Mountain Country Cowboy

by Glynna Kaye

  He muttered something beneath his breath and rose with a grimace. “Yeah, I still forget sometimes. Sam Calhoun. I’d shake your hand, but—” Frowning, he showed her his filthy palms.

  The collection of grim expressions he’d displayed, combined with his comment about sometimes forgetting to introduce himself, intrigued her more than they should have. Something about him screamed “wounded,” but she couldn’t quite figure out why. Then she noticed the outline of something rectangular dangling under his T-shirt, and she had her answer. “Military, right?”

  “I was an Army Ranger.” His eyes narrowed into cynical slits. “How’d you know?”

  “Just a hunch.” She nearly left it at that, then recalled her therapist’s advice about not hiding her difficult past and took a quiet breath before explaining. “My late husband, Brady, was a Marine.”

  The chill in Sam’s eyes warmed a bit, and he gave her a look filled with the sympathy of someone all too familiar with her circumstances. Fortunately, Chase trotted in to rejoin them, saving her the awkwardness of either explaining further or pretending that there was nothing more to tell.

  More than once, she’d caught herself wondering how things would be for her now if she’d never met Brady in the first place. But then she wouldn’t have Chase, and her life was infinitely better for being his mom. So, despite the fact that Brady had caused her more heartache than she’d once thought humanly possible, she did her best to feel grateful for the good things he’d left behind.

  “Chase, this is Sam Calhoun, a friend of Aunt Daphne’s. Sam, this is my son, Chase.”

  Her son stared up at the towering man but bravely held his hand out over the counter. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

  A hint of a smile lifted the corner of Sam’s mouth as they shook. “Same here.”

  Chase’s blue eyes drifted away, lighting on a glass display case filled with several varieties of cookies. “Are those fresh?”

  “Kids like to stop in on their way home from school, so my grandmother makes sure there’s snacks for them to enjoy. She brought ’em outta the kitchen about an hour ago. Is that fresh enough for you?”

  Chase nodded, and Sam motioned them to two stools. After washing his hands, he got them each a plate and set a delicious-smelling assortment in front of them. “Help yourselves, on the house.” When Holly opened her mouth to object, he cut her off. “You’re both soaked from the rain. It’s the least I can do.”

  Deciding it would be rude to refuse his kind gesture, she chose one covered in chocolate icing and sprinkles. When she bit into it, it fell apart in her mouth as she hummed in appreciation. “Amazing. Now that I’ve heard it again, Calhoun sounds familiar. Is that the name I saw on the brass sign next to the bridge?”

  Pride softened Sam’s angular features, and he nodded. “In 1820, Jeremiah Calhoun and his two brothers crossed the creek with nothing to their names but three teams of oxen and their wagons. They were top-notch blacksmiths, but there was no ironworks around here at the time. They opened Liberty Creek Forge to supply metal for themselves and other businesses that had started springing up. They built the bridge a couple years later so folks could get here easier. Some of them liked the area well enough to stick around.”

  “And the rest is history,” she said, smiling at the appealing homespun story.

  Having been raised in Savannah, she had a reverence for the past that had followed her throughout her life. She’d hoped to use that to create some kind of connection with this enigmatic man, but her efforts failed miserably. For some reason, the tentative light in his eyes dimmed, leaving them a flat grayish-blue that made her think of the storm clouds still hovering outside the windows.

  Looking away, he pulled a pint carton of milk out of a cooler for Chase, then took two sturdy-looking mugs from a set of open shelves that ran the length of the wall opposite where they were sitting. “There’s a new pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

  “Please.” One sip nearly put her on the floor, but she managed to swallow the jolt of caffeine without gagging. She reached out for a bowl of nondairy creamer and emptied a few of the thimble-sized portions into her mug.

  “Too strong?”

  Apparently, Sam was more observant than most, and she smiled to ease any insult she might have caused. “A little. I’m not used to coffee that’ll hold a spoon upright.”

  “Sorry.”

  It occurred to her that when he’d been relaying the story of his family’s legacy, Sam had seemed comfortable enough talking to her. But now that they were speaking more spontaneously, his conversational style was decidedly sparser. It reminded her of an actor who was adept at delivering his lines but stumbled while fielding questions during an interview.

