Cutter Mountain Rendezvous (10 page)

“What’s Colton going to do even if he comes back tomorrow? I’m the one who knows how to use a gun.”

“Kate, this is no time to stick your independence in my face.”

Tears sprang into her eyes. “This isn’t even remotely close to what happened in Nashville.”

“True, but I’ll not have my own daughter being foolish. I’ll sleep out here until Colton returns.”

“Is that what it comes down to, Dad? The county sheriff won’t be embarrassed by his daughter’s foolish pursuit of independence. Well, I’m way past those days. I welcome your sleeping here, but if you think Colton will protect me, you’re wrong. He’s a ballplayer. Not a cop. And I doubt anyone needs protecting from this kid, whoever he is.”

“Colton called me because he was worried about you and Lindsay. Now who’s looking out for who?”

“Whom, not who.”

“See you about nine.”

“Great. Bring a dozen donuts.”

Chapter Nine

After two nights of her dad sleeping on the downstairs couch, Kate decided it was time to quit hanging close to home during the day. She preferred Colton find an empty house versus her pacing the front porch anxious for his return.

She drove into Bear Creek for the overdue visit with Bobby’s mom. Claire McAllen was the only townsperson with firsthand knowledge of Tom Cutter.

Claire was a widow who had spent her entire married life inside a tiny two-bedroom, white-framed house that she kept immaculate inside and out. The house was within walking distance to Bobby’s garage, the business his father started up thirty years ago.

They sat at a worn gray faux-marble Formica-and-chrome table straight out of the sixties. Except for being timeworn, the whole house appeared to be lifted from a sixties time capsule.

Even Claire, a sixties throwback if ever there was one, wore a homemade small-print pink housedress with an apron over top. Kate couldn’t remember a time when Claire didn’t smell like rose water with her white hair pulled back in a tight knot. She seemed a mismatch for her rough-and-tumble late husband. A difference Kate noticed even as a child.

A flush spread over Claire’s cheeks as she reminisced over a cup of tea. “Grannie was fascinated with Tom’s life. She took me to see his cabin a couple of times. It was falling apart even back then. Here, Kate. Help yourself to my cinnamon crumb cake. I just baked it.” She pushed a plate toward Kate, who obliged and took a piece that melted in her mouth.

Being in Claire’s kitchen brought back a host of fond memories. Tall glasses of milk and cookies shared with Bobby as kids after school. “Do you remember anything about how he died?” Kate asked, dabbing crumbs up with her fingers not wanting to miss one rich buttery morsel.

“You run into his ghost roaming around up there?” Excitement glittered in her brown eyes.

“Why would you think such a thing?”

“Well, the way Grannie told it, I figured Tom’s ghost would still be up there pining over his young wife.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Let’s see if I can get this straight.” Claire knit her brow and folded her cloth napkin. She pressed her fingers along the fold. “My mother used to get mad at Grannie for filling my head with fairy tales. Grannie said my mother was bitter and didn’t believe in undying love.” Claire gave Kate a bittersweet smile that carried an apology. “My mother raised four kids on nothing but the charity of others. I never knew my father. More cake?”

Kate eyed the plate and yielded to her lack of restraint. She needed the sweet after being scared to death by the prowler and fretting over Colton’s whereabouts. Damn his charismatic ego. She missed him. “Thank you. It’s delicious. So”—she swallowed her bite—“Tom was married. That’s interesting. I never considered a wife with common knowledge he was a hermit.”

“Not always. Tom left a young wife to fight in the Indian wars under Andrew Jackson. When he came back, he found his bride ailing with consumption. She died and he buried her there. There’s a stone marker. I’ve seen it. Her name was Jenny. Such a pretty name. Only seventeen years old. I imagine it’s impossible to find the grave these days with things so grown over.”

“She was young,” Kate commented.
Too young to die before she lived.
Kate’s fingers itched to touch the strings of a guitar and play the lick of melody that spun at the back of her mind. Except there was no guitar to strum, thanks to her ex.

