High Mountain Home Read online

  GABE DIDN’T SEE the kid standing inside the door until a split second before he opened the screen. He’d been too busy studying the strange car parked near the door, wondering who could be here this time of morning. The instant he saw the boy, he had his answer.

  Bobby was at an awkward age—all legs and arms, no chest or shoulders to speak of. Red hair, teeth that would soon need the attention of a good orthodontist, and an unfortunate thick smattering of freckles on cheeks, nose and arms that probably earned no end of teasing from the kids at school.

  Just like that, Gabe knew why Peter had taken the kid under his wing. Just like that, he felt a strong urge to follow in his brother’s footsteps.

  Siddah hovered behind the boy, her expression hard, cold, suspicious. A she-bear waiting for the chance to shred anyone who messed with her cub. Behind her, his mother watched all three of them with hope shining in her eyes.

  No pressure here.

  Gabe held out a hand to the kid and pasted a smile on his face, trying to look like someone the kid might like. “You must be Bobby. It’s good to finally meet you.”

  The kid put a limp little hand in his and pulled it away almost immediately, but he studied Gabe for a long time without speaking. “You look kinda like him, I guess.”

  “A lot of people say that,” Gabe admitted, then fell at a loss for words. He’d love to return the compliment, but finding a physical resemblance between this kid and Peter would be impossible. Truth was, Gabe had to struggle even to find a resemblance to the kid’s mother.

  After way too long, his mother seemed to collect herself and waved them all toward the table. “Why don’t we sit down for a few minutes? Siddah, you have time, don’t you?”

  Anything was better than standing around looking like a dope. Gabe took a seat gratefully, but he was aware of Bobby’s eyes on him the whole time.

  Siddah glanced at her watch, frowned and shook her head. “I wish I could, but I’ll be lucky to make it on time as it is.” With a warning glance at Gabe, she gathered Bobby to her for a quick hug. “You listen to Grandma, okay? Help her out while you’re here. If you need anything,” she said to Helene, “call me. I can run out on my lunch break if I have to. And I’ll get here just as soon as I can after work.”

  “There’s no hurry,” Helene assured her. “Bobby’s always welcome. In fact, the two of you should plan to stay for dinner.”

  Siddah’s expression froze. “Oh! I—” Her eyes darted around the room, making her look like a wounded animal. “I don’t think—-” She took a deep breath, pulled herself together and tried again. “That’s too much, Helene. Bobby and I can eat at home.”

  “Too much? To have all of my family together?”

  In the wake of her question, Peter’s absence seemed to fill the room. Gabe felt it, and he was certain Siddah did.

  Her cheeks flamed. “Another time, maybe.” With one last, pointed look at Gabe, she let herself out the door. A wave of tension followed her outside, but both Bobby and Helene seemed oblivious.

  The kid sat across the table from Gabe and cupped his chin in his hands. “How come I never met you before?”

  Trust a kid to get straight to the point. “Because I’ve been away. Out of the country.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I’m an anthropologist. Do you know what that is?”

  “Grandpa says you mess around with dead people and their stuff.”

  How like his father to pay so little attention. “No, that’s an archaeologist. I’m the kind of scientist who works with people who are still alive.”

  Bobby looked him over for a few seconds, probably trying to make a scientist out of him. “Doing what?”

  “All kinds of things. For the past few years I’ve been helping one village learn how to grow crops and make shelter.”

  “They don’t know how?”

  “Well, yes, they do. They just need help learning how to do it better.”

  Bobby gave him another long, slow look, then turned his attention to breakfast. “Do you like to play video games?”

  Gabe glanced at his mother, but she’d gone back to work at the stove. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I haven’t done a whole lot of it.”

  “How come? My dad used to play with me all the time. He was good.”

  Of course he was. Peter had excelled at everything he tried. “I’m not like your dad, but if you don’t mind playing with somebody you can easily beat, I’m your guy.”

