“I thought nothing of it,” Sierra said. “But what I told you? About attracting losers? It’s real, so stand clear. It’s possible that if I like you, it turns you into a loser.”
He laughed. “I’m not worried. I’m kind of stuck with who I am.”
“Thank you for helping me today,” she said.
“No big deal,” he said.
“Connie, you carried me on your back for over a mile!”
“Like Cal said, it’s what I do. Don’t give me too much attention for it.” He put her down in front of the little cabin. “You’ll be okay now. Your brother is bringing ice. I have to work the next couple of days but if you need something, I can get a few hours of personal time.”
“I have Cal. And Sully. And Maggie, too—she doesn’t go back to Denver for a few days.”
“Well, you’re in good hands, then,” he said, backing away. “Have a good sleep.”
“You, too.”
He headed for his truck. He passed Cal, who had an ice pack and Sierra’s crutches. There was very little activity around the grounds; a few campfires here and there. There was a couple down near the lake. They seemed almost wrapped around each other and Connie envied them.
He was suddenly melancholy. He liked Sierra. She’d been up against his back or in his arms for a long time today and it had been perfect. And she, like him, had no confidence real love would ever find her. He understood the feeling.
But damn, he wasn’t ready. He might never be ready. He’d been getting by just fine so why now? Why her?
Look out, Connie, he told himself. Looks like you’re going down...
* * *
Sierra leaned on her door, feeling cold. Molly sat patiently beside her. They both watched Connie walk away and Sierra noted, he did not have a swagger. Nope. Just an even, powerful, confident stride. His back was straight, his legs long, his waist narrow. His arms must be sore, she thought. His back must ache. Even though she wasn’t heavy, he’d carried her for so long. And until today she thought his words sometimes had a little bite in them, but today, he was nothing but sweet.
He regretted mentioning the ex and she knew what that meant—he was still stung. He thought they had something in common, that failure to find a good partner. Ha! He had no idea! She hadn’t even thought about falling in love! She’d just been looking for a guy and, back in her drinking days, just about any man would do. They usually turned out to be creeps and users and liars, but not unlike she had been. Then that last one, the one she’d let into her life, the one who put her in danger, the one who left her in trouble, that one made her realize she’d been in no shape to have a man in her life. Not until she could stand on her own two feet, use actual clearheaded judgment, would she deserve the kind of man she really wanted. Needed. Could love for real.
At dinner, they told the story of how Maggie was lowered over a cliff to save Jackson Canaday, who had fallen, cracked his skull and lay unconscious on a precipice three hundred feet from the ground. If he came to and rolled around, he’d have fallen the rest of the way and be dead. If Maggie hadn’t been lowered down there to drill holes in his skull with an ordinary shop drill, he’d be dead. If the rope that dangled her down to that ledge had given way, she’d be dead. And then Connie and his paramedic team had gone after her, pulling her and the injured Jackson to safety.
He had just looked at his dinner, shy. Modest.
How many times a week was he a superhero, she wondered. How many women had he carried out of a burning house or across the trail for an hour? Because she wanted to be the only one.
She made no sense to herself.
Cal was walking toward her. He smiled as he passed Connie. She took the crutches and let him into her cabin and he waited for her to get in her pajamas—a T-shirt and boxers—then propped her foot up on a pillow and gently covered it with the ice pack. He pulled a couple of pills out of his pocket.
“Motrin,” he said. “Maggie checked with the urgent care and you can have two more—won’t wig you out or hurt your tummy since you had a nice dinner.”
“She called urgent care?”
“Uh-huh. Dr. Maggie is on a first-name basis with every doctor and nurse in town. I know you don’t mess around with the other stuff. But don’t suffer, Sierra. Call if you need something. Maggie can fix you up, maybe something better than Motrin but nonaddictive. Is your phone charged?”
“All charged. Will you please fill the water bowl for Molly?”
“Sure. Can you think of anything you need?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll give you a call tomorrow, maybe around lunchtime. If you need to go to town, I can take you. You can call the boss at the diner, right?”
“He’s going to fire me,” she said.
“Tell him you’ve got a good lawyer.”
She gave him a weak smile.
