by Cindy Myers
“Oh, Jameso . . .”
He glared at her. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. I’m not telling you any of this because I want your pity.”
She swallowed. “Fine. Then why are you telling me?”
“You asked me why I stayed friends with Jake. It’s because he knew what that kind of hell was like.”
“So I was right. Your bond was the war.”
“It was more than that. The two of us were a lot alike. I had that violence in me, too.”
“Do you go around beating people up?” Was there a side of Jameso she hadn’t heard about?
“No, but maybe Jake is part of the reason why I don’t. I saw how he’d let his emotions rule him—how the drinking and the rages and the depression ate at him. I didn’t want to be that way.”
“So you just what . . . stopped?”
“I got rid of that gun. I cut down on my drinking. I started skiing and running and found other ways to deal with the emotions. I tried to share some of that with Jake, but he didn’t want to hear it. He said he was too old to change. And maybe he was.”
“Did he ever talk about what happened to him in the war? Or what he’d done before coming to Eureka?”
“We talked a little about the war, but in general terms. I know he was in Vietnam during the Tet Offensive in 1968. He mentioned that once when I talked about being in Fallujah. He said he’d seen some bad things over there. I didn’t have to know specifics to imagine what it was like.”
“And he never mentioned me, or my mother?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” Jake was gone, and no amount of questioning his life would ever bring him back or make him into the father she wanted.
“Turn up here.” Jameso indicated a side road on the outskirts of Eureka. The Jeep bumped down the rutted dirt track, past a row of weathered miner’s houses, the narrow wooden buildings stair-stepped up the steep slope. Each was painted a different pastel shade—pink, blue, green, orange. Jameso’s truck was parked in front of a lavender house, a white lilac in full bloom beside the front door.
“Nice place,” Maggie said as she stopped the Jeep beside his truck.
“The rest are summer rentals.” He unfastened his seat belt and leaned behind the seat to collect his helmet. “Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem. I hope you get your bike fixed.”
He opened the door and she thought he would leave; instead, he leaned over and kissed her cheek, his lips warm against her skin, the scrape of his beard pleasantly abrasive. “Jake missed out, not knowing you,” he said.
Then he was gone, out the door and up the walk past the lilac, leaving her to sit with one hand to her cheek, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
Chapter 17
“Upon this spot I will found a great city, to be named Eureka.” Doug Rayburn, who was playing the part of Festus Wynock in the Founders’ Pageant, lowered the script and looked at Cassie. “That doesn’t sound right,” he said.
“What do you mean?” She tugged at the front of the boned bodice of the dress that had belonged to her grandmother, hoping to somehow make it easier to breathe in the confining thing. This wasn’t a dress rehearsal, but she’d hoped wearing the outfit would help her to get into her part as Emmaline Wynock.
“Eureka’s a nice little town, but no one would ever think of it as a great city,” Doug said.
“Festus was thinking of the future.”
“But a line like that just makes him seem foolish.”
In so many ways, her great-grandfather was a fool, but that certainly wasn’t the point of the play. “Then what do you think the line should be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe just ‘I’ll found a town named Eureka after my great discovery.’ ”
“All right.” She winced as the boning in the dress dug into her sides. “Let’s take the scene from the top.”
Lucas Theriot ran to the center of the meeting room they were using as rehearsal space. “Gold! Gold!” he shouted.
“You there. Boy.” Doug/Festus pointed at Lucas. “What’s this nonsense you’re shouting?”
“It’s not nonsense, Mr. Wynock. Old man Haney’s found gold.”
Everyone waited, looking expectantly across the room. “Bob?” Cassie called. “Bob, that’s your cue.”
The old man shambled into the room. “Sorry, Cassie. I was busy.” He tugged at the waistband of his pants.
“What’s everybody so excited about a little bit of gold?” Toby Mercer stumbled into the scene, shirttails half untucked, hat askew. “There’s a lot more valuable things in these hills than gold.” He leered at Cassie and the others laughed.
