Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
“ C an I go swimming?”
Weston stared hard at the 12-year-old. “No, Matthew. You may not.”
The kid rolled his eyes. “Polar plunges are a thing.”
“Not on my watch. Not when we’re a five-hour horseback ride back to the ranch. Not without express parental permission.”
“Like my parents care what I do,” the boy muttered.
Weston studied him. “They care enough to invest in your education.”
“It’s easier for them.”
“Easier to homeschool?” That was a head-scratcher. “Not much is easier than throwing a kid on a bus and not seeing him again until dinnertime.”
“Yeah, well, some of the other kids might have perfect parents, but all mine care about is work. My mom only homeschools me—” the kid air-quoted the word “—because she works from home, anyway. So, she sticks me at the desk next to hers to do my stuff while she’s on Zoom all day.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Only on group days, but most of those other kids are babies.”
Too deep. Since when did Weston care about this boy he’d known for three days and would likely never see again after tomorrow? “What’s that got to do with swimming in a mountain lake that was covered in ice last week?”
“No one lets me do anything.”
“A minute ago, you said they didn’t care. You can’t have it both ways, kid.”
“They don’t care, so long as I’m quiet. They just want a perfect little clone who doesn’t mess up their life.”
Weston didn’t care about the boy’s homelife. At least, he didn’t want to. “Still no to a polar plunge.”
“Scared to jump in yourself?” Matthew taunted.
“There are other reasons to say no.” Weston had a done a wintry dip a couple of times himself. He knew what a shock to all the body systems it was, and yeah. There was no way he was letting this kid have his way this far from the lodge. “This discussion is closed. You may not jump in the lake. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
Weston remembered the kid he’d been. “Do you promise?”
“I’m almost a teenager.”
“Uh huh.”
“And you’re not the boss of me.”
“I’ve got a piece of paper signed by your parents that says otherwise. ”
The boy scoffed. “I forged that.”
Weston’s blood ran cold. Did the Amstutzes even know their son was at Sweet River? Or was the kid lying about that, as well as — apparently — everything else?
“No getting in that lake. Final word.” Weston pivoted away, trying to keep his cool when all he wanted to do was blast the kid. Throw him over a packhorse like a sack of horse feed and haul him back to the resort. Let Tate deal with him.
“ She’s in the water.”
Movement by the shore caught Weston’s attention at the same time as Matthew spoke. And… there was Paisley, with her boots and socks off and her jeans rolled up, standing in several inches of water while one of the horses drank.
“Maybe I’ll go help her with the horses.” Matthew shot off across the meadow toward Paisley.
Should Weston chase him down and tackle him? They’d both have bruises. Worse, they’d be a spectacle, and Weston would lose the respect of all the other kids, to say nothing of Harvey and Susanna.
The kid he’d been would not respond well to that kind of treatment. Did that mean Matthew was like a younger Weston? Heaven help them all, if that were the case. He’d wish that on no one’s parents.
And Paisley wondered why he didn’t want kids? He remembered himself all too well. Remembered the endless arguments with his dad. Weston had challenged everything. Openly when he was young, more furtively as he got older and smarter. Which, come to think of it, might not be the definition of smarter.
Now, he saw Paisley’s face light up at Matthew’s approach. The two exchanged words Weston couldn’t hear from across the meadow. Then a high five before Paisley handed Mirage’s halter to Matthew. The boy led the horse toward the makeshift corral and glanced over at Weston, offering a thumbs-up.
Weston’s gut churned. That kid thought he was so clever, going around Weston to get into Paisley’s good graces. Next thing he’d know, the boy would be the one leading the horses into the lake for a drink. Why had he given such strict orders? He’d only meant to make himself very clear. He hadn’t meant to set up a challenge he was about to lose.
