A Change Of View (Northern Lights Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  “You knew my uncle?”

  Not sure why that was the only thing I got out of that, but Roar looks at me like I’m two cents short of a nickel.

  “You don’t live next to someone for years up here and not know them,” he explains, turning his eyes back to the problem. “And I knew him enough to know he kept tight books. I bet the invoice for the work is still somewhere in that file cabinet of his.”

  I know what he’s referring to. There’s a tall file cabinet in the small office space in the back of the bar. I’d looked for a key for that thing, without any luck.

  “I don’t have a key and he left it locked.”

  “So we’ll open it.”

  He steps out of the tub and marches right by me, stopping only to grab a hammer and a screwdriver from his toolbox.

  “I never understood why he would have people come through the bar to check in,” I think out loud, as we make our way through the dark and slightly musty space. I haven’t spent much time in here, intent on getting a few rooms up and running before I tackle this.

  “Clever, actually,” Roar says, as he walks into the back office and bends over to take a closer look at the lock on the filing cabinet. I try not to be too obvious when I check out his ass in those threadbare jeans.

  “Clever?”

  “Considering most of his guests were travelers, the smell of cold beer would be tempting after a long day behind the wheel,” he explains, fitting the tip of the screwdriver into the key slot on the lock and whacking it with the hammer a few times. “Instant customers,” he adds, as he twists and jiggles the lock, and with a good yank pulls it free, leaving a hole behind.

  “Huh,” I manage, watching as he pulls open the drawer, revealing a colour-coded filing system with neatly printed tabs.

  “All yours,” Roar announces as he grabs his tools, steps around me, and walks out the door.

  Roar

  I seem destined to be thrown in her path, whether I want to be there or not. The judge is still out on that one.

  Charlie seems to like her, and she certainly knows how to bake, but other than that, I have no idea what to make of the woman. From where I sit, she’s reckless, impulsive, at times incoherent, and I’m not at all sure I even want to touch the dark shadows in those bright eyes. Yet, I still find myself drawn.

  She’s got balls, though, I have to give her that. It’s clear she bit off more than she can chew, but she’s trying—hard.

  I feel bad, popping the neatly grouted tiles from the wall she clearly spent some time on, but I have no choice.

  “Shit.”

  I hear her curse as she sticks her head into the bathroom and I turn around.

  “Yeah—only way to get at the pipes, I’m afraid.”

  She walks up and peers over my shoulder at the growing hole in the wall.

  “Is that mould?” she asks, pointing at the black crud visible inside the wall.

  “Afraid so.”

  “Fuck—Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Her voice rises and I can hear the edge of panic. Don’t blame her.

  “Did you find anything in the files?” I ask, hoping to distract her. She stares at me, rattled, before she visibly clues in.

  “Yes. Yes I did. Units four through eight plus the bar and house were done seven years ago. I just don’t get why he didn’t have the other three units done.”

  “Can’t recall him ever shutting down to have work done. He may have just kept those open for guests,” I suggest. “Or maybe they weren’t quite as bad as the rest. Who knows?”

  I stop talking when I see her face drop.

  “He was my uncle, you know. Sam? He stepped up when my father died. Would always spend the holidays with us,” she shares in a soft voice. “And I never once made it up here.”

  I shift uncomfortably when I see tears brimming in her eyes, but she catches me watching her and quickly blinks them away.

  “He talked about you,” I offer, remembering conversations over a pint of beer, when Sam would speak of his niece, his only family. I don’t think he ever mentioned a name, but I recall him talking about her and her kids. “Spoke of you fondly. Of your kids.”

  The last thing I expect is the loud snort followed by a giggle.

  “He wouldn’t have said anything about David,” she says with a bitter edge. “Always hated his guts.”

  I’m assuming David is the husband, or the ex-husband, whatever the case may be. I’m not about to stir that pot, so I keep quiet.

  “Anyway...” she drawls, slapping her hands together and forcing a fake smile on her face. “Looks like I’ve got three units that need work I can’t do myself, so I’m going to focus on getting the other five ready. One through three will have to wait.” With that she turns and starts walking out.

