Forever Wild

by K. A. Tucker

  Knuckles rap on the glass to the side entrance a second before a deep male voice hollers, “Ho! Ho! Ho!” Bells jingle as Teddy strolls down the narrow hallway followed closely by Muriel and Toby, who carry several wrapped boxes.

  “Merry Christmas!” Muriel greets, a genuinely happy grin filling her face. “I see you’ve already been out, plowing your driveway.” She nods at Jonah with approval.

  “Because he’s a psycho—oh!” Jonah wraps an arm around my waist and effortlessly lifts me off my feet, earning my squeal.

  “I know we’re a bit early, but we were just sittin’ around, killin’ time, so we decided to drive over.”

  “She decided we should drive over. Hope you don’t mind,” Teddy corrects, shucking his heavy winter coat. Beneath it, he’s in head-to-toe red—red button-down shirt, red trousers, red suspenders, red socks.

  “You been to the hangar yet today?” Toby asks, feigning indifference.

  Jonah chuckles and sets me down. “Yeah, man.”

  Toby grins. “It’s a nice truck! I had a bit of fun, getting that in last night through the snow.”

  “Here, Calla. This is for you.” Muriel thrusts the box she’s carrying into my hands before discarding her outer things. “I wore it on my wedding day and it’s something you can wear on your wedding day. You know, something old and something borrowed.”

  “Oh. I …” I eye the box, wariness settling in. By the size of the box, I’m guessing it’s not a subtle addition to my wedding attire. I force a smile as I carry it to the dining room table and begin gingerly unwrapping the packaging, a mixture of curiosity and dread swirling inside me. This is a woman who once told me she’s happiest wearing her husband’s coveralls. She prides herself on not caring about such “frivolous things” as clothes.

  “You plannin’ on reusing that paper? Come on and rip it!” Muriel exclaims, wringing her hands with anticipation.

  With a deep breath, I tear a sizeable strip off and lift the box’s lid. A mass of fur sits nestled inside tissue paper.

  “Now, I know wearing fur is a big taboo these days, but those mink have been dead for almost forty years, so you may as well take ’em out for a walk.”

  I pull out the stole, its texture luxuriously soft beneath my fingertips.

  “And if it makes you feel any better, my father caught ’em tryin’ to murder our chickens.”

  “Oh, Muriel! It’s beautiful!” My mother fawns as I drape it over my shoulders. It fits as if custom made for me.

  Astrid joins her, stroking the fur. “Look at those colors! Is that a hint of blue I see?”

  “Cerulean silver, they called it,” Muriel says proudly. “I guess that’s your ‘something blue,’ too? And see the ivory striations?”

  There’s a chorus of oohs and aahs as I slip it off and hold it up to the light.

  “It’s gorgeous, Muriel,” I admit, a touch of guilt stirring that I doubted her. “I was just saying I needed something like this to go with my dress.”

  “Well, now you have it. And I know I said ‘something borrowed,’ but it’s yours to keep.”

  My eyebrows pop with surprise. “Are you sure? I mean, this seems like something you should pass down to family.” Her first gun, and now this?

  “That’s what I’m doin’.” She drops an arm around my shoulders to give me an awkward but firm squeeze. “Listen, Deacon’s gone, and I’ve given up on Toby givin’ me a daughter-in-law—”

  “Are you kidding me?” Toby moans with exasperation. “I’m only thirty-five!”

  “Yeah, a thirty-five-year-old who’s afraid of asking a gal like Emily out to dinner,” she retorts before turning her attention back to me. “So, you’re it, Calla. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a daughter. You can wear it for your wedding, and then maybe one day your daughter will wear it to hers.”

  “All five of them will wear it,” Jonah chirps from next to the fridge while inhaling a bowl of his mother’s pudding.

  I spare him an eye roll before smiling at Muriel. “Thank you. I love it.”

  “You’re welcome.” She pats my shoulder. “Now, have you decided on your menu yet?”

  “Not yet—”

  “Good, because I have an idea.” She turns to my mother. “You didn’t seem too keen on the moose, Susan, but how do you feel about grouse?”

  “Grouse?” my mom echoes, squinting in thought. “That’s a bird, right?”

