Whenever You Come Around (8 page)

The telephone rang, shattering the silence that had filled the living room.

Buck grabbed the handset. “Hello . . . Oh no. Sorry to hear that . . . I understand. Can’t be helped . . . Don’t worry about it. I’ll find somebody . . . No, don’t bother. Really. It’s all good . . . Okay. Talk to you later.” He ended the call and glanced toward Charity. “My friend’s got a sick kid and can’t come feed the horses tonight. I’ll have to call around to find somebody else to do it.”

The way he said it revealed his intense dislike for asking for help. She empathized. “I can do it,” she said as she stepped away from the bookcase.

“Oh, no. That’s asking too much.”

“You didn’t ask, Buck. I offered.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I like horses. Always have. You’ll just have to tell me what’s on the menu for them.” She stood. “But we get to eat first because our dinner is about to come out of the oven.”

“You won’t have to tell me twice,” he said, reaching for the handlebar of the scooter.

Charity went into the kitchen, arriving at the stove as the timer buzzed. In no time at all she had their meal on the table. Buck asked if it was all right for him to bless the food. That surprised her. She didn’t remember him being much of a churchgoer back in high school. Then again, she hadn’t been much of one once she started college. Only recently had she begun to look for a church to attend.

He’s changed. So have I. At least a little
.

After the prayer, Buck stabbed the salmon with the fork in his left hand. Fortunately, no knife was required. He brought the fish to his mouth, closed his eyes as he chewed and swallowed, then released a satisfied, “Mmmmm.”

The pleasure she felt in that moment was all out of proportion for what the sound deserved, but it stayed with her for the remainder of the evening. Through dinner. Through feeding the horses. Through washing the dishes. Through going home, checking and answering her e-mail, watching a movie, washing her face and brushing her teeth, and getting into bed. And that night, for the first time since her arrival in Kings Meadow, her sleep was undisturbed by bad dreams.

Chapter 7

O
VER THE NEXT WEEK
, C
HARITY SPENT LONG HOURS
at her computer, writing hard on the new novel. Buck didn’t require a lot of her time. His brother and friends had taken over the job of fixing him breakfast and warming up something for his dinner, so she had no excuse to break away from her work. Sometimes she wished she did, for she still didn’t feel that special connection with her story.

Finally, she decided to call her editor in New York.

“Bridget Steele.”

“Good morning, Bridget. It’s Charity Anderson.”

“Hello, Charity. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“Are you still staying at your parents’ home in the mountains like you thought you would?”

“Yes. I’ll be here all summer.”

“Remodeling coming along okay on your house?”

Charity nodded as she answered, “Yes.”

“That’s good. So tell me: how’s the book coming?”

Charity had known that would be the next question. The voice in her head screamed for her to lie, but she didn’t. “Not as well as I’d like. That’s why I called. Maybe I can’t write a romance.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Long enough to make Charity’s pulse hum with dread.

But finally, Bridget said, “Tell me about the place where you grew up.”

“Kings Meadow?”

“Yes, describe it to me. Make me see it in my mind.”

Charity rose from her chair and went to the window. From there, she saw several horses grazing in the pasture behind Buck’s house. “It’s a small town surrounded on all sides by mountains. The high valley where it’s set is shaped like a boomerang. It had fewer than three thousand residents when I graduated from high school. I doubt it’s grown any since then. There are pine trees all over the mountains. Lodge pole and ponderosa. The valley floor is the deep green of emeralds in June and spotted with colorful wildflowers. Most everybody here owns horses. Lots of cowboys and cowgirls wherever you look. Country music on most of the radios.”

“Cowboys. They’re always popular in romance novels. They make good heroes, and I believe that the author finding the right hero is key to making everything else fall into place.”

Charity gave her head a slow shake. She hadn’t hung out with anyone she would call a cowboy in over a decade. Not that she wouldn’t still love to ride horses or even attend a rodeo. She would. But her lifestyle didn’t allow for those things.

“Why not write about someone you know? Or at least someone you could use as inspiration for the hero of your story.”

Immediately she pictured Buck. Not on a scooter with casts on ankle and wrist, but as she’d seen him in the parking lot of the Merc before he fell. Despite all the reasons it shouldn’t, her heart fluttered at the image in her head. Boots, jeans, and cowboy hat. Tall and lean. A slow, lazy kind of smile. Brown eyes that conveyed an easy-going nature. Even more good-looking than he’d been in high school, she’d finally decided. Hero material for the taking.

“Charity?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Do you know someone like that?”

“Actually, yes. I do. He lives next door to my parents.” Charity wouldn’t mention that she’d had a serious teenage crush on him.

“Is he a cowboy?”

“A wilderness guide for four or five months of the year. A saddle maker in the winter.”

“And is he nice? Is he likable?”

“Yes.”

“Handsome?”

Another flutter in Charity’s chest. “Uh . . . yes. Most women would think so.”

“Do
you
think so?” her editor pressed.

She drew in a quick breath before answering, “Yes.”

“Well then. Sounds like you have the inspiration for your hero. Now all you need is the right heroine and a difficult situation that threatens to keep them apart.”

Bridget made it sound so easy. But it wasn’t easy. Wouldn’t be easy. Even with Buck as the blueprint for her hero.

“Let’s keep brainstorming, Charity. I know you can do this. You’re a talented writer. We just need to get you over the hump. Can you use what you’ve already written with a new hero? Maybe a new setting? One that looks like Kings Meadow.”

“I think so.” Charity returned to the desk, flipped open her notebook, and prepared to jot down whatever ideas she and Bridget came up with.

