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What We Find
Robyn Carr


#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHORSULLIVANS’ CROSSING: BOOK ONEIs leaving her life behind the only way for Maggie to find happiness – and love?Neurosurgeon Maggie Sullivan knows she needs to slow down before she burns out completely, and the best place she can do that is by heading home to Sullivan’s Crossing.She relishes the opportunity to indulge in his simple way of life. But Maggie’s world is rocked and she must take responsibility for the Crossing.When quiet and serious Cal Jones, offers to lend a hand, Maggie is suspicious of his motive. Though as Cal and Maggie spend more time together it gives Maggie hope for something brighter just on the horizon…Readers love Robyn Carr:‘Lovely book from a lovely series’‘Robyn Carr reflects real life wonderfully’‘fascinating and heartwarming characters and a stunning setting’‘a must-read for fans of contemporary romance’







Join Robyn Carr, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Virgin River and Thunder Point series, as she explores the healing powers of rural Colorado in a brand-new story of fresh starts, budding relationships and one woman’s journey to finding the happiness she’s long been missing

Between the urban bustle of Denver and the high-stress environment of a career in neurosurgery, Maggie Sullivan has hit a wall. When an emergency high-risk procedure results in the death of a teenager, Maggie finds herself in the middle of a lawsuit—and experiencing levels of anxiety she’s never faced before. She knows she needs to slow down before she burns out completely, and the best place she can think to do that is Sullivan’s Crossing.

Named for Maggie’s great-grandfather, the land and charming general store at the crossroads of the Colorado and the Continental Divide Trails have been passed down through the generations and now belong to Maggie’s eccentric father, Sully. When she shows up unannounced, he welcomes her with open arms, and she relishes the opportunity to indulge in his simple way of life.

But shortly after arriving, Maggie’s world is rocked once again and she must take on more responsibility than she’d planned. Though she’s relieved a quiet and serious-looking hiker, Cal Jones, is willing to lend a hand, Maggie is suspicious of this mysterious man’s eagerness to help—until she finds out the true reason for his deliberate isolation.

Though Cal and Maggie each struggle with loss and loneliness, the time they spend together gives Maggie hope for something brighter just on the horizon…if only they can learn to find peace and healing—and perhaps love—with each other.


What We Find

Robyn Carr






www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)


This one is for Nicole Brebner, my editor, my partner, my friend.

Thank you.


Contents

Cover (#u1c6f718d-986c-5783-bc50-6bb8d69574ff)

Back Cover Text (#u24c564d1-b100-5264-afc5-5aa6f548f016)

Title Page (#u1c513c02-ac6e-5cbc-a40f-cfc98129819e)

Dedication (#uad6ec6d6-54e8-5997-97e6-937ed9ccd840)

Chapter 1 (#ulink_0f02c0e5-fb85-58f5-bb6e-5b2aa4db1063)

Chapter 2 (#ulink_29e0c22e-1119-5391-b420-776b45387a7c)

Chapter 3 (#ulink_e88e8ead-8a8f-59d4-9d0a-21f775be3d67)

Chapter 4 (#ulink_be845419-babc-5053-a251-801c6b9a99f3)

Chapter 5 (#ulink_da3c84e1-f55a-5e8c-a611-80b26a931105)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Just living is not enough...

One must have sunshine,

freedom, and a little flower.

—Hans Christian Andersen


Chapter 1 (#ulink_84cdd0f1-b91a-5a4d-902f-687380430995)

Maggie Sullivan sought refuge in the stairwell between the sixth and seventh floors at the far west end of the hospital, the steps least traveled by interns and residents racing from floor to floor, from emergency to emergency. She sat on the landing between two flights, feet on the stairs, arms crossed on her knees, her face buried in her arms. She didn’t understand how her heart could feel as if it was breaking every day. She thought of herself as much stronger.

“Well, now, some things never change,” a familiar voice said.

She looked up at her closest friend, Jaycee Kent. They had gone to med school together, though residency had separated them. Jaycee was an OB and Maggie, a neurosurgeon. And...they had hidden in stairwells to cry all those years ago when med-school life was kicking their asses. Most of their fellow students and instructors were men. They refused to let the men see them cry.

Maggie gave a wet, burbly huff of laughter. “How’d you find me?” Maggie asked.

“How do you know you’re not in my spot?”

“Because you’re happily married and have a beautiful daughter?”

“And my hours suck, I’m sleep-deprived, have as many bad days as good and...” Jaycee sat down beside Maggie. “And at least my hormones are cooperating at the moment. Maggie, you’re just taking call for someone, right? Just to stay ahead of the bills?”

“Since the practice shut down,” Maggie said. “And since the lawsuit was filed.”

“You need a break. You’re recovering from a miscarriage and your hormones are wonky. You need to get away, especially away from the emergency room. Take some time off. Lick your wounds. Heal.”

“He dumped me,” Maggie said.

Jaycee was clearly shocked. “What?”

“He broke up with me. He said he couldn’t take it anymore. My emotional behavior, my many troubles. He suggested professional help.”

Jaycee was quiet. “I’m speechless,” she finally said. “What a huge ass.”

“Well, I was crying all the time,” she said, sniffing some more. “If I wasn’t with him, I cried when I talked to him on the phone. I thought I was okay with the idea of no children. I’m almost thirty-seven, I work long hours, I was with a good man who was just off a bad marriage and already had a child...”

“I’ll give you everything but the good man,” Jaycee said. “He’s a doctor, for God’s sake. Doesn’t he know that all you’ve been through can take a toll? Remove all the stress and you still had the miscarriage! People tend to treat a miscarriage like a heavy period but it’s a death. You lost your baby. You have to take time to grieve.”

“Gospel,” Maggie said, rummaging for a tissue and giving her nose a hearty blow. “I really felt it on that level. When I found out I was pregnant, it took me about fifteen minutes to start seeing the baby, loving her. Or him.”

“Not to beat a dead horse, but you have some hormone issues playing havoc on your emotions. Listen, shoot out some emails tonight. Tell the ones on the need-to-know list you’re taking a week or two off.”

“No one knows about the pregnancy but you and Andrew.”

“You don’t have to explain—everyone knows about your practice, your ex-partners, the lawsuit. Frankly, your colleagues are amazed you’re still standing. Get out of town or something. Get some rest.”

“You might be right,” Maggie said. “These cement stairwells are killing me.”

Jaycee put an arm around her. “Just like old times, huh?”

* * *

The last seven or eight miles to Sullivan’s Crossing was nothing but mud and Maggie’s cream-colored Toyota SUV was coated up to the windows. This was not exactly a surprise. It had rained all week in Denver, now that she thought about it. March was typically the most unpredictable and sloppiest month of the year, especially in the mountains. If it wasn’t rain it could be snow. But Maggie had had such a lousy year the weather barely crossed her mind.

Last year had produced so many medical, legal and personal complications that her practice had shut down a few months ago. She’d been picking up work from other practices, covering for doctors on call here and there and working ER Level 1 Trauma while she tried to figure out how to untangle the mess her life had become. This, on her best friend and doctor’s advice, was a much needed break. After sending a few emails and making a few phone calls she was driving to her dad’s house.

She knew she was probably suffering from depression. Exhaustion and general misery. It would stand to reason. Her schedule could be horrific and the tension had been terrible lately. It was about a year ago that two doctors in her practice had been accused of fraud and malpractice and suspended from seeing patients pending an investigation that would very likely lead to a trial. Even though she had no knowledge of the incidents, there was a scandal and it stank on her. There’d been wild media attention and she was left alone trying to hold a wilting practice together. Then the parents of a boy who died from injuries sustained in a terrible car accident while on her watch filed a wrongful death suit. Against her.

It seemed impossible fate could find one more thing to stack on her already teetering pile of troubles. Hah. Never challenge fate. She found out she was pregnant.

It was an accident, of course. She’d been seeing Andrew for a couple of years. She lived in Denver and he in Aurora, since they both had demanding careers, and they saw each other when they could—a night here, a night there. When they could manage a long weekend, it was heaven. She wanted more but Andrew was an ER doctor and also the divorced father of an eight-year-old daughter. But they had constant phone contact. Multiple texts and emails every day. She counted on him; he was her main support.

Maggie wasn’t sure she’d ever marry and have a family but she was happy with her surprise. It was the one good thing in a bad year. Andrew, however, was not happy. He was still in divorce recovery, though it had been three years. He and his ex still fought about support and custody and visits. Maggie didn’t understand why. Andrew didn’t seem to know what to do with his daughter when he had her. He immediately suggested terminating the pregnancy. He said they could revisit the issue in a couple of years if it turned out to be that important to her and if their relationship was thriving.

She couldn’t imagine terminating. Just because Andrew was hesitant? She was thirty-six! How much time did she have to revisit the issue?

Although she hadn’t told Andrew, she decided she was going to keep the baby no matter what that meant for their relationship. Then she had a miscarriage.

Grief-stricken and brokenhearted, she sank lower. Exactly two people knew about the pregnancy and miscarriage—Andrew and Jaycee. Maggie cried gut-wrenching tears every night. Sometimes she couldn’t even wait to get home from work and started crying the second she pulled the car door closed. And there were those stairwell visits. She cried on the phone to Andrew; cried in his arms as he tried to comfort her, all the while knowing he was relieved.

And then he’d said, “You know what, Maggie? I just can’t do it anymore. We need a time-out. I can’t prop you up, can’t bolster you. You have to get some help, get your emotional life back on track or something. You’re sucking the life out of me and I’m not equipped to help you.”

“Are you kidding me?” she had demanded. “You’re dropping me when I’m down? When I’m only three weeks beyond a miscarriage?”

And in typical Andrew fashion he had said, “That’s all I got, baby.”

It was really and truly the first moment she had realized it was all about him. And that was pretty much the last straw.

She packed a bunch of suitcases. Once she got packing, she couldn’t seem to stop. She drove southwest from Denver to her father’s house, south of Leadville and Fairplay, and she hadn’t called ahead. She did call her mother, Phoebe, just to say she was going to Sully’s and she wasn’t sure how long she’d stay. At the moment she had no plan except to escape from that life of persistent strain, anxiety and heartache.

It was early afternoon when she drove up to the country store that had been her great-grandfather’s, then her grandfather’s, now her father’s. Her father, Harry Sullivan, known by one and all as Sully, was a fit and hardy seventy and showed no sign of slowing down and no interest in retiring. She just sat in her car for a while, trying to figure out what she was going to say to him. How could she phrase it so it didn’t sound like she’d just lost a baby and had her heart broken?

Beau, her father’s four-year-old yellow Lab, came trotting around the store, saw her car, started running in circles barking, then put his front paws up on her door, looking at her imploringly. Frank Masterson, a local who’d been a fixture at the store for as long as Maggie could remember, was sitting on the porch, nursing a cup of coffee with a newspaper on his lap. One glance told her the campground was barely occupied—only a couple of pop-up trailers and tents on campsites down the road toward the lake. She saw a man sitting outside his tent in a canvas camp chair, reading. She had expected the sparse population—it was the middle of the week, middle of the day and the beginning of March, the least busy month of the year.

Frank glanced at her twice but didn’t even wave. Beau trotted off, disappointed, when Maggie didn’t get out of the car. She still hadn’t come up with a good entry line. Five minutes passed before her father walked out of the store, across the porch and down the steps, Beau following. She lowered the window.

“Hi, Maggie,” he said, leaning on the car’s roof. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

“It was spur-of-the-moment.”

He glanced into her backseat at all the luggage. “How long you planning to stay?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t you say I was always welcome? Anytime?”

He smiled at her. “Sometimes I run off at the mouth.”

“I need a break from work. From all that crap. From everything.”

“Understandable. What can I get you?”

“Is it too much trouble to get two beers and a bed?” she asked, maybe a little sarcastically.

“Coors okay by you?”

“Sure.”

“Go on and park by the house. There’s beer in the fridge and I haven’t sold your bed yet.”

“That’s gracious of you,” she said.

“You want some help to unload your entire wardrobe?” he asked.

“Nope. I don’t need much for now. I’ll take care of it.”

“Then I’ll get back to work and we’ll meet up later.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said.

* * *

Maggie dragged only one bag into the house, the one with her toothbrush, pajamas and clean jeans. When she was a little girl and both her parents and her grandfather lived on this property, she had been happy most of the time. The general store, the locals and campers, the mountains, lake and valley, wildlife and sunshine kept her constantly cheerful. But the part of her that had a miserable mother, a father who tended to drink a little too much and bickering parents had been forlorn. Then, when she was six, her mother had had enough of hardship, rural living, driving Maggie a long distance to a school that Phoebe found inadequate. Throw in an unsatisfactory husband and that was all she could take. Phoebe took Maggie away to Chicago. Maggie didn’t see Sully for several years and her mother married Walter Lancaster, a prominent neurosurgeon with lots of money.

Maggie had hated it all. Chicago, Walter, the big house, the private school, the blistering cold and concrete landscape. She hated the sound of traffic and emergency vehicles. One thing she could recall in retrospect, it brought her mother to life. Phoebe was almost entirely happy, the only smudge on her brightness being her ornery daughter. They had switched roles.

By the time Maggie was eleven she was visiting her dad regularly—first a few weekends, then whole months and some holidays. She lived for it and Phoebe constantly held it over her. Behave yourself and get good grades and you’ll get to spend the summer at that god-awful camp, eating worms, getting filthy and risking your life among bears.

“Why didn’t you fight for me?” she had continually asked her father.

“Aw, honey, Phoebe was right, I wasn’t worth a damn as a father and I just wanted what was best for you. It wasn’t always easy, neither,” he’d explained.