  “I love grouse,” Björn pipes in from the recliner, busy picking away at a walnut shell he cracked.

  “It tastes a bit like partridge,” Astrid confirms.

  “Well, now, that I’ve had. Remember, Simon, we ordered partridge at that restaurant?” She looks to him for validation.

  Simon pauses in his curious inspection of the fur stole to nod fervently. “Yes. I do.”

  Muriel smiles. “Well, good! Because Wendy and John Keating have a game bird farm and they owe me a favor or two. I’m betting I could get as many grouse as you need for next to nothin’. And Gloria makes this recipe, with apples and pecans. I tell ya, I’ve never had anything like it. She usually serves it with this wild rice pilaf, but it’d be just as good with potatoes, which Calla grew plenty of this past summer.”

  The ladies pull chairs out around the dining room table and begin reviewing our cellar’s inventory from memory, tossing out ideas.

  “Muriel’s calling in a lot of favors on your behalf,” Simon notes quietly.

  “She’s like the godfather of Trapper’s Crossing.” All her pushiness and meddling is paying off.

  Simon peers at me from over the rim of his glasses. “Any strong opposition to grouse we should be aware of before we let them go too far down this path? Speak up now.”

  “No. The owner of the lodge made it for us once. It was tasty.” If we weren’t inviting Andrea and George as guests to our wedding, I would have asked them to cook the meal.

  His brow furrows. “So, does it taste like chicken?”

  “No. It’s gamey.” I frown. “You don’t remember that partridge dinner Mom was talking about, do you?”

  “Not the foggiest clue,” Simon admits sheepishly.

  Chapter Eleven

  “She pull this kind of shit at home?”

  I pause peeling a potato to watch an incensed Jonah hover at the window, his muscular arms folded across his chest, his gaze on the gloomy sky through the windows. The few random flakes sailing down from the sky earlier have multiplied exponentially, sending us toward blizzard territory.

  Mabel is almost a full hour late.

  “Sometimes,” Agnes admits from the sink where she scrubs a pot. “If she’s in a mood. She seemed okay today, though.”

  “I’ll tell you right now, things are gonna change when you guys move here in the summer. She won’t be trying this with me around.”

  “Why not? You’re around now, and she’s not trying it, she’s doing it.” Björn studies his cards for a long moment before laying one down on the pile. He, Muriel, Simon, and my mother are playing a game of euchre around the coffee table, while Astrid and Teddy face off at the Swords and Shields board game. We lit several of Phil’s old lanterns and positioned them around the main area for added light as the day shifts to night and the power remains out.

  Jonah’s eyes narrow on his stepfather. They’ve done a decent job of sidestepping each other since the major blowup two days ago, but I fear that’s about to change.

  “You forget what you were like at that age, don’t you?” Astrid pipes in, likely sensing the impending squabble. “Stubborn, argumentative. You were always right.”

  “So, you’re saying I’m about to marry thirteen-year-old Jonah?” I tease, handing Toby the peeled potato to dice and drop into the pot.

  My mother guffaws. “You’re one to talk. If you weren’t screaming at me about how unfair I was for not letting you traipse all over downtown Toronto, you were locked in your room, sulking.”

  “That’s so not true!”

  “Simon? Woul
d you say that’s accurate?”

  “I’m going to make it hearts, for my partner,” he announces, seemingly missing her question. Or choosing to ignore it.

  “Simon—”

  “Teenagers need to be kept busy.” Muriel shifts the cards around in her hand before laying one on the table. “Deacon and Toby never had time to get into mischief. They were too busy workin’ at the resort. Don’t you worry. We’ll get Mabel occupied with cleanin’ cabins and cutting grass, collecting trash. She can even work in the kitchen on busy nights. She’ll be so busy makin’ money and learning responsibility, she won’t have time for mischief. She’ll be asleep on her feet at night!”

  “And she wonders why I never learned how to talk to women,” Toby murmurs under his breath, earning my snort.

  “Maybe they’re hanging out at the cabin and not getting my messages.” Agnes dries her hands on the tea towel. “I think I’ll boot over there and see.”

  “You want me to go?” Jonah offers, taking a step toward the door.

  “No, no, you stay put,” Agnes is quick to say, heading for her coat and boots. “I could use some fresh air, anyway.”

