Wildflower Road Page 5

  The new burst of laughter drew looks from the other patrons.

  Thomas cleared his throat loudly, then nodded to the door. “Speaking of . . . he’s here, Ryann.”

  Ryann shoved her chair away from Shane’s.

  The table quieted, and Ryann’s face fell as the man with the truck, dressed in slacks and a pressed green shirt and sports coat, came up behind her.

  He rested his hands on her shoulders, encroaching on her neck. “Hello, everyone. Hey, Ryann.”

  “Hey, Stu,” Drew responded on behalf of the group, his gaze darting between the friends.

  Ryann kept her eyes locked on the soda glass in her hand, brow furrowed.

  The man pulled a seat next to Ryann. He turned his focus on Shane, who was putting his arms back through the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

  “I haven’t met you. My name is Stuart Ashcroft.” His lips curled into a Cheshire cat grin.

  The same expression Shane’s friend Jonah had worn that day last September. The hair on the back of Shane’s neck rose. “I’m Shane . . . Maclean.”

  Ryann’s eyes flickered to his.

  Stuart held out his hand, which Shane accepted, only to realize it was more a challenge of strength than greeting.

  Shane didn’t back down. If he’d learned anything in jail, it was to not back down from a show of brute force, especially when his strength would prove stronger.

  Stuart pulled his hand away, then glanced down at his palm. With a flick of his manicured brow, he clasped his hand around Ryann’s shoulder.

  His skin was smooth and clear, save a red flush, likely due to the alcohol of which he reeked, along with a stomach-turning amount of cologne. His thick, wavy hair was combed back from his face down to the middle of his neck, with a permanent wet look.

  “You’re the new cook, right? Where’d you move from?”

  Shane peered across the group.

  They sipped their drinks and pretended to watch the television across the room.

  “Iowa.”

  Jessi spit out her soda then blotted her face with a napkin. The rest of the table chuckled quietly.

  “Is my girl taking care of you over there at River’s Edge? The accommodations aren’t too terrible, are they? I keep telling her she needs to build a nicer home for herself.”

  “Not everyone bathes in liquid gold, Stuart,” Ryann said.

  “Only on Sundays.” He snickered, stealing a fry off Evie’s plate.

  There was an awkward silence around the table. Thomas mentioned some construction at the dam. Drew discussed some new regulations at the police department. Evie talked about the new words their son, Adam, was saying.

  Ryann was especially quiet, sipping her soda a thousand miles away.

  Stuart ordered a round of shots for the table and then gladly drank all the ones that were refused. The more he drank, the more he put his hands on Ryann, with each touch making her flinch slightly. When he whispered something in her ear, she gave a look of disgust and shook her head. After another drink, his words began to slur. He brushed her hair to the side and kissed her neck.

  She stood abruptly. “Time for me to go home.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Stuart offered, struggling to rise.

  “No, it’s okay. Shane and I rode together.”

  The weight of the group’s stare landed on Shane. He rose from his chair. “It was nice to meet you all.”

  They said their goodbyes, while Stuart glared through bloodshot eyes.

  Ryann led the way to the door, pausing at the bar. “Joe, Shane’s leaving his car here tonight, okay? It’s a blue sedan.”

  “Sure thing, Ry.”

  “Maybe next time cut Stu off earlier. He gets real handsy the more he drinks.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Then maybe water down the drinks next time? I’d appreciate it. And he’ll need a police escort tonight. He’s pretty far gone.”

  Joe nodded. Once they exited the restaurant, Shane followed Ryann to the old Jeep he’d seen her driving at the resort. After they’d climbed in, Ryann started the engine, and an upbeat country tune pierced the air. She jabbed at the radio knob, muting the joyful notes in an instant, then thrust her foot down on the gas pedal.

  After the initial rev of the engine and the spitting of gravel behind the wheels, silence hung heavy in the car as they returned to the resort.