  “You don’t have water,” I call after her, watching her come to an abrupt stop. Her head drops down.

  “Shit,” she whispers before straightening her shoulders and turning to face me. “Okay. New plan. If you can direct me to a reasonable plumber, I’ll have them fix this one so I can turn the water back on, and then I’ll focus on the other units.”

  “I’m here. I’ve got the tools.” I shrug and continue popping tiles off the wall. I can feel her eyes on my back, but just keep working.

  “But...”

  I swing my head around and give her an exasperated look.

  “The sooner you let me get to it, the sooner it’ll get done.”

  I watch her open her mouth, before she resolutely snaps it closed, her full lips pressed into thin lines. She squints so those blue eyes are barely visible as she shoots me a heated look. Without a word, she tosses that blue ponytail over her shoulder and stomps out. My gaze immediately drawn to that round ass swaying out the door.

  -

  It took me the whole afternoon, a trip into town for materials, a burn on my wrist from the welding torch, and a litany of expletives to get the job done. But it’s done. The pipe is replaced, the water is back on, and I put up new concrete board to replace the mouldy drywall I ripped out. I left the tiles I managed to salvage stacked in the tub.

  Leelo stayed out of sight the entire time. I heard her drive off early on, but she must’ve come back at some point, because her Jeep is parked in front of the bar. I’m about to hop into my truck and head out, when I notice partially dismantled furniture outside of one of the units further down and head over to investigate.

  The door to six is open so I walk in. She’s on her knees on the floor, her back to me, ripping up the dirty old carpet.

  “Water’s back on,” I announce, watching as she whips around.

  “Jesus, you about gave me a heart attack,” she rambles, pressing a hand in the middle of her chest. I’ve tried to avoid looking, but it’s impossible not to notice those full breasts when her hand is right there, wedged between them. “I didn’t want to start painting without water, and obviously cleaning was out of the question, so I thought I’d get a start on the floors. I picked up some laminate flooring on sale. Although maybe I should probably paint before I put it down. Seems like the more logical thing to do,” she rambles, struggling to her feet.

  Nothing to say to that, so I just nod and turn to head out when a thought occurs to me.

  “Why six?” I ask. By the look of confusion on her face, it’s clear she’s not following. “Why start in unit six? You started with number three first, instead of one, and now you pick number six?”

  “Well, technically I started on number seven, when I discovered the leak,” she reminds me, with a little smirk playing on her lips. “Then I went to three, and you know what happened there, so now I’m in six.”

  She says it like I’m supposed to follow her logic, except there is none, so I raise an eyebrow in question.

  “Seven is my favourite number, but that didn’t work out so well. Three is my next favourite, except clearly not this time—and six...”

  I hold up my hand to stop her. It’s obvious there is no rhyme or reason to be found, so wh
y torture myself further.

  “Heading out,” I announce, turning back to the door.

  “Wait!” I hear behind me. “What do I owe you?” She follows me to my truck.

  “I’m taking some guests out on the boat in the morning, but I should be back around eleven. Wouldn’t say no to some of those muffins.”

  Without waiting for an answer, I climb in the cab, start the truck, and back up, leaving her standing on the gravel with her mouth half-open.

  An unfamiliar smile pulls at my mouth as I turn up the road home.

  SIX

  So many layers, it would take a lifetime to reveal them all.

  Leelo

  “Mom?”

  The sound of my son’s voice puts an instant bounce in my steps as I juggle my groceries to hold the phone to my ear.

  “Hey, baby, how are things?”

  “Slowing down a bit. I was wondering if you’re going to be around this weekend?”

  My heart does a skip in my chest, and my cheeks hurt from the size of the smile on my face.

  “All weekend, honey. No big plans, unless you count laying floors and painting endless walls.”

  Matt’s chuckle washes over me like a warm blanket. A lot deeper sounding than it used to, but still familiar and reminding me of the tight relationship we once had. It fills me with hope.

  “Want some company? I worked through the last two weekends and Dad gave me Monday and Tuesday off. I can probably get out of here around three.”

