Timber Creek

“You have a say.” Sorrow tapped her spoon on the edge of her frying pan and gave Helen her full attention. “We’re listening.”



“Go on,” Billy said. “They won’t bite.” Then he pointed to Laura and added with a smile, “Well, she might.” He placed his hands on his fiancée’s shoulders. It seemed he was always touching Sorrow with those affectionate, automatic gestures.



Helen only glared.



The chatter from the other room swelled with the sound of new patrons. It was time to defuse the situation and get back to work. Helen had diners to serve, and she had a certain construction worker to confront. Even if nothing came of things like forcing Eddie to remeasure the property lines, it’d still provide nice little setbacks for him.



She hopped from the counter, pocketing her cell phone with one hand and holding the tavern phone in the other. “We’re all overwhelmed, Helen. Our marketing efforts have begun to pay off, and it just means we all have to work extra hard.”



“It’s a case of be careful what you wish for,” Billy said wryly.



Helen stiffened. “Well, it’s become too much. I can’t keep running between tables, back to the bar, back here, back to the tables—”



“Okay.” Sorrow smiled. “Okay.”



“Okay?” Laura gaped at her sister. Okay was not the way to manage people. The situation had been in hand before Sorrow had interrupted. “What do you mean, okay?”



“Okay, we’ve hired someone to help.”



Laura almost dropped the phone, not believing her ears. “Since when?”



“Since Dad finally relented.”



Annoyance quickly followed her relief. “When exactly were you planning on telling me? I am the manager.”



“Chill out,” Sorrow said. “We just finalized it today. You were hiding in the attic, remember? Hey, if you looked up from that cell phone every once in a while, I could’ve told you sooner.”



She shut her eyes for a second, regrouping. “All right. You’re right.”



“I am?” Sorrow grinned.



“Don’t let it go to your head. Now tell me how you finally convinced the old man. He’s been all talk, promising help for ages.”



“I did it with a little help from this guy.” She leaned back into Billy, and he cradled his arms around her waist.



Helen snapped, “Shouldn’t you two be on a honeymoon somewhere?”



“We’re having a long engagement.”



Laura had to agree with Helen on that point—those two were a bit much to watch sometimes. “You can honeymoon all you want if you’re telling me someone else is showing up to help around here.”



“Believe it,” Sorrow said.



As Helen began to rail in detail about all the various skills their new employee would require, Laura considered the Caller ID on the tavern phone. It was a 212 area code. Manhattan? “Hey, Helen. You never said who called.”



The woman looked annoyed to be interrupted. “He said he was from the History Network.”



“He said what?” Laura exploded into action, seeing in a flash a whole new world of possibilities.



Eleven



By the time Laura took the turnoff to Timber Road, her mind was going a million miles a minute, and unfortunately the car was going a little faster than it should’ve been, too. Gravel spat under her tires as she brought the Beemer to an abrupt stop in the ranch’s parking lot.



A couple of the construction workers hooted at her daredevil entrance. She really should sell the thing and buy something much more practical for mountain living—a nice SUV, or a Jeep maybe—but she was having a hard time parting with the thing. She’d left San Francisco with her tail between her legs, but she’d bought that sedan fair and square, working her butt off for every last payment. It was a symbol of her meager successes, and she wasn’t ready to part with it yet. Other successes had been just too hard to come by.



But then she caught sight of Eddie’s ridiculously giant pickup—it was a godawful vehicle. Maybe the BMW was just the thing.



Eddie. She shaded her eyes, looking for him among the other workers.



She bit her cheek not to grin—she felt like she’d already won the battle. It had been the History Network who’d called. The execs had raved about Sierra Falls, the lodge, and the discovery of letters from her three-times-great-grandmother that’d uncovered much about the famous California figure Buck Larsen.



They were interested in her family’s lodge. Not Eddie’s Slumber Ranch.



She squinted, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Workmen roved the rooftop of the ranch house. It’d been only a few days since her last argument with Eddie—surely she wasn’t too late. Had they begun building another story already?