  He couldn’t tell if the quick curve of Bobby’s lips was a smile or a grimace, but the desire for it to actually be a smile surprised him.

  “If you want,” Bobby offered, “I could teach you.”

  “I might need an awful lot of teaching.”

  “That would be okay. I don’t have anything else to do.”

  “So you’ll take pity on me?”

  Bobby slathered butter on his toast, reached for the syrup and poured way too much onto his plate. “I’m pretty good. I could probably teach you to be almost as good as me.”

  “But not quite, huh?”

  Bobby shook his head solemnly. “I don’t think so.”

  Gabe met his mother’s amused expression over Bobby’s head, and the approval on her face left him feeling warm all over. Grinning at Bobby, he helped himself to the French toast. This was going to be easier than he’d expected. “You don’t, huh? And why not?”

  “Because.” Bobby sopped a piece of pancake in syrup, creating a sticky trail on the table as he wedged it into his mouth. “Grandpa says you never stick with anything, and Mom says you probably won’t stay around for very long.” He wiped his chin with his sleeve and looked at Gabe steadily. “So you probably won’t ever beat me.”

  Gabe couldn’t tell if Bobby made that announcement innocently, or if there was an accusation hidden in there somewhere. The old man’s opinion of him was no surprise, but Siddah’s pricked uncomfortably. Not that he’d earned anything different, but he sure didn’t like being judged and found wanting by someone he’d met twice.

  He accepted a cup of coffee and stacked another piece of French toast on his plate. And he made a silent vow to make sure the old man and Siddah ate their words before he left town.

  AT A FEW MINUTES PAST FIVE that evening, Gabe parked his Jeep and pushed through the door into the Hungry Moose Lounge. Since his return, Gabe had run across a number of changes in the town. While change was to be expected after a decade, the differences in Libby weren’t all for the better.

  According to his mother, governmental restrictions had hit the logging industry hard and the sawmill had felt the impact. His father had been forced to lay off a number of longtime employees. The town’s other large employer, the vermiculite mine, had closed down completely a couple of years back, leaving a number of people without jobs, and the economy in a tailspin. One after another, Gabe had driven past empty buildings where once there’d been a thriving small business, proof that his mother was right.

  He was surprised to see the old watering hole still open for business. And not just open, but thriving. The town might be struggling, but the people still faced life with courage and spirit.

  Pocketing his keys, he paused inside the door to let his eyes adjust. Back when he’d lived here, the Moose had been a favorite after-shift hangout for the guys who worked at Triple Crown, so he wasn’t at all surprised to see Carlos Pino and a few others from the day shift stacked up against the bar.

  As if Gabe had been here just yesterday, Carlos waved him over. Gave saw him get the bartender’s attention and order a beer before he could even make it across the room.

  Now that he was closer, Gabe realized that Carlos hadn’t changed as much as he’d first thought. He was obviously older and a little more bulky. A few strands of gray showed in his jet-black hair and fine lines creased the skin around his eyes, but he still wore the broad grin that had landed him in trouble more than once as a kid.

  “Bottom’s up,” Carlos said, sliding the bottle toward him
. “Long time no see.”

  “It’s been a while,” Gabe conceded.

  “You could have knocked me over with a feather when I looked up and saw you at the mill the other day. Never thought I’d see that again.”

  “You’re not the only one,” Gabe said with a laugh. “I hope you enjoyed it. You’re not going to see it again for a while.”

  “You’re leaving soon?”

  “Not for a few months, but the old man has me working the graveyard shift.”

  One of Carlos’s eyebrows winged upward. “I didn’t know we ran a graveyard shift anymore.”

  Gabe took a pull on his beer and leaned onto the bar. “It’s a shift of one. Very elite.”

  “The old man’s playing favorites, is he?”

  Gabe laughed. “You know it. From respected anthropologist to night watchman overnight. Nepotism at its finest.”

  Carlos studied him silently for a minute. “Why are you working at the mill at all? I thought you said you’d rather die first.”

