CHAPTER 9

Isla

It’s been a great week.

With the campground empty, we’ve been able to clear away any remaining garbage, fix a few broken picnic tables, and clear out any dead brush. Ben shut off the water valve to the showers and bathrooms, after I spent a couple of mornings scrubbing them as clean as I could get them. There was only one leaking tap that Ben fixed easily. All the bathrooms are padlocked now for the winter.

I have to say it’s been a breeze with the four-wheelers. As much as I loved puttering around in my uncle’s golf cart—and as economical, and environmentally friendly, as it was to run—I get a kick out of riding the ATV. Nothing wrong with feeling that power underneath you. Plus, Ben is right, with the wide, deep-treaded tires, they’ll be much easier to handle on the snow. Heck, if need be, we can drive these things clear down the mountain into Dolores, and that is peace of mind for when we get hit with big snow.

Funny how he expected me to be pissed that he’d bought them behind my back. Sure, I argued a bit about dividing the cost, but not hard. Growing up with Uncle Al, who’s basically cut from the same cloth, I know it’s important for him to feel he’s got me taken care of.

“Excited?” Jen asks me, as she sets two large thermoses of coffee on the picnic table. She just showed up, out of the blue, the back of her car loaded with vast amounts of coffee and a stack of boxes, with what smells like cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven. It’s barely eight in the morning.

“For the guys,” she explains, looking over at the water. “It’s been years since I’ve been here. Couldn’t pass up the chance to see what you guys are up to.” She dives back in the trunk and loads the boxes in my arms before pulling out a grocery bag with creamers and sugar packets. “The promise of a whole crew of working men, who know what to do with their hands, helps.” She grins as she throws me a wink. “Not many eligible men in Dolores; I couldn’t pass up on the opportunity.”

She’s shameless, and I love it. I throw my head back and laugh.

“What’s this?” A deep voice sounds behind me and I turn around, a smile still on my face.

“My friend, Jen, who apparently feels the need to feed the masses. She owns the coffee shop in town.”

Damian, Ben’s friend, who arrived last night and bunked in what turns out to be his old trailer, reaches past me and lifts the lid of one of the boxes.

“Thought I smelled cinnamon buns. Damn, are those still warm?” he directs at Jen, who is standing there slack-jawed.

Oh, I get it. Damian is beyond handsome with his smoldering Latino good looks. Something Jen’s clearly noticed.

“They are,” I quickly jump in when Jen doesn’t answer. “Where is Ben?”

He rolled out of bed while it was still pitch-dark outside. I’d still been half-asleep and vaguely remember him saying something about getting the site ready. I haven’t seen him since.

“He’s going over the plans with Jim,” Damian says, lifting a sticky pastry from the box and looking at Jen for approval. Still struck dumb, she just nods sharply and watches as Damian shoves half of the cinnamon roll in his mouth, biting it in two with strong white teeth. “They’re really just killing time,” he mumbles around his mouthful. “The trucks won’t be here for another half-hour or so.”

I grab my phone and give Ben a call.

“Jen just showed up with fresh coffee and warm pastries. Enough to feed an army.”

“Be right there,” is the only answer I get before the call is ended, but just moments later, I hear the sound of engines. Ben, on his four-wheeler, is leading a pickup truck with four or five guys in the back, straight up to the trailer. Three more come out of the cab of the truck. Ben saunters over with a grin, tagging me around the neck, and pressing his mouth to mine in a hard kiss.

“Jen,” he turns to my friend, before they zoom in on the pastries. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Suck up,” Damian coughs out.

The rest of the crew ambles up to the table, and I get busy pouring everyone coffee, while Jen does the rounds with the boxes. I manage to secure a coffee for Jen and me, and motion for her to join me on the trailer steps. I take a bite of the roll she hands me and enjoy the banter around me. There’s quite a bit of good-natured ribbing going on between the guys, which Jen seems to get as much of a kick out of as I do.

