Whenever You Come Around (23 page)
“Have you been here before?” she asked as she sat on the chair he held for her.
“Nope.” He rounded the small table to sit directly opposite her. “Looks nice.”
“The food is great, but what I like most is the view. I’ve
always loved our rivers. The water runs so clean and clear. I was surprised when I started to travel more and learned it isn’t like that everywhere.”
Buck smiled at her, and as had happened before, she felt it all the way to her toes. Was she going to blush again?
The waitress came to their table—a welcome interruption—and Charity ordered a Cobb salad with Thousand Island dressing on the side. Buck asked for the same.
Shouts of laughter carried to them from the river. They looked up to see the inhabitants of two rafts splashing one another with their oars. Teenagers, it looked like. Three boys and three girls in each raft.
Buck chuckled. “Remember when we were that young and carefree?”
She smiled at him. “Yes, I remember.”
She was surprised to realize she meant it. For years now, all of her memories had been tainted by that one winter’s night in the Riverton mansion. But sitting here with Buck, it was as if a cool breeze had blown a thousand lies and regrets away.
F
OR A CHANGE
, B
UCK FELT AS IF HE
’
D SAID SOMETHING
right to Charity. As if he’d said something that pleased her. He hoped he could repeat it.
He would be the first to admit that he didn’t always understand women. He liked them and they seemed to like him. But liking didn’t mean understanding. Until Charity, he hadn’t felt much of a desire to improve his understanding. It had seemed too much of an investment of time for the short-term relationships he’d preferred. Now things were different. He wanted to know Charity. Really
know
her.
Their Cobb salads arrived. Charity invited him to bless the food, and he obliged. As they began eating, Buck asked about her parents. She seemed to enjoy relating the news of what they’d seen and done. And since he liked to hear it, it was a good way to pass the meal.
When they finished eating, Buck paid the bill and they went outside to her car.
“We’ll get to the house before the contractor,” she said, “but I can show you around while we wait for him.”
“I’d like that.” As he’d told her earlier, he was curious to see her home, to see her in it.
They drove along city streets and through shaded neighborhoods. Buck knew the main thoroughfares of Boise, but he had no idea where they were by the time Charity slowed her Lexus, except that they were somewhere near the river.
“There it is,” she said, pointing with her right hand.
Buck saw the large Victorian home up ahead. Painted in two tones of gray, it had a porch that wrapped around the sides and front. Peaks and turrets accented the second and third stories and the roof. “It’s got character,” he said.
A smile could be heard in her voice. “You see it too?”
“Yeah. It fits you.”
She laughed. “That’s what I thought the instant the Realtor showed it to me. It looks like my house. Feels like my house. I’ll be glad when the renovations are done. I have no idea what we’ll find inside.”
A big white truck was parked in the driveway, so Charity pulled to the curb and turned off the engine. Once they were both out of the car, she led the way to the front door. It was unlocked.
“Hello? Mr. Tompkins? Are you here?”
No one answered.
“Everyone must be at lunch,” Charity said. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
She didn’t exaggerate. It was a grand tour, as far as Buck was concerned, despite the construction still in progress on the main floor and the sheets that covered most of the furniture.
It was a home built for the large families that had been common in the 1800s. Many bedrooms. Several sitting areas. A wood-paneled library. The old-world charm of the house remained, despite the improvements and modernizations.
“I converted the top floor into my office when I first bought the place,” Charity said as she led the way to the third story. “There were quite a few smaller rooms up here. Servants’ quarters when the house was built.”
Buck turned a corner in the narrow staircase, and suddenly he was facing a large, open room with a bank of ceiling-to-floor windows. A wooden desk and credenza, their surfaces also covered in white sheets, were at the far right-hand corner of the room. Bookcases lined the wall to his left.
He walked to the windows. “Wow.” The southern-exposed room looked out upon an emerald-green lawn, tall trees, and a clear view of the river flowing by.