  Ryann parked the car in front of their cabins. She turned the key but didn’t move from the driver’s seat.

  “When will I get my car?” he asked.

  “Joe is Ollie’s owner. He won’t mind if it stays in the parking lot overnight. We can pick it up tomorrow when you come to church with me.” She stared straight ahead.

  “I don’t know, Ryann. I haven’t been to church in a long time.”

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her brow. “Then you’ll like my church. It’s different than most.”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready—”

  Ryann’s eyes shot open but remained focused on the windshield. “Look, I don’t know what happened at the church you pastored, but don’t give up on God because of what his people have done.”

  He said nothing.

  She sighed, and her head dropped. “I’m sorry.” She opened the car door and climbed out of her seat, prompting Shane to do likewise.

  He met her in front of the bumper.

  When she lifted her chin, she gave an exhausted smile. “Please come with me, Shane.”

  He was tempted to say yes, especially here under the blanket of stars with the river rushing loudly a dozen yards away. But this was the one thing he couldn’t do. The wounds were too raw. “I can’t.”

  She dropped her head and expelled an audible breath. “Okay. I’ll take you back to your car on my way. We’ll leave at ten thirty. By the way, thanks for playing along with me at Ollie’s.”

  “No problem.” Shane chose his words carefully. “No offense, but your boyfriend is a piece of work.”

  “Not my husband, not my boyfriend.” She set her jaw. A shiver shook her body. After it had run its course, she gulped down some air and met Shane’s eyes. “I was married to his brother, but he died almost nine years ago.” Ryann brushed past him to get to her porch.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Shane shuffled his feet. “How?”

  Ryann unlocked the door and pushed it open before turning back to him, half of her face doused in the darkness and half illuminated by the cabin’s light. “Suicide.” She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug, then she was gone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Inside her cabin, Ryann banged the back of her head against the door. Tyler’s smiling face watched her from the glossy frame on the wall opposite her. His dark suit contrasted against the white satin of the wedding dress, as pure as the young girl wearing it. A girl Ryann no longer recognized.

  She pressed the heel of her hands against her eyes. Footsteps crunched the gravel outside. Shane’s cabin door creaked loudly and then shut with a thud that rattled the chandelier above her bed.

  “It wouldn’t be like this if you were here, you know.” She stared into Tyler’s blue eyes. “Everything would be different. Stuart wouldn’t be crazy. Well, maybe he would, but I wouldn’t have to deal with him alone. And when it got hard, you could hold me and tell me it would get better.”

  She kicked off her shoes and threw them into the basket. Then she removed her jacket. When she pitched it against the coat-tree, it caught on a hook, rocking the metal stand into a teeter that fortunately didn’t end in a crash on the floor.

  “No, you wouldn’t tell me that. You never believed it’d get any better. So, you left. And not just Montana. Not just life. You left me.” She took a deep breath. Thin walls.

  “I’m sorry, Tyler.” Ryann kneeled by the hope chest at the foot of her bed. She
lifted the lid, shimmying it past the angle when the hinge always caught. She chuckled. Tyler had not been a craftsman. This wedding gift had taken him months to complete, according to her father, who graciously stepped in to help Tyler finish in time.

  She sorted through memorabilia until she found the stack of photos that had decorated Tyler’s funeral. Years of memories as his friend, girlfriend, fiancée, then wife. Now, his widow.

  Ryann thumbed their last picture together. Tyler, flanked on the left by his parents, smiled, but his pale skin told another story. The town’s Fourth of July celebration was the first time he’d left their house in weeks. On his right, her own grinning face feigned innocence and joy. Sunglasses hid the resentment that had invaded her soul that summer. Stuart stood on the edge of the picture. Shirtless, his tanned chest stretched beneath broad shoulders. His arm hugged her waist. His smile and his attention had been like honey back then. Her stomach twisted at how her body leaned closer to him than her own husband.

