Strawberry Hill

by Catherine Anderson

  “Are you threatening to have me prosecuted?”

  “Oh, hell, no.” Slade gave an exaggerated shake of his head. “That’d be just plain old mean. You’ve worked hard to get where you are, and I’d never want you to lose your job and possibly even your retirement. So I’m more inclined to give back only as good as I got. You know what I’m saying?” He flashed her another smile. “Way back when, the Mystic Creek grapevine was abuzz about us on the riverbank the night of the beer party. You remember all that. Vickie breaking our engagement. Then leaving town. Practically everyone knew we’d been getting it on. So I was thinking about resurrecting our affair. Two star-crossed lovers who denied themselves the pleasure of sneaking around to be together for almost forty years and finally gave in to temptation. You following me?”

  Her face blanched. “If you do such a horrific and conscienceless thing, it will destroy my marriage.”

  “Turnabout’s fair play, or so I’ve always heard. You destroyed mine. If not for your malicious interference, Vickie and I would soon be celebrating our forty-second anniversary.” Slade shifted his weight to the opposite leg, getting more comfortable. “But you know what, April? The real clincher for me is that I’ve got a son I didn’t know existed until last night. He was just a seedling when Vickie took off. The fourth letter to me included a picture of him, according to Vickie. Now, hell, he must be going on forty-two. I’ve never met him. Can you imagine how I felt when I learned about him?”

  April thinned her lips. “You know what, Slade. You and Vickie are grown-ups now. Seems to me the two of you are responsible for ironing out your differences and mending your own relationship. There’s not a reason on earth that I need to be involved in that.”

  “You were sure as hell involved when we broke up. And you were sure as hell involved when you pitched those letters in the trash bin. And that’s where you totally stepped over the bounds of common decency, April. You didn’t just screw Vickie over. You didn’t just screw me over. You messed up an innocent baby’s whole life. He’s a Wilder. By all rights, he should have grown up on my family’s ranch, if not full-time, at least for regular visitations. He should have been supported financially and emotionally by his father. He should have known when he looked in a mirror where he got his nose or the cleft in his chin. Not that I know for sure if he looks like me, but I’m just saying.”

  “There’s no way in fucking hell I can fix that now.”

  Slade winked at her. “It’s so good to see the real April coming out of her churchgoer closet.”

  “What do you want from me, Slade?”

  “The truth. Be at the Witch’s Brew tomorrow evening. Buy Vickie a drink and tell her exactly what went down.”

  She cackled. There was no humor in the sound. “That’ll happen when ice cubes won’t melt in hell. Using your words, you and whose army are going to make me?”

  Slade shrugged and straightened away from her door frame. “Okay, fine. I know stubborn when I see it. I reckon I’ll just pay Harley a visit and tell him how sorry I am for sneaking around behind his back with his beautiful wife.”

  As Slade sauntered across the porch, she shrieked, “You get your sorry ass back here!”

  Slade started down the steps. “Nope. I said my piece. Now it’s entirely up to you. If you hope to celebrate your thirty-ninth anniversary, you’ll be at that bar tomorrow night. Seven, sharp. Be sure to ask what Vickie likes to drink. Because of you, I haven’t been around her enough to know.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Vickie was surprised when a lone rider approached camp around four that afternoon. The dogs barked loudly in greeting. For a moment, Vickie surmised it was one of Slade’s paying guests who’d ridden up from the trailhead alone. But when she stepped closer to the central fire, she saw that it was a young woman with dark hair and a slender build. It wasn’t inconceivable that a female might pay the steep fees for a guided buck hunt, but it was odd that she would come up the mountain alone. Women who were unfamiliar with a wilderness area normally chose to travel with companions. Men, too, as far as that went. On some level, most greenhorns realized they were out of their element here and sought safety in numbers.

  As the woman dismounted and bent to pet the dogs, Vickie saw that she wore a sidearm. The holster it rode in looked like police-issue, and something about the way its wearer moved hinted strongly to Vickie of military training. This is great, just great. All Slade’s certifications and licenses to guide had been destroyed the night before, along with his saddlebags. If that woman was a USFS agent out of uniform, Slade could be cited and fined. What a mess. That thought no sooner crossed Vickie’s mind than she remembered Four Toes. He didn’t hang around camp constantly, and she could only pray he wasn’t nearby right now. There truly would be hell to pay if a forest ranger saw what appeared to be a tame bear in Slade’s camp.