  She’d seen that kind of behavior many times at the veterans’ hospital, and she suspected that Sam was still waging a battle against something that had followed him home from wherever he’d been stationed. While Holly felt compassion for the former soldier, warning bells were clanging in her head so loudly, she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Sam could hear them, too.

  Still struggling to leave those horrific memories behind, she was committed to starting a new life with her son as far from the military as she could get. She was rapidly approaching thirty, and now that she’d made it through the worst storm she could imagine, it was time to make some serious plans for the future. For both her and Chase.

  They’d spend their summer with Aunt Daphne, getting her back on her feet and enjoying this picturesque part of New Hampshire to the hilt. Then, in August, Holly would be ready to make some solid decisions about their futures and get Chase registered in a new school if they found themselves somewhere other than Boston. Nowhere in those plans did she have the time or the energy to take on another emotionally scarred soldier who may or may not become whole again. Chase was only six when Brady died, so he had hazy images of his father. To her mind, his ignorance was a blessing considering the tragic way Brady’s life had ended.

  But now her son was old enough to get attached to people and be devastated if they were suddenly yanked out of his life. For her sake and Chase’s, Holly knew that the smartest thing she could do was keep Sam Calhoun at a nice, safe distance.

  * * *

  Sam had never been the chatty type.

  His mother had often accused him of being a poster child for the staid New Englander who didn’t have much to say but meant every word that came out of his mouth. Still, in thirty years of living he’d never found himself tongue-tied around a woman. Until now.

  Holly Andrews was more than easy on the eyes. A few blond strands had escaped her ponytail, framing her brilliant blue eyes in a halo of curls. When she’d pegged him as former military, he’d braced himself for the awkward moment when he’d have to explain where he’d served and why he was back.

  To his great relief, she didn’t ask. Probably because she was familiar with veterans and could sense that he didn’t want to talk about his experience. The interesting thing was, she didn’t treat him like someone who needed to be handled with kid gloves the way so many folks did. Instead, she’d given him sympathy and understanding. For someone who’d dealt with every conceivable reaction during the past year, Sam found her matter-of-fact approach to him a refreshing change.

  Realizing that her drink was nearly gone, he asked, “Would you like a refill on that?”

  “That’d be great. It was a long trip, and we still have to drive to Auntie D’s and unpack.”

  “Auntie D?” he echoed in disbelief as he poured coffee into her mug and added some hot water to make it more to her taste. “That’s what you call Daphne Mills, the greatest actress of her generation?”

  “Oh, that’s just a bunch of hype invented by her agent.” Holly waved it off with a laugh. “She’d be the first to tell you there were actresses better than her. Not many, of course, but a
few,” she added with a fond smile.

  “I guess she’d know.” Then he remembered what had brought Holly into the bakery in the first place. “I think that envelope you were asking about is back here somewhere. Gimme a sec.”

  “Don’t rush. If we’re not in the way, I’d rather hang out here until it quits raining, anyway.”

  “According to the weatherman, this storm’s not moving off till tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, well.” Glancing at her son, she shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Them’s the breaks, right, bud?”

  “We won’t melt,” he assured her brightly.

  She rewarded his optimism with a proud mother’s smile and slit open the envelope Sam had given her. A pile of cash spilled onto the counter, followed by a house key.

  She let out a sound that was half moan and half laugh. “Oh, Auntie, what’re you thinking?”

  “Whoa,” Chase commented. “That’s a lotta money.”

  “It certainly is,” Holly replied, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it herself.

  Sam was trying hard not to snoop, but it was impossible to miss the large, scrawling message on the pale pink stationery.

  Get whatever you want, Peaches.

  Reaching back inside, Holly pulled another piece of paper from the envelope. She opened the note and studied it with a frown. When she started spinning the page, he felt compelled to ask, “Something wrong?”

  “I’m assuming this is meant to be a map.”

  When she turned it for him to see, he realized that even a local like him would have trouble following the vague drawing anywhere. “City folks like your aunt aren’t much for giving directions. They like their GPS.”

  “It’s very helpful,” Holly informed him primly. “I managed to get all the way here from Boston using it.”

  “To the town, sure, but you won’t find Daphne’s place that way. That road’s not even on a state map.”

  He seldom engaged anyone so directly, especially not someone he’d just met. Why had he chosen this afternoon—and this particular woman—to change his approach? No explanation immediately came to mind, but he couldn’t help feeling that something important had just happened to him. Something bigger than an out-of-towner needing directions.