“They’re here,” Jim announces, standing up. The rumble of voices instantly dies down, and then we hear the sound of truck engines.

In a matter of seconds, everyone is up, mumbling their thanks and hustling back to their vehicles. Ben lingers to kiss Jen’s cheek and my lips.

“You coming up?” he asks, excitement dancing in his eyes. He’s like a kid on Christmas morning with a new box of Lego bricks.

“I’ll just clean up and grab my camera. Be right there,” I promise, waving him off.

“God,” Jen sighs, a little breathlessly, when we watch as Damian gets on the ATV behind Ben and they hurry off behind the rest. “That was an overwhelming infusion of testosterone. How do you survive?” She turns to me with her eyebrows lifted high. I shake my head and chuckle.

“I just concentrate on the one that’s in my bed every night.” I shrug, and Jen’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Lucky bitch,” she mutters, gathering the empty paper cups and tossing them in the fire pit.

“You should come up more often,” I suggest, nudging her with my elbow.

“Are they gonna be here?” She tilts her head in the direction the guys disappeared.

“Maybe not—but I will.”

“Oh, all right then,” she concedes with a wink.

We’ve got the now empty coffee containers loaded back in Jen’s car, and she’s standing with the door open.

“Did you ever talk to that woman? The one I gave your email address to?”

“I got an email, she’s looking for some guy and thought she recognized Ben in that picture.”

“Good to know,” Jen says, surprising me. “She called again to make sure I gave her the right email address.

“I haven’t sent anything back,” I admit. “Ben was a little freaked out and asked me not to. I promised him I’d let you handle it. I should’ve called you.”

“Not to worry,” she says, waving her hand. “Just shoot me a copy of her email when you have a chance. I’ll take care of it. You go enjoy the view.” She grins, pointing up at the lookout point where the arm of a big crane is visible.

“You’re not coming up?”

“Nah. I get one look at men getting sweaty; I’ll never leave. I’ve got a business to run.” She gives me a one-armed hug before getting in the car.

I give her a wave as she drives off and rush inside to grab my camera.

Time to see my house come together.

Ben

“Wow,” Damian says behind me.

The sun is going down fast as last of the trucks is just rumbling down the mountain. Jim and his crew are packing up for the night, and I just told them to take tomorrow, off.

That was a hard fucking day of work. Six crew from the builder, plus Jim and his crew of seven, Damian and myself, and I am looking at our new house.

“No shit,” I respond.

Nowhere near done, but the shell is there, complete with windows, outside doors, and a roof. Monday, the guys will start with the hookups: plumbing, heating, and electrical. Jim put in the rough-ins, according to the plans the builder supplied, before pouring the foundation, but it all still has to be connected. Jim cautioned it would likely be another three weeks, two if he pushed it, before it would be anywhere near habitable.

It looks bigger than I thought it would be.

“I should head back home,” Damian says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Just got a message one of our cases is heating up.” I turn and clasp his hand.

“Thanks for your help, man. Appreciate it.” I pull him in a man hug, pounding him on his back a few times, before stepping back.

“Whatever,” he scoffs. “I owed you; you spent enough hours on my place.” He starts walking toward the ATV.

“No bite before you head out?” I ask, following him. Isla left about thirty minutes ago to throw some dinner together. She’d been up here most of the day as well, only heading back to the trailer every so often to download the massive number of pictures she was snapping all day.

“Nah, I’ll hit a drive-thru in Cortez.”

I swing my leg over the seat and scoot forward to make room for him.

“Don’t tell Isla, she’ll be pissed if she finds out you’re blowing off her dinner for Taco Bell,” I warn him when he climbs on behind me.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promises with a chuckle, before his tone gets serious. “You know you hit the jackpot, don’t you? You deserve it, man. Despite what you might think.”

“I know,” I finally answer, my voice rough, as I start the engine.

