I Love You Again (2 page)

Bess shrugged and sat back. “It’s the best I can do on the sperm of the moment.”

“Very funny.” Roz regarded Bess with a wry grin. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know. For twenty years now.”

“Has it been that long? Hmm. That’s what Kit says, as well.” Bess took a long drink of her gin and tonic.

“So you talked to her?” Roz absently wiped the bar.

“Don’t sound so surprised or angry. I told both of you two years ago when you two
knotheads
broke up I would not pick sides between two people I loved. Even if they’re acting like children.”

“I’m not asking you to pick sides.” Roz now angrily wiped at the bar. “How…How is she?”

“She’s like you. Avoiding her feelings.”

“Does she know about the lodge?” Roz asked.

“No. She knows nothing about your life or your endeavors. You told me not to talk to her about this place. So I’ve respected you, and I haven’t. I don’t agree with you, but I’ve respected you. I may not agree with what you say, but I’ll defend to the death my right to call you an imbecile.”

“That’s not the quote.”

“Roz, Roz. If only I cared.” Bess absently ran her fingers through her hair. “And I’ve done the same with Kit. Not that you’ve asked about her.”

“I’ve asked if she’s happy,” Roz said in defense.

“And so has she. And I tell her what I tell you. You’re both being petulant. Though the difference is you’re throwing yourself into this place, and she’s running from her age.”

Roz snorted. “Still? Has she jumped out of a plane yet?”

“Don’t be so smug. But no, she hasn’t. And I don’t want to talk about this. It annoys and upsets me.”

“Okay. What’s the point anyway?” She tossed the towel in the sink. “Another?”

Bess held up her icy glass. “You ask the silliest questions.”

Roz laughed and took the glass. “I have talked to Helen, though,” she said, mixing another drink.

“Really? I’m surprised you would call Kit’s mother.” Bess cocked her head. “On second thought, I’m not surprised at all. You got along with Helen from the first time you met each other. How long ago?”

“You know very well how long ago it was.”

“Don’t get testy with me. So you called Helen?”

“No, I said I talked to her. I wanted to call, but...hell, she called me and berated me and Kit just as you do.” Roz narrowed her eyes as she set the drink in front of Bess. “Do you talk to Helen?”

“All the time.” Bess offered a superior pose. “I think I’m the good daughter.”

“You’re not related.”

Bess leaned in. “And neither are you, but she still loves you as if you were. She always has.”

Roz rubbed her forehead. “Let’s change the topic, please.”

“Certainly. You haven’t asked about my love life.”

Roz smiled. “I’m sorry. How’s your love life?”

“Horrible and it’s just like you to ask.”

“What happened to what’s-his-name?”

“Dick,” she said with too much disdain. “Enough said.”

“Well, don’t worry. You’re young…”

“Ha!”

“Hey, you’re ten years younger than me.”

“And at forty-eight, I should know better than to get involved with a walking penis.”

“They can’t all be like that. Not that I have a clue.”

“No, they aren’t. I just haven’t found one who walks upright on only two legs.”

Roz snapped her fingers and ran from behind the bar.

Bess watched her as she walked out of the dining room. “Come back. We don’t have to talk about men,” she called out. “Lesbians.” She shrugged and took a drink of her gin and tonic just as Roz returned with the customer register book.

“I have a guest coming Saturday. Nate Hutchins from Boulder.”

“So?” Bess asked warily.

“I remember talking to him. He sounded very nice. Owns his own business. Said he was in need of a little R and R. Maybe some trout fishing.
Ya
know, downtime.”

“Not for the trout. Again—so?”

“So you never know. Keep an open mind. The reservation was for him alone.”

Bess shook her head. “Okay, Cupid. I’ll keep an open mind.” She glanced at Roz. “Any other reservations?”

“Yeah. Let’s see… A man made an online reservation for the two adjoining rooms. They’ll be here Saturday. And then one reservation for three days starting Saturday.” Roz wriggled her eyebrows. “She asked if she could have a bottle of champagne in the bedroom. I figured what the hell.” Roz snapped the book shut and grinned. “So it should be an interesting week, don’t you think?”