Sometime in junior high Maggie had made her peace with Walter, but she chose to go to college in Denver, near Sully. Phoebe’s desire was that she go to a fancy Ivy League college. Med school and residency were a different story—it was tough getting accepted at all and you went to the best career school and residency program that would have you. She ended up in Los Angeles. Then she did a fellowship with Walter, even though she hated going back to Chicago. But Walter was simply one of the best. After that she joined a practice in Denver, close to her dad and the environment she loved. A year later, with Walter finally retired from his practice and enjoying more golf, Phoebe and Walter moved to Golden, Colorado, closer to Maggie. Walter was also seventy, like Sully. Phoebe was a vibrant, social fifty-nine.

Maggie thought she was possibly closer to Walter than to Phoebe, especially as they were both neurosurgeons. She was grateful. After all, he’d sent her to good private schools even when she did every terrible thing she could to show him how unappreciated his efforts were. She had been a completely ungrateful brat about it. But Walter turned out to be a kind, classy guy. He had helped a great many people who proved to be eternally grateful and Maggie had been impressed by his achievements. Plus, he mentored her in medicine. Loving medicine surprised her as much as anyone. Sully had said, “I think it’s a great idea. If I was as smart as you and some old coot like Walter was willing to pick up the tab, I’d do it in a New York minute.”

Maggie found she loved science but med school was the hardest thing she’d ever taken on, and most days she wasn’t sure she could make it through another week. She could’ve just quit, done a course correction or flunked out, but no—she got perfect grades along with anxiety attacks. But the second they put a scalpel in her hand, she’d found her calling.

She sat on Sully’s couch, drank two beers, then lay down and pulled the throw over her. Beau pushed in through his doggy door and lay down beside the couch. The window was open, letting in the crisp, clean March air, and she dropped off to sleep immediately to the rhythmic sound of Sully raking out a trench behind the house. She started fantasizing about summer at the lake but before she woke she was dreaming of trying to operate in a crowded emergency room where everyone was yelling, bloody rags littered the floor, people hated each other, threw instruments at one another and patients were dying one after another. She woke up panting, her heart hammering. The sun had set and a kitchen light had been turned on, which meant Sully had been to the house to check on her.

There was a sandwich covered in plastic wrap on a plate. A note sat beside it. It was written by Enid, Frank’s wife. Enid worked mornings in the store, baking and preparing packaged meals from salads to sandwiches for campers and tourists. Welcome Home, the note said.

Maggie ate the sandwich, drank a third beer and went to bed in the room that was hers at her father’s house.

She woke to the sound of Sully moving around and saw that it was not quite 5:00 a.m. so she decided to go back to sleep until she didn’t have anxiety dreams anymore. She got up at noon, grazed through the refrigerator’s bleak contents and went back to sleep. At about two in the afternoon the door to her room opened noisily and Sully said, “All right. Enough is enough.”

* * *

Sully’s store had been built in 1906 by Maggie’s great-grandfather Nathaniel Greely Sullivan. Nathaniel had a son and a daughter, married off the daughter and gave the son, Horace, the store. Horace had one son, Harry, who really had better things to do than run a country store. He wanted to see the world and have adventures so he joined the Army and went to Vietnam, among other places, but by the age of thirty-three, he finally married and brought his pretty young wife, Phoebe, home to Sullivan’s Crossing. They immediately had one child, Maggie, and settled in for the long haul. All of the store owners had been called Sully but Maggie was always called Maggie.

The store had once been the only place to get bread, milk, thread or nails within twenty miles, but things had changed mightily by the time Maggie’s father had taken it on. It had become a recreational facility—four one-room cabins, dry campsites, a few RV hookups, a dock on the lake, a boat launch, public bathrooms with showers, coin-operated laundry facilities, picnic tables and grills. Sully had installed a few extra electrical outlets on the porch so people in tents could charge their electronics and now Sully himself had satellite TV and Wi-Fi. Sullivan’s Crossing sat in a valley south of Leadville at the base of some stunning mountains and just off the Continental Divide Trail. The camping was cheap and well managed, the grounds were clean, the store large and well stocked. They had a post office; Sully was the postmaster. And now it was the closest place to get supplies, beer and ice for locals and tourists alike.

The people who ventured there ranged from hikers to bikers to cross-country skiers, boating enthusiasts, rock climbers, fishermen, nature lovers and weekend campers. Plenty of hikers went out on the trails for a day, a few days, a week or even longer. Hikers who were taking on the CDT or the Colorado Trail often planned on Sully’s as a stopping point to resupply, rest and get cleaned up. Those hearties were called the thru-hikers, as the Continental Divide Trail was 3,100 miles long while the Colorado Trail was almost 500, but the two trails converged for about 200 miles just west of Sully’s. Thus Sully’s was often referred to as the crossing.

People who knew the place referred to it as Sully’s. Some of their campers were one-timers, never seen again, many were regulars within an easy drive looking for a weekend or holiday escape. They were all interesting to Maggie—men, women, young, old, athletes, wannabe athletes, scout troops, nature clubs, weirdos, the occasional creep—but the ones who intrigued her the most were the long-distance hikers, the thru-hikers. She couldn’t imagine the kind of commitment needed to take on the CDT, not to mention the courage and strength. She loved to hear their stories about everything from wildlife on the trail to how many toenails they’d lost on their journey.

There were tables and chairs on the store’s wide front porch and people tended to hang out there whether the store was open or closed. When the weather was warm and fair there were spontaneous gatherings and campfires at the edge of the lake. Long-distance hikers often mailed themselves packages that held dry socks, extra food supplies, a little cash, maybe even a book, first-aid items, a new lighter for their campfires, a fresh shirt or two. Maggie loved to watch them retrieve and open boxes they’d packed themselves—it was like Christmas.

Sully had a great big map of the CDT, Colorado Trail and other trails on the bulletin board in the front of the store; it was surrounded by pictures either left or sent back to him. He’d put out a journal book where hikers could leave news or messages. The journals, when filled, were kept by Sully, and had become very well-known. People could spend hours reading through them.

Sully’s was an escape, a refuge, a gathering place or recreational outpost. Maggie and Andrew liked to come for the occasional weekend to ski—the cross-country trails were safe and well marked. Occupancy was lower during the winter months so they’d take a cabin, and Sully would never comment on the fact that they were sharing not just a room but a bed.

Before the pregnancy and miscarriage, their routine had been rejuvenating—they’d knock themselves out for a week or even a few weeks in their separate cities, then get together for a weekend or few days, eat wonderful food, screw their brains out, get a little exercise in the outdoors, have long and deep conversations, meet up with friends, then go back to their separate worlds. Andrew was shy of marriage, having failed at one and being left a single father. Maggie, too, had had a brief, unsuccessful marriage, but she wasn’t afraid of trying again and had always thought Andrew would eventually get over it. She accepted the fact that she might not have children, coupled with a man who, right up front, declared he didn’t want more.

“But then there was one on the way and does he step up?” she muttered to herself as she walked into the store through the back door. “He complains that I’m too sad for him to deal with. The bastard.”

“Who’s the bastard, darling?” Enid asked from the kitchen. She stuck her head out just as Maggie was climbing onto a stool at the counter, and smiled. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“I know, I’m sorry about that. It’s been harrowing in Denver. I’m sure Dad told you about all that mess with my practice.”

“He did. Those awful doctors, tricking people into thinking they needed surgery on their backs and everything! Is one of them the bastard?”

“Without a doubt,” she answered, though they hadn’t been on her mind at all.

“And that lawsuit against you,” Enid reminded her, tsking.

“That’ll probably go away,” Maggie said hopefully, though there was absolutely no indication it would. At least it was civil. The DA had found no cause to indict her. But really, how much is one girl supposed to take? The event leading to the lawsuit was one of the most horrific nights she’d ever been through in the ER—five teenage boys in a catastrophic car wreck, all critical. She’d spent a lot of time in the stairwell after that one. “I’m not worried,” she lied. Then she had to concentrate to keep from shuddering.

“Good for you. I have soup. I made some for your dad and Frank. Mushroom. With cheese toast. There’s plenty if you’re interested.”

“Yes, please,” she said.

“I’ll get it.” Enid went around the corner to dish it up.

The store didn’t have a big kitchen, just a little turning around room. It was in the southwest corner of the store; there was a bar and four stools right beside the cash register. On the northwest corner there was a small bar where they served adult beverages, and again, a bar and four stools. No one had ever wanted to attempt a restaurant but it was a good idea to provide food and drink—campers and hikers tended to run out of supplies. Sully sold beer, wine, soft drinks and bottled water in the cooler section of the store, but he didn’t sell bottled liquor. For that matter, he wasn’t a grocery store but a general store. Along with foodstuffs there were T-shirts, socks and a few other recreational supplies—rope, clamps, batteries, hats, sunscreen, first-aid supplies. For the mother lode you had to go to Timberlake, Leadville or maybe Colorado Springs.

In addition to tables and chairs on the porch, there were a few comfortable chairs just inside the front door where the potbellied stove sat. Maggie remembered when she was a little girl, men sat on beer barrels around the stove. There was a giant ice machine on the back porch. The ice was free.

Enid stuck her head out of the little kitchen. She bleached her hair blond but had always, for as long as Maggie could remember, had black roots. She was plump and nurturing while her husband, Frank, was one of those grizzled, skinny old ranchers. “Is that nice Dr. Mathews coming down on the weekend?” Enid asked.

“I broke up with him. Don’t ever call him nice again,” Maggie said. “He’s a turd.”

“Oh, honey! You broke up?”

“He said I was depressing,” she said with a pout. “He can kiss my ass.”

“Well, I should say so! I never liked him very much, did I mention that?”

“No, you didn’t. You said you loved him and thought we’d make handsome children together.” She winced as she said it.

“Obviously I wasn’t thinking,” Enid said, withdrawing back into the kitchen. In a moment she brought out a bowl of soup and a thick slice of cheese toast. Her soup was cream of mushroom and it was made with real cream.

Maggie dipped her spoon into the soup, blew on it, tasted. It was heaven. “Why aren’t you my mother?” she asked.

“I just didn’t have the chance, that’s all. But we’ll pretend.”

Maggie and Enid had that little exchange all the time, exactly like that. Maggie had always wanted one of those soft, nurturing, homespun types for a mother instead of Phoebe, who was thin, chic, active in society, snobby and prissy. Phoebe was cool while Enid was warm and cuddly. Phoebe could read the hell out of a menu while Enid could cure anything with her chicken soup, her grandmother’s recipe. Phoebe rarely cooked and when she did it didn’t go well. But lest Maggie completely throw her mother under the bus, she reminded herself that Phoebe had a quick wit, and though she was sarcastic and ironic, she could make Maggie laugh. She was devoted to Maggie and craved her loyalty, especially that Maggie liked her more than she liked Sully. She gave Maggie everything she had to give. It wasn’t Phoebe’s fault they were not the things Maggie wanted. For example, Phoebe sent Maggie to an extremely good college-prep boarding school that had worked out on many levels, except that Maggie would have traded it all to live with her father. Foolishly, perhaps, but still... And while Phoebe would not visit Sully’s campground under pain of death, she had thrown Maggie a fifty-thousand-dollar wedding that Maggie hadn’t wanted. And Walter had given her and Sergei a trip to Europe for their honeymoon.

Maggie had appreciated the trip to Europe quite a lot. But she should never have married Sergei. She’d been very busy and distracted and he was handsome, sexy—especially that accent! They’d looked so good together. She took him at face value and failed to look deeper into the man. He was superficial and not trustworthy. Fortunately, or would that be unfortunately, it had been blessedly short. Nine months.

“This is so good,” Maggie said. “Your soup always puts me right.”

“How long are you staying, honey?”

“I’m not sure. Till I get a better idea. Couple of weeks, maybe?”

Enid shook her head. “You shouldn’t come in March. You should know better than to come in March.”

“He’s going to work me like a pack of mules, isn’t he?”

“No question about it. Only person who isn’t afraid to come around in March is Frank. Sully won’t put Frank to work.”

Frank Masterson was one of Sully’s cronies. He was about the same age while Enid was just fifty-five. Frank said he had had the foresight to marry a younger woman, thereby assuring himself a good caretaker for his old age. Frank owned a nearby cattle ranch that these days was just about taken over by his two sons, which freed up Frank to hang out around Sully’s. Sometimes Sully would ask, “Why don’t you just come to work with Enid in the morning and save the gas since all you do is drink my coffee for free and butt into everyone’s business?”

When the weather was cold he’d sit inside, near the stove. When the weather was decent he favored the porch. He wandered around, chatted it up with campers or folks who stopped by, occasionally lifted a heavy box for Enid, read the paper a lot. He was a fixture.

Enid had a sweet, heart-shaped face to go with her plump body. It attested to her love of baking. Besides making and wrapping sandwiches to keep in the cooler along with a few other lunchable items, she baked every morning—sweet rolls, buns, cookies, brownies, that sort of thing. Frank ate a lot of that and apparently never gained an ounce.

Maggie could hear Sully scraping out the gutters around the store. Seventy and up on a ladder, still working like a farmhand, cleaning the winter detritus away. That was the problem with March—a lot to clean up for the spring and summer. She escaped out to the porch to visit with Frank before Sully saw her sitting around and put her to work.

“What are you doing here?” Frank asked.

“I’m on vacation,” she said.

“Hmm. Damn fool time of year to take a vacation. Ain’t nothing to do now. Dr. Mathews comin’?”

“No. We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“Hmm. That why you’re here during mud season? Lickin’ your wounds?”

“Not at all. I’m happy about it.”

“Yup. You look happy, all right.”

I might be better off cleaning gutters, she thought. So she turned the conversation to politics because she knew Frank had some very strong opinions and she could listen rather than answer questions. She spotted that guy again, the camper, sitting in his canvas camp chair outside his pop-up tent/trailer under a pull-out awning. His legs were stretched out and he was reading again. She noticed he had long legs.