More than an hour later, Charity pressed the End button and set the phone on the desk. Her head throbbed as her thoughts tumbled into a mixed-up mess. Cocoa whimpered at her from the doorway, and that was all Charity needed for an excuse to leave her desk and get outside for some fresh air. Hopefully she’d get enough fresh air to make the headache go away.

“Let’s go, girl.”

The morning was pleasant. Not too warm yet, although the temperature was climbing. The sky was an unbroken expanse of blue. Not a single cloud to be seen. Mistress and dog set off at a brisk pace down the road, heading east, away from town. Houses were few and far between. After the last one, there was nothing for another two miles on either side of the road but fenced pastures. Then the road came to an end. Horses dotted the land wherever she looked. Mixed in was the occasional cow or goat and even a couple of llamas.

By the time they reached the dead end, the walk had worked
its magic. Charity’s headache was gone. Not only that but her confusion and frustration had been driven out as well. She wasn’t fooled. When she opened her laptop again, the action might bring headache, confusion, and/or frustration rushing back. But for now, she enjoyed the sense of calm that filled her.

She remembered Terri telling her that she needed to relax and forget about the book for a while. She hadn’t followed her sister’s advice. She’d tried to write something—
anything
—every day since she arrived in Kings Meadow. How much worse could it be if she simply took a week off and let the story simmer?

“But what would make me relax and forget the book?” she whispered.

Immediately she thought of Buck’s horses. They were being fed daily, but no one was riding them. They must need exercise. Maybe getting into the saddle would put her in the mood to write a cowboy romance.

“It couldn’t hurt to try.” Could it?

Especially since Buck Malone was supposed to inspire her love story. In a fictional sense, of course. Not for real.

B
UCK STARED AT THE CAST ON HIS WRIST AND WISHED
he could bust out of it. But he knew better. The bones were just beginning to knit. He needed to follow doctor’s orders for a few more weeks. It would be difficult to make saddles with a bum right hand, and he wouldn’t be of much use as a guide either. Not when it came to setting up and breaking down camps. Not when it came to swinging an ax or having strength in an emergency situation.

Patience. He had to exercise patience.

He rolled the scooter to the large window in the living room and looked south toward the river and the mountains beyond it. What he wouldn’t give to be outside on this fine day. The boredom grew worse by the minute. He eyed the steps leading down from his front door. If he was careful, maybe he could maneuver down them on the scooter.

With a
woof
, Cocoa came racing across his front yard. The dog stopped on the front stoop and looked at Buck through the glass, silently asking for admittance. Buck chuckled. Cocoa seemed to like him a lot. He was even beginning to believe Charity had warmed to him a little. Speaking of whom, there she came, following the dog at a slower pace. Instead of the shorts and slip-on sneakers he’d seen her in several times, she wore jeans and boots. It was a good look on her. But then, she would look good in just about anything.

Buck rolled to the front door and opened it. “Hey, Cocoa.” He patted the dog’s head, then lifted his gaze. “Hey, Charity. Nice morning.”

“Yes.” She stopped on the stone walkway. “It’s beautiful out.”

“Think you could help me get outside? I’ve got cabin fever something fierce.”

The request seemed to trouble her. “I suppose we could try. If you’re sure you should. I’d hate to be the cause of another fall.”

He gave her a hard look. She was a slight thing, true. But she was stronger than she looked.

“Maybe you should wait until your brother or one of your friends comes over to see to the horses.”

“Nobody’ll come again until this evening. I need outside now.”

Charity worried her lower lips with her teeth.

“Help me out the back door to the patio.” Buck sensed her weakening. “Half an hour in the sunshine will do me a world of good.”

There was a long silence before she said, “Okay. I hope you don’t regret it.”

Buck backed out of the doorway, a silent invitation for her to enter. After a brief hesitation, she did so. Giving her no chance to change her mind, Buck turned the scooter and headed for the kitchen exit. He heard the click of Cocoa’s claws on the floor, then the sounds of Charity’s boots. He stopped the scooter and reached for the doorknob before rolling through the open doorway.

“Here,” Charity said as she stopped at his side on the back stoop.

He looked at her, and she held out a crutch to him. “I thought we’d use the scooter,” he said.

“No.” She shook her head. “The crutch is better. Better without wheels as you go down, I think. I’ll steady you from the other side.” She glanced at the patio. “Let me bring one of those chairs closer first.” With a little push, she forced him to take hold of the crutch before she went down the steps. She dragged a hard plastic chair across the patio and left it near the bottom of the steps, then returned to his side. “Ready?”

“More than ready.” He draped his right arm over her shoulders while she put her left arm around his lower back.

It turned out to be easier than either of them expected. Much easier than the day his brother had brought him home
from the clinic, but he’d been doped up at the time. Today he was completely clear headed.

Between the crutch and Charity’s steady presence, Buck reached his destination without any threat of a fall. Still, he was glad to sit in the chair. Charity took the crutch and laid it behind him. Cocoa came around and sat at his left side—which he suspected annoyed Charity a little, the way her dog had taken to him. He did his best to conceal his amusement.

“Buck? Could I ask a favor?”

He squinted up at her, the sun bright in his eyes. She moved a little to her right to shade him.

“Thanks,” he said. “What’s the favor?”

“I was wondering if I might ride one of your horses. I haven’t had an opportunity to ride in ages.”

So that was the reason for the jeans and boots. “Mind?” He cocked an eyebrow. “You’d be doing me another big favor. You can ride anytime you want. Every day if you want. Any horse you choose. The more, the better. They’ll get fat and lazy if they stand around much longer.”

She smiled, and it was as if the sunshine she was trying to block came right through her to blind him with its brilliance. His breath caught in his chest, and he looked away from her. “Anything you might need’s in the tack shed there. Key’s inside the back door, hanging on a nail.”