  And if Mabel is over at the cabin, an angry Jonah blowing up at her won’t go over well.

  “Last one.” I slap the peeled potato into Toby’s hand and reach for a homegrown carrot. Muriel was right—yet again. I’m feeling immense satisfaction knowing that everything we’re eating today, short of the turkey, was grown in the garden I once despised.

  “Oh!” Agnes exclaims at the open door, and for a second I assume it’s Mabel, back from her ride, the sound of the snowmobile drowned out by the generator. “It’s good to see you, Roy. Calla wasn’t sure if you were coming to dinner.”

  Roy is here?

  Roy is actually coming to Christmas dinner?

  In the split second of distraction—and shock—I skate the peeler over the corner of my thumb. I drop the carrot with a curse, assessing the stinging damage. It’s a tiny wound, though a drop of blood is already forming.

  “You’re fired.” Toby hands me a paper towel and then ushers me away.

  “Hey, Jonah. You mind helpin’ Roy out?” Agnes hollers.

  It’s followed by Roy’s grumble of, “Don’t need help. I got it in the truck. I’ll get it out of the truck.”

  Jonah spares me a curious glance on his way out.

  “Have to say, never thought I’d see the day Roy accepted a dinner invitation,” Muriel muses. “What’s he up to out there, Teddy?”

  Teddy frowns as he cranes his neck to see out the window from his seat. “Can’t tell. Whatever it is, it’s wrapped in a sheet.”

  Commotion stirs at the door.

  “Christ, Roy. How the hell did you get this into your truck by yourself?” Jonah’s muscles strain as he leads with backward steps, holding up one end of the covered object.

  “It’s awkward, is all.” Roy appears on the other end, his feet shuffling along the carpet runner.

  I can’t help the wide grin of pleasure that takes over my face. He’s actually wearing the navy-blue winter coat and wool aviator hat I wrapped and left at his place. They fit him well and they look much warmer than that ratty plaid jacket and raccoon hat.

  Roy pauses, his attention wandering over our living room and kitchen, his eyebrows arching as he takes in the festive décor. He stalls on the set dining table before meeting my beaming smile.

  His mouth curls at the corners. Only a touch. It’s enough for me, though.

  “Where should this go, Roy?” Jonah asks.

  “Over there.” He juts his chin toward the corner next to the fireplace.

  “Here. Let me.” Jonah stoops to prop what appears to be a beam on his shoulder. With a grunt, he stands, lifting it off the ground.

  “My son. The ox,” Astrid muses as Jonah carries Roy’s surprise delivery across the room. He sets it down with a dull thud.

  Roy remains near the door, still in his coat and boots, his hat in his hands, looking as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen him.

  Agnes has temporarily abandoned her plan to check the cabin for Mabel, sidling up to Roy. “I don’t think you’ve had a chance to meet Astrid and Björn, or Simon yet, have you?” She makes introductions.

  “Sounds like you’ve been taking good care of Calla this year,” Simon says by way of greeting.

  Roy smirks. “That girl don’t need any taking care of. She figures things out fine on her own.”

  Simon nods, smiling to himself. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Are we doin’ this, Roy?” Jonah is holding Roy’s creation upright. It must be what Roy was working on that day I surprised him in his barn.

  “Here, let me help you.” Muriel marches over to pull the sheet off.

  It takes me a moment to recognize it for what it is: a mantel. A stunning, rustic wooden construct in a natural maple stain, with two pillars on either side, meant to frame the hearth.

  “Always thought it was silly to have such a big stone fireplace and no mantel,” he mutters.

  I stumble over a chair leg on my way around the dining table to get a better look. “I was literally thinking about this the other day.”

  “Yeah, well …” Roy shifts on his feet. “I happened to take measurements when I was here in the fall, so I know it’ll fit. Should be an easy install whenever you’re ready for me to do it.”

  A prickle of emotion swells in my throat, not because of the thoughtful gift, but because the man who everyone stamped too selfish to think of others was thinking of me. He’s proven them wrong, time and time again. “It’s perfect. I couldn’t have picked a more perfect mantel to go here.” I smooth a hand over the long cross beam. Where did he get such a large, beautiful piece of wood?

