High Mountain Home Page 21

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GABE WOKE LATE the next morning with a splitting head-ache—the result of a nearly sleepless night while he thought about his conversation with Siddah. What the hell had happened? He’d come to Libby to patch things up with his parents, but he’d lost sight of that goal and gone sprinting after something else. Something he shouldn’t want and couldn’t even have.

  Angry with himself, he showered, dressed, and hurried downstairs for breakfast, only to find the house empty and the kitchen bare. A note from his mother explaining that she’d driven to town for a women’s auxiliary meeting sat in his place at the table, and coffee left too long on the burner filled the room with a scorched smell.

  After dumping the old coffee and starting a fresh pot, Gabe wandered onto the porch to wait. Summer had vanished in the time he’d been back, and autumn had settled in. This morning, fog shrouded the valley, dulling the colors on the mountains and holding the chill close to the ground.

  Shivering a little, he sat and propped his feet on the porch rail. Baskets of faded red petunias swayed from the overhang and somewhere in the fog, a meadowlark trilled.

  Memories of long-ago days rose up from the forest floor. Hours spent running football plays with Peter and forays into the woods. Early-morning chores and late-afternoon cups of cocoa and warm gingerbread cookies. He heard his father’s laughter, his mother’s shouted warnings for them to be careful, and Peter’s eager voice as he trailed behind Gabe on one of their adventures.

  Leaving the porch, he strolled past Peter’s shed and into the woods as he’d done so often when he was young. He and Peter had worn a dozen trails over the years, but this one had always been his favorite. Here, in a place no one else knew of but him, he’d dreamed of days gone by, and imagined what the land had been like before settlers arrived.

  Though it was already almost nine o’clock, dew still lingered on the undergrowth, and the fog made the forest seem silent. When he was a kid, he’d imagined what it must feel like to be the only person left on earth. This morning, he thought maybe he knew.

  He plucked a piece of wild grass from the ground as he walked, fitting the blade between his thumbs to make a whistle. The memories came with him, running the trails, shouting rules to this game or that, and always, always there was laughter.

  He’d spent a decade focused on the bad times, but there had been good times, too. More good times than bad. And as he leaned against the towering trunk of a lodgepole pine, he had the sudden, sharp need to share this place with someone. His ancestors had created this incredible haven, his parents had perfected this piece of heaven on earth. Now Peter was gone, and unless Gabe made some radical life changes, there wouldn’t be any future generations of King boys running through these woods.

  Gabe felt a flicker of honest compassion for his father. Was it this longing for continuity that drove the old man to be what he was? This need to pass what he loved on to the next generation? Had it always been that?

  He moved away from the tree and stepped into a small, quiet clearing, tilting back his head, and closing his eyes.

  Home.

  The word shot through him and brought his eyes open. Where had that come from? He hadn’t thought of this place as home in years. Hadn’t let himself. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to now. He didn’t belong here. He couldn’t make a life here. But the thought of doing just that stirred an excitement he hadn’t felt in years.

  Suppose he decided to stay. What would he do? Work at the sawmill? Prowl the grounds at night for the rest of his life? Throw away the thousands of dollars he’d spent on his education? The years of experience in the field? Maybe, if his father would relent, if they could put the past behind them and move on. Maybe then he could carve out a future here in Libby. Without that, it could never be.

  A rustle of leaves somewhere close by brought his head up again with a snap. He held his breath as a deer moved slowly into a clearing, its movements slow and cautious, ears pricked and eyes darting nervously. Its beauty made his heart slow, its grace filled him with awe.

  There was so much here in Montana that held his heart. One thing had driven him from these mountains, and he’d allowed it to keep him away. But he’d been gone too long now to start over. His education, experience and skills all pointed toward a life far away from this place, even if his heart did tempt him to remain.

  He moved and a twig cracked beneath his feet. The deer froze, alert, then bounded into the trees and left him alone again. Unbidden, the memory of Siddah’s clear dark eyes filled his mind, the blush of her cheeks, the curve of her lips.

  Might as well forget about her, he told himself. Mooning around after her would only make him miserable and distract him from his real mission here. He’d never regret their loss of control last night, but they both knew they couldn’t repeat it.

  Siddah wasn’t like some of the women he’d met in his travels. Some people might call her old-fashioned, and maybe she was, but it didn’t take a genius to see how she felt about her past. And only a selfish bastard would put her through that again.

  Maybe someday he’d find someone he could share all of this with. In the meantime, he needed to focus on what he could change. From here on out, he’d move forward with the Westmoreland Grant and he’d spend the time he had left in Montana trying to get through to the old man.

  Siddah—and Bobby—were a distraction he didn’t need.

  “GRAB YOUR COAT,” Chris said, poking his head into Siddah’s office. “I need you to come with me.”

  Surprised, Siddah looked up from the pleadings she’d been filing. “Okay. Where?”

  “We have an appointment to meet with one of the witnesses in the Whitman case.”

  She closed the drawer and tossed the unfiled pleadings into a basket on top. “We?”

  “Evan’s idea. Are you coming?”

  Siddah nodded, gathered her purse and headed toward the door. “Who are we meeting with?”

