Meg's Best Man: A Montana Weekend Novella (2 page)

“Well, I don’t even know how to be a bridesmaid, let alone a maid of honor, so I hope I don’t mess it up.”

Aunt Catherine stepped up, as expected. “When things go wrong at the last minute you take care of everything and never let the bride know about it. And you stay by her side as much as you can, and if she tries to make a break for it, tie her down.” Leah and Joshua exchanged a look that made it clear she wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Meg went back to the bedroom to change into her own clothes and boots. When she came out her aunt and uncle were saying their good-byes. “I should go, too,” she said. “I need to get the camper parked before dark, and I think there’s some brush to clear on the lower logging road.”

“You can’t do that by yourself!” Catherine said. Then she glanced over at Gage.

Oh, no
, Meg thought. That was just what she needed, her very determined aunt trying to do some matchmaking. “I can and I do, all the time,” she said. “I spend more time on location than I do in my apartment, Aunt Catherine. I’ve got it covered.” Then, hoping she had put a period on the end of that sentence, she added, “Are Mom and Dad at your place yet? Say hi for me, will you?”

After Aunt Catherine and Uncle Jacob left, Meg made sure she understood tomorrow’s plans and gave Leah a last hug. Everyone seemed happy and relaxed. But almost as soon as the door closed behind her, it opened again. “I should help you get set up,” Gage said, following her.

He didn’t say he wanted to, or ask if he could help, he just informed her that he should. And he didn’t look too sure about it. She turned to face him and crossed her arms. “I really am fine,” she said. “Please don’t feel like you need to help; there’s nothing to help
with
.”

Gage walked right past her, and she had to look up as he did. He was taller up close. And he smelled like a very nice aftershave. “Nice canned ham,” he said.

He meant her old-style little camper, of course. She loved it. It was tiny, round, and flat on the sides like a canned ham tipped on its side. It was also light enough to be pulled by a station wagon, or in her case, a Jeep. He walked right up to her Jeep and opened the passenger door. “Don’t worry, I’ll just walk back up to the cabin.” Then he started to get in.

He must have noticed the shocked look on her face, because he jumped back out. She expected him to apologize and go back inside the log cabin, but instead he hurried around the front of the Jeep and opened her door. Then he actually took off his hat. And smiled.

It was one of those smiles, the kind that are usually part of an invitation to do something that will get you in trouble. She almost wanted to smile right back at him, but Meg knew better than that. She stepped off the front porch and came around to the driver’s side. He stretched out one arm to welcome her into her own vehicle. It would have been a polite gesture if he hadn’t invited himself along.

“Thank you,” she said as she climbed into the driver’s seat, “but I don’t really need any help.”

“No problem.” He put his hat back on, got in the passenger side, slammed the door shut, and made himself comfortable. When she didn’t make a move, he turned to her in surprise and added, “Oh, should I help you get this thing turned around?”

She didn’t have anything polite to say to that. Frustrated, she cranked the ignition and started to back up the rig. She had to calm herself a little bit. If she wasn’t careful she could turn the Jeep too tightly and bang the back corner of the Jeep into the camper. There were at least three paint swipes on the camper that demonstrated how she’d learned that lesson.

Once she’d turned the rig around, she started down the steep road in first gear. The camper didn’t weigh much, but the Jeep wasn’t really made to tow. She was thinking about how she was going to get onto the old logging road. The only way that made sense was to pass it, then back the camper onto the narrow road. It would make getting out a lot easier, but it was going to take some gas to get the old Jeep to shove the camper uphill, and backward, for a few feet. The Jeep wasn’t what it used to be, thirty years ago.

As she crept past the turn for the logging road, she noticed a large branch across it. She should have checked the old road on the way up to the cabin, but she’d been anxious to get situated. And now that it was late, it was getting harder to see, and she had to park the camper. She put on the brakes and got out to put rocks in front of the tires just in case. She heard Gage jump out of the Jeep and head down the road. “It’s been a while since someone drove down this road, huh?” he yelled cheerfully.