  “Yes! Oh my God—yes, absolutely. I can’t wait to see you. Can’t wait for you to see the place, you’ll love it.”

  “I’ll bring my tools,” he offers, and I swear my heart melts a little.

  “You don’t have to, baby. You’ve obviously been working hard; you deserve a break. Just come and enjoy. There’s supposed to be great fishing here, and the other day I found an old canoe by the edge of the water.”

  “Okay,” he responds, a smile clear in his voice. “I’ll bring my rod, but I want to come help too, Mom. I feel bad I wasn’t able to get away when you called.”

  “Oh, Bud, no. Don’t worry about that. I ended up getting some help from a neighbour with the roof.” I don’t tell him the same neighbour had to rescue me off there first, it would only make him feel bad. “He’s actually been really helpful,” I admit, thinking about the afternoons Roar’s been by this week, working on the plumbing. Not that I’ve seen much of him. His truck just appears parked outside the units. The first day he returned, I looked in on him, tried to get him to quote me a price for the work, but he just shot me down with a sharp look from those deep-set, hazel eyes. Other than dropping off something to drink or eat from time to time, I’ve mostly steered clear.

  It takes me a while to notice the silence on the other side of the line.

  “Matt? You still there?”

  “Do you know him?” I bite off a grin when I hear the tone of Matt’s voice. My boy is growing into a man. A very protective one by the sound of it.

  “I do now. He runs a fishing lodge a little further up the lake. Not the most personable guy, he doesn’t talk much, but he takes neighbourly to a whole new level,” I inform him. “He’s good people, Matt.”

  “I’ll check him out when I get up there.”

  “You do that,” I concede, barely able to hide the smile in my voice.

  “I’ve gotta go, Dad’s calling me.”

  “Okay, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow night, and please, please, drive careful. A lot of moose and deer on the roads up here this time of year.”

  “I know, Mom. I will.”

  He ends the call and I tuck the phone in my pocket before unlocking the Jeep and loading in my groceries. My boy is coming. A big smile on my face, I climb behind the wheel and check the back seat to make sure I have everything. Four bags—it’s not enough.

  Half an hour later, I load six more bags on the back seat. Matt is a garborator: a bottomless pit. He’s one of those kids who will stand in front of a fully-stocked fridge and proclaim there is nothing to eat. So I bought everything I know he likes.

  “Looks like you’re feeding an army.” I hear behind me, just as I’m closing the back door. I turn to find Kyle Thompson leaning against his shiny car parked beside mine. I hadn’t even noticed it.

  “Hey, Kyle.” I’ll be polite, but the guy is really annoying, the way he seems to appear out of nowhere.

  “So are you?” he asks, raising a well-groomed eyebrow.

  “Sorry?”

  “Feeding an army?”

  “Oh.” I follow his gaze at the pile of groceries in my car. “No, just my son. Although he eats enough for an army.”

  “I didn’t know you had a son.”

  It’s on my lips to tell him there’s a lot he doesn’t know about me, and I’m not about to change that soon, but I swallow it down. I may dislike the man, but this is a small town, and he’s clearly an important part of it. Probably not smart to start pissing folks off when I’m trying to rebuild a business here. So I plaster a smile on my face before I answer.

  “I do, and he’s coming for a visit.” I watch as Kyle folds his arms over his chest and leans a hip against his car.

  “He your only child?”

  “I have a daughter as well. She lives in Toronto now.”

  “I see,” he says, and I wonder what exactly he thinks he’s seeing, but I don’t much like this conversation.

  “Well, I’d best be going. I’ve got some stuff in there that needs freezing,” I offer, pointing at the groceries. I already have the door in my hand when he speaks again.

  “Couldn’t help but notice Doyle’s truck outside your place for a few days now. Remember I mentioned some people you should probably stay away from? Especially, if you want to build a good name for yourself in this town. Roar Doyle would not be helpful in accomplishing that.” The sneer of his mouth when he says Roar’s name strikes the wrong chord, and I instinctively jump to his defense.