Well, he didn’t have to watch Matthew’s flagrant disobedience. Weston turned on his heel and strode up the trail. He’d rather ride Ranger to clear his head, but he wasn’t going anywhere near the horses while the boy was there. Hiking boots would be better on the steep path than cowboy boots, but there was no time for changing them. All he needed was to get out of sight for a few minutes until he’d calmed down.
He’d throttle the kid later. How? No idea, but he’d think of something.
Would he only be stooping to the tween’s level? No. The kid needed to learn about authority.
Was it Weston’s place to teach that lesson? If not him, then who? If not now, when?
Why did he even care? As far as he knew, none of the other kids had been within earshot. He wouldn’t put it past Matthew to brag about it to the others, though. Lead a full-on, defiant charge into the lake.
Like that would happen. The others mostly ignored Matthew. He wasn’t much of a leader. Weston couldn’t see the likes of Elsa or Aryana following Matthew anywhere, let alone into the frigid water.
Weston climbed until he came to a flat rock with a decent view downward. He sat and watched the kids scurry around the camp like so many ants. Matthew and Paisley led two of the horses out of the water.
Weston closed his eyes and managed a bit of mindful breathing. “Lord?”
But he didn’t even know what he wanted to say. To ask. All he knew was that he saw too much of himself in Matthew. Saw too much lashing out. Too much pent-up frustration. He’d handled it no better at that age. Or, honestly, in the fifteen years since.
Oh, he didn’t shove his nose into places he wasn’t wanted anymore. Doors had slammed on that beak more than once.
He still held back to avoid pain. He’d built an entire persona around that, and it had served him well. Until it hadn’t.
Until Paisley.
No, not her. Until the day Mom had invited him and Jude for dinner and told them she’d found her father, that he wanted to meet them, that he wanted to shower blessings on them — that’s how Mom put it — and walk them into their inheritance as his grandsons.
Weston had been skeptical. No one had ever wanted to favor him. Dad sure hadn’t. Mom… well, she’d tried, but she’d worked two jobs to keep their fragile li fe stitched together. There hadn’t been much time or energy left over for blessings.
He didn’t much believe in them, anyway. Life was hard. He’d made it harder than it had to be through dumb choices. Rayna was right to have walked away. He’d walk away from himself if he could.
Walter Sullivan — aka “Grandfather” — seemed to be for real. He hadn’t punished Weston by assigning him to stable management. He’d been playing to Weston’s stated strengths. And now he was indulging Jude’s desire to fly.
What dreams did Weston even have? He’d never allowed fantasies beyond getting away from it all, just him and Ranger, high in the mountains, with a fish-bearing stream and nothing but nature around them.
And here he was. Practically perfect, except for those annoying tweens and the not-so-small Littles.
It was beautiful. Peaceful. The sun shone, warming his skin. He inhaled deeply, bringing in the mixed scents of the lodgepole pines and Douglas fir.
He was closer to God here than anywhere else.
And Walter Sullivan wasn’t unlike God. God had sought Weston out, invited him into His family, and promised him an inheritance. Both identities required his acceptance, his choice to live into them, to honor the family name and relationship.
What did that have to do with the irritating tween down in camp?
Maybe Matthew was having trouble discovering and living into his identity.
With Matthew’s help, Paisley watered the horses in record time. The kid could be sweet and helpful when he wanted to be, but she was under no illusions that he wasn’t gaming her. She’d seen him talking to Weston before approaching her — not that she’d been able to overhear their conversation — and both guys’ chins were up as though they were trying to best each other. Like a wimpy 12-year-old could take on a full-grown, muscular man like Weston Kline.
She’d also noted that Weston disappeared from camp after that. The Littles organized an assembly line for making sandwiches, all the other kids participating. Paisley and Matthew got in the queue at the end.
“Seen Weston?” Harvey asked.
She shook her head. “Not for a while.”
“Huh. Well, he’s never missed a meal yet.” Harvey scanned the group around the smoldering fire, his finger tapping the air as his lips moved. He shrugged. “Everyone else is here and accounted for. Well, he can make his own sandwich when he shows up.”