She frowned at her script. “You came in too soon, Toby,” she said. “And cut the leer at the end.”
“Aww, come on, Cass,” Toby said. “The leer is funny. And you told me this character, Jake, the town drunk, is supposed to be funny.”
“Yes, but he’s not supposed to steal every scene he’s in.”
“Never work with drunks, animals, or children,” Toby said. “They’ll always steal the show.”
“Too bad the real Jake isn’t here,” Bob said. “He’d have gotten a kick out of seeing himself in a play.”
“The character isn’t Jake Murphy,” Cassie protested, her face heating. “It’s just a drunk who happens to be named Jake. Now everyone go back out and we’ll start over.” She looked around the room to make sure everyone was ready. “Where’s Shelly?” Shelly Frazier played the part of Lucas’s mother.
“Shelly can’t make it.” Tamarin spoke up from behind the backdrop of early-day Eureka she was helping to paint. “Sorry. I was supposed to tell you and forgot. Her dad in Miami is having hip surgery, and she had to fly down and take care of him.”
“Then who’s going to play the part of Annie?” Cassie tried to hide her annoyance. “Tamarin?”
Tamarin shook her head. “If I have to speak in public I get so nervous I throw up.”
“Why don’t you ask Janelle?” Bob said. “She’s the right age, and I heard her say once she’d done some acting.”
“Janelle wouldn’t be right for the part,” Cassie said.
“Why not?” Bob asked. “The boy and she are both blondes, though if you want a brunette she could wear a wig.”
Honestly, Bob was so dense sometimes. “There were no lesbians in Eureka at the time this play is set,” she explained.
“How do you know?” Bob asked.
Cassie scowled at him. “Never mind. Let’s get on with the rehearsal. We’ll leave out Annie’s part for now. Lucas?”
Dutifully, the boy stepped forward. “Gold! Gold!” he shouted so loud Cassie fought the urge to cover her ears.
“You there. Boy.” Doug/Festus pointed at Lucas. “What’s this nonsense you’re shouting?”
“It’s not nonsense, Mr. Wynock. Old man Haney’s found gold.”
Bob started forward, but Lucas turned to Cassie. “Is that really how it happened?” he asked. “If I’d been the first to find gold, I’d have kept my mouth shut so no one would try to jump my claim.”
“Bob couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life,” Toby said.
“It’d be hard to keep a secret like that in a small town anyway,” Doug said. “Somebody would notice you were acting different, throwing more money around. They’d figure it out before too long.”
“Where was that first mine?” Lucas asked. “And why did Festus say it was his discovery if old man Haney’s the one who found it?”
“The mine was on land that Festus sold to Mr. Haney,” Cassie said. “So he felt he’d played a part in the discovery.”
“He should have gone out and found gold on his own, instead of trying to take credit for someone else’s discovery,” Lucas said.
“He’s right,” Doug said. “Festus owned the land the town was on, but not the mines. Maybe we should change the dialogue.”
“We are not changing the dialogue,” Cassie said, rais
ing her voice to be heard over the clamor of discussion. “Say your lines as written. And no more questions. Bob, let’s take it from where you come in.”
She turned toward the door, but instead of Bob, Maggie Stevens stood in the doorway, a little notebook in her hand.
“Hello, Cassie,” Maggie said, tilting her head in a way that was so reminiscent of Jake, Cassie’s heart skipped a beat. “Is this a bad time? I wanted to talk to you about the play.”
“We’re in the middle of rehearsal,” Cassie said.
“No problem. We can talk afterward.” She moved to a chair along the wall and sat.
Finally, Bob came in and said his line, followed by more declaiming from Festus and a repeat of Toby’s drunken protests, complete with leer, which again drew a big laugh.
Maggie rose from her chair. “You named the town drunk after my father?” she asked, two spots of red high on her pale cheeks.