  “Ricki Archuleta. Evan’s still convinced we can break her story under the right circumstances.”

  Out of the two women who claimed to have been with Asa Whitman the night his wife and boyfriend were murdered, Ricki did seem the one most likely to change her tale, Siddah thought as she trailed Chris across the parking lot. And maybe a change of pace would help get her mind off all the things that had been distracting her from work the past three weeks.

  She still saw Gabe every evening, but only for a few minutes. If anything, he seemed more remote now than he had when he first came to town. Bobby still wouldn’t talk with her about playing football, and for the past couple of days she’d been fighting a slight case of stomach flu, no doubt brought on by stress.

  “So why does Evan want me to go along?”

  “He thinks she’ll relax more if there’s another woman around.” Chris turned the key in his Bronco’s ignition. “It’s worth a try, I guess.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take your cues from me. I don’t know what kind of mood she’ll be in, or how receptive she’ll be to talking with us.”

  “Fair enough.” Siddah fastened her seat belt and settled in for the ride, but within minutes, her stomach started to churn again. The Bronco was too stuffy, but she’d been walking on eggshells around Chris for so long, she hesitated to complain. She just prayed they weren’t in for a long ride.

  Luck was with her for once. Three minutes later, Chris pulled into the parking lot at the Timberline.

  Siddah climbed outside quickly and gulped fresh air as she walked toward the door of the bar. “She’s here?”

  “Strange, isn’t it? It seems that the scene of the murder also happens to be one of her favorite places to hang out.”

  “And yet she wasn’t here the night of the murders?”

  “So she says.” Chris opened the door and held it while she stepped through.

  Inside the nearly deserted bar, the strong scents of stale cigarette smoke and old grease hit Siddah’s stomach like
a rock, and the queasiness that had been plaguing her became worse all at once. Irritated with herself, she took shallow breaths and told herself to get it together. She finally had a chance to do something important, and here she was letting nerves get the best of her.

  Chris approached a woman wearing tight jeans and a skimpy tank top that made Siddah shiver in the chilly autumn afternoon. She looked young and beautiful from a distance. Up close, she gained at least twenty years. The signs of a hard life became evident in weathered skin, overprocessed hair, deep lines bracketing her mouth, and a slight pucker of the skin around her lips.

  She gave Chris a once-over and turned back to the beer sitting in front of her on the counter.

  “Ricki Archuleta?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Chris Leta from the County Attorney’s office. This is Siddah King, my associate. Do you have a minute?”

  “What for?”

  “We’d like to ask a few questions if you don’t mind.”

  Ricki ran another slow appraisal of Chris and then nodded. “I guess. What questions?”

  Chris motioned toward a nearby table. “Do you mind if we move over there?”

  “What for?”

  “It might be more comfortable and it’s a little more private.”

  Ricki shrugged, lit a cigarette, picked up her beer and slid from her stool.

  Siddah’s stomach lurched, but she did her best not to show her reaction. Maybe a glass of water would help. She checked around for a waitress, but the only employee she could see was the bartender whose attention was riveted on the television over the bar.

  “Siddah?” Chris called impatiently. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes. Sorry.” She sat on the chair Chris indicated for her and tried breathing through her mouth so she wouldn’t be bothered by the noxious smells. Here, too, the room was overly warm and she could feel beads of cold sweat forming on her forehead.

  “I understand you were with Asa Whitman on the night of July fourteenth,” Chris said, his full attention on Ricki.

  Ricki nodded, took a deep drag on her cigarette and exhaled in Siddah’s direction. “Yeah, I was. Why?”

  Siddah’s stomach buckled again and the clammy feeling spread through her. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear that she was about to throw up. She focused on her breathing. In and out, nice and shallow, but it didn’t seem to help.

  What on earth was wrong with her?

  She was dimly aware of Chris asking questions and Ricki dodging them, but her head was swimming and she couldn’t even follow the conversation.

  Another cloud of cigarette smoke hit her squarely in the face. Gagging, she staggered to her feet and looked around blindly. She had no idea where the restrooms were, so she bolted for the outside door. But even the fresh air didn’t help. She barely had time to duck around the back of the building before she began retching violently.

  Later, stomach empty, she staggered toward a cement parking buttress and cradled her head in her hands. The clear, cool air finally began to help, but it was too little too late. She was mortified, and she didn’t even want to think about what Chris would say when she went back inside.

  Moaning, she covered her face with her hands and wondered again what was wrong with her. The unsettled stomach had been bothering her for several days, and the exhaustion was so bad at times she could hardly move her limbs at times. The last time she’d felt like this…

  She sat up straight and covered her stomach with both hands. The last time she felt like this, she’d been pregnant with Bobby. But that couldn’t be. Not after everything she and Peter had tried. Not after the years of hoping.

  Could it?

  Her hands began to tremble and tears blurred her eyes. Could she be pregnant? With Gabe’s child?

  No. It was too coincidental. They’d only made love once. Of course, she reminded herself, if everything was working right, once was all it took.

  But everything didn’t work right. Not since Bobby.

