by Zoe Dawson
“I would never have judged your brother, Trace. Even when he was disoriented, all he wanted to do was save Anzu. Can I ask what happened to him, or is that out of bounds and too private?”
His hands tightened on the wheel. “Harley has a strong sense of what’s right and wrong. He’s been a marine for four years and has seen some of the nastiest of the fighting in Afghanistan. As the U.S. pulls out, times over there can become even more dangerous.”
The countryside breezed past, but the air in the cab was tense. This had been a harrowing experience for his family. It was no surprise to her that he would have a hard time talking about it, but she wanted…needed to know.
After a moment, he continued. “Harley was part of a marine detachment that was working with training the Afghani forces.”
“To take over once the U.S. pulled out completely?”
“Yes. The base Harley was assigned to was overrun, and the Afghani commander was killed.”
“I think I saw something about that in the news.”
He nodded. “It was big news when it broke. The marines took up a defensive position, but were under heavy fire for days. Then, Harley and six other marines were taken hostage after a brutal battle. One of them was his best friend, Brian Harris. Brian had saved Harley’s life shortly after basic, and they were as close as brothers. They were in pretty bad shape after being tortured. Then Brian got shot. Harley won’t talk about it. But, from what the marine liaison said, who got this story secondhand from one of the marines present, Harley went berserk. He managed to kill the insurgents guarding them and get his hands on a weapon. He tried to get Brian medical attention, but he died in Harley’s arms. The marines who were left, along with a fresh contingent of Afghani soldiers, secured the base.”
“Your brother sounds very brave.”
Heaving a heavy sigh, he looked over at her briefly, a desolate look in his eyes, one that tugged hard on her heart. His voice was quiet when he spoke. “He is. Very brave.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
There was a long silence, and when he finally spoke, his voice was tight. “Harley’s doctor at Walter Reed said he has severe PTSD. Do you know what that is?”
“I think so.”
He exhaled sharply. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. He said that Harley had survived where many hadn’t. He suggested that he would have recurrent episodes—flashbacks—or might experience extreme emotional and physical reactions to reminders of the trauma. Panic attacks, uncontrollable shaking, heart palpitations, that kind of thing. But with help he should be able to overcome it.”
She gazed at him, concern darkening her eyes. “He just needs time to heal.”
“I would do anything for my brother,” he said unevenly. “We’re family, and that’s all that matters. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No,” she said, for the first time in her life feeling the absence of that in the wake of Trace’s sacrifice. “I’m very close with my dad’s girlfriend’s nephew, but no siblings.” Greg was like a brother to her. She knew how she would feel if anything terrible happened to him. It would be devastating. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“How’s that?”
After witnessing the way they pulled together, she’d gained an unexpected insight into Trace, and her compassion was aroused. “I think you’re one lucky guy with the kind of family you have. That makes you much, much richer than I could ever hope to be.”
She saw a sign for the turnoff to the airport. “Did you serve, too?”
“I was in the marines. I came home two years ago when my dad got sick.”
“Eden mentioned that your father had been ill. Did you want to settle here? In your hometown?”
“Sure. My family is here. Our family business. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Laurel Falls is very simple and basic.” He looked at her, his mouth tightening. “I don’t mean that in a bad way,” she said hastily. “I saw your neighbor bring you stew and apple pie. I see how you take care of your customers, with you going beyond the call of duty. I come from a place where people mind their own business, trust is just a word, friendship is all about what kind of advantage can be gained, money speaks and rules, and sometimes the only way you can cover your back is to lean against the wall. Simple seems really nice. Basic feels comfortable.”
Trace looked over, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “You’re saying that Laurel Falls is like an old pair of socks?” He looked back at the road, then glanced at her again, a wry half-smile appearing. “I’ll give you the worn part.”
“Old and broken in,” she replied. Some of the tension eased just a little.
Trace shot her an amused look, the half-smile deepening into something warm and disarming, something sensual and oddly intimate—something that was enough to make her heart pound. “Speak for yourself, princess.”
She took in his droll look and she laughed.
“You have a cute laugh,” he said, and with that one comment she could feel every pulse point in her body.
She nudged him, his arm like heated granite. “I meant warm, like socks. Your analogy fits, though.”
“Yeah, fits like socks,” he agreed softly. “I get the warm part…reckon it could probably use some mending here and there, otherwise it fits pretty darn well. Laurel Falls is managed well with few resources. We have good leadership.”
“Your stylish and smart mayor? I met her yesterday. Strikes me as competent. I got a glimpse of her son, too. Brooks, right? Gorgeous red hair runs in that family.”
“Yes, she’s maintained with the trial she and her family have endured this past year. She has a daughter, too—Cheyenne. She’s fourteen.”
“Trial?”
“She lost her husband to a freak hunting accident last year just around this time. It’s been tough on all of them.”
He pulled up outside the rental agency area. “It’s pretty much a straight shot back to Laurel Falls.”
“Appreciate the ride, and, especially, thank you for taking me to see the falls and that beautiful inn. So far, the highlight of this whole trip.”