  Gabe wondered what Carlos would say if he admitted how close he’d come to doing just that. He turned so he could look out at the crowd. “I’m taking a little break from the university. A few months, just to make sure the folks are okay.”

  “And they’re okay with that?”

  “My mother’s thrilled.”

  Carlos belted a laugh, but sobered again quickly. “Hey, man, I’m sorry about Pete.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You doing okay?”

  “As okay as I can be.” Gabe took a long pull on his beer and hitched himself onto a stool. “I guess it will get easier in time.”

  “That’s what they say. I haven’t seen much of your mom. How’s she holding up?”

  Gabe shrugged. “About like you’d expect. She’s getting by, but losing Peter took something out of her and the old man.” He shifted to look at Carlos. “Tell me something, is he different at work?”

  “How do you mean?”

  Gabe didn’t want to mention his suspicions about his father’s drinking. What if he was wrong? “I don’t know. He just seems changed.”

  Carlos swept the change from the bar into his hand and slipped it into his pocket. “Well, sure he’s changed. He’s had a rough time. It’s to be expected.”

  “I suppose so.” Gabe turned the bottle in his hands and tried to shake off the mood. He was here to forget. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you mind if we talk about something else?”

  Carlos shook his head. “Naw, that’s fine. Whatever, man.” That had always been the great thing about having him as a friend. No pressure. “What’s up in…wherever you’ve been?”

  “Ecuador.”

  “Still determined to save the world?”

  “Trying.”

  “And you still think the rest of us are soulless devils just trying to make money?”

  “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? You’re putting words into my mouth.”

  Carlos laughed and held up both hands to ward off Gabe’s irritation. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know it was still such a touchy subject. Just don’t lump me in with the old man, okay? I’m just a poor working slob doing his best to get by.”

  Consciously relaxing his shoulders, Gabe nodded. “You and the old man? Not a chance. How long have you been working at the mill, anyway?”

  “Just about ten years. I started a couple of months after you left.”

  Gabe swiveled on his stool to see Carlos better. “What happened to working with the forest service?”

  Carlos laughed. “Marriage. Kids. Life.”

  For some reason, that surprised Gabe. “You’re married? With kids? How many?”

  “Four. Three boys and a girl.”

  Four kids? Unbelievable. Obviously, the world hadn’t stood still while Gabe was away. Carlos married with kids. Peter married with a stepson. If anyone’s life had remained stagnant, it was Gabe’s. He didn’t like that realization at all.

  “So who’d you marry? Anyone I know?”

  “Diana Boel. You remember her, don’t you?”

  “Sure. We were friends in high school. But when did the two of you start dating?”

  “Six months before we got married.” Carlos snagged a handful of quarters from the bar and jerked his head toward the electronic dartboard. “Want to toss a few?”

  Gabe tossed back the rest of his beer and stood. “Sure, but I haven’t played since I left here.”

  “That won’t make any difference,” Carlos said with a grin. “I could always kick your ass at this game.” He fed quarters into the machine, pulled a set of custom darts from his pocket, and handed it over. “Toss a few practice shots so you don’t whimper when it’s all over.”

  Gabe fell into the easy banter gratefully. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else. I’m the one who used to kick your ass, and I’ve never whimpered in my life.”

  “No? What about the time Mikey Everall knocked you off the monkey bars?”

  “I was six!”

  “Doesn’t matter. I distinctly remember whimpering.”

  Gabe laughed, amazed at how good it felt to joke around, how comfortable he felt being around someone who knew and accepted him, warts and all. He noted Carlos’s empty glass and turned back toward the bar. “You drinking draft?”

  “Was,” Carlos said, “but one’s my limit these days. Diana doesn’t mind if I stop in for one beer with the guys once or twice a week, but my kids aren’t going to grow up with a dad who smells like a bar.”

  Gabe grinned and turned back to the dartboard. “Sounds like a smart decision to me. So what do we have, time for one game?”