Paisley filled her water bottle at the filtration station then picked up her paper plate with its sandwich, carrot sticks, and chips. She made her way to the log and sat down beside Matthew. “Where’s Weston?”
The kid shrugged. “How should I know?” He shoved the sandwich in his mouth.
“You were talking to him before.”
Matthew pointed at his over-full mouth as he chewed.
Didn’t that just figure? Weston would show up sooner or later. He wouldn’t have gone far without telling someone. Without Ranger.
The fire flared as some of the kids dropped their empty paper plates into the coals.
Weston never let the flames get much lower than this. He’d stacked a neat pile of logs nearby. If he didn’t return soon, Paisley would add wood to the fire.
How would she know if he were injured off in the forest somewhere? This simply wasn’t like him. She scanned the perimeter of the clearing, but he didn’t magically appear.
Matthew finished his lunch before Paisley was half done. He tossed his plate in the fire and stomped off to the rocky shoreline where Harvey had taken the kids fishing yesterday.
She was savoring the last few salt-and-vinegar chips when Weston appeared at the food table and fixed himself a sandwich out of the remains. She jumped to her feet and jogged over. “Weston! I was wondering where you’d gone.”
He looked past her before glancing at her then focusing on spreading mustard. “Went for a walk.”
“You? Like, on your own two feet, not on a horse?”
Weston scowled.
“Whoa, dude. That was a joke. I didn’t know you liked walking.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
Wasn’t he Mr. Sunshine? Not that scowling Weston was any different than usual… except that he’d seemed to have softened some recently. Guess she’d imagined that. Yay.
“I’m trying to understand.” Paisley set her hand on his forearm.
He shrugged it off. “Get in line. ”
What? “I’ve already eaten. So has everyone else. You’re the last.”
Weston huffed. “Get in line trying to figure me out. No one has yet completed the quest.”
Sounded like something Cadence would say, mimicking all the fantasy novels she read. “Are you a reader?”
Weston stared at her. “Your brain zigzags quicker than a barrel racer.”
“Thanks, I think.” He wasn’t lying. And it was no wonder he couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t, either. “ Are you a reader?”
“Yeah?”
Paisley did a mental fist-pump. “I knew it.” Even though she’d never seen him with a paperback. Maybe some of the time he was focused on his phone, he was reading?
“I’m still wondering how you got there.” Watching her, Weston bent a carrot stick until it snapped.
“The quest. No one talks like that except people who read fantasy.”
His eyes brightened. “Who’s your favorite author?”
“No. No, not me. I don’t read.”
“Oh.” He gave his head a quick shake. “You lost me.”
Paisley took a step back. “It was only an observation.”
“How can someone not be a reader?”
“It’s one of the seven wonders of the world.”
“A… wonder?”
“Yeah, people wonder this and they wonder that. I just don’t see the point. Real life is distracting enough. People are fascinating, and I like trying to figure them out. Why would I waste that curiosity on something that’ s not even real?”
“I…” He snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. “You can learn real, true things from fiction.”
Paisley shrugged. “But I don’t want to.” Argue with that, Mr. Sunshine.
Weston glugged half a bottle of water. “Suit yourself.” He shifted around her and mumbled something as he set his plate and water down on a stump. He set several pieces of wood into the sorry excuse for a fire — right, she’d been going to do that — before taking a seat.
She took a deep breath and contemplated the odd conversation they’d just had. No wonder the cowboy was confused. So was she.
Paisley took a seat across the fire from him. “Where did you go on your walk?”
He thumbed up the trail and took a big bite of his sandwich. The guy avoided answering questions just like Matthew. No one was going to urge someone else to talk with their mouth full.
She tried one more time. “Maybe more to the point, why?”
Weston cut a glare at her.
There was a hefty splash from over by the lake.
Before Paisley could turn, Weston’s eyes bulged, and he slammed his plate down. “I’m gonna kill that kid.” And he surged to his feet.