  Vickie started to walk out, thankful that no one had set to work on cleaning up the rubble from the previous night’s fire. If their visitor was a law officer, she would see evidence that Slade’s documentation had indeed been destroyed, and if any questions lingered in her mind, she could check on the Internet to be sure Slade’s licenses and permits were all current.

  To Vickie’s surprise, Wyatt appeared from out of nowhere and reached the woman before she did. As Vickie approached, she heard the woman say, “I know, but I just had to come. He’s my uncle, and I love him.”

  Wondering if the woman might be related to Tex, the only other older man in camp, Vickie mulled over that possibility until she got close enough to clearly see the gal’s face. Her heart missed a beat, for there was no mistaking her resemblance to Slade. But what messed with Vickie’s emotions even more was that she also resembled Brody and his younger son, Austin. Slade’s niece, then. His sister must have finally bitten the bullet and decided to have a kid.

  Vickie stepped forward with her right hand extended. “Welcome to camp,” she said. “My name’s Victoria Brown.”

  “Erin De Laney,” the younger woman replied.

  She had a firm grip, Vickie noted as they shook hands. Vickie appreciated strength in another woman. “I’m pleased to meet you,” Vickie said. “I knew your mother when we were younger.” It felt strange to be meeting a young lady who might have been her niece by marriage, even stranger to meet her son’s first cousin. The age difference would have made the two kids unlikely playmates, but as adults they could have become close friends. “How is she doing? I haven’t seen her in a coon’s age.”

  “She’s great,” Erin replied. “Enjoying life as a Bellevueite.”

  Vickie thought she detected a hint of resentment in Erin’s voice. “I’m glad she’s happy.” Vickie had always liked Slade’s slightly younger sister just fine, but she’d always been a little prissy, making it difficult for Vickie to feel a true connection. “Bellevue is a beautiful city.”

  “It truly is,” Erin agreed. “But after living here for a year, I think all the traffic would drive me crazy now.”

  Vickie didn’t care for driving in heavy traffic herself. “I just put on a fresh pot of coffee,” she told the younger woman. “Won’t you please join me in the cookshack for a snack? I have a selection of tea as well and some fresh-from-the-oven cookies.”

  Wyatt stepped closer to Erin and grasped her arm. “Can she join you in just a moment, Vickie? I need to get her settled in a tent and show her around.”

  “Sure.” As Vickie walked away, she wondered if the foreman had a thing going with the younger woman. Vickie hoped so. Wyatt wasn’t merely handsome; he was a genuinely decent fellow. “No need to knock!” Vickie called over her shoulder. “The cookshack is open twenty-four/seven.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Erin tipped her head back to study Wyatt’s sun-burnished countenance. Something was up. She could only stay tonight, so she hadn’t packed all that much by way of clot
hing and toiletries. Getting her settled would be a simple matter of tossing her small satchel into a tent and calling it good.

  “Okay,” she said, holding his gaze. “Out with it. You’re stewing about something.”

  Wyatt removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. Erin wished she could run her own through it. She imagined it would feel silky, but it could be coarse. She loved the way it drifted over his shoulders when he turned his head or the breeze caught it just right.

  “I, um . . . I just don’t want any trouble, Erin. Slade’s been looking out for himself for a lot of years. He really doesn’t need you to step in now and take up for him.”

  “I can’t argue that point,” Erin replied. “I came up the mountain with a bit of an attitude. I admit that. But Vickie isn’t what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  Erin frowned as she tried to find words to explain. “She’s definitely pretty. Striking. But she’s not a femme fatale. All natural, and she seems very down-to-earth. The worst part is, I can see what drew Uncle Slade to her. She’s sort of—well, charming isn’t the word. Straightforward, definitely. And the instant we shook hands, I felt kind of like I’d met a kindred soul.”

  “She definitely isn’t girly,” Wyatt agreed.

  Erin struggled not to react to that comment with bruised feelings, but apparently her expression gave her away, because Wyatt quickly added, “Not that you aren’t. Girly, I mean.”

  She waved his apology away. “No worries. I’m a tomboy, and I know it.”