Trace stared at her for a moment, then finally he spoke, his voice gruff. “I’ll see you around, then.” She nodded and closed the door, standing at the curb until he pulled off and drove away.
There were no lines as she got herself a nondescript rental car and got back on the highway. Instead of heading back to Laurel Falls, she veered off and set her GPS in the opposite direction toward Sanderson. When she reached the tract of land that was for sale, she pulled over, got out, and had to catch her breath. It was gorgeous, with a view that would make any Hamilton customer feel happy and relaxed. Yet, something was nagging at her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The Hamilton Hoteliers brand was all about luxury, and they could deliver easily with this piece of land.
Unsettled, she got into the car to go back to Laurel Falls. She wistfully thought of the quaint inn.
Knowing that she should be contacting the owner and inquiring, she couldn’t seem to do it, wanting to hold off. She was indecisive and needed the time to think about it some more before she made an offer. She would have to be prepared to argue her points with her father. Pondering those thoughts, satisfied with her decision, she drove back to Laurel Falls.
As she entered town, she was once again struck by its shabbiness and felt another twinge of dissatisfaction. She already had a dose of the hospitality, Trace’s behavior last night aside, and she knew visitors were overlooking it because of its appearance. It really wasn’t any of her business. She wasn’t here to fix or save Laurel Falls. She was here on business and she bit her lip, thinking about her conversation with Trace just that morning. Maybe she had the New York attitude ingrained.
—
Several days later, she was still wrestling with the idea of what she was going to propose to her father. Buy the land, or not, but she was still struggling with that nebulous feeling, and she’d learned that she had to wait for c
larity to make a final decision. Her thoughts scattered when she saw Anzu listlessly swinging on an old swing set that was designed for a much younger child.
Not that Anzu was a child. She was closer to an adult. Rafferty walked over to her.
“Hi.”
Anzu looked up and said, “Hey.”
“Mind if I have a seat?”
“Knock yourself out. You look really cool today. I love your dress, especially the fireflies.” The dress in question was navy blue with iridescent fireflies stitched in multicolored thread all over it.
“Oh, thanks. I think I got it in SoHo. Do you know where that is?”
“Lower Manhattan. It’s the artsy-fartsy area known for trendy shops, artists’ lofts, and art galleries. SoHo stands for South of Houston Street. It’s what happens when an inner city gets revitalized, or today’s buzzword—gentrification.” She wrapped her arms around the swing chain supports and did air quotes, rolling her eyes. “That’s rich dudes buying up run-down properties all for the sake of socio-economic, cultural, political, and architectural development.”
“Oh, nice. I just like to shop there.” Anzu gave Rafferty a glimmer of a smile. This cute girl was sharp. “It would look good with your combat boots.”
“You think so?”
“Totally,” Rafferty said with a surfer connotation that made Anzu smile again.
“I guess you probably live in Manhattan.”
Rafferty nodded. “Yep. I have this great apartment that overlooks Central Park. It’s beautiful, certainly different from the spectacular view out my bedroom window here.”
“Less natural, of course, but there are great lines and angles in cityscapes that I love.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, the way the buildings are shaped and stack on each other.” She gestured with her hands as she slowly swung back and forth, her toes keeping her in swaying movement. “Much more geometrical and give you a different view of the image in shadow and in light. Shadows tend to flatten out three-dimensional objects. Gives you a different perspective. And like I mentioned, more geometrical as opposed to the mountains that are more organic, shaped by wind, rain, and erosion.”
“That’s an interesting perspective on the different views. I think I’ll remember that when I’m looking out my apartment window again, and instead of just seeing a jumble of buildings, I’ll look at them with a new perspective. Explain more about what you mean by geometrical and organic.”
“Well, like the difference between a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge and something painted by Van Gogh. Hard- and soft-edged shapes have different characteristics. Hard-edged shapes are clearly distinguished from each other and give a sense of order, clarity, and strength. Soft-edged shapes have a tendency to blend in with each other or the ground. They convey a sense of fluidity, ambiguousness, flexibility, tend to feel lighter in weight.”
“All depends on your perception?”
“Sure, you can have that hard-edged picture of the Golden Gate, but also, you could take that same picture with fog and you get more blurring.”
“That is so cool. I never thought about it that way.”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean. Cities have their own beauty, even though they’re man-made.”
There was a comfortable silence as Rafferty mimicked Anzu, using the toes of her boots to keep herself swinging to and fro.
“How was school?”
“Pretty much the same. I ignored them. They ragged on me.”
“Why is that?”
She looked down and mumbled. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“All right. How are you doing, then?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, Anzu. I’m still shaken up, too.”
She gave Rafferty a quick look, then said, “I’m so sad for him and so worried. He’s changed so much. He used to be my softball coach, pretty much stood up for me when I first came to this town. I missed him so much when he left, and now, I don’t know what to say to him.”
Rafferty stopped swinging, reached out, and smoothed her hand over the girl’s forearm. “Those are all natural feelings, Anzu. Sometimes, when things change between people, it takes time to understand how the new relationship is going to evolve. Trust in your friendship. The conversation will come. He has to heal, and that may take some time.”