She was just about to ask Frank how long that guy had been camping there when she noticed someone heading up the trail toward the camp. He had a big backpack and walking stick and something strange on his head. Maggie squinted. A bombardier’s leather helmet with earflaps? “Frank, look at that,” she said, leaning forward to stare.

The man was old, but old wasn’t exactly rare. There were a lot of senior citizens out on the trails, hiking, biking, skiing. In fact, if they were fit at retirement, they had the time and means. As the man got closer, age was only part of the issue.

“I best find Sully,” Frank said, getting up and going into the store.

As the man drew near it was apparent he wore rolled-up dress slacks, black socks and black shoes that looked like they’d be shiny church or office wear once the mud was cleaned off. And on his head a weird WWII aviator’s hat. He wore a ski jacket that looked to be drenched and he was flushed and limping.

Sully appeared on the porch, Beau wagging at his side, Frank following. “What the hell?”

“Yeah, that’s just wrong,” Maggie said.

“Ya think?” Sully asked. He went down the steps to approach the man, Maggie close on his heels, Frank bringing up the rear and Enid on the porch waiting to see what was up.

“Well, there, buddy,” Sully said, his hands in his pockets. “Where you headed?”

“Is this Camp Lejeune?”

Everyone exchanged glances. “Uh, that would be in North Carolina, son,” Sully said, though the man was clearly older than Sully. “You’re a little off track. Come up on the porch and have a cup of coffee, take off that pack and wet jacket. And that silly hat, for God’s sake. We need to make a phone call for you. What are you doing out here, soaking wet in your Sunday shoes?”

“Maybe I should wait a while, see if they come,” the man said, though he let himself be escorted to the porch.

“Who?” Maggie asked.

“My parents and older brother,” he said. “I’m to meet them here.”

“Bet they have ’em some real funny hats, too,” Frank muttered.

“Seems like you got a little confused,” Sully said. “What’s your name, young man?”

“That’s a problem, isn’t it? I’ll have to think on that for a while.”

Maggie noticed the camper had wandered over, curious. Up close he was distracting. He was tall and handsome, though there was a small bump on the bridge of his nose. But his hips were narrow, his shoulders wide and his jeans were torn and frayed exactly right. They met glances. She tore her eyes away.

“Do you know how you got all wet? Did you walk through last night’s rain? Sleep in the rain?” Sully asked.

“I fell in a creek,” he said. He smiled though he also shivered.

“On account a those shoes,” Frank pointed out. “He slipped cause he ain’t got no tread.”

“Well, there you go,” Maggie said. “Professor Frank has it all figured out. Let’s get that wet jacket off and get a blanket. Sully, you better call Stan the Man.”

“Will do.”

“Anyone need a hand here?” Maggie heard the camper ask.

“Can you grab the phone, Cal?” Sully asked. Sully put the man in what had been Maggie’s chair and started peeling off his jacket and outer clothes. He leaned the backpack against the porch rail and within just seconds Enid was there with a blanket, cup of coffee and one of her bran muffins. Cal brought the cordless phone to the porch. The gentleman immediately began to devour that muffin as Maggie looked him over.

“Least he’ll be reg’lar,” Frank said, reclaiming his chair.

Maggie crouched in front of the man and while speaking very softly, she asked if she could remove the hat. Before quite getting permission she pulled it gently off his head to reveal wispy white hair surrounding a bald dome. She gently ran her fingers around his scalp in search of a bump or contusion. Then she pulled him to his feet and ran her hands around his torso and waist. “You must’ve rolled around in the dirt, sir,” she said. “I bet you’re ready for a shower.” He didn’t respond. “Sir? Anything hurt?” she asked him. He just shook his head. “Can you smile for me? Big, wide, smile?” she asked, checking for the kind of paralysis caused by a stroke.

“Where’d you escape from, young man?” Sully asked him. “Where’s your home?”

“Wakefield, Illinois,” he said. “You know it?”

“Can’t say I do,” Sully said. “But I bet it’s beautiful. More beautiful than Lejeune, for sure.”

“Can I have cream?” he asked, holding out his cup.

Enid took it. “Of course you can, sweetheart,” she said. “I’ll bring it right back.”

In a moment the gentleman sat with his coffee with cream, shivering under a blanket while Sully called Stan Bronoski. There were a number of people Sully could have reached out to—a local ranger, state police aka highway patrol, even fire and rescue. But Stan was the son of a local rancher and was the police chief in Timberlake, just twenty miles south and near the interchange. It was a small department with a clever deputy who worked the internet like a pro, Officer Paul Castor.

Beau gave the old man a good sniffing, then moved down the stairs to Cal who automatically began petting him.

Sully handed the phone to Maggie. “Stan wants to talk to you.”

“He sounds like someone who wandered off,” Stan said to Maggie. “But I don’t have any missing persons from nearby. I’ll get Castor looking into it. I’m on my way. Does he have any ID on him?”

“We haven’t really checked yet,” Maggie said into the phone. “Why don’t I do that while you drive. Here’s Sully.”

Maggie handed the phone back to her dad and said, “Pass the time with Stan while I chat with this gentleman.”

Maggie asked the man to stand again and deftly slid a thin wallet out of his back pocket. She urged him to sit, and opened it up. “Well, now,” she said. “Mr. Gunderson? Roy Gunderson?”

“Hmm?” he said, his eyes lighting up a bit.

Sully repeated the name into the phone to Stan.

“And so, Roy, did you hurt anything when you fell?” Maggie asked.

He shook his head and sipped his coffee. “I fell?” he finally asked.

Maggie looked at Sully, lifting a questioning brow. “A Mr. Gunderson from Park City, Utah,” Sully said. “Wandered off from his home a few days ago. On foot.”

“He must’ve gotten a ride or something,” Cal said.

“His driver’s license, which was supposed to be renewed ten years ago, says his address is in Illinois.”

“Stan says he’ll probably have more information by the time he gets here, but this must be him. Dementia, he says.”

“You can say that again,” Maggie observed. “I can’t imagine what the last few days have been like for him. He must have been terrified.”

“He look terrified to you?” Frank asked. “He might as well be on a cruise ship.”

“Tell Stan we’ll take care of him till he gets here.”

Maggie went about the business of caring for Mr. Gunderson, getting water and a little soup into him while the camper, Cal, chatted with Sully and Frank, apparently well-known to them. When this situation was resolved she meant to find out more about him, like how long he’d been here.

She took off Roy’s shoes and socks and looked at his feet—no injuries or frostbite but some serious swelling and bruised toenails. She wondered where he had been and how he’d gotten the backpack. He certainly hadn’t brought it from home or packed it himself. That would be too complicated for a man in his condition. It was a miracle he could carry it!

Two hours later, the sun lowering in the sky, an ambulance had arrived for Roy Gunderson. He didn’t appear to be seriously injured or ill but he was definitely unstable and Stan wasn’t inclined to transport him alone. He could bolt, try to get out of a moving car or interfere with the driver, although Stan had a divider cage in his police car.

What Maggie and Sully had learned, no thanks to Roy himself, was that he’d been cared for at home by his wife, wandered off without his GPS bracelet, walked around a while before coming upon a rather old Chevy sedan with the keys in the ignition, so he must have helped himself. The car was reported stolen from near his house, but had no tracking device installed. And since Mr. Gunderson hadn’t driven in years, no one put him with the borrowed motor vehicle for a couple of days. The car was found abandoned near Salt Lake City with Roy’s jacket in it. From there the old man had probably hitched a ride. His condition was too good to have walked for days. Roy was likely left near a rest stop or campgrounds where he helped himself to a backpack. Where he’d been, what he’d done, how he’d survived was unknown.

The EMTs were just about to load Mr. Gunderson into the back of the ambulance when Sully sat down on the porch steps with a loud huff.

“Dad?” Maggie asked.

Sully was grabbing the front of his chest. Over his heart. He was pale as snow, sweaty, his eyes glassy, his breathing shallow and ragged.

“Dad!” Maggie shouted.

If you tell the truth you don’t have

to remember anything.

—Mark Twain


Chapter 2 (#ulink_69e2ce6c-88c5-5bfd-b3e9-8967960f9c35)

It’s different when it’s your father, when your father is Sully, the most beloved general-store owner in a hundred square miles. Maggie felt a rising panic that she hoped didn’t show. First, she gave him an aspirin. Then she rattled off medication orders to the EMT, though she wasn’t the physician in charge and it would have to be approved via radio. Poor Mr. Gunderson ended up in the back of Stan’s squad car and Sully was put on the gurney. The emergency tech immediately started an EKG, slapping electrodes onto his chest, getting an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

Maggie was in the ambulance immediately, reading the EKG as it was feeding out. Beau was barking and jumping outside the ambulance door, trying to get inside.

“Beau!” Maggie yelled. “No, Beau! Stay!”

She heard a whistle, then a disappointed whine, then the door to the ambulance closed and they pulled away.

“Maggie,” Sully said, pulling the mask away. “See he didn’t follow. I don’t leave him very much.”

Maggie peeked out the back window. “It’s okay, Dad. He’s in front of the porch with that guy. That camper. Enid will see he’s taken care of.”

The driver was on the radio saying they were en route with a possible coronary.

“The lost guy with dementia?” the dispatcher asked.

“Negative, we got Sully from the store. Chest pains, diaphoretic, BP 190 over 120, pulse rapid and thready. His daughter is with us. Dr. Maggie Sullivan. She wants us to draw an epi and administer nitro. She stuck an aspirin in his mouth.”

“Is he conscious?”

“I’m conscious,” Sully whispered. “Maggie. I ain’t quite ready.”

“Easy, Dad, easy. I’m right here for you,” Maggie said. “Let’s start some Ringer’s, TKO.”

“Not you,” Sully said. “You’re shaking!”

“You want me to do it, Sully?” the young EMT asked.

“Better you than her. Look at her.” Then he moaned.

“We need morphine,” Maggie said. “Get an order for the morphine and ask for airlift to Denver. We have to transport to Denver stat. Gimme that IV setup.”

She got the IV started immediately, so fast the EMT said, “Wow!”

A few years ago Walter, her stepfather, had suffered a small stroke. Stroke. That was her territory and she handled him with calm and ease. He was treated immediately, the recovery was swift, his disability minor and addressed in physical therapy in a matter of weeks. A textbook case.

This felt entirely different.

“Gimme your cell phone,” she said to the EMT. She didn’t have hers, of course, because it was back at Sully’s in her purse. The young man handed it over without question and she called Municipal Hospital. “This is Dr. Maggie Sullivan. I’m in an ambulance with my father, en route to you. I don’t have my cell. Can you connect me with Dr. Rob Hollis? It’s an emergency. Thank you.”

It took only a moment. “What have you got, Maggie?” her friend Rob asked.

“My dad—seventy-year-old male,” she said, running through his symptoms. “The EMT is running an EKG and we can send it.” She looked at the EMT. “We can send it, right?”

“Right.”

“If we get medical airlift from Timberlake, we’ll be there in no time. Will you meet me?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Try to stay calm.”

“I’m good,” she said.

“She’s a wreck,” Sully muttered. “Airlift. Gonna cost a goddamn fortune.”

“I gave him nitro, oxygen and morphine. He seems to be comfortable. EKG coming to the ER for you.”

It was not like this with Walter. With Walter, whom she’d become close to once she’d passed through adolescence, she was able to be a physician—objective, cool, confident. With Sully, she was a daughter clinging to her medical training with an internal fear that if anything terrible happened to him she would be forever lost.

Sully was not experiencing terrible pain once the morphine kicked in; his breathing was slightly labored and his blood pressure remained high. Maggie watched over him through the transfer into a medical transport helicopter and stayed with him while he was taken into the emergency room where Dr. Hollis waited.

“Jesus, Maggie,” Rob said, his stethoscope going immediately to Sully’s chest. “Nothing like making an entrance.”

“Who are you?” Sully asked.

“Rob Hollis, cardiac surgeon. And you must be Sully.” He picked up a section of the EKG tape, glancing at it almost casually. “We’re going to run a few tests, draw some blood, bring down that blood pressure if possible and then, very probably, depending on the test results, go to the OR and perform a bypass surgery. Do you know what that is?”

“Sure I do,” Sully said, his voice tired and soft. “I’m the last one on my block to get one.”

“Maggie, this is going to take a while even though we’ll push it through with stat orders. Maybe you should go to the doctor’s lounge and rest.”

“She should go grab a beer and find a poker game but she don’t need no rest,” Sully said. “She’s plenty rested.”

“I’ll stay with my dad,” she said. “I’ll keep out of your way.”

“You’re going to be bored,” Rob said.

Not as long as he’s breathing, she thought. “I’ll manage.”

* * *

Maggie knew almost everyone in the hospital, in the ER and the OR. Because of her stature as a surgeon, she was given many updates on the tests, the results, the surgery. She even thought to ask one of her friends, an operating room charge nurse, for the loan of her car once Sully was out of recovery, out of danger, and resting comfortably in the coronary care unit. Here she was in Denver with no vehicle, no purse, credit cards, phone, nothing, but there was a spare key to her house under the flowerpot on the back patio and she could write a counter check at her bank for cash. There might even be a duplicate or extra credit or debit card she didn’t keep in her purse. In her closet there would be something to wear. In fact, there were drawers full of scrubs, if it came to that.

She wasn’t bored and she’d had plenty of sleep before Sully’s medical emergency, but by the time she stood at his bedside in the CCU at five in the morning she was so exhausted she could hardly stand up. She had the wiggles from too much caffeine, looked like bloody hell and hadn’t had a shower since leaving Denver for Sullivan’s Crossing. It reminded her of some of those days in residency when she stayed at the hospital for over forty-eight hours with only a catnap here and there. This time it was all stress.

She went home in her borrowed car to freshen up. She located an old wallet and purse, found a credit card she didn’t often use in her file cabinet and was back at the hospital by eight. By nine they were rousing Sully.

