CHAPTER 2
Isla
“Only one more.”
My uncle’s lawyer, Nicholas Flynn, all done up in his Armani suit and Ferragamo shoes, seems utterly out of place here in Cortez. Hell, he’d look lost anywhere in Colorado but perhaps Denver. You’d be hard pressed to find another suit in this town, which is why my eyes had darted to my uncle for reassurance when we walked in.
“He’s a good man,” Al whispered behind me, as we followed the tall, very bald, and impeccably dressed man into his office. “Don’t let the fancy threads fool you; he knows how to get down and dirty when a situation demands it.”
It almost seems too easy. Just signing a few papers and I’m suddenly a landowner. Feels like I should at least be made to take a test, some kind of exam to establish my suitability. I don’t think my brain has caught up to what is happening yet, and Ben was no help. He just shoved me into my uncle’s old Cadillac DeVille, telling me he’d take the golf cart and do my morning round of garbage pickup. Something I would, at any other time, have paid good money to see. The big, burly, and rather ferocious looking biker put-putting around on a battery driven senior’s version of a four-wheeler.
I chuckle at the thought as I sign the last sheet of paper with great flourish, before putting the pen down, and looking up at my uncle.
“Now we go to the bank,” he says, grabbing my hand and almost pulling me out of the chair. I barely have a chance to say goodbye to Nicholas before I’m ushered out of the office and into Al’s car.
“What’s the rush?”
“Loaded baked potato,” he says, looking at me like he can’t believe I don’t get it. “If we don’t get to Once Upon A Sandwich before noon, there won’t be any tables left. I miss those potatoes.”
Once Upon A Sandwich is a small restaurant at the back of a Main Street bar. The lunch menu features large baked potatoes, topped with just about anything you can imagine. One of Al’s favorite hangouts.
“What about Ben?” I want to know. Oh, I’m sure Ben can fend for himself when it comes to lunch, or anything else for that matter, but it just doesn’t seem right.
Yesterday I thought I was finally finding some solid ground and today I feel like I’m spinning out of control. So much has happened in less than twenty-four hours. Ben and I still haven’t had a chance to talk about anything and now the campground—it’s all a bit much.
I can feel my uncle’s eyes on me as he turns into the parking lot behind the bank.
“We can call in an order, take it back to the trailer, if you like,” he says, pulling into an open spot and turning off the engine. “Of course, it’ll be cold by the time we get there...” His blatant guilt trip makes me laugh. And it’s working. The restaurant is not much to look at but the atmosphere is great. Feels like you’re sitting in someone’s kitchen and that is half the experience.
“Nah...we can bring him back something,” I concede, smiling broadly at the twinkle in Al’s eye. The old coot knows exactly how to get his way.
-
It’s three hours after we left, before we get back to the campground. I was duly added as a signatory to the business accounts. Uncle Al had been eager to head off for lunch as we walked out of the bank, when I spotted the awning for SouthWest Printing across the road. With everything that happened since yesterday afternoon, I’d almost forgotten I had a few more prints to pick up for the coffee shop. They hadn’t been ready the last time I was here.
I just saw Jen, the owner of The Pony Express, yesterday and was surprised to find she’d sold every last one of my prints she had on display. She warned me that the five new ones I brought with me wouldn’t last long.
“I just have to pop across the street,” I announced, before dashing off, Al grumbling behind me, but he was easily soothed twenty minutes later when we sat down for lunch.
There is no sign of Ben or his bike when Al pulls around the trailer.
“He better hurry, or his spud will be stone cold,” Al mumbles as I get out of the car, the paper bag with lunch for Ben in my hand. I try to ignore the small niggle of doubt as I walk in the door. Maybe we should’ve talked first and fucked later. At least I would’ve known where his head was at before Uncle Al dropped his bombshell.
The first thing I see is a note in the middle of the kitchen counter.
Pixie,
Picking up my truck and things in Durango. Don’t count on me for dinner.
Ben
907 741 4348
He’s not exactly forthcoming, and the note could’ve been written to anyone, but it’s the content that puts a smile on my face. He’s getting his stuff and bringing it back here.
Uncle Al leans in and shamelessly reads over my shoulder.
“Perfect,” he mumbles, grabbing a knife and fork out of the drawer. Before I can stop him, he snatches the brown paper bag off the counter, sits down on the couch, and starts eating.
“Hey!”
“What?” he says, his mouth full of potato. “He’s not here, he’s not gonna be here anytime soon. You want me to let this food go to waste?”