“Oh, you’re very tired,” Cal said. “I’m going to get out of here.” He gave Molly a pat and then watched as the dog got up on the bed beside Sierra, cuddling close. He just smiled and shook his head. “Be sure to call if you need me,” he said.
“It’s just a sprained ankle, Cal,” she reminded him.
“Call for any reason.”
“Just go home,” she said.
“Listen, stop moping and feeling sorry for yourself. You’re going to be fine. And in case you’re wondering, Connie is a good guy. He’s okay.”
She nodded and Cal slipped out the door.
“But I’m not,” she said to Molly.
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.
—Edwin H. Chapin
Chapter 8
CONNIE KNEW IT was going to seem a little obvious, but he went out to the Crossing the next three days. His first excuse was he had to pick up that backpack he’d hidden when he went to find Sierra, then he wanted to check on her, maybe give the dogs a little workout so they’d be less restless. Then he said he’d just spend time with her since she couldn’t go anywhere. The first day she was down—feeling bad about what her injury meant for other people. Byron, who she couldn’t help at the diner; Sully, who she couldn’t help at the Crossing; the dogs, who were being neglected by her. The next day she felt better, the swelling was down and after talking with Byron, she was cheerier. With summer so close, school would be out soon and he would have a surplus of waitresses and could cover the mornings. The third day, the campground wasn’t very populated and she was feeling better about taking a rest.
“Don’t you have to work?” she asked him.
“I’ve worked two days this week so far and was off one. I just took a couple of hours to come out and check on you,” he said. “It’s personal time.” And he was there every day to see how things were going. If he had a lot of time, he helped out at the store and grounds. If he didn’t, he spent an hour or so visiting and then left.
After a week had passed he drove her into town to see her doctor. The doctor told her she could drive as long as she didn’t put all her weight on that ankle. That cheered her up considerably.
“You don’t have to keep coming out here to check on me,” she told him.
“I check on Sully a lot anyway,” he said.
“Sully needs checking on?” she asked.
“No more than you,” he said. “If you don’t want to be friends, say so. I’ll make sure to only talk to Sully and the dogs.”
She looked at him with a crooked smile. “Friends?”
“We barely know each other, but if you want to consider something more than friends, we can keep that in mind. For later.”
“Ha,” she laughed. “You’re playing me!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
What he was doing was moving really, really slowly so he wouldn’t find himself falling for her and then ending up in the same bucket of shit like he had with Alyssa.
Since Sierra was getting around pretty well, he went to the Crossing a couple of times to find she wasn’t even there. She’d been running some errands, Sully said. She’d gone to Cal’s to check out the barn and to Leadville to poke around.
But when she was there, they’d stake out a piece of sunshine and talk for an hour or so. She asked him when he decided to become a fireman.
“That’s a little murky,” he said. “I wanted to be a firefighter since I was about four, but I also wanted to be a cowboy, an astronaut and a hobo.”
“Hobo?” she asked with an incredulous laugh.
“You know, just a backpack and the open road. But I was a very scrawny kid. I just didn’t grow for a long time and I got sick a lot—winter colds and stuff. I got teased a lot, picked on a lot. My dad was the worst—he picked on everybody. So, I wanted to be someone big and strong and someone everyone looked up to.”
“And here you are,” she said. “Everybody loves Connie.”
“Nah,” he said.
“Oh, they do, but never mind that. So, you were scrawny and picked on and then...?”
“Then finally I grew. Not a moment too soon, that’s for sure. But I hit fifteen and bam! Instant hormones. My mother said I grew six inches in one year and I don’t know about that, but my feet were awful big. I played sports, worked out a lot, and in my senior year I thought, yeah—I think I’ll be a firefighter. But you can’t do that at seventeen and it takes a lot of preparation. I worked all over the place, mostly physical jobs—I worked as a furniture mover, a trucker, ranch hand, you name it. I took a few college courses. Rafe and I did almost everything together—we got jobs together, went to school together, applied to the fire department together. And that’s it, really. The history of Connie Boyle.”
“That’s a work history. What about the other stuff. Did you go to prom?”
“Yeah, I went to prom. I was a football player, it was practically the law. Didn’t you?”