“I lost most of my flower gardens in the flood.” Charity stepped up beside him. “But the lawn came back better than I expected, and I didn’t lose any trees. And before long, the house will be back in order too.”
It’s beautiful, but it’s . . . sterile
. Was that the word he wanted? He’d said a house told something about the person who lived in it. This one spoke volumes to him about Charity. Despite its beauty and all of her considerable efforts, it didn’t feel like a home.
“I hear someone downstairs,” Charity said, intruding on his thoughts. “It must be Mr. Tompkins. Feel free to look around some more while I talk to him.” She left the office.
Buck continued to stare out the window.
He knew something about trying to avoid pain by
avoiding love. It seemed to him Charity had tried to do the same. But at least he had people around him, close friends and neighbors. Charity had taken herself away from the community she’d known as a girl and, from what he could tell, hadn’t tried to make a new one here.
He would like to be the first member of her new community. He would like to be the man who helped her make this house—or any other she might choose—into a home.
B
Y THE TIME
C
HARITY FINISHED TALKING TO HER
contractor, the workmen had returned from lunch. Machines buzzed. Hammers pounded. It wouldn’t take long before a headache developed from the noise. Which reminded her to be thankful she had a quiet place to retreat to for these final weeks of renovating and remodeling.
She found Buck at the edge of her property, watching the Boise River flow by. Shaded by the trees, he had removed his hat and was twirling it with the fingers of his right hand. More people in rafts and tubes bobbed past him. Even a small dog in a miniature raft of its own—clad in a doggie life jacket with a kind of handle on its back—floated down the center of the river, tied to the owner’s larger raft.
When she stopped at Buck’s side, he said, amusement in his voice, “Does Cocoa have a special raft and life jacket?”
The question made her laugh with him. “No.”
“People are kind of entertaining to watch, aren’t they?”
“Usually.”
“Not exactly whitewater rafting. Not like our river up home.”
Our river
. The words sounded sweet.
Up home
.
“No,” she said again with a shake of her head. “This section of the Boise River is too peaceful for that. Two or three short falls to go over and a few spots of minor rapids. But nothing scary. Unless you let yourself get caught in branches along the banks. That can be dangerous.”
“Maybe I should try it sometime.”
Now why did that cause her heart to flutter? “Maybe you should.”
“Will you go with me?” He looked at her, the curves at the corners of his mouth hinting at a smile.
“Sure.” Her heart did more than flutter this time. It raced, making her breathless and dizzy. “If the weather’s still hot enough when I finish my book, we could go then.”
“Count on it, Charity.” He grinned in earnest.
Ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump
.
He tipped his head slightly to one side as he studied her with his eyes. Finally, he asked, “Are you finished inside?”
“Yes. I’m finished.”
“Maybe we should start for home.”
There was that word again.
Home
. His home in Kings Meadow. Her home in Boise. Her gaze slipped to the back of the house, and she suddenly felt frightened. Frightened over a choice she might have to make.
And even more frightened that a choice might never be needed.
Buck’s hand lightly cupped her elbow, and they fell into step, crossing the lawn to the side gate, then walking out to the curb where Charity had parked the car. As before, he accompanied her to the driver’s side and held the door for
her. Before she slid into her seat, she looked up at him and, for a moment, wondered if he might lean down and kiss her. But he didn’t.
Just as well
, she told herself, though she didn’t believe it.
Neither of them spoke as they drove away from her house and through town. But once they were on the highway headed north, Buck broke the silence.
“So tell me. Besides writing books, playing with Cocoa, and watching rafters on the river, what do you do with yourself in Boise? No horseback riding. You already told me that.”
She thought about it before answering. “I love to cook. I’m really looking forward to getting into my new kitchen. I like to bike along the Greenbelt in the summer. I love to attend the theater and ballet. Mom taught me to knit, but I’m not very good at it. Dad taught me to love old movies, and that’s what I usually watch on television. Oh, and I enjoy fishing.” She glanced over at him. “What about you?”