“Maggie, you gotta get me out of here,” he rasped. “They won’t leave me alone.”

“There’s nothing you can do but be your charming self,” she said.

“They got some breathing thing they force on me every hour,” he complained. “And I’m starving to death. And it feels like they opened my chest with a Black & Decker saw.”

“I’ll ask for more pain meds,” she offered. She lifted a hand toward the nurse and got a nod in return.

“Maggie, you gotta go run the store...”

“The store is fine. I called Enid an hour ago, gave her a progress report and checked on them. Frank stayed with her yesterday till closing, they took Beau home with them and they should be opening up about now. She’s going to call Tom Canaday and see if he has any extra time to help out. It’s all taken care of.”

He just groaned and closed his eyes. “’Bout time Frank worked off some of that coffee he’s been freeloading. What about you?” he asked.

“What about me? I’m here with you.”

He opened his eyes. They were not his usual warm or mischievous brown eyes. They were angry. “I’m not good with hospitals. I’ve never been in one before.”

She thought for a moment because surely he was wrong. “Huh,” she finally said. “Never? That’s something, Sully. Seventy years old and never spent a night in a hospital.”

“Turns out I knew what I was doing. Look what happens. They have a tube shoved up my—”

“Catheter,” she said.

“Get it out! Now!”

The nurse arrived with a syringe, putting it in the IV. “You should feel a lot better in just a few minutes, Mr. Sullivan.”

“How long do I have to stay here?”

“In the care unit? Just a day or two.”

“Then I can go home?”

“That’s a good question for the doctor, but it’s usually anywhere from three to eight days.”

“I’ll do two,” he said without missing a beat. “That’s all I got.”

“There’s recovery time involved after heart surgery, Dad,” Maggie said.

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to stay with you. Take care of you.”

He was quiet for a moment. “God help me,” he whispered.

We’re going to need a lot more drugs, Maggie thought.

* * *

A great deal of maneuvering was required for Maggie to get her affairs in order, so to speak.

According to Enid, Tom Canaday, their handyman and helper, was going to adjust his schedule to spend more time at Sully’s. Tom had a lot of jobs—he drove a tow truck, worked on car repairs in a service station, drove a plow in winter and did road work in summer, which kept him on the county payroll. He did a variety of handyman and maintenance jobs around the area. He’d do just about anything if the money was right because he was a single father with four kids aged twelve to nineteen. Sometimes he’d bring one or two along to help him or just to hang out with him. And now, when Tom couldn’t work, he could send his oldest son, Jackson, the nineteen-year-old.

Maggie asked Enid if she could come to Denver to pick her up, drive her back to Sully’s where she would get her own car and some incidentals like her cell phone, purse, extra clothes, makeup and the like. Also, she would get some clothing and a shaving kit for Sully, who was not going back home soon, a subject she was not looking forward to discussing with him.

Enid said she’d be at the hospital in the morning. “Can I see him when I get there?” she asked.

“You don’t want to see him, Enid. He’s a huge pain in the ass. He’s been complaining and trying to get out of here from the minute he arrived and the fact that he can hardly get out of bed hasn’t deterred him one bit.”

“Well, I could’ve told you it would be like that.”

* * *

Maggie was waiting outside the hospital’s front entrance for Enid when who should pull up in a banged-up old red pickup truck but Frank. Maggie sighed. Just what I need—two hours held captive by Frank.

All the way back to Sullivan’s Crossing, Frank droned on and on about the evils of government in every conspiracy theory ever imagined, including his belief that commercial jetliners were spraying the atmosphere with enhanced jet stream in an effort to lower the temperature of the earth to combat global warming. “Of which there ain’t no damn such thing anyhow.”

By the time they got back to the crossing, she was exhausted all over again. “I can’t believe you did that to me,” she said to Enid.

“You find him a little talkative, Maggie?” she asked with a teasing smile. “He got there, didn’t he? We’re a little short-handed around here, you know.”

Maggie hurried to gather up what she needed and asked Enid to make her a sandwich.

“Already done, cupcake. Turkey and swiss on whole grain. And I packed up a box of cookies and muffins for Sully.”

“I’m afraid his cookie and muffin days are over for now. Listen, Enid, we can put a sign on the door. Close up for a while. You and Frank just can’t handle the whole place on your own.”

“We’re getting by all right, honey. People understand about stuff like this. Tom’s been here with his boy. That camper with the pop-up trailer has even been pitching in. Nice fella, Cal.”

“Oh, Enid, he’ll probably steal the silver! If we had any.”

“Nah, he’s a good enough fella. He’s got that spot and asked for a weekly rate. I offered him the house for his shower but he said he’s doing just fine.”

“He’s probably homeless,” Maggie said. “You know we don’t really know these people.”

“Tom offered to try to spend some nights around here, but we don’t hardly have anybody in the park anyhow. And besides, we got Cal here if there’s trouble, which there ain’t likely to be. Cal’s got a cell phone.”

“He’ll probably break into the store and clean us out the first night and—”

“Maggie, the first night’s come and gone and he’s still here, helping out. You’ve been in the city too long. That isn’t gonna happen, honey. And for sure not in March! No one’s passing through in this muck and mess.”

But there had been times when the police or sheriff or ranger had to be called, when a few campers had a little too much fun, too much to drink, got aggressive. Sully had a baseball bat he took with him if he went out to see what was going on late at night. There was a domestic once when Maggie was young—some man knocking around his woman and Sully just couldn’t resist. He decked him, knocked him out. Maggie had been stunned, not just that her dad would do that but that he was that strong. Plus, even though she’d always been told, we never hit, no matter what, she had adored him for it.

It was true the crossing was mostly peaceful. But they were isolated, especially from November to March, and from time to time had a little trouble. They didn’t have any paid security like some of the bigger or state-operated campgrounds. Just Sully. Maggie could count on one hand the number of nights Sully had spent away from the campground. Her graduations, her wedding.

“Was it awful?” Enid asked of Sully’s heart attack.

“I was terrified,” Maggie whispered back.

* * *

Maggie went back to Denver, to a hospital she knew well, and commenced what would become three of the longest weeks of her life. Sully was healing nicely and making great progress...and he was incorrigible. He sulked, he didn’t follow explicit instructions, he got very constipated and it riled him beyond measure. He began speaking abusively to the nursing staff. He went from stonily silent to loud and abrasive; he wouldn’t eat his food and he was moved to a private room because Maggie couldn’t bear the effect he had on his roommate.

“What is the matter with you?” she ground out.

“Besides the fact that my chest was ripped open and I haven’t had a good shit in ten days? Not a goddamn thing!”

“You haven’t been here ten days, but I’m going to get you fixed right away. And you’re going to be sorry you complained to me.” She put two residents on the job; she told them to use any means available and legal, just make it happen. She said she didn’t want to know how they did it but they were to see to it he had a bowel movement by morning.

When she came in to see Sully the next day, he was smiling. And he was passably pleasant most of the day.

After seven days in the hospital she took him home to her house where she was cloistered with him, fed him low-sodium and low-fat foods, took him to rehab every other day and listened to him bitch for another thirteen days.

Finally, she took him back to Sullivan’s Crossing.

And Sully was reborn. His temperament immediately smoothed over. His facial features relaxed. He greeted Enid, Frank and Tom, and spent about fifteen straight minutes greeting Beau. Then Sully ate a salad with turkey slices and complimented Maggie’s thoughtfulness for the lunch.

“I think you dropped twenty pounds,” Enid said.

“Twelve. And I could spare it. Now, Enid, it looks like I’m going to be keeping Frank company for a while. Maggie says I have to go slow. We should get Tom’s boy to help out with things like stocking shelves; get Tom to finish cleaning the gutters and clearing that trench around the house to the stream so we don’t get flooded, if we aren’t already.”

“You aren’t,” a voice said. “I finished clearing that trench and I checked the basement at your house.”

Everyone turned to see the man standing in the doorway of the store. Cal. Maggie looked at him closely for the first time. He was somewhere just under forty, with dark brown hair and light brown eyes that twinkled.

“Cal,” Sully said. “You’re still here? Good to see you! You been helping out?”

Cal stuck out a hand. “Sorry about the heart trouble, Sully. Glad to see you’re doing so well. To tell the truth, you look better than ever.”

“What the devil you doing here so long?” Sully asked, shaking his hand.

“Well, I could say I was here to help out, but that wouldn’t be true. I’m waiting for better weather to check out the CDT. Since I was here, I tried to lend Enid a hand.”

“He did a great job, Sully,” Enid said. “He’s been bringing in the heavy boxes from the storeroom, helped stock shelves, swept up, hauled trash, the kind of stuff that’s on your schedule.”

“That’s awful neighborly,” Sully said. “We’ll cut you a check.”

The man chuckled and ducked his head with a hint of shyness that Maggie was immediately taken with.

“No need, Sully. I didn’t mind helping out. It gave me something to do.”

“If you’re camping, you must have had other things on your mind to take up time.”

“To tell the truth, I messed up my planning. I thought I’d pick up the CDT out of Leadville but where it’s not icy, it’s flooding. A few chores weren’t anything. Enid took care of me. I appreciate the hospitality.”

“Are you planning to leave your vehicle in Leadville?” Sully asked.

“That was the plan.”

“Well, you can leave it here if it suits you and pick up the trail just over that hill,” Sully said, pointing. “Whenever you’re ready and no charge. No charge on the campsite, either.”

“You don’t have to do that, but it’s appreciated. In fact, this being your first day home, I’ll stick around a few days in case you need a hand. I don’t have urgent plans.”

“Are you homeless?” Maggie asked.

Everyone stared at her.

“I mean, you don’t need money and you’re in no hurry and you’re happy to help and... It’s unusual. Not that people aren’t friendly, but...”

He flashed her a beautiful smile. His front teeth were just slightly imperfect and it gave him a sexy, impish look. “No problem. In fact, I am homeless. I’m on the road, probably till fall. But I have the truck, the camper, I’m always on the lookout for places to charge up the laptop and phone and I think Enid gave me special treatment—some of the meals I got here were way better than what’s for sale in the cooler. I have what I need for now. And yes, I can pay my way.”

“Independently wealthy?” Maggie asked. And for someone who didn’t mean to be rude, she realized she certainly sounded it. “Trust-fund baby?”

“Maggie!” Sully reprimanded. “She might be a little cranky, Cal, on account of I turned out not to be the best patient on record.”

“No problem at all. I’m the suspicious type myself. No, not a trust-fund baby, Dr. Sullivan. Just a little savings and a lot of patience.” He shifted his gaze to Sully. “Right now I have time for a game of checkers. Any takers?”

“Don’t do it, Sully,” Frank said. “He’s brutal.”

“That makes it irresistible, now, don’t it?”

That’s when Maggie wandered off to the house.

* * *

Sully’s house was over a hundred years old. It had been built when Maggie’s great-grandfather was a young man, before he and his wife had their first child. The improvements and changes since it was originally built were haphazard at best. When old refrigerators died, new ones appeared and they never matched the original kitchen color or design. The washer and dryer started in the basement but eventually made it up to the back porch; the porch was finally closed in so a person wouldn’t freeze doing laundry in winter. Furniture was replaced as it wore out but never was a whole room remodeled. It was long overdue.

But the design was surprisingly modern for a house built in 1906 and Sully himself had reroofed it. There was a living room, dining room and a kitchen with nook on the main floor. There had been three bedrooms and a bath but Sully had installed a master bath attached to the largest bedroom. He had burrowed into the third bedroom for the space, which left a smaller than usual room, so it became his office. Over time he’d finished off the attic into a cozy loft bedroom but Maggie had no idea why. He didn’t marry again. It wasn’t like there were offspring wrestling for space. He’d recently remodeled the basement into what he called a rumpus room. “For the grandchildren I guess I’ll never get,” he said. “No pressure.”

“It’s not really too late,” Maggie said. “If I ever find the time.” And the right man...

“There wasn’t that much to do in winter so I worked on the house a little bit,” was all he said.

She loved the house, though it was in serious need of a face-lift.

She spent the afternoon settling their belongings into their rooms. Sully didn’t make an appearance. It crossed her mind to check on him, to make sure he wasn’t doing too much, but she trusted Enid to keep an eye on him.

She came back across the yard to the store a little after four and found Sully sitting by the stove with only Beau for company.

“Tired?” she asked him.

“I never been the nap kind of man but I’m starting to see the merits,” he said.

“Did you send Enid and Frank home?”

“Nothing going on around here, no need for them to stay. We can close up early. After we have a little nip.” He lifted his bushy salt-and-pepper brows in her direction. “Your friend the doctor, he said that’s all right.”

“Did he, now? You wouldn’t lie about that, would you?”

“I would if need be but he did indeed say that.” Sully got up, a bit slower than he used to, and walked through the store to the little bar. He went behind while she grabbed a stool. “What’s your pleasure?” he asked.

“Is there a cold white wine back there with the cork out?” she asked.

“No, but it would be my pleasure to uncork this really nice La Crema and let you steal it. You can take it back to the house with you.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

“Now, I’d like you to do something for me, Maggie.”

“What’s that, Dad?”

“I’d like you to go out to the porch where that nice Cal Jones just sat down, and invite him to join us. Right after you apologize for being such an ass.”

“Dad...”

“You think I’m kidding around? Really, I didn’t raise you like that and maybe Phoebe did but I doubt it. She’s snooty but not nasty. I’ve never seen the like.”

She took a breath. “After your behavior in the hospital...”

“After you get your chest sawed open, we’ll compare notes. For now, the man was decent enough to help Enid and we’re grateful. Aren’t we, Maggie?”

She sighed. “You know what this is like? This is like getting in trouble at school and being marched back to the classroom to humbly take your medicine. How do you know he’s not a serial killer?”

“I’m not,” said an amused voice.

