CHAPTER 3

Ben

“You gonna stick around?”

I look up at the old man coming toward me. When Isla’s uncle arrived this morning, I’d already been out here, working on the trailer. I wanted to check out the propane lines first, since I’d noticed the faint smell of gas when I was inside last night. I’m not about to start any kind of work when there is even the slightest chance of a leak. One single spark could blow the tank.

Al looks over my shoulder, where I have the compartment for the propane hook up open.

“Not sure what you’re going to do with this old thing, but I suggest you change out that propane adapter and all of those hoses. I could smell the damn gas when I came outside.” I tuck my chin down to hide my grin.

“Probably because I’ve had the valve open. Don’t want to work on it with the propane tank half full.” I turn to look at him over my shoulder before I continue. “And as for your question; yes, I will be sticking around.” I focus back on what I’m doing.

“You’ll get bored,” he says after an extended silence.

“Be hard with Isla around. Your niece is not boring, Al.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” he snaps. “You know what I mean. Guys like you, you need your adrenaline fix or you wouldn’t have been able to do what you did for so long.”

I drop the wrench I was holding with a loud clang, into the opened toolbox at my feet, before I turn around. As much as I appreciate his concern for his girl, his mistrust stings.

“Here’s the deal; I left the DEA for a reason. You, of all people, should be able to appreciate the fact that a life like the one I lived erodes a person. When your job has to trump everything you care about, everyone you love, or it leaves you dead. I was trying to cut loose long before I met Isla, but she was the clearest sign of why I had to. You’ll get no promises or guarantees from me, old man—but that’s only because I’m not the only one who decides how this will come out. What I can tell you is this; I know where I want this to end up, and I’m finding my way to get there.”

I’m not backing down from the glare he shoots me. When he realizes I can’t be intimidated, he drops his eyes and rubs the back of his neck, mumbling a profanity.

“What are you fixing this up for?” he finally asks, and I take it as the white flag it is intended as.

“It’s a classic,” I explain, bending down to grab my tools again. “She’s a little worn, but could make a nice little, permanent rental trailer with a bit of TLC.”

“1958 Deville,” Al mumbles, clearly knowing his stuff. “I remember growing up, our neighbors had one in the driveway. Pink thing. Ugly damn color, but we had so damn much fun in it.” He falls quiet, lost to his memories for a bit. “She have the original wood paneling?”

“Sure does, and the Formica table and countertops. Go on in, have a look.” I wave to the door. “It’s not locked.”

Without another word, Al goes inside, while I try to vent off the remaining gas. By the time he steps back outside, I’m disconnecting the old hoses from the couplings.

“I’ve got a buddy in town, Phil McCracken. He’s got a place off Merritt Way, on the south side of town. Easy to spot, looks like a damn junkyard, but he’s got a couple of old Airstreams sitting in the field on blocks. I’ll leave Isla the number.” With that he walks off.

-

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Isla says as we trudge up the mountain.

“What?”

“Uncle Al. I was by the window, ready to pull him off you if things got too bloody, but I never expected him to come back with a smile on his face. What did you tell him?”

“Nothing I didn’t tell you first,” I state, as I watch her face soften into a smile.

“He likes your ideas,” she says, swinging around to block my path.

“Yours,” I tell her firmly. “I didn’t think beyond that one old trailer. You’re the one who came up with turning it into a theme. Clearly the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, since your uncle’s mind took much the same route.”

Isla goes up on tiptoes and slips her arms around my neck, the camera around her neck poking my stomach. It doesn’t stop me from wrapping her up even closer and dipping my head for a kiss. She tastes like the cool, fresh, fall air. Breaking the kiss, she pulls away from my hold, grabbing onto my hand.

“Not much farther,” she says cheerfully, leading the way up the path.

When we break through the tree line into an open space, littered with young growth, the view hits me like a fist in my gut. Unbelievable that I never noticed the raw beauty of this place before. Months I’d spent at the reservoir, but I’d never really seen it. At this elevation the air is clear, much crisper than down in the valleys and on the surrounding mesas. The surface of the reservoir, stretching from one end of the view to the other, is a shiny blue-gray mirror, reflecting the light of the midday sun.

Unlike fall in the New England states, where the reds would be dominant, the colors here are limited to golds and yellows offset against the evergreens, but the effect is no less stunning.