  Toby must be thinking along the same lines. “That had to be one hell of a solid wood beam you used for this, huh, Roy?”

  “I’ve had that monster in my shop for years. I was holdin’ on to it for the right project.”

  It suddenly dawns on me. “Was this the beam that fell on you?” That would have crushed him, had the full weight of it not been hindered by other fallen hunks of wood.

  Roy shrugs. “Still a good piece of wood.”

  I shake my head, but I can’t help but laugh.

  “What?” he challenges, but the way the corner of his mouth curls tells me he sees the twisted humor. Only Roy could make such a lovely gift out of something that nearly killed him.

  “This is a nice surprise.” Jonah leans the mantel across the stone and then marches over to offer his hand and a solemn, “Thank you, Roy.”

  Roy accepts it without hesitation.

  Oh, how far you’ve come, curmudgeon. There was a time, not even a year ago, that Roy sneered at that same friendly gesture.

  Now, if he’d just come around to reconnecting with his daughter.

  I have hope for him yet. It’s a matter of me figuring out how to maneuver around that conversation.

  First things first, though, I need to speak with Delyla. I responded to her email this morning. I told her, yes, I’d love to talk to her. When, is the issue. Certainly not today. And the next six days will be a madhouse around here, getting ready for the wedding. I need time with her. Time to explain the complexities of a seemingly simple man like Roy Donovan. Time to prepare her for the kindness buried beneath the scowling exterior.

  Time to make sure she can’t hurt him. I find myself, more than anything, wanting to protect this lonely man who hides from his past, deep in the woods.

  “Well …” He turns and takes a step toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” I blurt.

  “Home.”

  “You’re not staying for dinner?”

  “Nah. I got chores to do. I just came to drop that off.” He does another scan of the tree, the table, the half-eaten gingerbread house that’s been moved to the kitchen counter. “You folks have yourselves a good night.”

  Even though I should have expected this, my disappointme
nt surges.

  “Glen texted me,” Toby calls out, his phone in his hand. “They were expecting Kelly back by now, too, and she’s not answering her phone, either.”

  “Okay. Let me see if they’re at the cabin before we sound the alarms.” Agnes disappears out the door again.

  Roy watches her go. “What’s that about, now?”

  “Mabel went out for a ride with Glen Prichard’s daughter,” Toby explains, collecting a carrot to peel. “They should have been home an hour ago and no one can get hold of them.”

  “Huh.” Roy frowns. “Heavy squalls movin’ in from the west. Easy to get lost out there in that.”

  Is he thinking about that night all those years ago, when his mother went out for food in a storm and never came back?

  “They’re probably over at a friend’s house, hangin’ out, and lost track of time.” But Muriel’s furrowed brow says she’s not buying that.

  Is she thinking about that night all those years ago, when her son stayed out hunting alone and never came back?

  Dread crawls up my spine as I begin to appreciate why Jonah’s pacing like a caged animal, and how dangerous a situation this might be.

  After another beat, Roy walks out the door without a word, in typical Roy fashion.

  Five minutes later, Agnes returns, her face lined with worry. “No sign of them there,” she confirms.

  Jonah curses under his breath. “Okay. I’m gonna go and look for them.”

  “Toby—” Muriel beckons, but he’s already dropping his task and heading for the door.

  To Agnes, Jonah promises, “Don’t worry. We’ll find her. No matter how long it takes.”

  This is reminding me all too much of that night back in August when I sat in this house, powerless, waiting to hear about Jonah, unable to do anything. I thought I’d lose my mind.

  I can’t do that again.

  “Wait!” I rush for my coat and gloves.

  I warm my hands by the fire as I listen to the buzz of voices around me, feeling like a visitor in my own house. Agnes is off to one corner, on the phone with the state troopers, giving as many details about Mabel as she can recall—her height and weight, what she was wearing. Muriel has dug up a map of the area from her glove box and Jonah is marking with a yellow highlighter the trails we spent two hours combing in the blistering-cold wind. Toby is rounding up a small army of friends—all of whom grew up with him and Kelly’s father—to congregate by the hangar with their snowmachines in twenty minutes. Teddy is at home, gathering supplies so they can join us in our search.