“I do.” Bess nodded and sipped her drink. “I do indeed.”

Chapter 2

“We only have today.” Stella stood in the middle of the kitchen, her hands on her hips. Even though she stood only five-foot-five, she looked menacing. “Your first guests of the season will be here tomorrow.”

Roz laughed as she snagged an apple off the counter. “I know. We’re all set. You worry too much.” She motioned to Mark, who grinned as he took an apple, as well. “Tell your aunt she worries too much.”

Mark’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Not me, Roz. I like my head attached to my body, thanks.”

“You’re a sweaty mess, both of you.” Stella swiped the wayward silver lock off her forehead that had flopped over the tie-dyed bandanna she wore.

Her curly white hair was cropped short; she didn’t need the bandanna. Roz knew Stella was a product of the sixties, and being a hippie at heart, she loved her bandannas. At sixty-six years old, she was in excellent shape, better than Roz, and certainly much better than Bess, who sat at the kitchen table eating a gooey grilled cheese sandwich Stella had just prepared for her. She looked ridiculous with her diamond-ringed pinky in the air as she ate while Mark gazed lovingly at her, looking equally ridiculous if not love-struck. He looked almost cartoonish; all that was needed were little cupids swirling around his head.

“Mark,” Stella banged her spatula on the counter, “make sure the dining room is clean and dusted. Check the tables…”

“I know, Aunt Stella. I know.” He kissed her on the cheek and retreated to the dining room, but not before giving Bess one last gaze.

“He’s a good kid,” Bess said. “Cute too. He’s certainly grown up in a year.”

Stella raised an eyebrow. “He’s got a crush on you,” she said, wagging the spatula in her direction.

“That would figure,” Bess said sadly. “Don’t worry Stella old girl. And you can put that gadget down. I’m not a cradle robber. The boy is safe. I promise.”

Roz tossed the apple core in the wastebasket. “I’ve got to mow the rest of the back by the tackle shop. I’d like the area by the pier to be presentable. Stan is coming by with—”

“Lobsters?”

“The new fly-fishing gear and the rest of the brochures. I don’t want to be caught without the supplies like I was last year.”

“Well, you didn’t know,” Stella said absently while checking the pantry and refrigerator. “You were new at this and just getting started. The lodge has come alive in a year. And you’re getting better at the art of tying those flies. Even Stan said you were a quick study.” She shut the refrigerator door and studied her clipboard. “I don’t need to go into Steamboat Springs as I thought. We’ve everything we need.”

“Good. We just got our order in,” Roz said.

“I know. We’re all set for at least a week or so.”

“Okay, I gotta get back to work. Bess, are you okay? Or would you like to come take a ride on the mower? Maybe we can take the tractor for a spin.”

“As heavenly as that sounds, and it truly doesn’t, it wouldn’t be good for my Jimmy
Choos
. And I wouldn’t want to intrude on your love affair with that smelly contraption. But can I drive the golf cart around?”

Roz saw the eager, yet maniacal face. “I suppose so. Please be careful. I don’t want to have to pull you out of Bear Creek.” She grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and headed out before Bess asked for anything else.

She walked back toward the bait and tackle shop and looked up at the midday sun. It was a cool spring day with a light mountain breeze; there was no warmth in the air yet, not for a while. As she neared the pier and the bait shop, she could hear Bear Creek as the water lapped against the rocks, making its way down to the Colorado River. The stream water was cold now, coming down from the snowy mountains, perfect for most trout—brown, rainbow, or cutthroat. Roz did extensive research before she purchased this property. It was private, so no one could fish within her property line unless she gave him permission. She was still learning, but she’d had so much help from the locals in Steamboat Springs. And Roz was close enough to the city for supplies and if she needed civilization, yet far enough to give her guests that otherworld feeling. She truly was in the middle of nowhere, as Bess liked to say.

