Home to Montana. Charlotte Carter

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СКАЧАТЬ split another log, gratified by the growing pile of kindling by the stump. It felt good to use his muscles. He’d been cooped up in his pickup for too long. Driving and sleeping under the camper shell whenever and wherever he stopped.

      Maybe he’d stay a few days in Bear Lake, camp somewhere nearby, hike the trails through the forest, check out the house where he’d been born. The house where his mother had died some twenty years ago.

      His throat tightened on the memory of his mother so sick she couldn’t get out of bed. So pale it was like all of the blood had been sucked out of her. He’d only been ten years old when the ambulance came to take her away forever.

      Not long after that his dad had piled their few possessions in his old, beat-up truck. They’d gone east and south, moving a dozen times whenever his dad lost his job or got restless. Finally, when Nick had managed to get a high school diploma he’d bailed on his father and joined the army.

      He’d been out now for nearly four years.

      A couple of weeks ago he’d tried to reconnect with his dad. His father had tossed him out of his house in Baton Rouge, or more accurately his dad’s current girlfriend had insisted he leave. She didn’t want an ex-con living in her house. Nick’s old man hadn’t ever been much of a father so he sided with the girlfriend, who doubled as his drinking buddy and sometimes, Nick suspected, his punching bag.

      Nick hadn’t had a destination in mind when he left Baton Rouge. He’d simply gotten in his truck and headed north.

      But the farther north he drove, the more the thought of Bear Lake drew him. He couldn’t tell if it was God who was leading him or his own childhood memories of home. Maybe both.

      He swung the ax again. Two pieces of kindling jumped from the stump onto the ground. He paused long enough to take off his jacket and look around. Sweat edged down his spine.

      Nice layout Ms. Alisa Machak had here. A good business. Even in the middle of the afternoon there were a fair number of cars parked out front. He hadn’t lied about her being a pretty lady, either. Hair a honey blond that skimmed her shoulders. Shoulders much too slender to wield an ax with so much strength. Or maybe she was working on a heap of determination more than sheer muscle power.

      Nice eyes, too. A dark blue like the deepest part of a lake. But she hadn’t smiled much, not at him. He didn’t blame her for that. He must look pretty rough after a couple of weeks on the road.

      Rags came trotting back from wherever he’d been with a stick in his mouth.

      “You’d better stay close by, buddy. If you hang around, you’re gonna get some really tasty scraps. That pretty lady promised you’d get the best in the county.”

      Tilting his head, Rags looked up at Nick with his big, brown eyes and whined. Trying to sucker Nick into throwing the stick.

      “No, I can’t play now. Gotta turn all this split wood into kindling. Maybe later, huh?”

      Nick hung his jacket over a tree limb and got back to work. Three more whacks, and another split log became kindling.

      “Hey, mister. Is that your dog?”

      Rags stood and stretched, the branch still in his mouth.

      Nick rested the ax head on the stump. A blond kid with a head full of cowlicks and a backpack slung over his shoulder stood a few feet from him. He looked to be about nine or ten.

      “Mine ’til he decides otherwise,” Nick said.

      “Is he friendly?”

      “Friendly enough. You want to pet him?”

      The boy ditched his backpack on the ground and rushed forward, dropping to his knees. “Does he have a name?”

      “I call him Rags.”

      “Hiya, Rags.” Cautiously, he petted the dog’s neck and back.

      Rags’s tail began an upbeat tempo that wobbled his whole rear end.

      “Does he like to play fetch?”

      “Give it try. See what happens.” Nick knew from experience that Rags could wear out a man’s arm before he’d quit fetching any old stick.

      He watched with amusement as the boy gently took the branch from Rags. Alert, Rags was already into the game when the boy tossed the stick a few feet away. Rags had it back to the youngster in milliseconds and lay down waiting for the next go around. His tail semaphored his readiness.

      “You might want to toss it a little farther,” Nick suggested mildly.

      The youngster shot it toward a wooded area, and soon boy and dog were running around full blast. Laughter and barking filled the clearing where Nick wrestled split logs onto the stump.

      In that moment, an emotion so powerful he almost dropped the ax rose up in Nick. A sensation of loneliness so stark and desperate he had to close his eyes. He wanted to run away. To forget the past. Start over.

      But that wasn’t possible.

      * * *

      Alisa heard the ruckus outside and stepped to the kitchen door. Her breath caught in her lungs when she saw her son playing with the stranger’s dog.

      No! Don’t get attached to the dog. The drifter will take him away. That’s what drifters do. They leave.

      “Greg! It’s time to come in.” Panic raised her voice to a shrill note.

      “But Mom, I’m playing with Rags now.”

      “Now, Greg. Come get a snack and start your homework.”

      “Just two more minutes.”

      Alisa took a step out onto the porch toward her son, planted her fists on her hips. “One, two...”

      Greg’s shoulders slumped. He tossed the stick he’d been playing with aside and trudged toward the house while the dog looked on with the stick once again in his mouth.

      Her heart broke for her little boy, but in this case she knew she was right. She had to protect her son from smooth talking men who broke promises and left plenty of heartache behind.

      She only wished she’d known that ten years ago.

      After Greg washed up, Alisa shooed him over to the last stool at the counter out front in the diner. She brought him a bowl of fresh-picked wild blackberries and a slice of toast spread with peanut butter.

      “How was school today?”

      “Okay, I guess.”

      “Anything exciting happen?”

      “Pete Muldoon had to go to the principal’s office again.”

      “Why this time?” Poor little Pete seemed to be perpetually in trouble.

      Greg took a big bite of toast, chewing while he spoke. “We were playing tag at recess. He was it and followed Tammy into the girls bathroom to catch СКАЧАТЬ