“Do you know how many calories are in one of those? Let alone two?” I try to get through to him but he just waves his fork at me. “It’s not healthy. Didn’t your doctor tell you to eat healthier after you had that last scare?”
“Bullshit,” he spits out. Literally—potato crumbs go flying. “That snotnosed quack. He knows nothing.”
Exasperating: the same old discussion with the same predictable outcome.
“You die from a stroke or a heart attack, that you could’ve prevented, I’ll never forgive you, Uncle Al.” My voice is rough with an emotion I’m trying hard to hold back. He doesn’t even notice; he’s too busy wolfing down Ben’s lunch. Stubborn old fart.
“Have you seen that spot I started clear-cutting on the ridge, just off the gate?” he asks me, tossing the empty bag in the trash underneath the sink.
“You mean the lookout point?” I’m pretty sure he’s referring to a spot I used to love hanging out on. Just a quarter of a mile up the mountain behind us, there’s a small clearing with a rocky outcrop from which you can see the entire reservoir.
“Yup. Planned on building there before Ginnie got sick. Was getting tired of the trailer. All damn summer having to take a crap with the bathroom door open was gettin’ old.” And just like that he has me snicker and he knows it, too. His eyes sparkle with humor as he tilts his head to the door. “Come on. I’ll show you. Maybe you should build there.”
I wordlessly follow him outside, a new sense of excitement settling in.
Ben
“Already?”
Damian walks up behind me as I toss the last of my bags into the bed of the truck. After working together on more than a few cases, FBI Agent Damian Gomez and I have become good friends. When I’d needed a place to get my shit in order, he’d offered to let me park my stuff with him; a nice chunk of land just north of Durango, right along the Animas River. The past month, I spent most of my time here; giving Isla the space she needed, while tying up the loose ends of my employment with the DEA. There aren’t many people I can talk to, but Damian is one. By now he knows exactly what went down with my last assignment. And with Isla.
“Yup.” I turn around with a smile on my face. “Already.”
“Didn’t take much then to convince her?” Damian grins back.
“Just my usual charm.”
He barks out a laugh before his eyes turn serious.
“This is what you want?” he asks, scrutinizing my face.
“I have no idea what the future looks like, if that’s what you mean. I sure as hell don’t want to be sitting around doing nothing, but all of that is secondary.” I run my hand through my hair, sorting through my thoughts. Thoughts that haven’t shut down since waking up this morning in Isla’s trailer. I hadn’t considered much beyond getting her back when I drove down there yesterday, but her uncle showing up had given some direction at least. A starting point. “I want her,” I tell him simply. “I don’t have a foothold anywhere. No roots to return to at this point, no real place that’s mine to claim, like you have here.” I turn toward the fast flowing river and the mountains beyond. “But she does.” I look back at Damian. “I can figure out what I wanna do with the rest of my life anywhere—and I want to do it where she is.”
“Fair enough,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Do you want take that piece of crap with you?” He tilts his head in the direction of an old trailer, just off the side of the driveway. One Damian had stayed in while working on his house. “You could fix it up a little, maybe rent it out.”
I hadn’t planned on taking on another trailer. In fact I’d been glad to be rid of the constant reminder of my old life, but an idea started forming at the sight of the aged mobile home. Maybe I could make some use of it at the campground. A bed should I need it, or least it would give me something to do—fixing it up. The structure is still decent, albeit dated, so maybe there are still some miles left on the thing. With a bit of elbow grease, I could give it new purpose. Much as I’m doing with my life.
Damian helps me tie the bike down in the truck bed and hitch the trailer in place, before he grabs me in a brotherly hug.
“Stay in touch,” he orders when I get behind the wheel. I roll down the window and lean my elbow out.
“Will do,” I promise. “Be easier now that I won’t have any more assignments coming.”
“Right,” he says and slaps the roof of the cab. “And if you get bored, remember to give Gus Flemming a call. His outfit is based out of Cedar Tree, only forty minutes or so from Dolores, and he’s always looking for good men. Keep it in mind.”
“I will.”
“And bring that woman next time you head this way. Would love to know who turned you into such a pussy,” Damian says wearing a big smirk.
“You’re an asshole,” I tell him. Starting the truck, I listen to him laugh as I slowly drive away.
-
It’s dark when I finally pull through the gates of the campground.
She must’ve been on the lookout, because the moment I pull onto the vacant lot beside Isla’s place, she’s already running in my direction.