  “It was my fault. I killed you. At least your spirit. Then you finished the job.” She tore the picture in half. Again, she ripped it, aiming for Stuart’s proud face this time. With her thumbnail, she scratched at her own foolish smile.

  This new life of hers was hollow. For so long, she’d been in a prison, paying penance for her sins. Stuart was a wretched prison guard, too. The more she resisted his rules and the more others tried to free her, the heavier her chains became.

  She replaced the box in the chest and tossed the shredded photo in the fireplace. With a touch of a match, the pieces melted. She checked the clock. 11:35 p.m. Not much longer now. He’d be here soon.

  * * *

  * * *

  Shane flipped his pillow again. He laid his head back down and squeezed his eyes closed, but a chill nipped at his ear. He slid out from beneath the quilt, and his feet landed on the cold wood floor. He kneeled by the electric fireplace and pressed the thermostat button twice. The red seventy-three blinked back at him, but warm air soon greeted his face. He shook his head and rubbed his neck. He sat on the bed and stared at the folded letter on the nightstand next to his car keys. Chloe’s new address, which he’d had to get off of the divorce papers, looked foreign under her name. The name she’d taken after they married. Would she even want to hear what he had to say? Just like his parents, she’d ceased communication that fateful day when he’d lost everything he’d worked so hard for. He’d been a devoted husband to her. And an excellent pastor to his church. Until he wasn’t.

  Then, like Lucifer, his quest for glory and his arrogance felled him. And the same people who’d once lifted him high and praised him for his unconventional pastoring style were the first to condemn him.

  As he settled back into bed, a diesel engine growled louder until headlights poured in through his window. The engine cut but the lights remained. Shane looked at his alarm clock: 12:12 a.m. After another minute, the lights shut off. Shane’s eyes readjusted to the dark as he peered through the windowpane.

  A man—Stuart—staggered up Ryann’s porch steps. He pounded on the door as he slurred her name. She opened it, stepped out onto the porch, then helped Stuart into a chair. She wrapped a quilt around her shoulders and leaned against the porch railing, facing Shane’s cabin.

  He strained to hear the conversation, but the sound of the river absorbed most of the words. Ryann nodded occasionally, but her lips barely moved. After a few minutes, Shane lay back down on his bed. He counted every wooden slat in the ceiling before rolling onto his side to watch the imitation flame roll in the fireplace. He jolted back to the window when he heard a strange utterance.

  Stuart held his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook. Was he . . . crying?

  Ryann raised her hand out of the quilt and gave a slight wave. To Shane.

  He returned the gesture.

  As quickly as it had started, the crying stopped. Stuart stood and tried to kiss her.

  Shane bolted to the door. He jerked it open and ran out onto the driveway, gravel digging into his bare feet.

  Stuart turned his head.

  Ryann shoved him away, then disappeared into the cabin, slamming the door closed behind her.

  “Ryann, open up. I’m sorry.” Stuart’s hand hit the door once again and slid down to the handle, twisting it in vain.

  Without another thought, Shane pulled his shoulders back. He took a step toward Ryann’s cabin, wishing he’d paused long enough to grab shoes.

  Stuart stumbled backward down Ryann’s steps toward his truck, mumbling.

  “Hey, you shouldn’t drive, man.” Shane’s eye caught movement from Ryann’s cabin.

  A curtain pulled to one side, and a figure blocked the light.

  Stuart slurred a curse, pushed open the driver’s door, and climbed into the seat. “Who are you? Oh . . . wait . . . I remember. Sh-Sh-jane.”

  “Close enough.” The gravel was like glass beneath Shane’s feet. He cringed with every step toward the truck. “Let me find you a place to sleep it off. Give me your keys.”

  But Stuart slammed the door and ignited the engine. The truck whipped around, spitting gravel at Shane.

  The four-by-four mowed down some wildflowers but avoided a pine tree before roaring down the road.

  Once the taillights disappeared, Ryann’s door opened.

  “You okay?” Shane asked.

  She nodded.