“Don’t you just have the worst habit of sneaking up on people!” she said. “This old man is a heart patient!”

“That’s no way to worm back into my good graces, calling me old,” Sully said. “Besides, I saw him coming. Say what I told you, Maggie.”

“I might’ve been a little impatient today,” she said. “And perhaps I didn’t show my gratitude very well...”

“She was an ass,” Sully said. “Not like her, neither. You want a little pop, son?”

“You’re on,” he said, sitting on one of the stools. “How about a Chivas, neat, water back.”

While Sully pulled the cork out of the wine, he talked. “So, Maggie here is very tough but tenderhearted and usually very good with her manners. Much better than I am. But I think putting up with me for three weeks since this operation just plain ruined her.” He pushed a glass of wine toward Maggie. “She isn’t going to do that again. Unless you give her trouble. Don’t give her trouble, son. She’s very strong.”

Maggie the bold and strong, she thought.

“I don’t have any trouble in me, Sully,” Cal said with a chuckle. “I’m just checking out Colorado.”

“And what are you doing here?” she asked. When both men looked at her, she held up a hand. “Hey, no offense, but people usually have a reason for finding themselves at Sullivan’s Crossing.”

“No offense taken,” he said. “I’ve been doing some hiking here and there. Hiking and camping. There’s a lot of stuff online about hiking the Divide, but you don’t want to hit the Rockies before May, and that might even be too soon...”

“Not this year,” Sully said. “It’s an early thaw. We damn near washed into the lake one year with an early thaw. The snowpack flows to the west but we’re not without our wash. I gotta figure out how to get that garden in without lifting a finger.”

Maggie laughed. “Once again, he talks about me like I’m not even here. Of course I’ll help with the garden. So, you think you might hike the whole CDT?”

Cal shook his head. “I don’t think so, just a little piece of it, but I’d like to get up there and see what I see. I’ll hike and camp for a few weeks, then I’ll decide what’s next. Montana, maybe. Or Idaho. Canada. But not in winter.”

Over the years, Maggie had learned that you don’t ask a hiker why they take on something like the Appalachian Trail or the CDT. They’re driven. They want to be stronger than the trail, to break it or maybe just survive it. “The CDT is the longest one,” Maggie pointed out. “It can get lonely out there.”

“I know. I like the solitude. I also like the people I run into. People who want to do that are... I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like they have things to understand about themselves and every single one of them has different things to figure out.”

“And what do you have to figure out, Mr. Jones?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Nothing too deep. How about what to do next? Where to settle?”

That sounded like true freedom to Maggie—choosing something new. She’d eventually have to go back to work in Denver. Right now she was using Sully’s rehabilitation as an excuse. She was needed here.

“If you like solitude, then that must be why you chose this campground in March,” Sully said, sipping from his glass and letting go a giant ahhhh as he appreciated it. Maggie and Cal laughed. “Doc says this is all right but you can bet your sweet ass that bitch of a nurse didn’t bring me no nightcap!”

“Dad!”

“You expect me to apologize for saying that? That was a simple, true statement!” He shook his head. “That one nurse, the one at night with the black, black hair and silver roots, she was mean as a snake. If I die and go to hell, I’ll meet her there.”

Cal looked at Maggie and with a wry smile said, “Long convalescence?”

“Three weeks of my life I’ll never get back,” Maggie said.

No man can, for any considerable time,

wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude,

without finally getting bewildered as to which

is the true one.

—Nathaniel Hawthorne


Chapter 3 (#ulink_52c29c58-f766-583e-a2f3-1adc4be70a7f)

Once Sully had gone to bed, Maggie got on her computer. She might not be a trained investigator but she was damn sure an experienced researcher. She started by collecting the possible variants on the name Cal. Calvin, Calhoun, Caleb, Callahan, Calloway, even Pascal. Then she tried just plain Cal Jones. She found several obituaries but not a single reference that could be their camper, so if he was a serial killer he was still an unknown one. She wasted two hours on that.

She heard her phone chime with a text. She was surprised to see it was from Andrew.

I heard about Sully. Is he doing well? Are you?

We’re fine, she texted back.

There was no response and she went back to tinkering on her laptop. About ten minutes later her phone rang and she saw the call was from Andrew. She sent it to voice mail. There was a ping—message received.

There were so many times over the past three weeks she had wished to hear Andrew’s confident and reassuring voice. To feel his arms closing around her. She had a few close women friends. There was Jaycee, her closest friend. Jaycee had called or texted every day to see how they were getting along. There were a few of the women she worked with, but Andrew had been the only man in her life for a long time. Since Sergei. And Sergei had been a total mistake. An artist of Ukrainian descent who, she eventually realized, wanted to marry an American doctor or someone of equal income potential. He’d had the mistaken impression she came from money because of the show Phoebe and Walter could put on. Walter could affect an image of aristocracy.

“I am so lousy at men,” she muttered to herself.

But Andrew shouldn’t have been a mistake. Her eyes had been wide-open—they were both professionals with young practices and bruised hearts. She’d been thirty-four, he almost forty. His marriage had been longer but far more expensive than hers, and his ex had been so mean. Sergei hadn’t been mean, not at all. In fact he’d been charming. Sweet. And after nine months of marriage expected a house, a car and 50 percent of her income for the next twenty years.

It turned out she’d had good instincts about lawyers. Thank God.

She didn’t listen to Andrew’s message, but she saved it. There would probably be a time soon when she’d crave that soothing voice. She wondered if he even realized that after all the storms she’d weathered lately one of her darkest hours had been the sight of Sully gripping his chest, panting, washing pale. She knew true terror in that moment.

It was amusing to Maggie that her mother thought Sully was such a loser, a simple, laid-back general-store owner, a country boy, an underachiever. Maggie didn’t see him that way at all. Sully was her rock. In fact, he was a rock for a lot of people. He had a strong moral compass, for one thing. He worked hard but he wasn’t a slave to his work, he saw the merits to a balanced life. He was possessed of a country wisdom attained through many years of watching people and learning about human nature. And he was true. He was the most loyal individual on earth. Sully thought Maggie was smart to strive to be as successful as Walter. But Maggie wished she could be more like Sully.

She settled back on the couch and decided to listen to Andrew’s message.

“Maggie, listen, babe, I’m sorry about your crisis with Sully. Is he there with you in Denver? When I get a day I can come up and check on you both...”

“I don’t want to be checked on,” she said to the phone.

“It’s been pretty crazy here or I might’ve heard sooner. I just heard about the bypass a couple of days ago but I was told he was doing great and you were with him so I didn’t jump on the phone.”

“Yeah, why would you do that?”

“And what’s this I hear that you took a vacation? Of indefinite duration? I hope that doesn’t have anything to do with our disagreement. I know you’re probably upset with me, I know that. Honey, I just want what’s best for you and I could tell I wasn’t helping anything. Maybe I made the wrong call but I thought it was probably best if you looked further than me to get support right now. I don’t know anyone who could cope with all you’ve been through any better than you have, but I just felt so helpless, and that wasn’t good for you...”

“I sucked the life out of you, remember?”

“Call me, please. Or email me or something. Let me know what I can do, when we can talk. You know how much I care about you and Sully.”

“Actually, I’m a little murky on that...”

“Maggie?” Sully said from the hall. “Who the devil are you talking to?”

She jumped in surprise. He was wearing his pajamas, his white hair mussed and spiking. “Um...the television?”

“The TV isn’t on,” he said.

“Okay, I was talking back to a message from Andrew. You don’t dump someone and then leave a kind and caring message. Too little, too late.”

“Hmm,” he said, thinking on that for a moment.

“I guess I need a fresh start,” she informed him. “I’d like to go back to eighth grade and redo everything.”

“I think this heart attack business has taken a toll on you,” he said. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It wasn’t exactly your fault,” she said. “Aside from your genetics, you’ve been in good health. Your father and grandfather probably had health issues they didn’t even know about. At least yours is resolved.”

“I understand all that, but there’s one thing you’re going to have to make peace with one way or another. I’m seventy. I’m going to die before you do.”

“That takes a toll,” she informed him. “Remember you said you weren’t quite ready? You remember saying that? In the ambulance?”

“If God takes me home in March it’s only because he means to punish everyone I hold dear, from the folks who help run this little place to all the folks who pass through. I wasn’t done with the cleanup. That’s all I meant by that. Now, will you take one of them anxiety pills that are so popular and get some sleep? Unless you want to bitch at Andrew’s message some more, of course.”

“I thought coming back here would help me get perspective,” she said.

“We been in Denver, Maggie. We haven’t been back two full days. Even God needed seven to get it together. Jesus.” He ran a hand over his head and wandered back to his bedroom.

“I’ve always had kind of high expectations of myself,” she yelled at his back.

“No shit,” he returned.

* * *

Maggie woke up at first light and walked into the kitchen. There were no signs of life and Sully’s bedroom door stood open. He’d made his bed and was gone. This was typical of life here—he rarely put on a pot of coffee at the house, only in the worst of winter when venturing to the store was a useless chore. In spring, summer and fall he dressed and trudged over to the store where he’d start the big pot for Enid.

Before she even got up the steps to the back porch, she spied Sully. He was down at Cal Jones’s campsite sitting on a small camp stool, holding a mug of coffee on his knee, petting Beau with the other hand. Cal, on the other hand, was crouched before a small grill, sitting on the heel of his boot, stirring something in a frying pan. She caught the unmistakable aroma of bacon.

When Beau saw her he got up, started wagging his tail and ran to her as though he hadn’t seen her in weeks. “Good morning, gentlemen. Something smells good.”

Cal cracked two eggs on top of his bacon and covered the pan. “I’d be happy to make you breakfast,” he said.

“That’s very nice of you. I’ll get some in the store in a minute. Dad, I was hoping you’d sleep in.”

“And here I was hoping you would,” Sully said. “I can’t stay in bed, Maggie. I get all creaky and it takes too long to work out the kinks. Besides, this is the best time of day.”

“It is a beautiful morning,” she agreed. She wanted to discuss the coffee—just one cup, please. And activity today—nothing strenuous. Diet, they could talk about diet, and it wouldn’t include bacon... But Cal distracted her by popping open a camp stool for her to join them. “Thanks,” she said.

She watched as Cal put two pieces of bread he’d toasted on the grill onto a plate. Then he lifted his bacon and eggs out of the pan. He sat across the grill from Sully, plate on his knees, and worked away at his breakfast.

“That bacon smells every bit as good as I recall,” Sully said.

“If you stay away from the wrong foods you’ll live longer,” Maggie reminded him.

“I probably won’t. But it’ll damn sure seem longer.”

Cal laughed.

“What’s Cal short for?” Maggie asked.

He swallowed and looked at her. “You’ve been Googling me.”

“I have not!” she said.

“Is that what you were doing on the computer half the night?” Sully asked.

She scowled at him. “I’m just curious. Calvin? Caleb?”

“Why? Does one of those guys have a record?” Cal asked.

“How would I know?” she returned, but she colored a little. She’d always been a terrible liar.

He laughed at her. “I just go by Cal,” he said.

“You won’t tell me?”

“I think this is more fun.”

A car pulled into the grounds followed by Frank’s beat-up red truck. “There’s Enid and Frank. I take it you started the coffee?” Maggie asked.

“I did. And ate a bowl of that instant mush,” Sully said.

“What’ve you got to do today, Sully?” Cal asked. “What can you use help with?”

“Just the regular stuff. I can probably handle it with Maggie’s help. You know—shelf stocking, cleaning up, inventory. Hardly any campers yet so we’re not too far behind, but they’re coming. We have spring break coming up. I’m gonna have Tom and two of his kids to help this weekend and we’ll get that garden in. Once it’s in, I can handle it, plus the doctor said I should be back in the swing of things in a couple of weeks.”

“No. He didn’t,” Maggie pointed out. “He said you’d probably be moving slow for six weeks and in a few months you’d be in good shape. But no lifting anything over ten pounds for at least six weeks, preferably ten.”

“Thank God you were listening, Maggie,” he said sarcastically. “Otherwise I might’ve just killed myself planting a carrot.”

Maggie got up, turned and started walking to the store. “I don’t appreciate the attitude,” she said.

“I’m about ready to get out a big cigar and see how strong your heart is!”

“Do that and you’ll see how strong my right arm is!”

“This is going to be one giant pain in the ass, that’s what.”

“Sully, can’t you appreciate that I’m just being responsible? If you live right you have many good years ahead,” she said, a pleading quality to her voice.

“Let’s try to relax, Maggie. The doctor said I’d be fine and to keep an eye on too much bruising from the blood thinner. He didn’t tell me to stay in bed until I die of boredom.” Sully stood from his camp chair to follow Maggie. “He did tell me not to have sex or take my Viagra for a while,” Sully said to Cal.

Maggie whirled and gave him a dirty look as Cal smirked.

“Bummer,” Sully said.

* * *

Cal puttered around his campsite, cleaning up and stowing things. Then he ambled over to the store to check things out before Sully got himself in any more trouble with Maggie. Sully was full of mischief and reminded Cal a lot of his grandfather. His grandfather had died at the age of seventy-five and it had seemed so premature at the time. He, like Sully, had been so physically strong, mentally sharp.

Maggie was a very interesting character. He didn’t know all the details but he’d peg her for either a firstborn or only child. She was strong like her father, that was undeniable. Or maybe she was strong-willed like a doctor? Cal had had plenty of experience with doctors and he knew they could be arrogant, stubborn and nurse a great need to be right about everything. They were also often brilliant, compassionate, sensitive and yet not sentimental. Maggie seemed to embody those qualities.

And she wasn’t hard to look at, either. She had good teeth, he thought, then laughed at himself. Like he was judging a horse? He was just one of those people who noticed eyes and mouths first. It was somehow natural to him and also something he consciously thought about—you can tell a lot about a person from their mouth and eyes.