  It gave him a sliver of hope that he might be able to regain his emotional footing, after all. Since his return, he’d felt like a stranger in the hometown that had always been a haven from the world. No matter what he’d tried, that impression had stubbornly remained, leaving him convinced that as much as he loved the town that his family had built from nothing, it might not be the best place for him anymore.

  What would it be like to start over? he’d wondered more than once. To go someplace where no one knew him and wouldn’t ask about things he’d prefer never to talk about again? Sometimes, after a particularly difficult day, moving away was the only choice that made any sense to him.

  When it dawned on him that Holly was speaking to him, he yanked his wandering mind back to their conversation.

  “She told us that’s one of the things she likes most about Liberty Creek,” Holly went on. “After dodging Hollywood paparazzi for so long, she’s thrilled about having her privacy back and being treated like a regular person.”

  Sam chuckled. “No offense, but there’s nothing regular about her. She’s one of a kind.”

  When Holly tilted her head and gazed up at him, he wondered if he’d stepped over some unseen line of etiquette. He’d just met her, after all, and she could easily misinterpret what he’d intended to be a compliment. He’d never had much luck reading women, so he waited anxiously for her to say something.

  “I think so, too,” she finally agreed, adding a cute grin. “Just don’t tell her I said so. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

  It didn’t occur to him that he’d been holding his breath until it came out in a rush. Hoping to mask his bizarre reaction to her, he held out his hand. “Deal.”

  As they shook, Holly’s hand felt small and vulnerable in his, but her grip was firm. Trusting was the word that leapt into his mind, and he sternly pushed it aside. Nice as she seemed, there was no way he’d drag a woman into his wreck of a life, especially one with such a young child. Even though every word she said in that lilting Southern accent of hers made him want to smile.

  He’d just made that decision when she said, “I hate to impose, but is there any way you could help me get out there? She’s coming home from the hospital on Friday, and I have a lot to do before then, so I’d like to get started first thing in the morning. Even a new map would be better than this,” she added, waving the useless drawing before tossing it on the counter.

  “Sure.” Sam reached for an order pad and pen, then stopped. His parents had drummed hospitality into their children’s heads since they were old enough to grasp the concept. It certainly didn’t include sketching roads on a piece of paper for a visitor who’d probably get lost once she left Main Street. “Actually, I’m doing the rehab work out at her place, and the new fixtures for the kitchen and bathroom came in today. I was planning to take them out there later, but if you give me a minute, we can go now. That way, you can follow me and learn the way.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary.” Reaching out, she rested a hand on her son’s shoulder in a motherly gesture. “I’m sure we can find it, and I hate to interrupt what you’re doing.”

  “You’ve had a long day already,” Sam argued, unsure of why he was fighting with her about this. Most of the time, he let people make their own choices and didn’t worry too much about the outcome. For some reason, this was different, and he tried again. “It’s still raining, and you’ve probably got a few suitcases. If I give you a hand, the unloading will go faster.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” Letting out a tired sigh, she smiled at Chase. “Right now, I’d give anything for a warm bath and some dry clothes.”

  “Me, too,” the boy chimed in eagerly.

  That was the closest he’d come to complaining, and Sam had to admit that he was impressed with the kid’s upbeat attitude. Probably got it from his mother, Sam mused before shoving the thought away. “Okay, then it’s settled. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  She gave him a grateful smile before focusing on the rest of Daphne’s letter. It was a good thing, too, because the exchange of those few simple words had unleashed a torrent of emotions in Sam. As vivid as the day they’d first appeared, they made his chest twist with a pain so strong, he wondered for the countless time if he’d be dragging it around with him like some invisible anchor until the undertaker finally put him in the ground.

  Running his hand over the dog tags he wore beneath his shirt, he closed his eyes and waited for the worst of it to pass. As usual, the intensity eased, but the remorse he still felt left a bitter taste in his mouth. Someday, he might be able to hear someone say, “I’ll be here,” and not flash back to the darkest, most horrific day of his life.

  But not today.

  Copyright © 2017 by Andrea Chermak

  ISBN-13: 9781488018763

  Mountain Country Cowboy

  Copyright © 2017 by Glynna Kaye Sirpless

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