“What’s this?” she asks when I get out, running her fingers along the side of the old trailer as she walks around it. “Your new home?” There is veiled uncertainty in her question. I come up behind her, grab her shoulders, and turn her to face me.
“It could be, for now. You need some space—some time—to wrap your head around what is happening here? The extra bed could provide that, but mostly it’s just a project I want to work on,” I offer her, brushing her bangs from her forehead as her mouth twitches into a soft smile, and her pretty hazel eyes glance up at me.
“A project?”
“Something to keep my hands busy. Refinish it and maybe rent it out? It’s big enough for four adults.” Isla nods her head and I let her go, opening the door for her. The inside is worn, old, but the paneling is a nice, real wood veneer that can be brought back to life with a little help. The upholstery has to be replaced, as does the carpeting, and the chipped counter, but a lot of what’s there just needs a little lift. The big work is in the electrical and the water pump. The propane lines need replacing too, and I’m pretty sure the bathroom should be completely overhauled. I need some time to inventory everything.
“So...” Isla leans back, her hands braced against the small kitchen counter. “What exactly is happening here?” The hesitant hope in her eyes when she asks the question has me put my hands on her hips and tug her a little closer.
“What’s happening is you’re adjusting to some new realities, but so am I. The two are not mutually exclusive, though. Instead of just finding my way, I’d much prefer to find my way to you. This is a start. For whatever we choose to make it.”
The hesitant hope on her face is transforming into a radiant smile. It’s all she has to do; this woman’s smile hits me square in the gut every time. Her hands sneak up until they rest on my chest and her head is tilted back. An invitation if I ever saw one, so I don’t make her wait, I lean in and slant my mouth over hers.
Losing the ability to think clearly is inevitable, when I have her tongue in my mouth and her taste on my lips.
“I like that,” she mumbles when I finally come up for air. “And I like this idea of restoring classic trailers and renting them out.”
“One,” I correct her. “One classic trailer.”
“Yes,” she says, a twinkle in her eyes. “One for now, but think about it; we could probably pick up some real beauties for next to nothing and restore them. Make them permanent fixtures on the campground; each maybe with a different theme, and all in a prime location, of course. Private and unique.” Her eyes drift around the interior and as she did on the outside, she trails her fingers along the surfaces in here, her mind clearly spinning.
“Big plans already,” I tease her with a smile. Truth is, I actually quite like the idea. “Come on. Let’s get this damn thing unhooked and stabilized. We’ll get a better look tomorrow, in the daylight.”
It doesn’t take us long. I leave my truck there, and walk my bike over to Isla’s trailer, an overnight bag hanging off the handlebars.
“Did you eat?” Isla asks when she dives into the small fridge to grab us a beer.
“Grabbed a burger at the drive-thru in Cortez. I’m good.” That earns me a stern look before she turns back to the fridge and pulls out half a meatloaf, lettuce, a tomato, mustard, and a jar of mayonnaise. I’m not even going to try and argue. I’ve come to recognize that stubborn set of her chin. “Where is Al?” I ask, suddenly realizing he’s missing.
“Motel in Dolores. He was going to meet up with some old cronies of his and play some poker tonight. He’s heading back to Flagstaff tomorrow, but said he’d be back in the morning before hitting the road.” I watch as she expertly puts together an impressive sandwich.
“Everything go alright today?” I ask, as she walks over, two beers in one hand and a plate in the other. Sitting down beside me on the couch, she hands me the plate and sets the beers on the small coffee table. While I scarf down the sandwich, she fills me in on her day.
I’m just licking the last crumbs off my fingers when she tells me about the plot on the mountain.
“You want to build there?” I ask her, even though I already know the answer. It’s clear as day on her face.
“It’s perfect,” she gushes, sitting on the edge of her seat, her hands waving around as she describes the location. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’ve seen it. I stumbled on it in the spring, when I was scouting out the area. “From the point you can see for miles. And it’s beautiful this time of year, with some of the trees changing color and the chill keeping the air clear. It’s stunning. We should go up tomorrow.”
I try to recall the details of the clearing, but I’d been so focused on what was going on in the campground below, I hadn’t given myself a chance to enjoy the views. The thought of building a house up there, putting down some permanent roots, that idea appealed to me, even though it’s not my land or my call to make. Not yet anyway.
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” I smile at her enthusiasm. I’ll follow her up that mountain in a heartbeat.
Fuck, I’d follow her anywhere.