by Sherry Lewis
The conversation was getting a little deep for Dean. He wasn’t sure he knew the best way to handle it. But there was no one else to take over for him, and he certainly couldn’t walk away just because he was growing uncomfortable. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and shifted his weight on the step. “I wish I could say that I understood, but I don’t. I grew up without a dad, so I never knew what it felt like to live with both my parents.”
Nessa sent him a matching glance. “That’s not fair.”
“Yeah, well a lot of things in life aren’t fair.”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like my mom.”
Dean laughed and some of his edginess faded. “Well she’s right. When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time wishing I had a dad. I wished on stars, fought for the wishbone when my mom fixed chicken, and would have killed for a toothpick in my piece of cake.” He smiled at the memory he hadn’t thought about in years. “My mom always put three toothpicks in her cakes to hold the layers together and she told us they were lucky. There were times I think my sister would’ve clawed out my eyes to get one.”
Nessa’s lips curved softly and the resemblance between mother and daughter made Dean lose his train of thought. She tilted her head and looked straight at him. “I suppose the point of this story is that all your wishing didn’t work.”
Dean wagged his head from side to side. “Not even a little bit. My mom never remarried, so I didn’t even have a stepdad.”
“And you survived.”
“We did.” He bent his knees again and rested his elbows on his thighs. “I guess there are a few people out there who have picture-perfect families, but most of us don’t.” He thought about Tyler’s situation and felt a strange hollow sensation in his chest. “I wasted a whole lot of time wanting something that didn’t exist. I wish now that I’d figured it all out sooner—before my mom died and my sister moved away. Maybe everything would have been different if I had.”
“How?”
“Maybe I would have spent more time being part of a real family and less time wishing for a fantasy one. Maybe my mom would have died knowing that I appreciated what she did to keep us together. Maybe my sister wouldn’t have had to search so hard for what she already had.”
Nessa folded her arms and turned toward him. “So, when did you figure it out?”
“About two minutes ago.”
Nessa grinned slowly. “Okay. So what do I do about my mom? Do I go with her to Seattle or stay in Chicago?”
Dean shook his head and turned his gaze back toward the sky. “That’s the hardest question you’ve asked me all night. I’d say you have to do whatever you think is right.”
Nessa let out a heavy sigh. “Thanks a lot.”
“No problem. That kind of terrific advice is what I’m here for.”
“I can see why,” Nessa said with a grin. “You’re good at it.”
“Aren’t I, though?”
She sobered slightly and nudged him with one knee. “You know what? You’re okay.”
“Yeah? Well, so are you. Now, if someone would only convince Tyler of that, I’d be happy.”
“He knows.”
Dean shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, he does. He just doesn’t know that he knows. But he’ll figure it out one of these days.” Nessa stood, stretched and jumped to the bottom of the steps. “Just give him time.”
Dean smiled as he watched her walk away. Both Gary and Nessa had offered the same advice. Dean just hoped he had enough time to give.
CHAPTER NINE
DEAN’S CONVERSATION with Nessa buoyed his spirits a little, but he was still reluctant to risk talking with Tyler until the first wave of guests had checked out. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to risk it around Annie and the others.
The longer things went on, the more determined Dean became to find a way to reach Tyler and the more embarrassed he became by his inability to do it. He let the needs of his guests create a diversion for him—the guided fishing trip for Hugh Morrison and his son, trail rides with the Carters and Takiyamas, repairing the volleyball net after Andy Takiyama lost his footing and fell into it, and cementing the tetherball pole deeper into the ground when Virginia Carter mentioned that it wobbled a little.
With every day that went by, Dean found himself growing closer to changing his mind about marriage and family. When he would walk in and find Annie, Nessa and Tyler deep in conversation or when he heard them laughing together or saw them sitting on the front porch late in the evening, rockers lined up in a row as they studied the sky, he began to envy that kind of closeness.
Night after night, Dean sat at the table surrounded by people and was reminded of all the nights he’d sat inside his Baltimore apartment alone. Sometimes, as he worked in his office, he listened to the footsteps overhead, the doors opening and closing, the water running—sounds that meant he wasn’t alone any longer. At times like these, Dean wondered what it would be like to always have people around. He had almost convinced himself that he could be part of a family again—and do it right this time—but just thinking about it scared him back into his shell.
He wasted two weeks after what he’d started thinking of as the boom box incident before he could make himself talk to Tyler, and the wasted time earned him another two hours of argument before he could coax Tyler to ride into town with him. If Gary hadn’t intervened, they’d probably still be in a standoff.
Now, on a warm June morning, Dean listened to the hum of tires on asphalt while he drove in to Whistle River. Tyler sat on the other side of the truck, hands locked between his knees, eyes riveted on the window.
While Tyler glared at the passing scenery, he plucked nervously at the denim of his baggy jeans and shot an occasional dagger-sharp look across the truck’s cab just in case Dean didn’t understand how annoyed he was at this enforced togetherness.