  Even so, one part of her was elated by the idea of a baby and the other part terrified. She was having trouble enough making ends meet with one child. How would she ever survive with two? She was barely hanging on to her job now—and after bolting from the bar, Chris would be furious with her.

  She told herself not to jump to conclusions. If she didn’t start her period soon, she’d pick up a home pregnancy test. If the test turned up positive, she could worry then.

  But if it was true, how would she ever explain this to Monty and Helene? To Bobby?

  To Gabe?

  It had been years since she’d thought about the hurt she’d felt when Cornell disappeared out of her life, but the fear that Gabe might follow suit almost made her sick again. Gabe was a far different man than Cornell had been, but he’d never made any pretense about his intentions.

  His future was not here in Libby.

  WHISTLING SOFTLY and trying to look nonchalant, Gabe pulled off the street and into the parking lot of the city park. He had no idea how Bobby would react to this little bit of subterfuge, but he was at his wit’s end.

  No matter what he tried, the kid refused to talk about his football team. But Gabe had promised Siddah and his mother that he’d find out what was bothering the boy. He’d vowed to the old man that he’d break through to the kid. And, by damn, he wasn’t about to let any of them down. All of Siddah’s gentle persuasion hadn’t produced results, so Gabe had decided to try another approach.

  Maybe if he could get Bobby playing football again and everything back to normal, they’d forgive him for leaving early. The end of November was only three weeks away, and Randy was moving full steam ahead on their joint project. He’d express-mailed several packages, but Gabe had done little more than skim the information. He just couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for it.

  He’d better find some, though. He couldn’t stay in Libby for another eight weeks, seeing Siddah every day but knowing he could never be with her again. If someone wanted a definition of hell, that would be it.

  He pulled into a parking space and turned off the Jeep, then shifted so he could look at the sullen little boy who glared at him from the other side of the Jeep.

  He jerked his head toward the field, where a dozen or so kids were running through drills at the direction of the coach and said just one word. “Practice.”

  “What are we doing here?”

  “We’re going to watch. Let’s go.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Sure you do.” Gabe swung to the ground, rounded the back of the Jeep and yanked open Bobby’s door. “Let’s go,” he said again.

  Bobby’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. He walked across the lawn, head down, feet scuffing softly on the grass. Still pouting, he climbed onto the bleachers and stared straight ahead without blinking.

  But it didn’t take long before his little body began to strain as he watched the other kids running on the field. After a few minutes, he scooted to the edge of the bench and followed the action with eager eyes. Hardly the way a kid with no interest in the sport would act.

  Gabe leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, watching the action. The boys were dwarfed by the safety equipment they wore, but he admired the coach for minimizing the chance for injury. “Looks like a lot of work.”

  Even that was too much. Bobby straightened and the shutters dropped over his eyes. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Strange. It was almost painfully obvious that the boy wanted to be out there on the field, so why wasn’t he? Gabe decided to give him another nudge. “What are they doing out there?”

  “Those are jump-squats. Coach makes us do ’em every practice.”

  “They look painful.”

  “Only at first. Once you get used to ’em, they’re not bad.”

  Gabe shook his head in disbelief and nudged Bobby with an elbow. “Yeah, but you don’t have to put up with that anymore, right?”

  Bobby hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Right.”
>
  “It must feel great. You don’t have to waste your afternoons getting all sweaty, don’t have anybody telling you what to do and when to do it.” Gabe stole a glance at the boy’s face. “Don’t have to spend your Saturdays at the game. I’ll bet quitting gave you a lot more free time.”

  Bobby shrugged with his mouth. “Yeah. I guess.”

  A whistle blew and the coach barked orders for another drill. Instantly, the boys split into four groups and gathered at each corner of the field. Another whistle. Two groups dropped and started doing push-ups. The other boys jogged the perimeter.

  “Can we go now?”

  “Not yet. I haven’t talked to the coach yet. Just give me a minute longer. I don’t want to interrupt him.” Gabe fell silent again until a group of boys huffed past. One or two waved at Bobby. A few sent looks Gabe couldn’t read. “I’ll bet those guys wish they were in your shoes,” Gabe said as the last one chugged past. “You get to lie around the house all day playing video games while they’re out here sweating their tails off.”

  Bobby shrugged, but this time he didn’t say anything.

  Come on, kid. Let me know what’s going on inside that head of yours. Gabe decided to let the silence work for him for a few minutes. It didn’t take long for Bobby to start squirming.

  He shifted this way and that, then finally squinted up at Gabe. “So what do you need to talk to Coach about?”

  “He’s an old friend of mine. I haven’t seen him for a while, and I was thinking about asking if he needs help coaching.” Gabe could spare a few hours between now and November thirtieth to help Bobby get back in gear.

  “You’re going to coach?”

  “If he’ll let me.” Gabe slid a glance and a grin in Bobby’s direction. “You wouldn’t mind sitting here and watching while I help out, would you? You could bring one of your video games along.” Bobby’s quick frown left no doubt in Gabe’s mind that he would mind…a lot.

  “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair about it?”

  “You want me to sit here and just watch?”

  “Well, sure. It’s not as if you want to play, right?”