A Temporary Courtship. Jenna Mindel

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СКАЧАТЬ stared at her. She obviously wanted him to ask the reason, and the funny thing was, Darren wanted to know. “Okay. Why?”

      “Last year, I applied for a two-year music residency that would encompass composing. I’d like to compose. And, well, recently I got called and accepted.” She let out a deep breath. “There, practice before delivery speech.”

      He didn’t want to go there, but something about the vulnerable look in her eyes made him probe. “Is it a secret?”

      “No. I’ve wanted to work under a composer for years, but I haven’t ever had the chance before. My parents don’t know yet, but then, it came together pretty fast.”

      She looked old enough to make her own decisions. “And they’ll have a problem with it?”

      Bree shrugged. There was obviously more to her story, but all she said was, “I’ll find out.”

      He nodded and they fell silent, each one searching out mushrooms in opposite directions. After several minutes, he stood, stretched and spotted Bree a few yards away.

      Her eyes were closed, her head tilted toward the sky. Her dark brown hair blazed with coppery color where the sun hit it.

      His gut tightened. He didn’t want to care about why this woman worried over her parents’ reaction. He didn’t want to like her at all, but there was something about her that tugged at him. Like a rare wildflower that needed protection from getting picked.

      At that moment, she opened her eyes, looked right at him and grinned. “I was listening to the sounds of the woods.”

      He cocked his head. What was she talking about?

      “You know, the birdsong and the breeze rustling those crepe-paper-looking leaves on those little trees over there.” She wasn’t putting him on.

      “I can’t remember what they are. Some kind of aspen, maybe.” He wished he knew. He’d look it up.

      “Interesting sounds out here.”

      “Haven’t you been in the woods before?”

      “I’ve summered here most of my life, but I’ve never ventured far from the main thoroughfares. Maybe Traverse City or Mackinac Island.”

      He shook his head. “You’re missing the best parts of Northern Michigan.”

      She turned interested eyes on him. “So, where are these best parts?”

      He took the bait. “Open fields with hills rising behind them. A twisting river loaded with brookies. The Pigeon River Forest where elk roam. Come winter, there are awesome snowmobile trails, pine trees heavy with snow and blue moonlight.”

      She gave him an odd look. “You sound like a poet.”

      Darren kicked at the ground cover. He’d gotten carried away. “I appreciate the area, is all.”

      “No desire to live elsewhere?”

      “None.” He was a local. He’d always be a local even though he’d been an army baby. His mother had moved him and his brother Zach permanently to Maple Springs after their brother Cam was born. She’d wanted her kids to have a home, an anchor. Some of his siblings had flown far from the nest after high school, but Darren wasn’t a traveler. He’d gone to college only a couple hours away before attending conservation officer training academy.

      The people who summered at Bay Willows came from all over. Mainly the Midwest, sure, but most were well-traveled and liked to tell where they’d been. They peppered their conversation with travel itineraries the way folks in old movies plastered travel stickers on their suitcases. Raleigh used to tease that he was backward, having never really been anywhere as an adult.

      “Hmm.” Bree’s attention zeroed in on the ground. “Oh, here are some more.”

      Glad for the distraction, Darren let the matter drop, because it didn’t matter. Bree Anderson was both educated and no doubt well-traveled. She was accustomed to a lifestyle he’d never had and never would have. With the supervisor position came a pay increase that would be more than enough for him. He didn’t care about making scads of money.

      If Bree found him interesting, it was only temporary. He wasn’t the kind of guy a girl like Bree would keep for the long haul. Darren wasn’t good enough for the Bay Willows crowd. He’d learned that lesson pretty well. Darren only had to make a mistake once to know he’d never repeat it.

      * * *

      On the drive back to Maple Springs, Bree peered into her plastic grocery sack at the pile of blackish-tan edibles heaped there. She breathed in the soft, earthy smell of fungi. Nothing too strong or pungent, she had trouble coming up with a comparison for the aroma. She’d picked these delicacies in the woods, with her own two hands.

      How cool.

      “How many do you have?” Darren’s voice sounded awfully gentle for such a gruff guy.

      “Uh.” Bree looked up. She sat up front again, in the passenger seat. “I don’t know.”

      Darren’s mouth curved into a half smile. “Considering how long you were staring into that bag, I thought you were counting them.”

      “Nope, just smelling them.” She didn’t want to explain what a novel experience this had been for her. Different than what she was used to and, well, it had been fun. Really fun. But more importantly, it had made her feel strong. Capable. Empowered?

      Okay, maybe that went too far.

      He chuckled, the sound a soft rumble from within his chest. Maybe he wasn’t as gruff as he pretended to be.

      Bree’s phone whistled with an incoming text, and she pulled it from her coat pocket. Briefly she closed her eyes after she’d read the name. That made three this week. “Excuse me.”

      “No problem.”

      Call me when you get a chance. Want to see how you’re doing. Philip.

      Bree had no intention of calling him. Instead, she replied with a text.

      I’m fine. Helping with one of my mom’s classes. Thanks.

      She scanned two previous messages that were similar. One had been Philip checking that she’d made it safely to her parents’ summer cottage. She was okay with that one, but the next two? Really, Philip needed to let it go. He needed to let her go.

      Bree slipped the phone back into her pocket as the van pulled up to the community building. Clutching her cache of mushrooms, she got out with the rest of the group and headed inside.

      “Gather in the kitchen and I’ll show you how to clean and cook the morels,” Darren called.

      “I know how to cook mushrooms.” The grumbly guy named Ed had a decidedly sharp tone.

      Bree glanced at Darren. He looked calm enough despite the flush of red that tipped his ears.

      “We all do. In fact, you can prepare morels any way you’d normally cook or sauté other mushrooms. Personally, СКАЧАТЬ