5. Ian
FIVE
IAN
My arm’s starting to ache, but I toss a tennis ball across my back yard for the thousandth time. Also for the thousandth time, Dutch tears across the grass to grab it and trots on back. He could easily do this for hours, and today, I’m indulging him.
It’s my way of making it up to him for not letting him play with the kid next door.
Each evening since they moved in, August’s done his own tearing around in the yard we share. Dutch has whined at the door every time, ready to abandon me for the kid in a heartbeat. But I’m not totally convinced Tess approves of her son playing with my dog, so I’ve avoided the situation entirely.
If that keeps me from having to speak with Tess again, so much the better. I’ve got a feeling any little interaction with her will stick in my head, and I don’t need the distraction.
Dutch drops the slobbery tennis ball at my feet, ready for more. Yeah. It’s important to keep my focus.
My phone buzzes, and I step onto the porch to check it. I get about as many phone calls as I do visitors these days, and I have a good guess who’s calling. A glance at the screen proves my hunch.
I let his last two calls go to voicemail. Probably best I don’t push my oldest brother any further. I don’t need him tag-teaming with Amy, showing up on my doorstep to harass me in person.
“Pierce.” I chuck Dutch’s drool-covered ball across the yard.
“Ian. I’m pleased your schedule opened up enough to take my call.” His voice is thick with sarcasm. He preferred it when I was in Durango and couldn’t avoid him.
“You know how it is.”
“I don’t have a clue how it is. You avoid all my calls. Most of my texts are left on read.”
“I’m a busy guy.”
He got enough first-hand experience with how I’m doing in the year I tried to keep working at our company. Don’t think he really needs a minute-by-minute update when nothing about my status has changed.
He grumbles into the phone. “I’ll skip the pleasantries and cut right to the chase.”
“Were you going to be pleasant?” I cut in.
“I was going to tell you about the baby, but you can forget it now.”
“Man. That would have been pleasant.”
Pierce is expecting his first child and absolutely losing his mind over it. He treats his wife, Bonnie, like she’s a fragile little bird, had the nursery painted and furnished months ago, and it seems to physically pain him if he doesn’t bring the baby into every conversation. He’s an absolute beast on a mountainside, but the softest kitten when it comes to a kid who isn’t even here yet.
The nonstop pregnancy updates I got when I worked in the office might have been as bad as all the “chin-up” commentary.
I toss Dutch’s ball again, waiting for my brother to crack. He clearly has something to say. It takes ten seconds of silence, max.
“Bonnie decided she didn’t want to wait any longer to learn the baby’s sex,” he finally says.
“That’s nice.”
He huffs another breath, and I grin to myself imagining his exasperation. He can’t expect much else when he calls me. I’ve never been great at playing along.
“You’re not even going to ask?”
Best to indulge him. If I refuse, he really might show up on my porch. “Are you having a boy or a gi?—”
“It’s a girl!” He sounds like he’s celebrating at the summit of a mountain peak.
“Congrats.” First grandchild in a family of brothers who haven’t been in a rush to start families—our mom will spoil her rotten. “Try to get Bonnie to hold out until my birthday.”
Pierce chuckles. “She’ll throttle you if you say that to her. She’s ready to deliver her now, and she’s still got a few weeks left to go.”
“Just tell her to relax. She always loves it when you do that.”
“You’re trying to get me murdered.” He exhales long and low. “I can’t believe the baby will be here so soon.”
Pierce has climbed some of the most dangerous mountains in the world, stays calm under pressure, and knows more about business finance than I would ever care to. Strange to hear him talking about a kid like it’s the new center of his whole life.
Happy for him. I just don’t get it.
“Can’t wait to meet her.”
“Exactly why I called.” His voice loses the dreamy quality and slips back into no-nonsense mode. “When are you coming home to Durango?”
My brief spark of joy for my brother fizzles out. “I have no immediate plans.”
I was never the guy with the plan. Everything just came to me. The climbing, the articles, the sponsorships, even what I achieved in our guiding business—I’d lucked into it all. Sure, there’d been a lot of hard work along the way, but even at the peak of my career, I hadn’t known what was going on more than a few months ahead of time. My schedule just magically filled.