  “But that isn’t a bad thing, Erin. Not to guys, anyway. Well, not all guys, I guess.”

  Erin watched him search his mind for something else he might say, and the slightly injured part of her felt almost instantly better. He was scrambling to take his foot out of his mouth, and that told her he might actually prefer women who didn’t fuss too much about appearance. “Wyatt?” She waved her hand in front of his nose so he would look at her. “I’m good. Really. I know I’m not a fashion plate.”

  He smiled and gazed off into the trees for a moment. “I worked hard to learn how to speak normally, but sometimes when I’m talking, I’m searching my mind so hard for the words that I don’t think about how they’ll sound when I say them.”

  She playfully slugged his shoulder. “You’re amazing, and I’m fine. Now let’s get my stuff in a tent so I can go to the cookshack. I’m starving!”

  “Horse first. He’s not a motorcycle that you can just park and forget about.”

  Erin glanced over her shoulder at Butterscotch, and as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she’d forgotten all about him. That was not okay. “Right. Horse first, me second.” She remembered her first ride up the mountain on Butterscotch, and to her credit, she had seen to his needs before her own that day. There was just something about Wyatt that rattled her, that was all. As they grew better acquainted, she felt sure she would get over that. The last thing she envisioned for herself was to hook up with a cowboy, and he probably preferred genuine cowgirls, not a gun-toting deputy who couldn’t quite come to grips with her own femininity. She turned toward the horse. “Poor Butterscotch,” she crooned. “I’ll bet you’re even hungrier and thirstier than I am. I’m so sorry.” Knowing that Wyatt couldn’t see her lips with her back to him, she gathered the horse’s reins and said, “If it hadn’t been for him, I’d have forgotten all about you.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Vickie took an almost instant liking to Slade’s niece. She was a straight shooter who had an engaging laugh and an energetic air about her. Because guests would arrive tonight at an undetermined time, Vickie had Irish stew simmering in huge pots, and she’d made authentic Irish soda bread, a family recipe from her grandmother, who’d been born in the old country. Vickie’s mom had increased the ingredients to feed a large crowd, and in Vickie’s experience, it was often a favorite with campers, whose appetites were stimulated by the fresh mountain air. For dessert, she’d made brownies, lemon bars, and chocolate chip cookies. Given that she had everything prepared and covered with flour-sack towels, she could sit at the table with Erin, visit to her heart’s content, and consume calories that would add width to her hips if she didn’t get plenty of exercise the next day.

  She discovered that Erin was quite the athlete and had earned the distinguished honor of being an Ironman, or Ironwoman, a term that Vickie felt certain would one day become the norm as more and more females entered into the competition. Erin also shared with Vickie her dissatisfaction with her profession, which struck Vickie as being sad. She couldn’t imagine being pushed into attending college to become something she didn’t wish to be. It wasn’t only a waste of years and money, but to feel trapped in an occupation that was unfulfilling had to be a daily trial.

  “Anyway,” Erin said with a smile. “Enough about me. I understand that you and my uncle Slade nearly got married many years ago, and Wyatt tells me that my uncle never stopped loving you.”

  Vickie hadn’t expected Erin to broach this topic or to even know about her and Slade’s history. “True. But that was a lot of years back, Erin.”

  The younger woman nodded. “Right. But you broke his heart. He’s a good man, and in every way that counts, loving you that deeply destroyed his life. He never remarried or had kids, and I know he wanted them. He was amazing with me when I was little. So relaxed and fun to be with. I love him a lot, and because I do, I really didn’t want to like you.”

  Vickie nodded, and her throat went tight. She met Erin’s gaze. “Do you really think the heartbreak was one-sided? I won’t say that loving Slade Wilder destroyed my life, Erin, but it did send me down a path that I never would have chosen for myself. I was deeply unhappy much of the time, and living from day to day, week to week, and month to month was always a struggle, both financially and otherwise. I had three children. I married a man who turned out to be a violent drunk. After I divorced him, he never paid a penny in child support. I would never wish that things had happened differently, because my children have been the greatest gifts of my life. To alter the past would mean they never would have been born. I can’t bear the thought of that. But my life after leaving Mystic Creek wasn’t easy. I didn’t walk away from this place and forget what I left behind.”