Maggie’s eyes were brown like his but darker. Chocolate. She had thick lashes, fine, thin, arching brows and a sparkle in her eyes. They reflected humor, anger, curiosity and embarrassment. He’d caught her; it was written all over her face—she’d been trying to research him. Probably because he was hanging around the campground so long, even during inclement weather. And not just hanging around the grounds but also the store—she was naturally protective of her father and his property.

He said good-morning to Frank, who sat by Sully near the stove. Sully had another cup of coffee and Cal guessed he must have gotten rid of Maggie somehow to score another cup. Who knew how many he’d had before walking with his steaming mug over to Cal’s campsite. Cal wasn’t sure whether Sully was hard to manage or he just enjoyed watching Maggie’s attempts. He was extremely curious about their family history. Where was Maggie’s mother?

“What would you like me to get out of that storeroom for you, Sully?”

“Aw, I don’t want to work you, Cal...”

“I don’t feel put upon at all. I don’t have anything on the calendar. Another week and your campground will get busy, the weather will get warmer and I’m going to take you up on your offer to park and see what these trails have to offer. So—want to tell me?”

“I’ll go with you and show you,” Sully said.

“As long as you don’t get in trouble with the warden.”

Cal went about the business of bringing out boxes of supplies and restocking the shelves. He rotated the goods so the newest went in the back and the oldest would sell first. He checked the dates on the food products if necessary and he used a dampened rag to wipe the shelving clean.

It brought back memories of his student days. Stocking supermarket shelves didn’t pay particularly well but it was something he could do at night. He went to classes and study groups during the day and early evening, worked at night. And sleep? When he could. He learned to work quickly, study every second he could spare, power nap, eat on the run. He recorded facts, stats, case studies and lectures into his pocket recorder, listened and repeated as he showered, drove, shelved. The days were long, the nights short, the labor intense.

Yet it was a happy time. He was achieving all his goals, was deeply bonded with his friends and fellow students, his life felt challenging but very stable. And he met Lynne.

Lynne Aimee Baxter was the smartest, kindest, strongest, funniest person he’d ever known. They weren’t headed in the same direction, not really. They both wanted to work in the legal system. He wanted to make a good living, put down roots, build a house that could hold him till he died and with space to accommodate a growing family. Lynne wanted to help people. He might end up in criminal law...maybe tax law...same thing, they would joke. She might end up a public defender or, better still, a storefront operation for the underprivileged in need of legal counsel. What was so comical—he came from nothing while she was a trust-fund baby.

Maybe that explained it. He longed for security; she wanted to shed the excesses of her life.

“You’re better at this than I am,” Sully said behind him.

He turned around with a grin. “I’ve done this before.”

“I’ll say it again—I just don’t pay you enough. Listen, Maggie’s gone over to town to pick up my seeds and starters and maybe to get away from me. Want to join me for a hot dog?”

Cal smiled. “You eat a hot dog, you’re going to pay. That’s for sure.”

“You thinking I’ll get caught?” Sully asked.

“Someone is bound to talk,” Cal said. “But I was thinking more along the lines of indigestion. You’ve been on a pretty bland diet, haven’t you? I’d work up to a hot dog if I were you. And then there’s the high sodium, fat, et cetera.”

“That mean you don’t want one?”

“Oh, I want one,” Cal said. “You should have something a little more easy on the stomach. If you ever want to have sex again in your life.”

“Hell, I gave up on that a long time ago. Don’t tell Maggie. I’d like to think of her having nightmares about it.”

When he was done with the shelf stocking and his hot dog, Cal went to the area Sully had mentioned was his garden. It was easily identifiable. It was behind the house, kind of hidden from the campgrounds. Cal wondered if that was sometimes an issue—a thriving garden being tempting to campers. Did they occasionally help themselves to the tomatoes?

It wasn’t too big, maybe sixteen by sixteen feet. He could see the rows from last year. He went to the shed that stood back from the property, tucked in the trees. There was a lot of equipment, from snowblower to plow attachment, lawn-grooming equipment, riding mower, wheelbarrow and gardening supplies.

Snowblower. He kept reminding himself to head south. Maybe southwest. It was just all that smog and sand and those hot rocks they called mountains...

He’d gone to school in Michigan, the state that invented winter. He was from everywhere, usually moderate climates, while Lynne was from New York. Westchester, to be exact.

He chose the wheelbarrow, spade, shovel and rake, and started clearing away the winter debris. He hadn’t asked what Sully meant to do with the stuff so he made two piles—one of fallen leaves that could constitute fertilizer and the other rocks, winter trash and weeds. You wouldn’t want to use weeds in mulch; that would just invite them back.

He’d been at it a couple of hours when he heard her approach. He knew she’d get around to it. He leaned on his spade and waited.

“You let my father eat a hot dog? Does that sound heart healthy to you?”

He just shook his head. “You know he’s a liar and he’s having fun with your close medical scrutiny. What do you think?”

“He got me, didn’t he?”

“He ate a sandwich—lean turkey, tomato, lettuce on wheat bread. He asked for doughy white bread and lost out to Enid, who obviously knows him better than you do. He wanted chips—he got slaw—made with vinegar, not mayo. Really, Maggie?” He laughed and shook his head.

“He’s antagonizing me, is that what you’re saying?”

“Over and over. But you can stop pressing the panic button. He’s doing great.”

“Have you seen his incision?” she asked.

“Oh, about ten times. I offered to sell tickets for him. He’s running out of people to show. But no worries. He tells me the camp is going to attract people like crazy any second now. Spring break, then weekends, then summer. I just hope he doesn’t scare the children.”

She thought about that for a moment. “It’s impolite to act like you know more about my closest relative than I do.”

“And yet, that’s usually the case. You’re too bound up by baggage, expectation and things you need for yourself. Like a father who lives much longer.” He pulled a rag out of his back pocket to wipe off his brow. “Stop letting him bait you. He’s very conscious of the doctor’s orders. He’s taking it one step at a time.”

“Did he pay you to say this? Or are you Dr. Phil on vacation?”

Cal laughed. “You two have quite a dynamic going. You could be a married couple. Married about forty years, I’d say.”

“Remind you of your parents?” she asked, raising one brow. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“My parents are unnaturally tight,” he said. “They’re kind of amazing, I guess. Deeply supportive of each other, almost to the exclusion of everything around them and everyone else. Protective. They’re in their sixties, as in love as the day they met, and total whack jobs. But sweet. They’re very sweet.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “What makes them whack jobs?”

“Well, they always described themselves as hippies. New-age disciples. Free thinkers. Intelligent and experimental and artistic. They’re from that dropout generation. And Deadheads.”

“As in, the Grateful Dead?”

“Exactly. Just a little more complex.”

She dropped down to the ground like a child fascinated by a bedtime story filled with adventure and excitement. She circled her knees with her arms. He’d seen this before. It was kind of fun, as a matter of fact.

“Where are they now?” she asked.

“Living on my grandfather’s farm in Iowa. My grandfather passed away quite a while ago and my grandmother, just a few years ago.”

“Are they still whack jobs?” she asked.

“Oh yeah,” he said, working his spade again. “Or maybe it’s more kind to say they’re eccentric. My mother doesn’t hear voices or anything.” Then he smiled. “But my dad is another story. My father fancies himself a new age thinker. He’s incredibly smart. And he regularly gets...um...messages.”

“Oh, this is fascinating,” she said. “What kind of messages?”

“Come on, nosy. How about you? Are you the oldest in the family?”

“The only. My parents divorced when I was six. My mother lives in Golden with my stepfather. What kind of messages?”

“Well, let’s see...there have been so many. One of the most memorable was when my father believed space aliens were living among us and systematically killing us off by putting chemicals in our food. That was a very bad couple of years for meals.”

“Wow.”

“It definitely hits the wow factor. They—we—were gypsies with no Romany heritage and my parents glommed on to a lot of bizarre beliefs that came and went.”

“And this has to do with Jerry Garcia how?”

“He appealed to their freedom factor—no rules, no being bound by traditional ideas or values, crusaders of antisocial thinking, protesting the status quo. They were also very fond of Timothy Leary and Aldous Huxley. My father favors dystopian literature like Brave New World. My mother, on the other hand, is a very sweet lady who adores him, agrees with everything he says, likes to paint and weave and is really a brilliant but misguided soul. She usually homeschooled us since we were wanderers.” He took a breath and dug around a little bit. “My father is undiagnosed schizophrenic. Mild. Functional. And my mother is his enabler and codependent.”

“It sounds so interesting,” she said, kind of agog. “And you’re an only child, too?”

He shook his head. “The oldest of four. Two boys, two girls.”

“Where’s the rest of the family?” she asked.

“Here and there,” he told her. “My youngest sister was on the farm with my parents last I checked. There’s a sister back East living a very conventional life with a nice, normal husband and two very proper children. My brother is in the military. Army. He’s an infantry major. That’s taken years off my mother’s life, I’m sure.”

She laughed and it was a bright, musical sound. “You are no ordinary camper! What are you doing here?”

He leaned on the spade. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Looking after Sully,” she said.

“Oh, but that’s not all,” he said. “Neurosurgeons don’t just take weeks off when duty calls.”

“True. Not weeks off, anyway. I was already here for a vacation. My practice in Denver shut down because two of my former partners are not only being sued but being investigated by the attorney general for fraud and malpractice. I am not being indicted. I had no knowledge of their situation. But I can’t float a practice alone.”

“And that’s not all, either.”

“My father had a heart attack,” she said indignantly.

“I know, but there’s something else. Something that made you run home, run to your father, who is a remarkable man, by the way. There’s at least one more thing...”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded.

“That little shadow behind your eyes. Something personal hurt you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“A man,” he said. “I bet there was a man. You had a falling out or fight or something. Or he cheated. Or you did.”

“There was no cheating! We just parted company!”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said, grinning at her.

“That’s just plain rude, prying like that. I didn’t do that to you. I was only curious and I asked but if you’d said it was none of my business, I wouldn’t have pushed. And I wouldn’t have given you some bullshit about something behind your eyes.”

“I think I’m getting a name,” he said, rolling his eyes upward as if seeking the answer in the heavens. “Arthur? Adam? Andrew, that’s it.”

She got to her feet, a disgusted smirk marring her pretty face. “Oh, that was good, Calhoun,” she said.

“Frank told me,” he said. “You weren’t thinking of keeping a secret around here, were you?” He laughed, very amused with himself. “And it’s not Calhoun.”

She brushed off the butt of her jeans. “You’re going to pay for that. I don’t know how yet, but trust me...”

“Someone has to teach you how to have a little fun, Maggie,” he said.

“Well, it’s not going to be you, Carlisle.”

He just shook his head and laughed. Then he worked on tilling the garden plot.

To find yourself, think for yourself.

—Socrates


Chapter 4 (#ulink_109b8f42-cfa6-52ab-93f4-e958a3741fc2)

The days were getting just a little longer, a little warmer. Flowers were starting to sprout along roadsides and trails. It was turning beautiful in and around Sullivan’s Crossing. Sully wasn’t able to plant his bulbs around the house but Maggie did it for him, with his relentless supervision.

Maggie and Sully had been back for five days and she’d driven to Timberlake as many times. First for some fresh vegetables and salmon, then for seedlings for Sully’s garden along with fertilizer, then for some fish and chicken breasts. She went ahead and stocked up on frozen shrimp and ground turkey and she spent a lot of time on her laptop looking up heart-healthy meals.

This was not how Maggie envisioned her escape from reality. She’d been hoping to relax and empty her brain of all those disappointments and worries. But this? She was working her tail off. She was not used to cooking, for one thing. When she was working she typically ate hospital food which, paradoxically, was not the healthiest. It was so starchy, cafeteria quality. It wasn’t the food they served patients, either. If not eating at the hospital, she’d grab something on the way home, something light—there was a conveniently located grocer and deli that sold prepared meals for one. And then there were the times she went out with friends or some of the staff for a meal and they were partial to either sushi or Italian.

But now she was working hard at feeding Sully delicious things to at least intrigue him rather than bore him to death. Before, when Maggie was at the campground, they’d decide what they were having for dinner and meet at about seven, throw a steak, burgers or maybe some chicken breasts on the grill. And they’d eat their meat with fries or potato chips.

She was already tired of this new routine.

She also watched while Cal got the garden ready. This was not his first garden. He created neat, straight rows of slightly raised dirt, ready for planting.

There were two fishermen in the campground and one older couple in an RV. The couple was interested in getting pictures of the wildflowers that were springing up all over, some even popping through the snow at the higher elevations. Because there was still so little traffic there was a sign on the front door of the store—Winter Hours, 8-5.

After dinner one evening, she walked over to the store to pilfer a beer and she saw there was a campfire on the beach, one lone man enjoying the mild evening. She grabbed two beers and walked down to the lake. He was sitting on top of a picnic table, feet on the bench, his elbows on his knees. His short brown hair was wet, as was the collar of his sweatshirt. He’d had a shower and shave.

“Evening, Caldwell,” she said.

He turned toward her in surprise and she handed him a beer. “Caldwell?” he asked. “You’re getting desperate.”

“That’s true, but not about your name. I’m getting a little restless.”

“Maybe it’s time to go back to work,” he said. He toasted her, clinking the neck of her beer with his.

“I do a lot of chores around this place. Sully has always been a tough taskmaster. I’ve always had to haul stock, sweep, clean, chop wood, dig out trenches, clean gutters, clean that damn bathroom and shower, work in the store, but never what I’ve been doing this time—cleaning house, cooking dinner. I’m already bored with my little housewifely duties and I’m getting cabin fever. I’m sick of heart-healthy food. If I see one more hunk of fish I’m going to gag. Sully said he’s growing fins.”

Cal laughed.