The bait shop was perfectly situated: far enough away from the lodge but not too far to walk to it or the pier. She liked that this old log cabin was renovated into the bait shop; it looked rustic and like something out of the Old West. Her friend Stan Moreland renovated it, careful not to do too much on the outside so it didn’t lose that romantic look. But what she loved most was the bedroom and bath in the back of it. It was her sanctuary, a place she would go when she wanted to be alone. As if she weren’t alone most of the time anyway.

But there was something about the cabin she loved. Perhaps because it was close to the creek. At night, she could hear the water while she lay in bed. She had a feeling deep down Stan was a romantic soul. He certainly was a comforting shoulder these past two years.

Next to the cabin, she had several canoes to rent. No whitewater, just a nice relaxing ride down the creek. Behind it was the shed, almost as big as the bait shop. This housed the mower and the snowplow, her tractor, and all things mechanical. She loved her mower; it was fast with a zero turn radius. What took her an entire day last year now took her only three hours.

“I sound like a John Deere advertisement.” As she opened the shed doors and hopped on her mower, she remembered how Kit used to tease her about this. In their home, Roz bought a sit-down mower for the yard, which she really didn’t need she just wanted it. She barely had room for it next to their cars in the garage.

She started up the mower and put on her headphones to drown out the sound of the motor. Feeling like a NASCAR driver, she lowered the blades and took off.

The memories of Kit now invaded her mind, as if she could stop them. Kit, she thought sadly. Roz remembered all the years, all the happiness, the laughter, and the arguing. Oh, the wonderful disagreements they used to have. Roz loved to get Kit’s dander up. She would get so flustered, so angry; Roz would try not to laugh. And soon, all was forgotten. Their makeup lovemaking became something of legends.

What happened? she thought as she mowed the back property. When did they fall so far apart? Was it their age? Was the idea of turning fifty so hard for Kit? Were they bored with each other? Was Kit right—they just wanted different things? Roz shook her head—too many unanswered questions. But she had an idea of what it was, probably a culmination of all of the above. Both willful and stubborn, they could go a day, maybe two without talking. It was easier for Roz; she spent a good deal of time at the nursery she owned or doing the once-in-a-while landscaping job when money was tight. And when they fought, Roz would retreat to her love of the outdoors. But they always made up, always found a way around their differences.

Kit would get angry, and her ego would take off. Roz chuckled when remembering how Kit tried to operate the mower in one of her angrier moments. She wanted to show Roz she could operate the damned mower just as well as Roz could. She almost wound up four blocks away in the
Walmart
parking lot one sunny Sunday morning. But, God love her, she tried. And again, they realized how silly they were. But somehow they just couldn’t get over this last hurdle.

With her mind wandering and her heart aching, Roz desperately tried not to think of the past any longer; she drove the mower around the property, cutting and trimming the area she had cleared last year with the tractor and bush hog. She didn’t want to disturb too much because she liked the wild, untouched look.

She gazed at the field of white clover far beyond the stream. That was where the lodge got its name, and the name was what first attracted Roz before she had even seen one acre of the property.

Roz closed her eyes, her mind wandering to their first dance together at the club neither one could remember the name of. It didn’t matter; it was the song they would always remember—“At Last.” When she and Kit danced to that song, they knew.
My heart was wrapped up in clover
. The lyric danced through Roz’s mind as she looked at the field of white clover she never wanted to mow.

She took a deep sad breath. “What happened to us, Kit?” she whispered.

Pulling her mind away from the past, which seemed to be a constant struggle, she gazed around her property once more. She didn’t mow the tall grass by the creek’s bank where a huge rock formation stood, making a great spot to cast your fly. The creek meandered to the left, almost like a dogleg on a golf course; it became a little deeper in this area, but the water was crystal clear. You could see every pebble, every hiding place behind every boulder, big and small, for the elusive and intelligent trout. And along the banks of Bear Creek, the majestic pines stood tall, like guardians watching over the rippling waters.