Isla lets go of my hand and grabs her camera, while I walk out on the rock jutting over the view below. There have been places I’ve been in my lifetime that I thought might make a nice home one day, but they were forgotten the moment a new assignment came and I was on the move again. This place, it stayed with me the past month. How much of that has to do with location, and how much with Isla, I don’t know. And it doesn’t really matter.

This excitement at the prospect of building something here, with her, is a feeling even more powerful than the thrill and danger of a new operation. The ability to look ahead—a day, a month, even years—is something new. Gratifying.

The whiz of Isla’s camera draws my attention away from the view. She’s climbed up on a tree stump, balancing precariously, as she snaps away at our surroundings.

“Don’t fall,” I caution, making my way over to her.

“You know,” she says, dropping the camera from her face and jumping down, completely ignoring my warning. “First thing we should do is put a proper road in.” She points at the path we just walked up. “It’ll make bringing up the heavy machinery a lot easier. I’m thinking if we can even just put in the road and level the plot before the frost hits, we’ll be able to break ground the first sign of spring.”

I’m normally a man of few words, but am always able to find one or two. Right now I’m dumbfounded. Two days ago, I was prepared to fight for just a chance, and today she is casually planning ahead for next spring, not a question in her openly excited face whether I’ll be here or not. The blind trust a gift I’m not even sure myself I deserve.

“I...” I have to clear the frog from my throat before I try again. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

“Awesome,” she chirps, clapping her hands with the excitement of a little girl. “Let me take a few more shots from the rock, and maybe we can go into town and get some of the prints enlarged? It’ll help planning the layout of the house, and I’d love to do a series showing all the steps in the process.”

I patiently wait until she has all she wants, and listen to her chatter all the way back down the mountain, her small hand firmly tucked in mine. She’s so excited she doesn’t notice I’m not responding to a thing she says.

I’m too busy processing it all.

Isla

I think I may have scared him.

The entire way back to the campground, he was quiet, his face a passive mask. Trust me to jump light-years ahead, instead of letting things follow their natural course. Stupid.

Once at the trailer, he kisses me almost chastely and heads toward the Deville.

“Hey!” I call after him. “It’ll take me only ten minutes or so to download these. Aren’t you coming with me?” He stops and turns, a slight tilt to his lips.

“Figured if we’re going to Cortez, we might as well stop at that building supply store coming into town. I’m just gonna make a quick list,” he says before disappearing inside.

So it takes me a little longer than ten minutes, but only because one of the shots caught my eye. An image of Ben on the rock, hands in his pockets, and a pensive look on his face. The picture is slightly overexposed, and I quickly edit it in a dramatically contrasted black and white effect, before adding it to my USB drive.

Ben is waiting outside in his truck, the engine already running.

“Hope you don’t mind the truck,” he says when I climb in. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m driving that thing.” He points at my little black Beetle and I bite back a grin. He’d have to fold his legs in his neck to get into the front seat.

“Don’t insult my trusted little steed,” I scold him. He snorts loudly as we pull out.

“Wouldn’t trust that thing through the first real snowfall. We’re gonna need some proper wheels, and some other things. I want to check in town to see if any of it needs to be ordered in.”

Snowfall. Yikes, I hadn’t even thought of that. We’re going to be up on this mountain through the winter. Or at least that’s what it looks like.

“What other things?” I ask, a little worried about finances. I haven’t done too badly with the sale of my prints, and the company account Uncle Al showed me has a healthy balance, but still. The numbers I’d crunched in my head, for the road and groundwork on the plot, did not include any additional expenses.

“We need a generator, for when the power goes off.”

“There is one in the shed by the trailer. Occasionally losing power is not uncommon up here,” I inform him.

“Good. We’ll just have to make sure we have plenty of fuel to keep it and the vehicles going, and a separate shed to store it in. But we’re also gonna need some snow fencing to protect the trailer from drifts coming up off the reservoir. I’d like to order a plow blade for this truck and we’ll need some shovels.”

“Wow. That sounds like a bit of an expense. I’ll have to work out a budget,” I offer carefully. Ben turns to me with a big smile, like he didn’t just drop what has to be at least a couple of thousand dollars worth of necessities.

“Yeah, we can work that out later,” he says easily. “But they are investments. Even when the house is built, we’ll still need to get through our winters. Besides, I was thinking, maybe your uncle’s friend has an old but serviceable blade, sitting in his field somewhere, we can get for a steal.”

The entire drive to Cortez I try to wrap my head around what it means to live in a trailer through the winter. Luckily Dolores is only a short ten-minute drive, although that might be a little longer in the snow. The small town is good for basic necessities but Cortez, which is twenty minutes farther, is better for everything else.