“The character is not Jake Murphy,” Cassie said, aware that no one believed the lie. “Jake is a very common name.”
“The real Jake would have gotten a kick out of it,” Bob said.
“He’s the best part of the show,” Toby smirked.
Maggie sat again, though she continued to glare at Cassie. Flustered, Cassie missed the cue for her line. “Somebody’s got to feed and house all the miners who’ll be pouring into town,” she finally managed, after an uncomfortable pause.
“They’re goin’ to be thirsty, too!” Toby declared. “What we really need is another saloon.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Bob said.
“Why don’t we all head to the saloon and celebrate,” Doug added.
“None of that is in the script!” Cassie protested.
“Too bad,” Bob said. “It’s pretty funny. I’ll bet the audience would like it.”
“This is not a comedy,” Cassie said. “This is a serious presentation about the history of this town.”
“Oh, lighten up,” Toby said. “You don’t want to bore people to death.”
“I still say we need a few dancing girls or something,” Bob said. “Eureka had its share of bawdy houses back in the day.”
“What’s a bawdy house?” Lucas asked. “Do you mean prostitutes?”
“Everyone shut up!” Years of quelling noisy patrons at the library stood Cassie in good stead, as everyone froze at her words, some with mouths half open. “We are going to present this play as written,” she said, her tone cutting. “Now, one more time from the top—and no improvisation, unless you all want to stay here until midnight.”
Meekly, everyone obeyed. The read-through went off without a hitch, though some of the actors delivered their lines with all the enthusiasm of prisoners. Cassie trusted that when the time came to perform for the public, the egotism that had drawn them to acting in the first place would assert itself and they’d present a competent enough performance.
“That was fine,” Cassie said. “We’ll work more next week. I want everyone to have their parts memorized by then.”
As everyone filed out, Bob sidled over to her. “Don’t you worry about a thing,” he said. “I’ve got a surprise planned for the end that’ll knock everyone’s socks off.”
“No surprises, Bob,” she said, alarmed. “That’s an order.”
“Don’t worry.” He patted her arm. “You’ll like this one, I promise.”
She stared after him, too stunned to speak. No telling what the old coot was planning. But she had three weeks to talk him out of it. Or she’d get someone to watch him and keep him out of trouble. Yes, that was probably the best approach. . . .
“Cassie? Can we talk now?”
She’d forgotten about Maggie, who stood beside her, wearing the expression of someone being forced to complete an unpleasant task. The woman should never play poker, that was for sure.
“What do you need?” Cassie asked.
“The paper is running a story on the Founders’ Pageant. Want to tell me a little about it? How did you come up with the idea?”
Cassie launched into her prepared spiel—the one she’d written for the program to be handed out at the pageant—about how she wanted to honor the town’s founders, and recognize its heritage and preserve its history for younger generations.
“And you thought portraying my father as town drunk was an important part of that history?”
She had thought it would be a satisfying way to take revenge on Jake, by reducing his memory to a caricature, but it wasn’t turning out that way. Toby was turning the role into the favorite one in the play. “It’s just a part,” she said. “A bit of comic relief. It’s not your father.”
“Then why not change the name? Why not call him Casey?”
“Casey? No, I don’t think . . .”
“Oh, forget it.” Maggie shoved her notebook into her purse. “I’m tired of your little games. I don’t know what went on between you and my father, and I don’t particularly care, but get over it already. He’s dead and you should let him rest in peace.” She jammed a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, then turned and left.
Cassie let out a breath and sank into the nearest chair, the boning in the dress stabbing her ribs. Maybe she should change the name of the drunk from Jake—just in case his crazy daughter decided to sue.
As for the rest, yes, Jake was dead. But there were some things a woman could never forget.
The first Monday in July was a day off for Maggie, who’d worked the previous Saturday covering a massive bicycle race through the mountains. She planned to spend the day cleaning house, maybe even unpacking the Steuben, and deciding once and for all what to do with it.