Claire made a sigh filled with sadness. “Yes. Too young. I remembered because I was seventeen when Grannie told me. I couldn’t imagine being alone in the wilderness, fending for myself at seventeen. Indians still around. Tom never left the mountain after she died other than to bring bear pelts into town for trade. It’s said he became so hairy he looked and smelled like a big bear himself.”

“We kids used to make up elaborate stories. We were sure he lived in a bear’s den. I’ll bet his appearance started the rumor.”

“I suppose. Like you say, most of it was tales spun for fun. Grannie said Tom was surprised by a grizzly. They roamed these mountains back then. About clawed poor Tom to pieces when a young mountain man happened upon the scene and shot the bear. The bear died on top of Tom. What little life was left in old Tom was crushed right quick. How much is real and how much tale is anyone’s guess. Don’t forget Davy roamed these woods back then. Each woodsman tried to upstage the other with a tall tale.”

“Gawd. That’s awful.” Kate shivered to think of Tom’s fate.

“The young man, don’t remember his name, claims he buried Tom where he lay and skinned the grizzly. There’s a poor picture of the bear hide hanging in Ray’s Hardware if you want to see the thing. I’m told the bear was missing a toe but you can’t see it on the picture.”

“What makes you think what your grannie told was true?”

“I know it’s true. My great-great grandfather was the trader who bought the grizzly pelt from the young mountain man who told the story. The site of Ray’s Hardware was a trading post long before it was a hardware store.”

Kate set her cup and saucer in the sink, thinking about the old pictures hanging on the wall behind the register at Ray’s. Next time she bought paint, she’d ask him about the bear. “Thank you for sharing what you know. It’s been interesting.”

“Glad to pass it along.” Claire rose and began to wrap up one of two crumb cakes sitting to cool on her counter. “Bobby tells me that ballplayer Colton Gray’s at your place. Feed him my cake when he comes back today. Tell him I loved watching him pitch.”

Blood rushed through Kate’s veins as she tried to look
oh so not interested
in Colton’s supposed return. “Give the cake to Bobby. I’ve no idea when he’ll be back.”

Claire’s brow knit. “Bobby said at lunch he talked to Colton about his truck. He’s supposed to return from Knoxville sometime today.” Claire leaned forward to share gossip. “Bobby saw him drive through town with a blond beauty. I guess we can imagine what took him to Knoxville for a couple of days.”

Yeah, she could. After her thorough examination of his sleeping body, she imagined all too well. “Boys will be boys,” Kate said brightly to cover her disappointment at the news. It was one thing to be in Knoxville on business. Another if it was monkey business. “How is it you watched Colton pitch?”

“Mac and Bobby watched baseball and now I do too. What else is there for me? I rooted for the Bullets because they were a new team. They made the playoffs last year because of that young man. Handsome, too. Makes watching him easy.”

“Um. Don’t care much for baseball. Thanks for the tea, Claire. I enjoyed hearing your take on Tom Cutter.”

“I enjoyed telling you. Come by any time. I always liked you, Kate. Nice to see you back in Bear Creek. Say, could you get me that Colton Gray’s autograph? There should be a
Sports Illustrated
around here with his picture on the cover.”

“Sure.” Kate made a mental note to find Colton’s signed picture of Barbie and put it in a safe place.

Driving home, smells from the warm cinnamon cake filled the cab of her truck. Claire had insisted she take it in case Colton showed up. Kate hated the flutter of anticipation that lifted her spirits in hopes Claire was right. The vision of a hot blond and two days filled with raunchy sex burst her bubble in short order.

After dinner that night, Lindsay sat on the front porch step with an array of small horses in a box and an open book across her lap. Kate worked on the screen door. “Practice reading aloud. I like to hear you.”

“Apple-looo-sa,” Lindsay attempted, holding up a white horse with brown spots.

“App-a-lou-sa,” Kate pronounced the word slow and leaned her weight into the spinning screw.