Roz stopped the mower, took off her headphones, and gazed at the tall pines and the creek. The hills on the other side of the creek made a perfect shield against the fall winds, which gave her more time to fish before the snow. Roz looked around, and in every direction, there were either mountains or pine forests or tall aspens. She shielded her eyes as she watched several red hawks lazily soar above the trees.

Roz was in heaven—but she was alone there.

She put the mower in gear and headed back to the shed. And as she put her beloved mower to bed, she heard the golf cart. “Oh, God,” she said with a grin.

There was Bess waving and driving toward her. With her designer sunglasses and her stylish Clairol-enhanced dark hair, Bess looked like Jackie Onassis. It was no wonder she got along so well with Helen and Kit. Roz remembered how the three of them would be gone for hours and hours on a Saturday only to come back with bags and bags from their shopping spree. She could only imagine the exhausted sales clerks left in their wake.

The cart came to an abrupt stop inches from Roz, rudely breaking her from her reverie.

“Aweigh anchor,” Bess called out with a grin, as the cart lurched forward, as if gasping for air. “It’s like being on one of those horses in a rodeo. I love this thing.”

“No, you can’t take it home with you.” Roz closed the shed door and locked it. “Want to see what I did in the bait shop?”

“Why?”

Roz laughed. “C’mon, you nut.”

“I must say, it looks like a typical log cabin.” They walked up the steps and stood on the porch. Bess touched the back of one of the rocking chairs, setting it swaying back and forth. “Country living at its best?”

“I hope so. C’mon.” Roz walked into the bait shop with Bess right behind her. It was typical, Roz thought, and small. In one corner stood a rack for maps and free literature of the area. Rods and reels and all the accessories were artfully placed in the shop. In the far corner by the window stood the counter and register.

“Very general store-
ish
. But no sacks of flour or beans,” Bess conceded. “What’s behind the door?”

“The back of the door, I suppose.”

Bess nodded approvingly. “You’re getting better with the sarcasm.”

“Thanks. This is what I really wanted you to see.” Roz grinned and opened the door behind the counter.

“You always scare me when you get that tone.” Bess cautiously followed. “A bedroom?”

“And a bathroom,” Roz said proudly. “Stan helped. That guy can build anything. I think he’s some sort of an engineering savant.”

Bess seemed impressed, which had Roz grinning. It was small but very cozy and functional. Enough room for a queen-sized bed and small dresser—made of pine log, of course—and in the far corner stood a kiva fireplace with a deep leather-cushioned love seat situated perfectly close.

“That’s my favorite part,” Roz said.

“I can see why. I like the raised hearth on this.” Bess walked over and sat down. “It’s rustic and more of a southwestern look.” She ran her fingers over the smooth terracotta red brick.

“Again, Stan. He researched for me. I love it.”

“Great,” Bess said.

Roz laughed at her effort to sound enthused. “I know it’s not the Hilton.”

“Oh, honey. It’s not even a Howard Johnson. But you can’t beat the view.”

Roz continued laughing, knowing Bess was right; the view was spectacular from the large window by the bed. It faced the back of the property, and Bess looked out onto the field of white clover. Roz was grateful she didn’t make a comment; she wasn’t in the mood for sentimentality right now.

“The moon comes right over the trees and floods this room. It was Stan’s idea to put the window there.”

“The savant?” Bess asked absently as she walked into the bathroom. “Now I do like this…”

Roz followed her. The old-fashioned claw-footed tub stood alone in the corner, and a small walk-in shower, really made for no more than one person, was right next to it. Then the sink and toilet. “It’s small…”

“Well, you don’t live in here,” Bess said, then turned to her. “Do you?”

Her incredulous tone had Roz laughing again. “Not usually. Sometimes I like to come out here,
ya
know…”

“I know.”

Roz shrugged and jammed her hands into the jeans pockets. Bess walked up to her and lightly patted her check, then—not so lightly. “You’re a jackass.”