Instead, Jameso stood on her doorstep, a modern-day mountain man clad in hiking pants and T-shirt, radiating testosterone and sex appeal in the brilliant sunshine. “Good morning, Maggie,” he said when she opened the door. “I need your help.”
Twice in one week this anything-but-helpless man was asking for her help, as if he’d honed in on her greatest vulnerability. “Did your bike break down again?” she asked. “Or do you have an elephant or a small tank you’d like to haul around in the back of my Jeep instead?”
“I’ll be chauffeuring you today.” His gaze swept over her, and she was painfully conscious of the faded black leggings and oversized sweatshirt she’d donned for today’s role as charwoman. “Change into something suitable for a hike.”
Just when she was beginning to feel fondly about the man, he did something jerky like ordering her around. “I’m really busy today,” she said. “You’ll have to find someone else to help you.”
She started to close the door, but he shoved out one hand and stopped her. “Nope, you’re the only one who can help. We need to get started, though. We don’t want to be on the side of a mountain when the afternoon thunderstorms roll in.”
“I live on the side of a mountain. If I was afraid of a thunderstorm, I’d have left a long time ago.” The first time she’d experienced the violent onslaught of lightning, thunder, and hail that was a summer mountain storm, she’d been caught between abject terror and fascination. Once she’d persuaded herself she was safe inside the cabin, she’d perched on the edge of the love seat and stared out the window at the light show that rivaled any professional fireworks display. Electricity crackled in the air and lightning arced from the clouds like the flash of cameras that hailed the arrival of an A-list celebrity. Thunder like crashing surf shook the cabin, and hail beat on the roof as if some angry god were pelting it with rocks. Afterward, the world outside had glowed, washed clean and smelling of ozone.
“You don’t want to be outside on the mountain during a lightning storm.” He pushed the door the rest of the way open and moved past her. “You still have Jake’s flag, right?”
“His flag?” She followed him into the living room. “What are you talking about? And I did not invite you into my house.”
“He used to keep it under the stairs.” He poked his head into the shadowed alcove beneath the risers. “Yep, there it i
s.” He pulled out a long cardboard tube.
“Are you listening to me at all? You can’t just come in here and make yourself at home, uninvited.”
“I’ve got extra rope and carabineers in the truck, in case the ones from last year have gone missing,” he said. “Hurry up and change. Jake always insisted we start at dawn, but I thought I’d better let you sleep in.”
Maggie was not a violent woman, but he gave her no choice. She pounded on his back with both fists. “Listen to me. I am not going anywhere with you. Get out of my house.”
“Don’t you even want to hear what I’m proposing?”
“So far you haven’t proposed anything. You’ve been ordering me around as if I was some dim-witted child.”
“I never think of you as dim-witted.” His gaze lowered to the vicinity of her chest and the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Or as a child.”
She had to fight back a smile, which only irritated her more. She focused on the cardboard tube he held. “What is that?”
He popped the plastic cap off the end of the tube and shook out a red-and-white striped roll of fabric, which turned out to be a large American flag. “Jake flew it at the hermit’s cabin, up on Mount Winston, every Fourth of July,” he said. “I thought you and I ought to continue the tradition.”
“Why did my father fly a flag at the hermit’s cabin?” she asked.
“He said he wanted people to know the hermit was a very patriotic guy.”
“You talk about it as if there really was a hermit,” she said. “Was there?”
He shrugged. “Someone lived in that cabin a long time ago, but not for years. It was just a joke Jake played on the tourists.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to be part of the joke.”
Jameso re-rolled the flag and slid it back into the tube. “Come with me. Please?”
She hesitated. What would be the worst thing that could happen if she spent the day with Jameso? That she’d stop resisting the physical pull between them? Barb would vote for that option. You deserve to have fun after the hell Carter put you through. Maggie could practically hear her friend whispering in her ear. But there would be nothing fun about getting hurt again. Jameso definitely had pain potential.