“You think it’s funny? I can smell your bacon before I smell coffee in the morning. I sneaked over to Timberlake for a hamburger today and Sully claimed he could smell it on my breath.”

He leaned closer to her, sniffing. “Yep.”

“I asked him if he had any ideas for dinner and he said he’d like a New York strip, smothered in onions on a hoagie bun.” She took a pull on her beer. “God, that sounds good.”

“I knew it,” he said. “You’re a carnivore.”

“You’re kind of interesting, Caliber. You shower and shave while you’re camping.”

“I wash my clothes and change the lining in the sleeping bag, too. I’m a very clean fellow. Are you ever going to go back to work and leave Sully alone?”

“Gimme a break, I haven’t relaxed a day yet,” she said. “Are you?”

“Sure. I just left a job about six weeks ago. I work. I’m just not working now, except for you.”

“Well, not me, exactly,” she said. “You work for Sully. Have I said how much we appreciate all the free labor? It’s very nice of you to pitch in.”

“I have time on my hands,” he said.

“What was your last job?”

“I was an assistant to an assistant in human resources in a theme park. It basically meant driving a golf cart around, checking on people, helping them fill out forms or taking complaints. Or, sometimes it meant catching them screwing around on the job and reporting them to my supervisor. As little of that as possible.”

“Really? A theme park?” she said, fascinated again. “Which one?”

“The big one.”

“Really? Was it fun?”

“It really was. I applied to the ground crew but there wasn’t anything and they offered me the job in HR. I met all the actors. It was cool.”

“And you quit?” she asked.

“No, I got fired. I was checking someone’s human resources very closely. Not in public of course. Not on the job. It was consensual and private, but word got out. Apparently even adults have to refrain from that. There are rules if you want to work there. Strict rules. More for some than others.”

“They can’t do that,” she said. “That’s discrimination.”

“Not for everyone. Princesses are not allowed to do some things, even on their own time.”

“You were doing a princess? Which one?”

“Get outta here, I’m not telling you.”

“You’re too old for those princesses!”

“Oh, she was a lot older than she looked! Plus, she was an animal!”

“So not only was it a bad decision, you didn’t like it?”

“I never said that,” he said. He grinned lasciviously.

“You’re lying!” she said. “I don’t believe one word of that!”

“Okay,” he said. He took a drink of his beer. “It’s true, though. A very embarrassing situation. We both got fired. I lost a pretty fun job and I think she lost her lifetime dream. I was planning to take a few months off to camp, but I wasn’t planning to start until April or May. I hate being cold. However...”

“Callahan, I think you’re a liar, con man and maybe a predator.”

He just laughed at her. “Seriously, you ever going back to work?”

“I told you, the practice shut down,” she said.

“We both know there are things you could do.”

“I was picking up work here and there from colleagues. I just came to Sully’s for a badly needed break. I packed up a bunch of stuff, left the disposition of the office in the hands of a broker who can be sure the equipment, furniture and supplies are sold or stored, emailed all my colleagues that I was taking a leave of absence. I was burned out, bloody well sick of all the controversy my partners had stirred up and I was exhausted. I was only home for twenty-four hours when Sully crashed. That’s almost four weeks ago. I haven’t thought about anything but Sully since.”

“You can let go of that pretty soon. Aside from being a little ornery and sick of salmon and chicken, he’s doing great.”

“I know. But I don’t know if I want to go back to that grind. Check with me after I’ve actually had some time to think. But one thing I’m not crazy about is being a caretaker the rest of my life.”

“Maybe another residency? A different specialty?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Right now I just want to escape. Have you ever felt like that?”

He chuckled. “I’ve been in your campground for five weeks. Through rain and mud and heart attacks. What do you think?”

“You’re traumatized by the aftershock of screwing a princess?”

“It takes a lot more than that to traumatize me,” he said. He put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay to take a break, Maggie. I’m not sure it’s good for you to obsess about Sully, though. It might be misplaced anxiety. Really, he’s going to be fine.”

“You didn’t see what I saw,” she said.

“No one saw what you saw, honey,” he said very sweetly. “I was right there when they loaded him into the ambulance. You saw your father slipping away. Everyone else saw a cardiac episode. I think you’re a little terrified.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Guilty. I’m not very close to my mother and I have no siblings. And it was Sully. Maybe it’s because I always felt deprived of him when I was growing up—my mother and stepfather lived in Chicago and it wasn’t easy to see Sully. Or it could be that he’s as special as I think he is. You don’t know him that well yet. He’s one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever known. If you were going to be around here longer, like through summer, you’d see...”

“Tell me,” he said.

“Oh hell, where to start. I’ve seen him break up fights, rescue drowning kids and dogs! You didn’t think a dog could drown, did you? He was tangled in fishing line. He’s given refuge to the lost, tracked and killed a bad cat, a mountain lion who attacked a hiker. That almost never happens and Sully got in so much trouble! Took him forever to work through that. But maybe the most important thing he does—he creates relationships with people. Unforgettable relationships. They write him, send him pictures, mention him in their writing, their blogs, long after they’ve gone. They hang out at the store and he listens to their tales from the trails. He gives them tips, does little favors, lets them charge up their phones and stuff so they can make contact with friends and family. He tells jokes, encourages people, praises them, and most of that without anyone knowing that’s what he’s doing. He lets kids’ organizations come out and camp for free—he’s partial to the autistic kids. Sully relates to a lot of them and I have no idea why. He doesn’t know why, either. He plows in winter—he clears our road and then he goes out to the neighbors who are snowed in and clears theirs. He’s the third generation—his grandfather built the store and Sully didn’t get a son to run it. All he’s got is me. What’s going to happen to this place when Sully can’t run it anymore? Will the next owner carry on that legacy? You have no idea how much Sully is loved. Needed.”

It was still and quiet for a moment. The sound of night birds and crickets and the occasional splash of a fish was all she heard.

He tightened his arm slightly, pulling her a bit closer. “What a lucky man,” he said softly.

“I never looked at it that way, as Sully being the lucky one. I always thought it was the rest of us who were lucky.”

“It’s the rest of you, too. One of the things I think about a lot when I’m alone is what makes a life well spent? It sounds like you described one.”

“Yeah, Sully is very happy. I’d say he’s good at making relationships with everyone. Well, except maybe me. He never tried very hard to make a relationship with me.”

“You? I thought you two were very close.”

“We are, I guess. Except my mother took me away from him. And of course he never came after me. He said I was better off.” She shrugged. “I guess I should get over it by now. Huh?”

He gave her shoulders another squeeze. “Some things stay with us a long time,” he said. “No one knows that better than me, the boy raised on the road by Jed ‘Looney Tunes’ Jones.”

* * *

Maggie had a new friend. The days around the store and grounds were busy but in the evenings, when things were quiet, she wandered down to the lakefront or over to Cal’s campsite. One night she invited him to meet her on her front porch at the house. They talked about their lives, even though she wasn’t sure how much of his was true.

“Did I mention I’m being sued?” she said.

“No. No wonder you don’t want to go back to work!”

“Oh, I’ve been sued before. It might settle or just go away but if it doesn’t it could drag on. There was no malpractice. We did everything humanly possible. It really took its toll on me—it was a hard one. A terrible accident involving teenagers. We all did what we could, but were so helpless. I’ve lost patients before—in my business it happens too often. It was awful.”

“I’m so sorry. Are you worried about the lawsuit?” he asked.

“I worry about everything,” she admitted. “But when I’m in the moment, in surgery, I’m not worrying, I’m performing and thinking hard. Before and after, I worry too much.”

* * *

On the weekend, the park began to fill up with campers. The weather was outstanding—sunny and warm spring weather. Tom and his oldest son, Jackson, came to the property to help Maggie finish putting in the garden. She had several flats of flowers and vegetable starters. Cal dug in and helped while Beau did his job chasing the rabbits into the woods, and Sully watched over everyone, giving plenty of advice.

“Like I’ve never put in a garden before,” Tom said.

“What haven’t you done, Tom?” Maggie asked.

“Never did surgery,” he said. “Yet.”

Tom Canaday was a big, happy guy whose wife divorced him years ago. At first she wanted to take the girls, Nikki and Brenda, to her new home in Aurora, but that didn’t last long. The girls were miserable away from the home and school they knew and Tom convinced his ex-wife to give them back to him, that he was in a better position to take care of them and see they were doing well in school. Nikki was now seventeen and Brenda, fourteen. His ex visited from time to time and, as far as Maggie knew from the gossip, they were amicable and got along better divorced than they had as a married couple.

Tom had indeed had a million jobs and on top of that was a volunteer on the search-and-rescue team.

The campground welcomed a lot of what Maggie referred to as weekend warriors. They began to pull in on Thursday and Friday afternoons. A few planned to stay a few days but most would pack up on Sunday night. During school breaks, whole families or large groups of young people would stay through two weekends. And school breaks came at various times all over the country.

“We’re going to do some hiring for the spring and summer. Interested, Jackson?” Maggie asked.

“Doing what?” he asked.

“Everything,” she said. “From spring till August this place will be busy. I’m still trying to hold Sully down. Do you have any time?”

“I can take on a little work,” Jackson said, smiling handsomely. “This is not a bad place to be in summer. Girls everywhere.”

“Thanks, Maggie. As if college isn’t hard enough on my nerves,” Tom said, staking the tomato plants.

“I have an idea. Why don’t you ask Nikki if she wants a summer job, too. Maybe they can spy on each other and tattle?”

“Oh, much better, Maggie,” Tom said, one knee in the dirt. He looked up at her and shook his head. “You’re just looking for ways to make my life easier, aren’t you? Now I have to worry about two of them. Schoolwork is a priority.”

“Well.” Maggie rubbed her hands together. “Until school is out for summer, if you can come after school, I’ll give you dinner and when things are slow you can study. You can try to study, anyway.”

“I’ve been working for my dad the last two years and I have good grades. He just doesn’t want to part with his cheap labor,” Jackson said.

“He doesn’t want you looking at too many bikinis,” Sully said.

“Oh? Is there such a thing?” Jackson asked, grinning.

The camp came alive in the sunshine. The lake was still too cold to enjoy swimming but women rolled up their shorts and sat in lawn chairs in the sun by the water. Maggie strung up a couple of macramé hammocks and they were filled before she could walk away. There was a steady stream of people through the store all weekend, getting ice for their coolers, grabbing items they missed like butter, Tabasco, salt and pepper. Enid left early—she wasn’t usually in on weekends but was coming around to make sure they were covered since Sully’s surgery. Her cookies and breakfast muffins sold like crazy.

There was activity beginning on other spots around the lake—a dozen rental cabins across the lake, a Girl Scout camp, a church camp, a US Forest Service campground with bathrooms but no laundry, showers or store. Most of them were just starting to get ready for summer vacationers. A couple of them, on the other side of the lake, had little mini-marts but no general store. A family camp across the lake sold gas for the boats. People who needed to do a little shopping had to choose between a trip to Leadville, Timberlake or Sully’s.

Maggie kept the store open a little later than usual, enjoying the sound of laughter, the smell of cooking fires. Sully operated the cash drawer and Maggie knew there was no way she could leave him yet. Dusk came, the air cooled and campers settled their lawn chairs around their campfires. Cal came into the store carrying two covered plates.

“I thought you might not have time to cook,” he said.

“What have you got there?” she asked.

“Look and see. Where’s Sully?”

“He’s checking inventory,” she said. She pulled the foil off one plate. “Oh my,” she said. It was a skinless chicken breast cut in strips, smothered in a light sauce surrounded by broccoli, peppers, mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, onions and a couple of baby corns tossed in for color. “Sauce?”

“Yogurt, flavored with spices. Try it.”

She took the offered fork and dipped into it. “Wow. You did this on that little grill of yours?”

“The Coleman stove. I’m a pretty experienced camper.”

“Gee,” she said, chewing and swallowing. “Imagine what you could do with a real stove. Did you go to town today? Shop for dinner?”

“Yesterday.”

“I have to stay open a little later tonight,” she said. “I hope it’s not past your bedtime.”

“I’ll manage,” he said. “Go get Sully.”

After eating at the checkout counter, Sully went back to the house. Maggie washed up the plates and gave them back to Cal. Then she dimmed the lights in the store and they sat on the front porch for a while. They sat side by side, their feet up on the porch rail. The store was officially closed but if someone came down the path and needed something, she’d unlock the door.

Since no one did, they talked. Softly. He put his arm around her again and told her that he admired her ability to shift gears, be flexible during this important time. “That you put his needs above your own for now, that’s generous. A lot of people couldn’t.”

“You thought I was overdoing it a bit,” she reminded him.

“You are,” he said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “But I think it will give you both peace of mind. You’re important to each other. I think you watch over each other. That’s all that matters.”

Maggie was working up a crush. She thought about Cal while she was falling asleep. She was probably a sucker for a soft, calm, confident voice and a steadying arm, she thought. In medical school one learns to worship calm confidence. Especially in surgery and particularly in specialties like hers where no doubt, no tremor, no hesitation could be tolerated. There were occasions she’d had to make a life-altering decision in under a minute. Maggie remembered times her knees had knocked but no one knew. She was decisive.

This was probably not what Jaycee had in mind when she suggested a break, and becoming a caretaker and full-time grocer was certainly not what Maggie had in mind. But Cal was a welcome distraction. Vacations, camping trips and campgrounds like this were ripe for romance and it was no different if you were the proprietor. There was something about the temporary quality, the way one was removed from real life for a time. Having spent many a weekend and vacation here with Sully during high school and college, Maggie had been vulnerable to that vacation dalliance a time or two. And it had been fun. When she was younger, the reality that the young man didn’t follow through, didn’t write or phone or email, stung. But that didn’t last. Now, she knew it for what it was.