As much as overwintering up here makes me nervous, I’m also excited about the photographic opportunities it’ll offer. By the time we pull up to the print shop, I’ve already planned a whole new winter series, making mental notes of the kinds of shots I’d like to take.

“I’ll just be a sec,” I call over my shoulder as I hop out of the truck. Ben just lifts his fingers off the wheel in acknowledgement. Fortunately there’s no one else in the store, so it doesn’t take long to explain what I’d like. With a promise I can pick up my prints in a couple of days, I’m climbing back in the passenger seat. “Okay. What’s next?”

I turn my head to find Ben looking at me slack-jawed.

“What?”

“Usually when a woman says she won’t be long, I know I should settle in with the newspaper because it’ll be a while.” He shakes his head, turning the key in the ignition. “You’re a new surprise every day, Pixie,” he mumbles under his breath. I have to smile at that but one thing sticks in my mind.

“How usual is it to have a woman ask you to wait?” I try for aloof, but of course with a question like that, there’s no hiding the hint of green. Ben keeps his eyes on the road but a shit-eating grin spreads over his face.

“I have a sister,” he says, surprising the shit out of me.

“You have a sister? I thought...” I’m still thinking, wondering whether he’s actually ever said he didn’t have family. “I thought you told me your teammate that got killed was the only family you had?” I remember something he told me only days ago.

“My family wasn’t a fan of my career choice. My sister was only four when I went off to college. My grandfather was a lawyer, my dad was a lawyer, and the expectation was I’d be a lawyer as well, joining the family practice after college. Instead, I chose criminal justice, following my dream of law enforcement. It didn’t go over well.” I want to say something sympathetic, but his broad hand lands on my knee, giving it a cautioning squeeze, so I press my lips together. Part of me instinctively understands it’s not easy for him to share this. “When my parents died, I didn’t find out until after their funeral. And only because my father’s secretary thought letting me know was the right thing to do. My parents left me a dollar in their will.” Ben chuckles harshly at my sharp intake of breath. “Apparently it was their way to ensure I’d never be able to contest the will. And my grandparents weren’t much better. My sister Anastasia, Stacie, was fourteen at that time, and when I tried to contact her, I was told in no uncertain terms that no contact would be allowed. I lost myself in my work after that. Took on one assignment after another.” He sighs deeply as he turns into the parking lot of the building supply store, pulls into an empty space, and turns to face me. “Nine years ago she contacted me. She’d just finished college—studying law—and found herself pregnant. When she refused to abort, my grandparents shut her out. I was able to help her find a place in Albuquerque, and a job with the Public Defender’s Office.”

“The baby?” I ask, grabbing his hand. I’m relieved to see a gentle smile on his face.

“Mak, a feisty little thing.”

“So you stayed in touch.”

“Yeah. As much as my work would allow. Stacie has a good life in the city. Great career, friends, good schools for Mak.”

“And your grandparents?”

“Both gone now.” He looks unseeingly out the windshield before turning his gaze back on me. “Come on. Enough about that,” he cuts off any further discussion.

For now, I mentally add, still teeming with questions. There are many more layers to this man than I’d imagined.

-

My head is spinning by the time we drive back into Dolores.

I have a creative mind. Ideas come to me fast and furious, but I’m much less courageous when it comes to execution. It takes me a while to organize my ideas to a point where I’m ready to act on them. Ben, on the other hand, is much more practical—hands on. I’m amazed at the methodical way he is able to mark things off his mental checklist.

We have four large fuel containers, a prefab shed, insulating panels, two snow shovels, and a roll of snow fencing in the truck bed. He even noted down prices on plow blades. All that was before he drove us to a car dealership, where he put a deposit on a brand new Toyota Land Cruiser. He’d be able to pick it up in two weeks.

Just. Like. That.

I tried to argue that maybe he needed to think about it a little longer, but all he said was, “What’s there to think about? My bike’s no good in the winter, and who knows how long the truck will last. And I’m not even going to mention that toy you call a car. We need some way to get around.”

It shut me up.

Mostly because he was right, but also because what he said meant something. Buying that car, preparing for a long winter—even asking for reputable contractors, like he did at the building supply store—all of it meant a whole lot. As much as I made a statement when we were up on the mountain, talking about joined plans as if it was a foregone fact; Ben’s actions were an even louder statement.

He wasn’t just talking about it—he was making it happen.