Once she was sure her rig was safe, she walked around the back and headed down the abandoned road. Gage was reaching down for the branch. “I’ll get that,” she said. She was irritated at herself for not taking care of this before, and that irritation was coming out in her voice.

Gage backed off, both hands raised, and she reached down.

The branch didn’t budge. It didn’t look that heavy, but it was dead solid. She knew at first touch she was going to have to ask for his help, but she kept trying to move it. Finally, she looked up. It was getting dark fast, and she’d better admit defeat.

“I can’t move it.”

“You don’t say.”

“Would you please be so kind as to help me?”

Gage walked over behind her back, up onto the slope, and started tugging hard at another branch. It had pinned down the one that lay across the road. She hadn’t taken the time to size up the situation, but evidently he had. With the other branch moved, the two of them were able to move the branch that blocked the road.

They walked together down the old logging road, each one in a tire rut, kicking their way through the tall grass and moving rocks and branches. They made it to a nice level spot that was well hidden in the trees, and she put her hands on her hips and looked around. “This looks great,” she murmured to herself. She kicked off the extra branches and rolled a stone farther down the road. She could hear Gage walking back to her rig, but she had no idea how far he’d made it until she heard the unmistakable rasping roar of the old Jeep’s engine.

“Wait!” she called and started running, but it was too late. Hitting RPMs the engine hadn’t hit in years, her camper bounced up and over the hump where the two roads met and rocked perilously side to side. Then the rig was fully on the logging road, the engine was still running, and Gage jumped out looking proud of himself. “How far back do you want it?”

She resisted the urge to say she wanted it parked over his dead body, even though it seemed like an appropriate thing to say at the time. He hadn’t exactly committed car theft, but he was at least rude. “I’ve got it from here,” she said calmly.

He shrugged and held the door open for her. And took his hat off again. Maybe it was the color of the straw cowboy hat, but she had assumed he was blond, so the shock of dark hair—black in this dim light—surprised her again.

Once she was in, he slammed the door. She looked at him in surprise, but he was smiling. He looked to be around thirty years old, but he still seemed to think that was the normal way to close a car door.

“I’ll be fine,” she said through the plastic window and started backing up. But instead of heading back up the drive, he strolled after her, lit by the headlights as she backed up through what looked like a pitch-black tunnel in the rearview mirror.

It was slow going, but she got it parked. She dropped the hitch jack, and without a word Gage moved the Jeep out of the way. She pulled four jacks and a flashlight out of the bumper box, and by the time she had finished placing one he had done the other three, letting her know all the while what the level indicators were saying. The whole process was done in a flash, and she even got the propane pilot lit without its usual stubbornness and sputtering.

It would have been a good note to end the evening on, but Gage just kept going. While she was on the other side of the trailer she heard the step being pulled out, and he opened the door to her camper. “Hey,” she called, but he didn’t stop. As she rounded the other side, she saw the light come on in the camper.

“It’s Mouse!”

Meg stopped in her tracks, eyes closed, and wished again he would have just let her be. And she wished he had said, “It’s a mouse,” but she knew he hadn’t.

He popped his head out of the doorway. “Why do you have Mouse the Moose all over your walls?”

“I think he’s cute,” she said.

He vanished again. “This is all painted directly on! Didn’t Catherine say you were a painter? Did you paint all these?”

She nodded, knowing full well he couldn’t see her.

He popped out again, eyes wide. “Did you write the book?”

“Yes. But could you please not tell…”

He was gone again. “This is awesome! My nephew would go crazy about this. It’s his dream come true, camping with Mouse the Montana Moose.”

She stepped up into the camper. There was only about six square feet of floor space, and Gage was taking up most of it, with his head tilted sideways not to hit the ceiling.
He doesn’t fit in here
, she thought.

There wasn’t much empty wall space, but she had managed to cover almost all of it with mountain scenery, wild animals, and Mouse the Moose sweetly and blissfully getting in trouble. It made her smile. And when she met with clients in her camper, which was not exactly the best business office, it instantly put them at ease. She backed her way into the narrow seat at her tiny table.