  “For your information, not that it’s any of your business, but Roar has been nothing but helpful.”

  Kyle’s derisive snort in response only agitates me further.

  “I’m sure he has,” he says with a smirk. “He’s always been good with the ladies. Someone like you should be easy pickings for him.”

  I’m so shocked at his words; I don’t even have a chance to respond before he’s in his car, pulling out of the parking lot. The happy buzz I had just minutes ago evaporated as I stare after his car, disappearing down the road.

  Well, ouch.

  -

  It isn’t until the next morning that I have a chance to talk to Roar. When I came back from town yesterday, his truck was already gone. I busied myself cooking and baking in preparation of Matt’s arrival all last night and finally rolled into bed after midnight.

  By eleven this morning, I’ve had breakfast, finished laying the laminate in unit six, did the laundry, and am putting clean sheets on the spare bed, when I hear the crunch of wheels on the gravel. I peek out the window just in time to see Roar pull his toolbox from the back of his truck and disappear out of sight.

  Armed with a plate of cheese biscuits and a thermos of fresh coffee, I make my way over to unit two, the last bathroom left to fix.

  “What’s with you and Kyle Thompson?” I blurt out, coming in the door. No tact. No finesse. Just a head full of burning questions that plagued me since I watched that wretched man drive off yesterday. Roar is rummaging through his toolbox when he turns around.

  “Morning to you, too,” he deadpans, a sardonic smirk on his lips.

  “Sorry. Morning,” I correct myself, duly chastised with just a few words. “I brought you coffee and biscuits.” I hold out the plate and thermos as a peace offering.

  He tilts his head, his eyes never leaving my face. I set everything down on the dresser, and nervously wipe my hands on my jeans.

  “Want to tell me what that was about?” he finally asks, turning his body to face me.

  I drop my
head, let out a deep sigh, and drop down on the edge of the bed.

  “Yesterday, Kyle approached me in the parking lot of the Valu-mart and repeated something he’d said to me once before; about avoiding certain people,” I start.

  “Let me guess; he mentioned me specifically?”

  “Yesterday. Yes,” I admit, surprised to see a smile ghost over his mouth. “I mean, he alluded to it last time, but this time he basically said I should stay away from you, if I wanted to succeed making a living here. I told him it was none of his business, that you’d been helping out, but he—”

  “You told him off?” The faint smile is replaced with a full wattage grin, as he cuts me off mid-sentence. The effect is stunning. The normally taciturn face is completely lit up. The deep grooves and stern wrinkles on his face are suddenly transformed into laugh lines, bracketing his eyes and mouth.

  “I guess I did...” I mutter, almost shell-shocked.

  “Bet he didn’t like that much.”

  “Ha!” I bark out a fake laugh. “Not exactly. He mentioned how easy he imagined it would be for someone like me to fall victim to your prowess with the opposite sex.”

  It doesn’t matter that the guy was an ass—is an ass—and I should know better than to let it bother me, but the words still left a sting.

  “He’s an idiot.” Roar’s deep rumble draws my attention.

  His eyes, now deadly serious, lock in with mine and when he says nothing else, just stares at me, I can’t help but squirm under the scrutiny.

  “But what about...”

  “An idiot,” he repeats sternly. “He doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Ignore the fucking weasel.”

  With one last pointed look, he grabs some tools from his box and disappears into the bathroom. I’m left to stare after him, no wiser than I was before.

  Roar

  The temptation is great to get in my truck, find that piece of shit, and reacquaint him with my fists. It wouldn’t be the first time I laid him out. We go way back, fucking Kyle Thompson and I.

  We’d been high school buddies, in love with the same girl: Jenny Braxton. I’d been the lucky one to end up with her and married her after I returned from my first deployment. But then I left for a second, and then a third round, during which time Kyle never let up on his relentless pursuit of my wife. Jenny had just found out she was pregnant when I left for Afghanistan that last time, but two months into my tour, she lost the baby. Like a goddamn leech, Kyle latched onto her pain and her loneliness, with me not around to look after her, and she finally took the empty comfort he offered.