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I hung up, torn between excitement at the thought of starting my new life earlier than planned, and worry over the idea of cutting things short here. And for some reason, I was thinking about Cam.
But he wasn’t a reason to stay.
Chapter 7
CAMERON
Maddie was standing on the wide open deck behind the Inn’s secondary space like she was the construction manager, wandering around the job site, asking questions of the crew when I arrived.
“...And so you think the walls will be functional by August?” She was standing at the edge of the deck, looking up at one of the guys, smiling broadly.
“Maddie, you keep distracting these guys and this place will definitely not be ready for the wedding you’re so worried about.” I swung my gaze down to the assistant crew manager, trying to look stern. “Don’t let her up here. If she got hurt wandering around the construction site, we’d have a world of trouble.”
Maddie shot me a dirty look, her brows dropping down low, and then turned back to the guy trying to get his work done, hammer still paused mid-air. “Thanks,” she said to him sweetly before turning around again and glaring at me. “I’m not going to sue you,” she said. “I’m just getting worried. Connor won’t do a damned thing to get ready at home, and the venue looks like it’s destined to be half finished, too. I’ve had enough of half-built houses and half-finished life plans, Cam. I want to get married and move everything forward.”
I swallowed hard, wishing I could muster up the appropriate amount of optimism that this place would be ready. But there’d been a few setbacks, and it was hard to make promises I didn’t know if I could keep. “It’ll be done, Mads, and if it’s not, there’s always the ballroom at the inn.”
She scowled at me, reminding me of the way she’d looked as a disappointed four-year old.
“And you don’t need a certificate to move forward with Connor. His love for you is completely clear every time I see you guys.”
Maddie’s face softened as if I’d said something about myself—about Jess, maybe—instead of Connor. Maddie worried too much about me since Jess had died. She’d only known my wife those last few months—she didn’t know much about our marriage before Jess was sick. She had no idea about the guilt I felt all swirled in with the sadness. She looked like she was about to say something, but thought better of it, and instead she stepped near and laid a hand on my arm. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. Maddie worried about me—there’d been periods in the last couple years where depression and self-pity had gotten the better of me for sure. But I felt better lately, and I had Maddie to look out for. She wasn’t supposed to be looking out for me.
“Come for dinner Saturday? I’m thinking about inviting Sam and Miranda and Chance and Mike.”
A party? I loved my sister, but I’d never been much of a joiner, and parties were a lot of work. I searched for an easy way to let her down, my hands wrapping the back of my neck as I thought. “Mads, I just—”
“You just have to show up. I’ll make your favorite—or Connor will, at least. And I’ll see if we can get Chance to make a cake or something.”
That was tempting. Chance baked more than most guys I knew, and it was clear his talent wasn’t isolated to construction or running a business. He’d made the occasional plate of cookies before, but now that he had Finn and Mike as an excuse, he’d been bringing around a lot more stuff from his kitchen. With another guy, I could see the crews making jokes about his masculinity. But with Chance? No way. Some guys just baked.
Maddie watched me while I salivated about Chance’s baking, and then threw one more tease my way. “I think we should invite your new renter, too. Can you do that?”
“Or you could.” I admitted defeat. But I could still be grumpy and difficult.
Maddie wrapped her hand around my arm, smiling up at me. “I haven’t even met her properly. You invite her. You might as well ride together anyway.” My sister pressed a kiss to my cheek and spun on her heel. “See you then. Oh, and get my venue finished please,” she sang over her shoulder as she hiked back toward her car.
I stood back, looking up at the huge sprawl of deck, the skeleton walls that would eventually hold retractable glass. It had a long way to go, and I wasn’t at all confident we’d get it done. But I promised my sister. So I had to try. “Come on guys, let’s push this forward.” I climbed up to help and got busy building.
The day dwindled to dusk and a sheen of dust coated my arms and face. I shoved my tools back into my truck and then walked back out into the shadow of the big structure.
“Cam, you need a ride?” Jensen, one of the crew called back to me when he saw me heading away from the parking area.
“Nah, going for a hike.”
He gave me a quizzical smile, but waved and turned away, and I trudged past the big deck and up toward the back trail to the Panoramic Point. I liked it up there near sunset, when a dusky glow of gold and grey settled around the tops of the far eastern peaks of the Sierra Nevada. If there was a mountain lion prowling these hills, dusk was hunting time and not the best time for a hike, but at this point in my life, I wasn’t worried. What would be would be, I figured.
The world looked dim at that time of day, like the colors had been muted, a dial turned down until everything was a faint echo of its usual vibrance.
I hiked for an hour and a half, pausing briefly at the ridge to take in the view I loved, to breathe in deep gulps of the thin air. And then I dropped my eyes to the darkening trail and focused on the descent.
The property my family had owned for nearly a century bordered the national forest, and the walls of the house Maddie and I built there were mere feet from the hillside that connected our familiar mountains to the backcountry. Bears and deer were common on that hillside, but as I traversed the familiar terrain, I heard again a sound that was familiar only from the previous day: The mournful howl of an animal in pain. Not the mountain lion I was sure I’d heard before, but an animal that sounded as alone and as tortured as I sometimes felt in the darkness that ended the glimmer of day.
I stopped, listening, as the haunting cry lifted into the air, sounding like it was all around me. But after I’d stood still for a few moments, I was able to discern a direction, and I followed the whimpering cries to a hollow beneath a tilted boulder. I neared the mouth of the small cave, dark and foreboding and nearly obscured by a Manzanita bush. As I stepped near and pushed the bush to one side, the whimper turned to something far more menacing, a deep feral growl meant to serve, no doubt, as a warning. Though I knew whatever was in that cave likely had little energy to fight, I also knew that an injured animal would fight with every last breath it had—out of fear and desperation.
I wasn’t willing to lose a hand to satisfy my curiosity, so I turned and trudged back toward home, every distant cry echoed in my heart in both sympathy and a strange sense of kinship.