Now? I’m nowhere near the peak of my career, and all I see is a long stretch of nothing.
“We need you here.”
They need the Ian I used to be, not who I am today. I’m not entirely sure who I am today. After my accident and surgeries, it took months to learn how to walk again and get my current prosthesis. Months more before I could safely travel over uneven terrain, let alone consider tackling a single-pitch climb or scaling frozen waterfalls. My brothers tried to keep me involved in our business, but it wasn’t the same. Demonstrating knot tying and how to wear a harness in our beginner courses can’t compete with the challenging treks I’d been known for.
So I ran off to Oregon. To regroup or…something.
“You were doing just fine when I left.” Better than fine, to be honest. Vaughn Mountain Views is more successful than any of us ever dreamed it would be. We started ten years ago on a hope and a prayer, and now we’re one of the best-known mountaineering companies in Colorado. They don’t need me leading the easy walks to keep that momentum.
“But you are coming back.”
“Funny how you make that sound like a command.” Even when we worked together every day, he was only my boss in the loosest sense of the word.
“This is just a…sabbatical.”
That’s a generous term for what I’m doing here. “I have no immediate plans.”
“You’re impossible. Are you even doing any of that stuff you said you were going to do out there? Build up your endurance and all that?”
My gaze goes to the trail that starts just past my back yard. I’ve walked it a few times, but not enough to count as physical therapy. Not enough to make me think I could go back to the strenuous, often technically challenging week-long climbs I used to lead.
“I’m doing some of it.”
He groans. “Please tell me you’re not just wallowing out there.”
“Wallowing is such a dirty word.”
“What’s a better one?”
I pause for a second. “Contemplating the crushing weight of existence.”
“You are such a…” He seems unable to come up with the proper description. “When was the last time you went into town?”
I think back. “I had dinner with Amy and Jodi about a month ago.”
And went home right after we’d finished eating. I’d said I needed to let Dutch out, but really, their homey happiness made me feel like a ghoul draining their joy. I’d left for them as much as myself.
“You need to get out more.”
Dutch drops his tennis ball in front of me and lies down on the porch panting hard. Finally got him winded.
“You and Amy must be sharing notes.”
“Spend some time around people again. Get involved in the community.” He sounds like he’s leading a business meeting, outlining a list of to-dos. “Make a friend. Meet a woman.”
My thoughts careen straight to my new neighbor. Beautiful, soft, gentle. A smile that blinds you in the best way. In another life, I’d be looking for an opportunity to ask her out instead of doing my best to avoid her.
I was never the guy to avoid women before, but since she moved in, it’s my new hobby.
“Not happening,” I grumble.
Dutch’s ears perk up, and in a flash, he’s on his feet. Next second, Tess’s door flies open, and August bounds out.
“Dutch is outside, Mama!” he shouts over his shoulder. “Can I play with him?”
Before he gets an answer, he leaps off the porch and into the yard. Dutch has a miraculous second wind and sprints along with him, doing laps in the grass.
“What was that?” Pierce asks.
I barely hear him. Tess steps over the threshold, watching her son. Her gaze cuts to me, and she offers a small smile before going back to keeping an eye on the excitement in the yard.
I am spectacularly bad at my new hobby.
All I can do is stare. Tess in her casual outfit, messy hair, and rosy cheeks scrambles my brain.
“Uh, that was the TV,” I say into the phone after too many seconds of silence.
“It didn’t sound like?—”
“Gotta go.” I end the call before he can finish.
Then I just stand here on my side of the porch, decked out in my worn sweatpants and a Vaughn Mountain Views T-shirt. Probably looking just as feral as I did the day we met. I sure haven’t done anything to change my look.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Tess says.
“You didn’t.” I would have hung up on him eventually if he’d kept going with that line of conversation.
She gestures at the chaos in the yard. “Is this okay with you?”
“Doesn’t bother me.” Dutch is loving it. I’m not sure which of the two is more excited. “Is it okay with you?”
She watches as they tumble in the grass. “I don’t mind, as long as he doesn’t bite.”
I shrug. “The boy’s teeth are so blunt, Dutch wouldn’t even feel it.”
Her eyebrows tug together. Guess my little joke didn’t land.
“Dutch isn’t aggressive,” I tell her. “Just big.”