The sexy Cal Jones, probably not even his real name, would be no different. Her common sense told her it shouldn’t be. He was lovely and wonderful the way he helped her dad, but he was just marking time and would be on to his next adventure soon. But her attraction to him was real. One of these evenings their twilight beer by the lake or on the porch would go a little further. She hoped.

She couldn’t help that. She hadn’t been in the arms of a loving man in a while, after all.

Sunday at the camp was active. People were trying to squeeze in the last of their weekend fun, then pack up their tents and campers. The store was busy—campers ran out of things to get through their last day: beer, soft drinks, snacks, sandwich fixings. Maggie was ringing up, bagging things, laughing with the customers, telling them she hoped they had a good time, looking forward to dusk when the activity would slow down. A lovely fourteen-year-old girl and her ten-year-old brother came in for eggs—they were staying one more night and then backpacking farther up the trail with their parents. They were beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed angels and the sweetest kids. Apparently their spring break had started and the family—mom and dad both teachers—loved hiking and camping and it was their dream to one day hike the whole CDT as a family.

“We’re getting up early tomorrow, eating breakfast and heading out,” Chelsea Smyth told Maggie. “We’ll probably get in a hundred miles during break.”

“I hope you’re planning to get into really good shape for the CDT,” Maggie said. “It’s a six-month commitment.”

“I think I could do it now,” Chelsea told her.

“So could I!” her brother, Remy, insisted.

“I hope when you do I’m here to cheer you on,” Maggie said, giving the girl her change. “Good luck tomorrow!”

“Maggie?”

She looked up into the beautiful blue eyes of the man next in line, eyes she knew so well. “Andrew. What are you doing here?”

“I took Mindy home a little early and hoped I could catch you. Rob Hollis told me you were here with your dad. You might’ve let me know.”

“Why? We’re fine. Better than fine,” she said, bagging up the eggs for the Smyth kids. “I hope you had a good time here, and have a safe hike,” she said. She waited for the kids to clear the door and then turned on Andrew. “Little busy here. You should have called.”

“Maggie, what the hell are you doing?” he asked, frowning.

“Bagging groceries, mostly.”

“No, what are you doing here? The rumor is you quit!”

“That’s not quite accurate. I decided to take some time off since the practice is closed and I’ve just been picking up hospital shifts here and there. Then Sully needed me, so it’s a good thing I have the time. I don’t have any patients counting on me.”

“When are you going back?” he asked.

“That’s really not your concern, now is it?” she said.

“You’ve lost your mind, is that it? You’re a surgeon. A gifted surgeon. You can’t stay here!”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you. You really should have called. I could’ve saved you a trip.”

“You’re ignoring my calls.”

“Well, there’s a reason for that. We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“We’re not enemies, I hope. Come on, Maggie. Can we talk? Please? We have things to talk about.”

“This is a bad time,” she said.

Sully came from behind her, from the kitchen or storeroom. For seventy and in recovery from heart surgery, apparently his hearing was perfect. “Hello, Andrew,” he said. “How’ve you been?”

“Sully! Damn, it’s good to see you,” Andrew said, grabbing Sully’s hand and pumping it. “You look great! Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m doing fine. Not crazy about the new diet, but I’ll live.”

Andrew laughed. “You have really good color.”

“I was told I’d come out of it looking better than when I went in. I have freshly widened arteries to float my oxygen through. As a beauty treatment, I don’t recommend it.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Andrew said with a laugh. “What a relief to see you. Did Maggie say I called? Just to see how you were?”

“She might’ve mentioned it, thanks. But we’re doing fine.”

“Maggie, are you going back to Denver anytime soon?” Andrew asked.

“I haven’t made any plans.”

“Can you break away for a few minutes? I won’t keep you long.”

“Sure. Meet you out front in a few.”

She watched him walk away, leave the store as a couple of guys walked in. “I’ll get this, Sully,” she said.

“Nah, go deal with him. I’ll live through a checkout or two.”

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“Stop pampering me. I’m doing a damn sight better after heart surgery than he did after his knee surgery. You’d think he’d delivered a baby elephant or something. And don’t you dare use me as an excuse for not going back to work. Go on now. Get rid of him.”

That made Maggie laugh a little, though she was in no mood to laugh over Andrew. It was true, though—what a lot of complaining he’d done after a knee scope. It was his first experience on that side of the knife, poor baby. “I won’t be long,” she said.

“Be as long as you want,” he said. “Just make sure you don’t invite him to dinner.”

Oh, Sully wasn’t happy with Andrew, and he didn’t even know the half of what Andrew had put her through. It was so rare for Sully to get out of sorts with someone and Maggie hadn’t even explained all that went on between them. But then, Sully usually guessed right.

Andrew was leaning up against his car, texting or reading his email. He straightened when she walked out of the store and down the porch steps. He really was so good-looking. She remembered the first time he suggested dinner. She’d been so surprised—he wanted to date her? He was one of those classically handsome men—chiseled cheekbones and chin, tall with dark blond hair, striking blue eyes, enviable physique. And he was so nice. But he was an ER doc—they had to have certain gifts, had to know how to deal with frightened, hurting people, had to be swift and skilled. Andrew could put patients and their families at ease and get the job done quickly.

“Maggie,” he said. “You’re looking good.”

“Thank you. Listen, we don’t have anything to do here. You said you were done. Let’s go with that.”

“Come on, Maggie, that wasn’t exactly it,” he argued, reaching for her hand.

“No, that was exactly it. Before I came back here, before Sully’s heart attack, you said I was too depressed for you, that you couldn’t deal with it anymore. Of course my practice was shutting down, I was thinking about filing for bankruptcy, I was being sued by the family of a sixteen-year-old I lost on the table, and I was trying to stay ahead of the bills by picking up call for other doctors, mostly nights and weekends so I could give interviews and depositions all week. Oh—and did I mention, I’d just lost my baby? The baby I wanted but you didn’t. I’m so sorry I wasn’t more cheerful, but there you have it.” She shrugged. “Sorry, babe, that’s all I’ve got,” she said, mimicking him. “It turned out Sully needed me. That’s all I have to say, Andrew.”

“Look, I want us to be friends,” he said. “I want to lend support if I can...”

She laughed a little. “You want us to be friends?” she asked, aghast. “I’ve never been treated more cruelly by anyone in my life, Andrew. You asked me to abort a baby because it wasn’t convenient for you, then you bitched because I grieved. Andrew, hear this, please. I don’t want to be friends. I spent a couple of years as your friend. That meant taking vacation to look after you when you got a meniscus tear repaired, listening to your rants over your crazy ex-wife and hearing a million complaints about the working conditions in your ER. Being your friend appears to mean that I should be there for you, be perpetually happy no matter what’s going on. But, when I need you, you’re unavailable. That’s not good enough for me. Please just go.”

“Maggie,” he said in that calm, deep, lovely voice. “You’re crying.”

“Shit,” she said, wiping at her cheeks. “We’re done. It’s non-negotiable. I wouldn’t take you back if you begged me. I can’t be with a man as selfish as you.”

“That’s not fair,” he said. “Would you have wanted me to lie? When you told me you were pregnant, I told you the truth. I have a daughter and a crazy ex-wife and no, I was not planning to have more children. It was one of the first issues we talked about when we started seeing each other. You said you understood completely.”

“I wasn’t pregnant then!”

“Be reasonable—it wasn’t planned,” he said.

“Just go!”

She turned and walked around to the back of the store and in the back door. She ducked into the bathroom beside the storeroom and looked in the mirror. Sure enough, she was crying. Again.

In medicine, everyone worships stoicism, thus her hiding in stairwells. She once sneaked into a bathroom and sobbed her brains out when she lost a young woman and her unborn child, even though saving them had been a long shot. GSW. Gunshot wound—so tragic. Then there was a mass shooting at a high school, several victims and they pulled them through, all of them, and it had almost the same effect on her—she cried until she was sick to her stomach. That was back when she was in Chicago doing her fellowship with Walter. The sheer violence and cruelty of a school shooting had nearly gutted her. By the time she was practicing, she’d figured out how to hide it, the overpowering emotion. But she hadn’t cried over a man since she was sixteen.

Not the man, she reminded herself. The relationship and the baby.

Andrew, the sensitive ER doctor, left her because she was having trouble coping with her loss. She really and truly had not known he was that inflexible, that cold. There must be a lesson in there somewhere. And she was damn sure going to find it.

She splashed cold water on her face, dried it, went back into the store. And of course who was standing beside Sully wearing a look of concern but Cal.

“Well, Calistoga, you’re just everywhere, aren’t you?”

“You okay, Maggie?” he asked.

“I got a little pissed, that’s all. Ex-boyfriend.”

“Gotcha,” Cal said. He looked at his watch. “Why don’t you go home and see what you can find for dinner for you and Sully. I’ll hang out here till closing.”

She sniffed. “Would you like to join us?” she asked.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”

“It’s early,” she said.

“It’s okay, Maggie,” he said. “Take a break. Get some alone time.”

“Sunday night can get a little... Ah, hell. I’m going,” she said.

No legacy is so rich as honesty.

—William Shakespeare


Chapter 5 (#ulink_43b52b94-b599-5150-965c-3bb62f431818)

When Maggie had gone, Cal looked at Sully. “I bet she doesn’t get like that very often,” he said.

“Like what?” Sully said. But he was frowning.

“Teary. Splotchy. Shook up. What did he do to her?”

“I have no idea, but I bet I wouldn’t like it.”

“How long was he the boyfriend?”

“Couple a years. I didn’t think he was that much of a boyfriend.”

“Did you ever mention that to Maggie?”

Sully laughed, but not with humor. “Maggie look like the kind of person anyone tells what to do? She’s contrary sometimes. I try to stay out of her business. She doesn’t return the favor, either.”

There was a lot of cleaning up, putting away, sweeping and organizing to do after the last of the weekend campers pulled out. Those who were leaving had settled up and were on the road by six at the latest. There were five campsites and one cabin still engaged and according to Sully all of them were planning to stay longer.

“Should we restock?” Cal asked.

“Let’s not do it tonight,” Sully said.

“I bet you don’t ordinarily leave the store until it’s ready for morning,” Cal said.

“I don’t ordinarily get tired. In summer and warm weather me and Tom give the place a nice face-lift on Wednesdays, slowest day. When Enid’s in the store I spend more time on the garden and grounds but weekends find me right here, ready for anyone. Nights I patrol a little before I go to bed but hardly get any trouble. A year ago I got laid up with the pneumonia—things got pretty sloppy around here but we were running real low on weirdos or drunks so it was at least quiet. Don’t know why I’d get the pneumonia when the weather finally gets warm, but I never ran high on good luck, except for Maggie. Maggie’s about the luckiest thing a man could get and I wasn’t even trying. Imagine what I could do if I was trying?”

Cal smiled. The pneumonia made him grin. If you didn’t pay close attention to someone like Sully you would think he wasn’t terribly smart. But Cal did pay attention. Sully was sharp as a tack and had that enviable insight into people so few possessed. “Where’s your wife, Sully?” he asked boldly.

“Phoebe? She’s in Golden, married to someone who deserves her.”

“Are you still...you know... Do you miss her sometimes?”

“Miss Phoebe? Oh, Jesus, boy. Hell no, I don’t miss Phoebe! She’s the biggest pain in the ass I ever met. She’s everyone’s pain in the ass. Poor Maggie, that’s all I have to say. She tries to take care of her mother. Phoebe.” He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I must’ve been drunk.”

Call laughed with him. “Well, what do you suppose it was?” Cal asked. “No man gets that drunk. She must have been beautiful. Or sweet. Something.”

“Oh, I could put a dent in the keg back then, but that Phoebe, she was mighty pretty. And funny and sweet but God as my witness, it sure didn’t last long. I shouldn’t’a brought her here—it was a bad match. She found fault with every breath I took. She was difficult. Miserable, unhappy.”

“What do you think was wrong?” he asked.

Sully thought for a moment. “Well, son, it’s mostly my fault, I’m sure of that. I’d been to Vietnam and it didn’t leave me right, if you know what I mean. I had settling to do, in my head and other places and I just hadn’t taken the time. I hadn’t stopped making noise enough to listen to that inside voice. I was listening to the voice in the bottle sometimes. Phoebe would bitch that I was drinking and I’d just drink more. And Phoebe? She’s one of those people who’s always hungry, if you know what I mean.”

Cal frowned. “Hungry?”

He shook his head. “She couldn’t be satisfied. I believe she tried, but she couldn’t. I didn’t understand until she left and took Maggie with her. Then I understood what that felt like. It’s a miserable feeling, wanting something you can’t have.” He put a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “You go on, Cal. It’s a nice evening. Cool but clear. There could be rain ahead so enjoy it now while you can.”

“If you need any help, you know where to find me.”

Cal watched Sully put the closed sign on the door and went to his camper. He had the impression that Sully had just confided more in him than he had in his daughter, whose absence a long time ago had filled him with an aching hunger. He believed Sully might never have told Maggie she was the greatest thing he’d ever done. It wasn’t a facial expression or inflection in his voice. It’s the way we don’t tell the most important people in our lives the most important things. It was how men tended to be.

He made his fire by the lake in a brick fire pit that had been there a long time. He couldn’t be more obvious if he’d made his fire in front of the porch, yet she didn’t come.

I should’ve kissed her, he thought. For the past several nights she’d found him after dark and they’d talked by the fire. Sometimes they had a beer together, sometimes just the dark and conversation. She had no idea what she was revealing. Her admiration for Sully, her concern, her annoyance with all things as though she felt completely out of place. But he hadn’t suspected a broken heart.

I should’ve kissed her before he came back and made her realize she’d felt so lonely.

He loved the anger that made her skin mottle. He was guessing, but he bet anger made her cry as often as sadness. He wished Lynne had had more fight in her. Maybe she had at first but it was soon reduced to helplessness. He loved Maggie’s sturdiness. He laughed as he thought that—what woman wanted to be admired for something like that?




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