After about ten minutes of this, Dean turned down the stereo and took a stab at breaking the ice. “I’ve been meaning to thank you,” he said, glancing across the truck’s cab so he could watch Tyler’s reaction.
The boy didn’t move a muscle. At least he didn’t throw open the door and try to escape.
“You’ve been working hard this past month,” Dean continued. “I appreciate the help.”
“Everybody’s been working hard.” The words fell grudgingly from Tyler’s mouth, but hearing four words in a row made Dean feel like uncle of the year.
“That’s true, but everyone else isn’t here right now. I’m trying to thank you.”
Tyler shifted in his seat so that he was facing even farther away.
Dean pressed on, anyway. “I also want to apologize again for what happened that day by the stables. With the boom box.”
The kid’s right arm twitched.
“I know it’s kind of late to be doing this, but I was wrong. And I am sorry.”
Tyler whipped around to face him, his face tense. “I told you then, don’t worry about it. I’m used to being blamed for stuff I don’t do.”
Dean wasn’t quite ready to tackle that subject yet. “Gary says you and Nessa have been a big help with the horses.” Tyler fell into another stubborn silence. Dean kept talking as if they were actually having a conversation. “Which is great because that’s left me free to take care of other problems as they arise.”
Tyler scratched his leg, and Dean let himself believe the kid was actually warming up.
They passed a reduced-speed sign just outside town and Dean slowed as the feed-and-grain store came into view. “Everyone else has given me a list of things they want, but I don’t know what you need. If there’s anything you want while we’re here, let me know.”
That brought Tyler’s head up in a hurry. “I don’t need your charity.”
Dean glanced at him in surprise. “I’m not offering charity.”
“What would you call it?”
Dean hadn’t ever considered how Tyler might feel about that aspect of their living
arrangements, but the expression in the kid’s eyes touched him deep inside. He made a split-second decision. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll give you an advance on your wages today and then deduct it from your check on payday.” How he’d manage paying another person was anyone’s guess, but he should have thought of it long before now.
Tyler’s shoulders shifted slightly and he seemed almost interested. “What wages?”
Dean gave himself a mental pat on the back for doing at least one thing right. “You didn’t think I expected you to work this hard for nothing, did you?”
“You don’t?”
“Of course I don’t. If you work for me, you get paid.”
Tyler’s gaze came close to actually touching Dean’s face. “Does that mean you’re paying Nessa, too?”
Dean supposed he was now. “She’s working, isn’t she?”
“Does she know?”
“Probably not.” Dean stepped on the brakes and waited while a mud-splattered pickup pulled out of a parking spot on the side of the street. “The Eagle’s Nest isn’t a prison, you know.”
Tyler’s gaze jumped to Dean’s face, then away. “Does that mean I can leave?”
Disappointment replaced the hope Dean had been nursing. “It’s not up to me,” he said. “Your mom’s the one in charge.”
Tyler flopped back against the seat. “Oh, yeah, like she’d say yes.”
Dean would rather have avoided talking about Carol. He was still working through his feelings about her drinking again, still trying to decide what he could and should do for Tyler. “You’re right. She probably won’t agree,” he said as the truck moved out of their way. “I understand how you feel, you know. I used to hate the fact that my mom still called the shots when I was your age. I was eager to leave home and make my mark on the world—and absolutely convinced that I would.”
“You have no idea how I feel about my mother.”
“You’re right. But I know you’re unhappy with what’s going on at home, and I’d like to help.”
Tyler’s head shot up. “Why?”
“Because you’re my nephew. I don’t want you to be miserable.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Tyler laughed with a snort. “You care.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“You care that my mom’s drinking again? That the SOB she’s shacked up with is doing drugs and that she’s probably doing them, too?”
Dean’s lungs stopped working for a heartbeat or two. “I suspected about the drinking,” he said when he could trust his voice again. “I had no idea there were drugs involved.”
“Yeah. Well, that’s life.”
Dean gripped the wheel with both hands. All the old feelings about his sister came rushing back again. Dean hoped Tyler wouldn’t see the weariness on his face. But he couldn’t keep it from his voice. “It isn’t life, Tyler. Not everyone lives that way.”
Tyler leaned back and propped a foot against the dashboard. “We do.”
“That doesn’t make it right.” Dean tightened his grip and made a decision he’d already put off too long. “What would you think about staying here in the fall?”
Tyler’s gaze whipped to his face. “It’s only June. I thought she’d at least wait until August to ask.”
“She didn’t ask. This is my idea.”
Tyler studied him for a long moment, then turned away again. “Why?”
“Because I don’t think that going back there is the best thing for you.”
“And staying here is?”
Dean smiled ruefully. “I know I don’t have a lot of experience with kids your age—with any kids, for that matter, but it still might be better than going back.”
“Forget it.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be okay. I always am.”
“But I do worry. When I didn’t know, I could close my eyes and pretend everything was fine. But I do know now, and I can’t pretend that I don’t.”
Red-faced, Tyler rounded on him. “I know you want to look like some kind of hero in front of everyone, but I sure wish you’d stop using me to do it.”