She peered harder, shading her eyes from the sun. The home really was a beautiful old girl—like something from one of those aged sepia photos of the Wild West. It had a low, flat roof, with no-nonsense posts and pillars hammered together at right angles. A porch wrapped around the front, adorned with old wagon wheels in various states of decay. Part of the façade had been torn away, and though she was sure it’d been necessary to repair the extensive damage years of snow and ice would’ve done, still, the sight sickened her. She was protective of her town, and nothing more symbolized the heart of Sierra Falls than a turn-of-the-century building like this.



“What can I do you for?” a friendly voice shouted from above.



“Hey, Jack.” She knew she could take her issues up with Eddie’s brother—after all, it was Jessup Brothers, plural—but she found she mostly wanted to continue the conversation with Eddie. “Where’s—”



“My little brother? He’s off in the woods, no thanks to you.”



“To me?”



“You’re making the man nuts. He’s somewhere out there now, with his surveying equipment.” Jack gestured into the distance. “Got it in his head to check all the property lines. Again. Said we have you to thank for it.”



“Don’t thank me yet,” she muttered.



“What’s that?” He began to make his way toward the ladder. “You need me to come down?”



“No, no need. Thanks, Jack. I’ll go find him.”



“You do that. He’s been making stupid mistakes, distracted. Doesn’t help with that phone of his buzzing every two minutes, and don’t think I don’t know it’s you hounding him. He said you’re in a lather about something.” Jack gestured into the distance. “I told him to stay out there and take a long lunch.”



Distracted. She didn’t realize guys like Eddie had a conscience. Did it mean she’d begun to get through to him after all?



As she wandered away from the house toward the tree line, the beauty of the place struck her. She didn’t consider herself a big outdoorsy woman—she must’ve driven by the place thousands of times, but never once had she explored beyond what was visible from the road—but the property really was quite pretty. A creek curved over the land like a ribbon, sparkling in the sunlight. Summer had coaxed every color of the rainbow, and a carpet of green, red, and yellow grasses lined its banks, dotted with blue, pink, purple, and white Sierra wildflowers. Scattered pine trees in a deep green flanked the water on either side, and the mountains rose in the far distance, feeling ancient and wise. Thin veins of white dappled a few of the peaks—snow that had yet to melt.



The closer she got to the water, the more distant the construction became. Instead of the sounds of sawing and shouts, she heard only the lazy splash of slow-moving creek water, the sound of tall summer grasses swaying, birds chirping. She might not’ve been a nature girl, but even she couldn’t deny how idyllic it all was. She stopped to take a moment, shutting her eyes and inhaling deeply. Feeling the sun on her face was both the simplest and the most profound of pleasures.



“Lovely, huh?”



Her breath caught. Eddie’s voice was a low rasp, and her skin beaded at the sound of it. Bracing herself, she opened her eyes. He’d appeared next to her, standing in his jeans, dirt-smudged T-shirt, and old work boots, looking as rugged as the land. Momentarily speechless, she stood there, inadvertently sharing this quiet with him. She had the odd thought that the blood in her veins felt as enlivened as that babbling water.



She cleared her throat, looking away to stare at the creek instead. “It is.”



“And you’re here to tell me to stop.”



“I am.”



“You’re here to tell me if we develop any further we’ll be invaded by people come to cut all the flowers and fish out the creek.”



“That’s about the size of it.”



“I tried, Laura.” He took off his ball cap, scraped his hand through his hair, then adjusted it back on his head. Despite the shade it provided, sun marked his face, in faint lines around his eyes and mouth. He’d clearly spent a lot of time outdoors, squinting and smiling—smiles that, lately, were rarely directed at her.



She glanced away, gathering herself. “Not very hard, I imagine.”



“I measured and remeasured the property line. I even looked into rules about building near conservancy land. I’m listening, Laura. What else do you want me to do?”



That took her aback. She finally looked, really looked him in the eyes. They were a sparkling blue in the sunlight, looking even bluer for his tanned skin and brown hair. In that instant, her traitorous mind came up with one answer. Kiss me.



“I—” She gathered herself, and standing rigidly upright, looked away. “I’ve got news, Eddie. Big news.”



“I’m all ears.”



“I got a call earlier. From the History Network.”



He looked momentarily baffled. “You mean, like on cable TV?”



“Yes, you know, the History Network. ‘Bringing the past to life,’ that one?” This was her big moment, the most success she’d had since losing her job, and she found she wanted it—needed it—more than ever.