-

Isla is disappointed when Damian announces he has to leave, as I expected, but she gives him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Next time you come, you won’t recognize your Deville,” she promises. “It’ll be ready for you whenever you want to get away.”

“Sounds good. And tell that old man of yours to bring you up to see me, if not before the winter, then in the spring. I’ll take you out rafting on the Animas River.” With a last wave at her, he turns to his vehicle, where I’m waiting. “Jackpot,” he says again. “Lucky bastard.”

“You’ll hit yours,” I tell him as he climbs behind the wheel.

“Nah. Thought I did once, turned out to be someone else’s quarter.”

Before I have a chance to say anything, he drives off. I watch until his taillights disappear through the gates before heading inside.

“Isn’t it awesome?” Isla smiles big, turning her head when I come in. I walk up behind her, slip my arms around her waist, and lean my chin on her shoulder.

“Pretty amazing,” I agree. “What’s for dinner?”

“Potato ham soup and grilled cheese. Easy, stick to the bones kinda food.”

“Sounds good,” I mumble against the side of her neck, before closing my mouth over the tender skin and sucking. “Do I have time for a quick shower?” I ask, stepping back to put some distance between us before it’s more than just the grilled cheese burning up.

“Tease,” she hisses, throwing me a dirty look. “Yes, there’s time.”

-

After dinner Isla pats the spot next to her on the couch.

“Come have a look.”

She has her laptop open to a sleek looking website.

“I. Ferris Snapshots? I like,” I comment when I see the heading. “This looks good. Who did this so fast?”

“It’s only temporary,” she says, a little flush to her skin. “Until I can get a proper website designed.”

“You did this?” I ask, pulling the laptop closer so I can get a better look. I’m impressed; I wouldn’t know where to start. “It’s really good. Doesn’t look temporary to me.”

“Anyway,” she says, pretending not to have a pleased little smirk on her face that makes me chuckle. “I wanted to show you this.” She takes back the laptop and clicks a few keys. “Have a look.”

A slideshow of pictures, taken from the exact same spot, from the first time she took me up to the clearing until this afternoon, with the sun already setting. Like a time-lapse video, you can see the entire evolution from the first breaking of ground, to the roof lifted onto our house. A black frame with a single word in white ends the sequence.

HOME

My eyes move away from the screen and brush over her face. My fingers trail lazily behind.

“Home?”

“Feels like it,” she whispers, self-consciously shrugging her shoulders.

“It does,” I agree. “Wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to remember what that felt like.”

“The last time I remember feeling home, was walking in the door after school and having Mom putzing around the kitchen, while asking me all about my day.” I watch as Isla swallows hard before adding, “Don’t get me wrong, Uncle Al and Aunt Kate were amazing—and later Ginnie, too—but living with them always felt more like an extended stay than a home. Maybe because I remember Mom so vividly, it would’ve felt like a betrayal.”

She turns her attention back to the screen, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

“What are you up to now?”

She logs off and shuts down the computer before glancing at me.

“I just went live with my new website,” she says with a grin.

I’ve never seen someone adapt and adjust to whatever life throws her way, and come out the other end with that infectious smile on her face.

“You’re amazing,” I tell her honestly, because she is. “You’re like the gift that keeps on giving.”

“That’s sweet,” she says, setting the laptop on the table before she climbs in my lap and slides her hands along the scruff on my jaw. “But I think that’s the jelly of the month club.”

“It’s not sweet if it’s the truth, and why are you quoting National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation?”

“Hush,” she giggles, tilts my head back, and makes me forget everything but her filling my senses.

It’s him.

Twelve years and I’ve finally found him.

Mine.

It wasn’t the right time then, but it is now. I can feel it.

The images roll over the screen and I freeze the frame when his face appears. The lines familiar, albeit a little deeper with age. It looks good on him.

When I read the caption at the end of the slideshow, my vision blurs and a sharp pain hits me square in the chest.

That bitch.