  “So you never stopped loving him, either.”

  Vickie released a taut breath. “No, I never did.”

  “Is that why you came back? Why you’re here now? Why you put a fake snake in his bed last night and scared him so badly that he knocked over a woodstove and could have burned to death as a result? I’ve been told you believe Uncle Slade cheated on you right before your wedding. Even if he was guilty of doing that, don’t you think it’s a little over the top to still bear him so much animosity? Can you explain any of that to me?”

  Vickie met and held Erin’s gaze. She refused to look away. “I can’t even explain any of it to myself,” she finally offered. “When I look back on all of it, what he did and what I did, or the decisions I made afterward, none of it really makes sense. I can’t think of any one reason that pushed me to make all the choices I ended up making. There were always dozens of reasons. Pressures. Financial hardships. Hurt. Anger. A bone-deep sense of betrayal. Desperation. Stung pride. Fear. I could go on and on. But to go into detail about all those things with you, and maybe even with Slade, is impossible. I simply can’t put all of it into words. So if your loyalty lies with your uncle and you can’t like me because you feel I ruined his life, I won’t blame you for that. There have been times over the years that I haven’t liked myself very much, either.”

  Erin nodded. “Fair enough. And I kind of get it. When I look back, I can’t understand why I did half the stuff I did, either. You know why I entered the first Ironman competition? To make my father proud of me. Why did I turn around and train for another year to do it again? To make my father proud of me, because the first
time didn’t quite take. Why did I become a law enforcement officer instead of a speech therapist? Your guess is as good as mine. At thirty-one, I look back and wonder what the hell I was thinking. So I do understand that we can’t always make sense of stuff, and if we can’t, we certainly can’t explain it to someone else.”

  Vickie felt a burning sensation in her eyes. “Thank you for that.”

  Erin nodded, her lips curved in a slight smile. “You’re welcome. But from here on out, can you stop with the practical jokes? It’s like you have a vendetta against him. Given how much you loved him, I guess I can understand you feeling bitter, but maybe if you ask him to explain what made him make all the choices he did, he’ll give you the same answer you just gave me. That he isn’t clear on all of it himself and can’t really explain it to anyone else.”

  “Maybe so,” Vickie conceded. “Maybe so.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Slade arrived around seven that evening with five men on horseback. Vickie wondered where all the horses had come from, because Slade hadn’t taken any from camp. She assumed that he must have trailered them from his ranch to the trailhead. That told her that he’d had a very tiring day, and she mentally kissed away her hope that he’d find time to talk with her that night. She wanted to be angry with him for making her play second fiddle, but in all fairness, she couldn’t. Outfitting in the autumn was a business, his business, and he was responsible for every person in the camp. She had no idea how much money he made over a season, but she knew her dad had done quite well. If Slade counted on the income, he couldn’t afford to shirk his duties as the camp host, and a reasonable person wouldn’t expect that of him.

  Vickie just wasn’t feeling very reasonable. She dove into the dinner hour, which was a misnomer, because before it was all over, she’d worked three times that long. The cookshack table easily accommodated Slade and the five men who’d ridden in for a week-long adventure. It was Vickie’s job to feed them, entertain them with conversation, and clear away their dishes, and then Slade’s employees took their places at the table. By the time she had all the cleanup done, she was exhausted, but she was still too wired to contemplate sleep. So instead of going to her tent, she grabbed her flashlight and made her way down to the creek. A half-moon bathed the woodland with silvery light. Once she found a log to sit on and turned off the torch, she took a deep breath and then exhaled, letting the tension in her body drain away. She texted Brody, but he didn’t reply, so she messaged Nancy, knowing that her daughter could give her an update on her son’s physical well-being. Nancy repeated what she’d said the previous night, the only difference being that Brody now had only six more days of bed rest before he saw the doctor again. Vickie told Nancy how the rattlesnake prank had blown up in her face, but she left out the part about Slade faking a heart attack and that she’d finally told him he had a son. All of that was so thickly laced with emotion that she simply didn’t have the energy to deal with the explanations just then. To complicate matters, things were still up in the air between her and Slade. She was sorely tempted to swipe a jug of Slade’s whiskey and have her own private tent party. At least the liquor might relax her so she could drift off to sleep.