever-odd artists’ colony. She’d found happiness, and that was something Miah wanted as well. Happiness. Contentment.

  Peace.

  An hour later, he headed into town with the weight of all his questions still heavy on his shoulders. When he spotted the breakfast taco truck, he whipped into the Dairy Flip’s parking lot.

  He counted four people in line and glanced down at his watch. 7:25. Miah chewed the inside corner of his cheek. Since he’d been in River Rock, he’d come to love the breakfast taco truck that showed up wherever and whenever it chose. He hated the fact that you could stand in line and at any given moment, the man inside would say, “Sorry, we’re out,” and close the little window. Just like that. It had happened to him twice. Miah tapped his foot and waited behind a guy with three kids in tow. In front of him, a woman with long, ink-black hair stood on the tiptoes of her tennis shoes, arms folded and propped on the counter while she chatted with the guy inside.

  Miah had no patience for morning chitchat and was just considering the merits of telling her so when her laugh split the air.

  Something shot straight into his gut. The sound from her lips was deep, rumbling, almost smoky, rich as warm butter and sweet as mountain honey. He knew that laugh.

  A slender hand reached up and captured some of that silken hair. Jeremiah’s mind rushed to catch up. This couldn’t be her. But that voice. When the guy in front of him moved and blocked Miah’s view, he sidestepped so he could see her fully, if only
from behind. He was completely out of the line now and a heavyset woman rushed up to take his spot.

  Who cared? His eyes trailed over the brunette, assessing the possibility. Right height. But wrong body shape. This woman had long, slender legs, a perfectly shaped rear end, a small waist. No, it wasn’t her. Miah stepped back into line a little surprised at the disappointment rising in his chest.

  And that’s when she turned around.

  “Gray?”

  Mary Grace Smith almost dropped her tacos. She’d spun from the counter to hurry back to her car when a wide chest stepped out from the line and nearly body-slammed her. Her bottle of Coke teetered on the edge of her makeshift food tray. Choice words shot into her mind. What kind of idiot jumps in the face of someone carrying food? But then something registered as her gaze slid from the tray between them up over his chest, neckline, chin. He’d said her name. Finally, her eyes found his. And her heart stopped.

  “Miah?” It was one word. Just his name. But having it on her lips and looking into that golden gaze caused a flurry of unwanted sensations. Run. Run, run, run, run, run.

  This was a bad dream; that was all. A bad dream where she’d awaken drenched in sweat. Of course, she’d known the odds of seeing him. She’d heard he was returning to River Rock. And suddenly, with Jeremiah in front of her, blocking her exit, River Rock seemed smaller. Too small.

  He was all wide smile and animated eyes as he said, “Wow, I . . . I didn’t know you were living here. Are you just visiting?”

  Those eyes she’d watched for hundreds if not thousands of hours. Eyes that had, at one time of her life, entranced her. Eyes she’d drowned in. Of course, everyone who met Jeremiah was hopelessly trapped in his golden gaze. Add to that the ridiculously chiseled features of a Greek god and that bubbling personality. He was the triple threat. Miah made you feel like you were the only woman on the planet. Even if you were the checker at the Piggly Wiggly and all you were doing was scanning his food. She’d actually seen women swoon. And that right there was why Gray took a full step back.

  He didn’t seem to notice as he waited—perfect smile in place—for her to answer. Gray mustered her composure. “I just moved back. A few months ago.”

  “It’s great to see you.” His brows were riding high, all excitement and anticipation.

  Gray steeled herself. “You too.” She nearly choked on the words getting them out, and as quickly as she’d run into him, she could run away. “Well, better get going.”

  When she stepped around his wide shoulders, he caught her arm.

  Don’t look up. Don’t look up. But her eyes had a mind of their own and trailed to his. The tiniest of frowns creased his forehead. He stood not more than a few inches from her, her shoulder pointing like an arrow at his heart.

  “Gray,” he whispered, and the sound shot down her body and right into her soul. “We need to catch up.”

  Gray bit her cheeks hard until she tasted blood on one side. She painted on a wide, cheery smile. “Oh, sure. Yes, you know, I’m so busy, these days, Jeremiah. But I’m sure we’ll see each other in town now and then.” And she blinked, once, and again. The gentlest tug liberated her from his hand. Her feet fell into motion and before she knew it, she was at her car door.

  She fumbled with the keys and the tacos and the cold drink until she managed to get in. Gray slammed the car door shut, closing out everything she couldn’t deal with. Closing out Miah McKinley and his smile that melted hearts. When she shifted to put the keys in the ignition, her hands were trembling. Gray squeezed her eyes shut. The fact that one brush with Miah could thoroughly wreck her, even after all this time, bit into her pride.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror to find him standing in the same spot, one hand lifted to his forehead to block the sun, but from the safety of her car, it resembled a salute and that shot into Gray’s heart and settled there. Miah’d lost his dad not much more than a year ago. And at that time, she hadn’t been able to stop her mind from trailing to him. How he was handling the news. Was he okay?

  “It doesn’t matter,” she grumbled as she started the car and backed out of the parking spot. She cast a fleeting glance to him and waved as she drove by. Gray breathed deeply, the scent of tacos a good replacement for the regret she tasted, even now.

  She reminded herself Miah was just a snippet from her past. And as she put her foot on the gas, she let the past go because it was her future she was interested in. Four miles down the road, David was waiting for her.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A huge thank-you to my family. John, Jake, and Isaac. I couldn’t do any of this without you.

  To the folks at Montlake. I’ve never known a more enthusiastic group of professionals. I’m so honored to work with all of you. You make me better at what I do and you constantly challenge me to dig deeper. JoVon, Hai-Yen, Charlotte, Kelli, Jessica, and Thom. I hope our partnership lasts a lifetime.

  A special thanks to Jamille Twedt for medical information on heart attacks and for being one of my biggest fans.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2014 Melinda Hanks

  Heather Burch writes full time and lives in Florida. Her debut novel was released to critical acclaim in 2012 and garnered praise from USA Today, Booklist Magazine, Romantic Times, and Publishers Weekly. Her epic love story, One Lavender Ribbon, was an international bestselling novel in 2014. Living in a house where she’s the only female, Heather is intrigued by the relationships that form among men, especially soldiers. Her heartbeat is to tell unforgettable stories of love and war, commitment and loss . . . stories that make your heart sigh.