Both she and Lindsay stopped what they were doing to watch a shiny red Chevy truck pull in the drive. Her stomach did a flip-flop. She was about to give up hope he would return today.

Obviously, the blond had bolstered his spirits enough to buy a new truck. She doubted he would rent one when he had a pile of cash in Chicago and an ego the size of Texas. Were those rocking chairs secured in the truck bed?

Lindsay flew off the porch to greet him. “Colton! This is an Appaloosa.”

Kate beamed with pride. Her daughter pronounced the name right with only one correction. Pride was followed by a lump in her throat when Colton squatted to meet Lindsay at eye level and examine the horse.

“It’s a beauty,” she heard him say. “My grandfather had an Appaloosa in Wyoming. I used to ride him when I was your age.”

Lindsay’s eyes went wide as saucers. “You can ride a horse?”

“I can.”

“I want a horse but Mommy says they’re too much work.”

“She’s right. Horses need fresh water and food every day. They need to be brushed and exercised. It’s a lot of work for a seven-year-old.”

“Oh.”

Colton’s gaze bounced between Kate and the screwdriver before he asked Lindsay, “What’s your mom doing?”

“Fixin’ the screen door. She said a swear.”

“Yeah, screen doors can make you do that.” He handed back the toy horse and stood. “Need help?”

His voice pulled Kate from the mesmerizing scene. This guy was leaving soon, she reminded herself, and turned back to the door. “No thanks. It’s almost fixed. You come back for your things, cowboy?” His boots sounded across the porch.

“I’ll fix the door tomorrow,” he said at her side.

To Kate’s ears it meant he intended to spend the night. “No need. I’ll tackle it tomorrow. Who’s truck?” she asked like she didn’t know.

“I bought it in Knoxville.”

She gave the screw another vicious turn. “Figures.”

Colton cupped his ear. “What’s that?”

“Must be nice to have deep pockets.”

“Can’t say I mind. I wrote a check.”

Ah, there was the challenge she expected. This time she wouldn’t bite. She pointed her chin toward his truck. “Looks like you intend to do a lot of rocking back in Chicago.”

“Nah. They’re for your porch. Two rockers for each room, and a few tables. Saw a shop on my way back and thought it would be nice to actually rock on the porch. Drink lemonade.”

“What? No corncob pipes?”

“Jes—uh.” Colton’s gaze darted toward Lindsay at his heels, staring up at him with adoring eyes. “Ah—gee whiz. Fergot the pipes,” he drawled with a dimpled grin.

Kate’s lips twitched.

“What’s corncob pipes?” Lindsay asked.

“It’s a joke,” Kate told her. “For adults.”

“Oh.”

Colton made a grab for the screwdriver. “Give me that thing.”

She backed away and held it to her chest. “This is my project.”

“It’s worse than when I left.” He eyed the offending hinge that hung half off the frame and stalked toward the construction pile. He found a splinter of wood and strode back onto the porch to jam it into the enlarged hole. He held out his hand palm up. “Give me the damned screwdriver.”

“Colton said a swear,” Lindsay said from her spot on the steps, galloping the Appaloosa across the porch.

“Doesn’t mean you can, Half-Pint. Okay?”

“Okay.”

When the screwdriver wasn’t forthcoming, Kate received the full wrath of his glare. She gave it to him without comment. He tapped the wood splinter deep into the hole with the end of the screwdriver. Several turns of the screw and the door squared. “It won’t hold. I’ll fix it proper tomorrow.”

“Why must you fight me at every turn?”

“Why can’t you accept a little help?”

“I, uh, um—”

“Better quit while you’re ahead, Kate. How about you help me unload the truck? I’m not adverse to help one bit.” Two long strides and he hopped off the porch without caring to see if she followed.

They had the rockers unloaded and sitting across the porch in no time. Three round tables made of the same natural wood as the rockers were placed between each set of chairs.

Colton stood back to admire the porch. “That’s how a country porch should look. Add some hanging pots and railings for folks to prop up their feet, and it will be done.”