  “Just about.” Carlos straddled a chair and settled in to watch him warm up. “You should come to dinner. Get reacquainted with Diana, meet the kids.”

  “Sure,” Gabe said as he sighted in on the target. “Sounds great.” He was surprised to discover how much he meant it.

  “What nights do you have off?”

  “Fridays and Mondays.”

  “How about this Friday then?”

  “You sure Diana won’t mind?”

  “Mind? Are you kidding? She’ll be thrilled.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’d better check with her and make sure. If this weekend doesn’t work, I can come another time.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Carlos insisted. He glanced toward the crowd behind them at the bar. “It’ll give us a chance to catch up without the whole town listening.”

  Gabe’s laughter faded. “Is there a reason we need to do that?”

  Carlos gathered his darts and took his place at the line. “Friday,” he said again. “Come hungry.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  BOBBY WAS SITTING at the kitchen table when Gabe got home from work the next morning, his little cheek propped up in one hand and one foot banging rhythmically against the chair. Some half-eaten oatmeal cooled in front of him and he dropped globs of it from a spoon back into the bowl.

  Looks like they had at least one thing in common, Gabe thought as he let the door shut behind him. Of all the breakfasts he’d eaten over the years, oatmeal was still his least favorite. Trying to ignore the flicker of disappointment over having missed Siddah, Gabe left his lunch pail and jacket on the counter, brushed a kiss to his mother’s cheek and headed for the stairs.

  “Gabe?” Helene called after him. “Where are you going? Breakfast is ready.”

  He turned back slowly and put one hand on his stomach. “Yeah. I know. I’m just not hungry this morning. Too much junk food at work, I guess. I’ll grab something later.”

  His mother’s smile morphed into a scowl. “It’s oatmeal.”

  “Yeah, I see that.”

  “With cinnamon and raisins.”

  Gabe could feel Bobby watching him, so he tried not to grimace, but it wasn’t easy. “Sounds great, Mom, but really, I’m not—”

  “Gabriel King! I know exactly what you’re doing, and I don’t find it one bit funny. Sit down at the table and eat your
breakfast. I didn’t spend time making it just to amuse myself.”

  Feeling ten years old, Gabe turned back to the table and dropped into a chair across from the kid. There weren’t words strong enough to tell his mother how he felt about oatmeal. The texture alone was enough to make him gag, but no one should have to suffer through it alone.

  He caught Bobby’s attention on him, nodded toward the bowl and grimaced. “Any good?”

  Bobby glanced at his grandmother and leaned closer to whisper, “Yeah, if you like eating paste.”

  Gabe choked on a laugh. “You got raisins in there?”

  Bobby nodded, lifted another spoonful and dropped it into his bowl. “They look like mouse poop.”

  “Very funny,” Helene said, sliding a bowl of paste and mouse droppings in front of Gabe. “If I hear one more word out of either of you, I’ll give you double.”

  Bobby looked horrified, but when he saw Gabe wink reassurance, he relaxed and sent back a snaggletoothed grin.

  Cute kid, Gabe told himself. Good sense of humor. At least this part of his stay wouldn’t be tough.

  BY THE TIME Friday evening rolled around, Gabe was more than ready to hear what Carlos had to say. They didn’t get a chance to talk until after dinner was over, the kids had raced off to play and Diana had retreated to a lounge chair with a paperback novel.

  Only then did Carlos lead him across the lawn toward the garage so they could speak privately. Carlos lifted the door to let in the rapidly cooling evening air and rolled a motorcycle that had seen better days toward the daylight. The sounds of children’s laughter drifted inside through the open doorway, reminding Gabe again of how much things in Libby had changed.

  While Carlos set to work removing a worn clutch, Gabe found a seat on an upturned box and tried to hide the shortness of breath that had been plaguing him all evening.

  “So now that you’ve been back for a few days,” Carlos said, “what do you think?”