“Horses and dogs and pretty much anything in nature. Spending time with family and friends. Helping them out when they need it. Studying the Bible with the men’s group I’m part of.” He paused for a few moments, then added, “I like to dance when I get the chance.”
It struck her that almost everything she’d mentioned was an activity she did alone. The things he’d mentioned were activities he did with others.
“
You
like to dance,” he added softly.
“How do you know that?”
“I watched you dancing on the Fourth. You were having a great time.”
He
watches
me. No. More than that. He sees me
.
The pleasure that cascaded through her was undeniable, as well as surprising. Surprising because she’d spent the last decade trying to hide the girl inside, and yet happiness had come when someone looked beneath the surface. Buck had looked and seen.
He sees me. He doesn’t know my secrets, but somehow he still sees me
.
As Charity drove toward Kings Meadow, she felt God heal another broken piece inside her heart.
S
KYE
F
OSTER GRINNED AS SHE TURNED AWAY FROM
the CD player, the studio silent once again. “You are definitely ready for the reunion,” she said to Buck. “The gals will be fighting to dance with you there.”
“Not exactly what I’m after.”
Her smile broadened. “I know that. You’re doing this for Charity, and I think that’s real romantic. If you two get married, I want to give both of you lessons for your first dance as husband and wife. Deal?”
Marriage to Charity. He liked the sound of it—and that continued to surprise him when he thought of it—but it could be a long shot. Despite the way today had turned out, despite the good time they’d had down in Boise and the things they’d talked about during the drive down and back, she still didn’t seem ready to open up and let Buck all the way into her life. He might love her. She might even care for him. But he wanted more than to win her love. He needed her to trust him. Trust him with everything. He needed answers that only she could give him. Why had she become so upset
at the hospital the day Sara gave birth to Eddy? Why had she gone so pale at the sight of the Riverton mansion on the day of their ride? Why could she be so warm and approachable one moment, then cool and untouchable the next?
“Hey, Buck. Are you all right?”
He blinked, bringing Skye back into focus. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m good.” He motioned with his head toward the door. “Guess it’s time for me to get on home.”
“Wait. Before you go. I hear you’re working out at the Leonard Ranch now. How’re you liking that?”
“Like it fine. Why?”
“I was thinking about offering line dance lessons to their Ultimate Adventures guests. Think anybody’d be interested?”
“Might be. Couldn’t hurt to ask. The Leonards give out all kinds of flyers and brochures to their guests. Whitewater rafting. Horseback riding. Mountain biking. Why not line dancing?” He shrugged.
“I’ll do it. I’ll put together a brochure as soon as I get home tonight. Thanks.”
With a touch of his fingers to his hat brim, Buck turned and left the studio. As he walked to his pickup truck, he wondered if his advice to Skye wasn’t what he needed to hear himself: couldn’t hurt to ask.
It was time he asked the right sort of questions and gave Charity a chance to answer.
T
HE
F
RIENDLY
B
EAN HAD OPENED EARLIER IN THE
summer in a converted house a half block off Main Street. From what Charity had heard, the new coffee shop had become one of the most popular places in town. Judging by how busy it was on a weekday morning, that was obviously true.
There were a half dozen tables with umbrellas on the side patio outside the coffee shop. All but one of them was occupied. Charity bought herself a latte and carried it to the available table.
Why
haven’t I done this before?
She glanced around, and when her gaze met with others she knew, she smiled and nodded.
That’s why. I was hiding from people who would know me
.
Odd, wasn’t it? How that desire to isolate had taken over her life. Even when she’d been at parties or in other small groups, she’d kept herself hidden behind a carefully
constructed façade. Her public persona as a novelist was as great a fiction as anything she’d written in her books.
Hiding her true self was easy in Boise. It wasn’t as easy in Kings Meadow. Which was, perhaps, the real reason she’d spent most of her time this summer alone in her parents’ house. But not today.
Buck would be proud of me if he knew
.