“‘Mouse was a very good moose,’” he said. “‘It was his antlers that were naughty from time to time. And the problem with antlers is that you can’t act like they don’t belong to you.’” He laughed. “I love that!”

He was quoting her own children’s book, apparently by memory. It made her stomach do flips and her head hurt in a way that wasn’t all bad.

“My nephew Cade makes me read your book over and over, and he says I have the best Moose voice ever. Do you have any other books out?”

“My publisher wants to do another, and I’ve been working on a few ideas.”

“That’s great. You’d better get on it so I can buy it for Cade for Christmas and cement my place as Uncle of the Year. I can’t believe Josh never told me you were the author. The book says Margaret Parks, doesn’t it? I never thought to make the connection; Parks is a pretty common name. Still, I can’t believe—”

“He doesn’t know.”

Gage was perfectly still. His pale brown eyes pierced her. “Why not?”

“I guess I never got around to telling them,” she said weakly.

Gage was frowning, now. She didn’t know him from Adam, but that look made her feel as low as dirt. “‘Them?’ Does that mean no one in your close-knit, loving, good Christian family knows? Do your parents even know?”

She shook her head. Then she concentrated very hard on knitting her fingers together.
I’m scared to tell them
, she thought, but she didn’t say anything.

Gage huffed. “Well, don’t worry. I won’t let your little secret out. I won’t even tell Cade about it, even though I know he’d love to see some pictures of your camper, and he’d think I was especially cool for having met you, but I’m sure you have your reasons.”

His expression made it clear he thought her reasons must be selfish. He tipped his hat and left.

She was still for a moment, but with a jolt that left her heart racing she jumped up and out of the cabin. “Gage!” she called.

He was just a little ways down the road, but she could make him out in the fading light as he turned to face her. He waited for her to say something. It shouldn’t matter to her what he thought of her. She shouldn’t have to defend herself to him. She tried to think of something else to say.

“Do you have any bear spray?”

“No.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“The airlines frown on carrying a gun on the plane.”

She smirked in the dark. “Let me get you some bear spray. I have plenty.” She ducked back inside and fished through one of her tiny cabinets, which was a hopeless jumble now, and pulled out a huge black can. When she turned around he was standing right in the doorway and she jumped.

“I’m not a bear,” he said calmly.

“You need to know how to use this.”

“I know how,” he said and removed it from her hand.

“Do you use it on wild bears roaming the streets of Austin?”

He grinned again, finally, and she felt so relieved she almost giggled. “You’d be surprised,” he said, and with another tip of his hat he was gone.

Friday

Meg put the percolator over the blue gas flame. It was June, but the mountain night had been cold, and she was looking forward to a hot mug in her hands. Perked coffee and boiled water were the only things she made on the two-burner stove top of her camper, since cooking smells lingered forever in the small space. Coffee first, clothes second. She thumbed through her Bible until the coffee was ready. This particular Bible lived in her camper, and it looked worse for the wear. She wondered what God thought about years’ worth of coffee drips and rings on His book and hoped He didn’t mind too much.

She put on board shorts, a swim tank, and a camp shirt and added a pair of water shoes to her messenger bag. Sitting on the table, only slightly battered from the beating it had taken on its journey onto the logging road, was a large wrapped present. It was probably too early to bring that up to the cabin. Of course it was a framed picture, there was no hiding that. She’d tried to make up for the lack of surprise by making the package a colorful explosion of ribbons and sparking confetti paper.

I never understood why you don’t dress yourself like you do your artwork
, Catherine had said. She looked at her pale blue shirt and black and brown plaid shorts. They were kind of surfer/boarder chic, weren’t they? Or did they just make her look like a middle-aged man? She sighed. Well, they were comfortable. Luckily it was Leah who would be the center of attention today, not her. Everyone looking at one of her murals made her feel wonderful. Everyone looking at
her
made her feel awkward.

She threw a few more odds and ends in the bag and headed out to do her usual campsite check, but when she opened the door she found Gage standing still with his arm raised to knock on the door. She jumped backward so far she almost fell into the mini bathroom.