Doesn’t mean I won’t watch them the whole time they’re together, though. No sense being careless.
“That’s good. I, um, have something for you. Don’t go anywhere.”
If only she knew.
Tess ducks inside her apartment, returning again with a purple box in her hands. She walks over, smile bright, and holds it out to me.
My gaze drops to the box. “What is it?”
Why would she bring me anything? We don’t know each other. We’ve barely spoken.
The bigger question: why is my heart racing over a nondescript purple box?
“They’re cupcakes. From our bakery.” She lifts the box a touch higher.
Her smile cranks up, tightening something in my chest. I ignore the smile and the too-tight sensation behind my ribs.
People love to bring food after a tragedy. It’s the only thing they can think to do. Your father died from a stroke at fifty-five? Here’s a casserole. Your mother had a double mastectomy to combat her aggressive cancer? Here’s a lasagna. You lost your leg in a stupid accident? Here’s a platter of enchiladas.
I don’t move to take her offering. “Why would you bring me cupcakes?”
She hesitates, putting my defenses on red alert.
“You haven’t come by the bakery, so I thought I’d bring them to you instead.”
This is where most people drop their gaze to my legs, giving their motivations away. Morbid curiosity always has a tell. But Tess keeps her eyes on mine. If anything, she seems amused by my reluctance.
She lifts her eyebrows. “I made them fresh this morning. They’re not day-olds or anything like that.”
Still feels too much like a consolation prize. Sorry about your leg. Here’s a pastry.
My stomach tilts. I never thought to ask just how much Amy told her about me. Does she know about my accident? About the high-profile career I won and lost? About the magazine article that put me on a list of “career-ending tragedies?”
August leaps onto the porch, panting hard. “Hi, guy! We brought you cupcakes.”
I keep my gaze on his mom. “I see that.”
Tess still holds the purple box out to me, undeterred by my lack of enthusiasm.
The little boy ambles closer, Dutch at his side. “Mama said you need a friend. We can be your friends.”
I need a friend, huh? I guess I’ll have to stop by the diner and visit with my aunts, after all. Find out exactly how much they shared with my new neighbors.
“I said it’s the neighborly thing to do,” Tess jumps in. “And his name is Ian.”
“Yeah, Ian,” August repeats. “It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
The boy’s speech impediment makes the word come out neighboryee . It’s kind of cute.
Still. The whole situation smacks of making me out to be a charity case.
“It’s neighborly to accept cupcakes when they’re offered, too.” Tess’s voice is gentle, her smile soft like she’s teaching me a life lesson the same way she would her son.
Great. Cupcakes of mercy and getting treated like a child. Although…I can’t deny that I need a refresher course on manners. It’s been too long since I cared enough to put in the effort. What have I become that I’m side-eyeing baked goods brought to me by a pretty woman?
I take the box from her. “Thank you.”
Her expression brightens even more, without dipping once to my legs. “You’re welcome. I brought you two each of strawberry cream, lemon blueberry, and pina colada.”
I lift the lid. “Wow.”
Six fat cupcakes rest inside, topped with piped frosting flecked with strawberries, blueberries, and what must be pineapple. I catch their sweet scent and suppress a groan. My mouth immediately starts watering.
Would eating one in a single bite be neighborly, too?
“Mama makes the best cupcakes.” August gives the box a longing look. “The strawberry ones are my favorite.”
“I’ll eat those first,” I tell him.
He grins and goes back to running around with Dutch. I replace the lid on the box and go on standing around with it. If I set it down, ants or wasps will show up to inspect all that sugar.
“They’ll keep in the refrigerator for two or three days,” Tess says.
“You underestimate me.”
She smiles up at me, apparently unfazed by my ragged appearance and unfriendly attitude. Her eyes shine in the sunlight, a dark sea-blue ringed with thick lashes. Her golden hair is tucked into a loose knot on her head, strands trailing around like a halo. Like an angel dropped down from heaven to bless me with cupcakes.
I’ve grown skilled at pushing people away, but she makes me want to draw closer. And if I did? What happens when this dream woman finds out about my reality?
“I’d better put them away,” I growl as I stalk past her and into my apartment.
If she is an angel, God’s got a real brutal sense of humor.