Anzu nodded, brushing a tear away. She looked off into the distance. “I just want to be there for him. He’s always been there for me.”
Rafferty figured that was part of the story she didn’t want to talk about. Even though she was curious, she didn’t ask the question again. “You will be, because you want to be. It will all work out. You’ll see.”
She dropped her head.
Something cold and wet delved beneath Rafferty’s collar and the scarf around her neck, touching her skin unexpectedly. Rafferty yowled, “What the hell!” and jumped off the swing. Spinning too quickly, she started stumbling backward when she saw the large white thing with horns. She fell to her backside, and the animal pushed through the swings and clopped up to her, planted his feet squarely between her splayed legs and snuffled her hair, his warm breath sending her bangs into her eyes, then nibbled on her scarf.
Rafferty was still not sure how to react to the…was it a mountain goat? She stayed completely still. “It’s not like a T. rex,” Anzu sputtered. “He can see you quite easily.”
“Oh my God. How do I get him to…um…pay attention to something else?”
“Uh, Winston kinda does his own thing.”
“Not with me, he doesn’t,” Rafferty said as the huge animal lost interest and moved off to the side where there was a trough.
Rafferty scrambled up off the ground, not sure she hadn’t revealed everything hidden under her dress when she’d fallen.
There was another spurt of barely contained laughter as Rafferty watched Winston—Winston …really?—munch away without a care in the world.
She spun on Anzu, giving her a blistering glare and an expression of utter, unmitigated disgust. It was the last straw. Anzu sank to her knees, bursting into laughter. She collapsed helplessly on the ground and laughed until she was gasping. Finally managing to gain some control, she wiped the tears from her eyes and sat up. But one look at Rafferty’s face and she started all over again.
“That…animal…”
“Mountain goat,” Anzu managed to gasp out before she was claimed by another fit of amusement.
“It’s not funny,” she said, a warning tone in her voice. “The m-mountain goat scared the living crap out of me.”
“But it is,” she said, “very funny.” On a tremulous sigh, she dried her eyes again. “You looked like you need a clean pair of undies.”
“That is so gross!” Rafferty said with a half-hearted grin. That started her off again, and Rafferty gave her a push that rolled her over. “If you don’t quit, missy, so help me God, I’m going to hold your head under the hose.”
“Sorry,” she muttered weakly.
“You aren’t, either.”
Clenching her sides, she finally dispelled the last of her mirth on a deep sigh, then sat up and swept her hair back from her face. “You’re right,” she admitted heartlessly. “I’m not.”
Rafferty gazed at her, a lopsided grin hovering around her mouth. Finally she shook her head, a dazed look of disbelief on her face. “Aren’t they dangerous animals, and don’t they belong on mountaintops?”
“Yes,” Anzu said, her smile wide, the dull look in her eyes gone, and Rafferty was okay with goat shenanigans at the moment.
She eyed Winston and made careful movements back to the swing. He was pure white and had a beard, short tail, cloven hooves, and long black horns. “He’s huge.”
She shrugged. “For a goat, I guess, since you’re probably used to the domestic variety. Winston is on the small side, actually. He probably weighs about 150 or so.”
Later on, while Rafferty was making dinner, Eden came into th
e kitchen after the clinic closed—well, the clinic didn’t actually close, Eden just went off the clock.
She took a deep breath. “Oh my, that smells heavenly. Bless you for doing this. Hope you were able to get everything on the list when you went shopping.”
“No problem. I got everything. It was nice to meet Henry and Dr. Cavanaugh.”
“Clem is cute as can be, but sharp. Such a sunny disposition and so sweet.” She pulled a tray of chicken out of the oven. “What are you doing after dinner? We’re all heading over to the town hall for a homecoming planning meeting. You’re welcome to come along.”
“I would love to.”
“Good, that’s settled.” Eden walked to the foot of the stairs. “Anzu! Come set the table and get washed up.”
There was no reply. Eden yelled again, and the sound of crashing, discordant heavy metal music blared. “Be right down.”
After everyone was seated, Anzu gave Rafferty a sly look. “Can I tell her?”
Rafferty groaned. “Do you have to?”
“Come on. It’s such a good story.”
“If you say so,” Rafferty grumbled good-naturedly. “Go ahead.”
Anzu could barely get through the story before she broke down. Eden threw amused glances at Rafferty, who shoveled food in her mouth. “I guess I should have warned you about Winston.”
“That would have been helpful,” she said. “This is not your run-of-the-mill fish story, so what’s up with the goat?”
“He was found orphaned, and the town vet took him in and raised him. When he died, Winston was kind of lost. He would walk around and bleat with this sad sound. Finally someone let him out, and he just started adopting people all over town. Since then, he’s had the run of it. He transitions from up in the mountains to down here as he pleases. Sometimes he even stops traffic, but we don’t mind. You can pet him if you want. He won’t hurt you.”
“I’ll pass,” Rafferty said, drawing away.