  “Should I call the police? Let them know he’s been drinking?”

  “They know. They’ll escort him home.” She yawned and tousled her hair.

  Sure enough, up on the road, blue and red lights sped past the resort in the direction the truck had headed.

  “See? You can go back to bed.”

  “What if he comes back?”

  “He won’t. Not tonight.” She retreated into the doorway.

  “Well, if you ever need me, just yell. I’ll be here.”

  “I’m sure you will.” For a moment, she froze, holding his gaze. Her mouth opened as if to speak. She seemed to think better of it and shut the door.

  “Good night, Ryann,” Shane whispered beneath his breath.

  Back in his cabin, he lay down on the bed. Soon, he was standing on the riverbank with Chloe in his arms. She was telling him that she’d made a mistake. She still loved him. But all he could think of was how the moss beneath the surface gave the water a sea-green hue, like Ryann’s eyes.

  * * *

  * * *

  Shane was awakened midmorning by the growling of his stomach. He showered and dressed, then ventured outside. On his porch chair, he saw a book with red lettering. A River Runs Through It and Other Stories by Norman Maclean. He opened the cover, and a paper fell to his feet. It was a receipt from West Yellowstone Book Cellar, dated the night before. On the back, in the same handwriting as the sign in the café, it read:

  Iowa,

  I’ll turn you into a Montana boy yet. Just wait and see.

  Ryann

  A steady chime seemed to rise out of the river. It grew louder. Not a chime, but a jingling of a bell. Ryann jogged out from behind the cabin, wearing running tights and a thermal shirt. Her hair was secured high on her head in a ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed. She held her left arm close to her side, moving it only slightly. Her right arm swung exaggeratedly. When she saw him, she smiled and quickened her pace, ending her run at the bottom of his steps.

  “Hey, you,” she greeted him breathlessly.

  “Hey.” He returned her smile and held the book up. “Thank you for this.”

  “It’s my favorite. Otherwise I’d have given you my copy.”

  For a moment, the only sound was the roar of the river.

  “I didn’t know you were a runner.”

  “You have a lot to learn, don’t you?” She winked.

  “Don’t you worry about bears?”

&nbs
p; “I always take precautions. I carry bear spray in case one gets too close.” She turned and patted the small of her back where a black belt secured both a belled strap and a large can similar to the bear spray in the café’s display case.

  “What’s the bell for?”

  “Bears don’t like people. We’re a threat. Most attacks happen because a person surprises the bear. He can hear me and skedaddle.” She shook her hips, and the bell jingled. “Of course, the bell just makes the cougar’s chase that much more fun.”

  Shane’s tongue tied in a knot.

  Ryann snickered. “You’re so fun to tease, you know that? Have you had breakfast?”

  “No, the grocery store was closed when I got there last night.”

  “You’re in luck. I make the finest bowl of cereal in town. Come on in.”

  She led the way into her cabin. Her home was bigger than his. Besides a full bed, she also had a sitting area with a love seat and side table. Bookshelves surrounded the fireplace, spanning from the floor to the ceiling and holding hundreds of books. The kitchen had enough room for a small table with the same wrought iron that matched her bed frame. A spiral staircase wound up to a darkened loft space above the bathroom and kitchen.

  Her home had a warmth that his lacked. A floral scent wafted through the air. Throw rugs covered the hardwood floors. Her white quilted bedding was feminine yet mature and added a romantic touch to the stacked log walls. Light glinted off a glass chandelier above the bed. His eyes drifted to a framed picture. Her wedding picture.

  “That’s Tyler,” she explained, following his gaze. “We look like babies, don’t we? I guess that’s what happens when you marry at eighteen. It could double as our prom picture.”

  He moved closer to inspect the portrait. Ryann wore a simple white dress that hung on her thin frame. She was pretty in the picture, but age and maturity had been generous to her. Shane shook the thought from his mind. Tyler looked like one of the youth group kids from his old church, braces and all.