The reaction caught Dean so unaware, he didn’t even notice that he’d run a red light at Whistle River’s only traffic signal until a blaring horn brought him back. Shock turned to anger as he pulled up in front of the general store half a block later.
He turned off the engine and shifted to face Tyler. “Do you want to explain what you meant by that?”
“Just what I said.”
“You think I’m asking you to stay here so I can look like a hero to someone?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.”
Tyler threw open his door and jumped from the truck. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Dean clambered out and planted himself in front of the kid, who stood almost as tall as he did. “You know what, Tyler? This attitude’s getting old. Why don’t you just tell me why you hate me so much? I’m getting tired of trying to figure it out on my own.”
Tyler reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one from the pack, stuck it between his lips and flicked a lighter. He lifted the flame to the tip, sneering at Dean the whole time.
Dean snatched the cigarette from Tyler’s mouth before he could light it and snapped it in half. “I told you before, you’re not smoking as long as you live with me.”
“Fine.” Tyler took another smoke from the pack. “Then let me leave.”
Dean grabbed the second cigarette and broke it into pieces. “If your mother gives permission, I’ll put you on a bus this afternoon.”
Tyler seemed ready to go for the pack a third time, then changed his mind. “Yeah? Well, that’s not going to happen and you know it. She doesn’t want me back home, so you’ll get to keep your troubled nephew and show everybody what a great guy you are. That ought to make your year.”
Tyler turned away, but Dean grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back around. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”
Tyler rotated his shoulders to break Dean’s grip. “Say what you want, dude. You might even believe it. All I know is what I see. You haven’t had five minutes for me my whole life, and suddenly you care so much you want me around forever? I don’t believe it.”
Dean recoiled and tried to come up with an explanation or even an excuse. There was no defense he could offer, and the anger in Tyler’s eyes grew hotter as Dean groped for a response. “You’re right,” he said at last. “I haven’t been the best uncle in the world. My career took up a lot of time, and I let it. But I’ve always cared about you.”
Tyler laughed bitterly. “Oh, I know how much you care. You can’t fool me.” He held out a hand and wiggled his fingers impatiently. “So if we’re through with this tender moment, how about that advance on my wages?”
Dean suddenly regretted making the rash promise. If he gave Tyler money, the kid would probably try to leave town. If he didn’t, he’d make himself a liar on top of all his other sins.
He drew out his wallet slowly and counted thirty dollars—enough to let the kid buy a few things but hopefully not enough to bribe some truck driver or tourist to take on a passenger. “Meet me back here at noon,” he said as he put the money into Tyler’s outstretched palm. “I’ll need your help loading the truck.”
Tyler stuffed the money into his pocket and swaggered off down the sidewalk without answering. Dean watched until he rounded a corner on the next block, then let out a heavy breath. He sank onto the tailgate of the truck and rubbed his face with both hands. He’d always liked thinking of himself as competent and capable, but he was in way over his head with this one and he had no idea what to do about it.
He was on pins and needles for two full hours, wondering whether or not Tyler would come back. He watched every car and truck that passed to make sure the kid wasn’t inside and argued continually with himself about what he’d do if he was.
He’d have to call Carol, of
course, but she was no better equipped to handle Tyler than Dean was. Maybe less. He could alert the police, but he had a feeling that would only make things worse. If Tyler tried to leave, Dean would have to go after him. No matter how anxious Tyler might be to see the last of him, Dean couldn’t let someone else take care of his mess.
He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
By the time his watch hit noon, Dean was a nervous wreck. He was working on his second cola of the morning and pacing behind the truck bed. When Tyler came around the corner at ten minutes after twelve, Dean’s knees nearly buckled with relief.
It didn’t matter why he’d come back—whether he wanted to be around Dean or was just afraid of leaving. He was here, and Dean still had a chance to reach him. He didn’t want Tyler to think that he had doubted him, so he unlatched the tailgate, hopped into the back of the truck and set to work making room for the supplies.
When Tyler drew closer, Dean climbed out again and nodded toward a small white plastic bag in Tyler’s hand. “Get everything you need?”
“I guess.”
“Good. Let’s get this stuff loaded. Annie said she’d have lunch ready at twelve-thirty.”
Tyler sent him an odd look, then shrugged. “Okay. Whatever.”
Dean jerked his head toward the supplies on the sidewalk. “Why don’t you get in the truck? I’ll pass this stuff up to you.”
Tyler shrugged again, put his bag on the truck’s seat, then scrambled into the bed and waited, hands on hips, for Dean to start handing bundles up to him. So far, Dean’s shoulder was feeling pretty normal, so he worked carefully to keep from straining it. They’d nearly reached the end of the job when a woman’s voice interrupted them. “Dean Sheffield? Is that you?”
He turned toward the unfamiliar voice and saw Coretta Bothwell, the mayor’s mother, hurrying toward him. Her gray hair glistened in the late spring sunshine and her curls bobbed a little with every step. A smile lit her thin face, fueled by her well-known enthusiasm for life.
