Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
“ G et out.”
“I didn’t mean to!” Matthew whined as he stumbled out of the water, soaking wet and shivering.
The only reason Weston halfway believed him was that he wore his tennis shoes. “You expect me to believe that after how you talked to me earlier?”
“Yeah?” The boy wrapped his arms around himself, his teeth chattering.
“Oh, you poor thing!” Paisley rushed past Weston and slung her arm over Matthew’s shoulder. “Are you okay? What happened?”
The boy cut a glare at Weston. “I fell in. It was an accident .”
“I doubt it. And you’re not going in your tent dripping wet. Send someone in for dry clothes.” Weston gritted his teeth and pivoted. “Axel!”
“Yes, sir?” The kid hustled over.
Now that was an attitude Weston could work with. “ Dig in Matthew’s bag and find him dry clothes, please. Everything from the skin out, and grab his hoodie, too. And his extra shoes.”
Matthew shrugged Paisley’s arm away. “No. Stay out of my stuff.”
Weston raised his eyebrows. “Did you have the foresight to stash dry clothes outside the tent before you accidentally fell into the lake?”
Matthew speared him with a glare.
“Axel, go ahead.” Weston held out his hand to stop Matthew’s protest. “There’s no point in dripping water all over everything in there. You’d soak your duffel and your sleeping bag and everything else.”
“But—” The kid’s eyes met Weston’s, and his puffed chest deflated. “Whatever. I’m freezing.”
Show no remorse . “You should have thought of that before you fell in.”
“Weston!”
He glanced at Paisley as she said his name. “You didn’t hear our earlier conversation. I’m handling this.”
By the way she flung her hands up in self-defense, she’d let him, but not because she agreed.
“May I go stand by the fire, your royal highness?”
Weston gestured to the blaze. “As you wish.”
Matthew stomped over, the belligerent effect diminished by the squishing sound of his shoes.
“Was that necessary?” Paisley’s quiet voice had an edge to it.
“Yes, it was.” Weston folded his arms over his chest and looked down at her. “He’s been pushing buttons all day about going in for a polar dip. I told him no. He figured he’d scored by wading in the lake with you to water the horses. There’s no way he fell in by accident after all that.”
Her eyebrows hiked up in challenge. “If I were falling in on purpose, I’d take off my shoes.”
“Smart people would.” Tweenage Weston would have done anything to thwart authority, just like this kid, whether it ruined his favorite brand-new sneakers or not. Nobody had ever called him smart. Smart aleck, yes. Simply smart? Never.
“I think you’re wrong.” Paisley whirled away and went over to Matthew.
Fine, if that’s the way she wanted to slice-and-dice the information, it was no skin off Weston’s back. He was used to being a loner, to having no one understand or agree with him… ever.
This was why he didn’t do people. They just weren’t worth it. Sooner or later, they all turned against him. Even oh-so-sweet-and-sunshiny Paisley. It hadn’t been as hard to turn her attention away from him as he’d thought it would be. Being his own ornery self hadn’t deterred her. Nothing had until he’d shown that gruff side to a kid. A kid who deserved it, but whatever. She didn’t see it that way.
It didn’t matter to him. He could take or leave her. Preferably leave.
So, he should be happy now, right? He’d finally managed to push her away.
It was not as rewarding as he’d imagined.
Axel tossed articles of clothing out of the boys’ tent.
“Thanks, man.” Weston strode over and gathered up the items and made sure everything was there. Whew, Matthew had brought a second pair of footwear along. The packing list had required it, but with a rebel like this one, who knew? He carried the pile over to Matthew and held it out. “Here you go.”
“You expect me to strip right here in the middle of camp?”
“There are bushes. There’s privacy by the latrine. Find a place.”
Matthew snatched the clothes and stomped off. Squish, squish, squish.
When Weston turned back to the fire, Paisley had stomped off in the opposite direction. Not that he cared.
Oh, look, there was his unfinished lunch. A sandwich on three-day-old bread. Stale chips. Flexible carrot sticks. He glanced around, but no one was nearby. He dumped the whole thing in the fire and added a couple of logs. He’d make a pot of cowboy coffee and gnaw on some jerky later. Maybe eat that protein bar he’d stashed in his pack. Or missing a meal wouldn’t kill him. Not when his gut churned the way it did from confronting that blasted kid over and over.
“Who wants to go fishing?” Harvey called from over by the infamous rocks.
Kids swarmed from all around.
“Who wants to go riding?” Paisley called.
A few kids turned that direction. Several stood undecided.
That was Weston’s gig she was taking over like he wasn’t standing right there. She’d likely surmised that he was in no frame of mind to deal with a bunch of nattering children. And she’d be correct.
Weston needed to get a grip on himself again. Why couldn’t he simply be a nice guy? Why couldn’t he go with the flow? Why couldn’t he gain respect without being an ogre?
“Where do I put these?” Matthew asked sullenly, holding out his wet clothes.
“Put your shoes near the fire — not too close, mind you — and we’ll hang the rest over on the kitchen line.”
The boy propped the sneakers against the log, shot a nasty look at Weston, and marched over to the rope. He slung his balled-up shirt and pants over the line.
“Here, let me help.” Weston nearly choked on his own words. “We’ll drape them evenly, so they’ll dry quicker. Like this.” He shook out the wadded shirt and clothes-pinned it to the line.
“Thanks.” Matthew didn’t sound like he meant it.
“You’re welcome.” Weston studied the kid. What would his own self at that age have responded to? Not much. “Fishing or horses?”
“ You riding?” The eye-daggers were back.
“Not this time. Paisley’s got it.”
“Riding, then. I’ve had enough of the lake.”
Weston gestured toward the makeshift corral, where several voices chattered as the group tacked up. “Have at it.”
As the kid stalked away, Weston rolled his shoulders. He became aware of someone beside him and glanced down.
Susanna Little stood there, shaking her head. “That boy needs help.”
Ya think?
She sighed. “He’s an only child, and his parents expect a lot out of him. I don’t think he gets much love and attention.”
Weston had had the love, at least from his mother. Dad had been something else. They’d clashed over everything, from which boot to put on first to whether Weston could ride the bull.
Great. He’d turned into his own father, grousing bitterly at everything and everyone. One big difference? He didn’t have kids of his own to poison by treating them the same way.
No, he’d settle for raking other people’s kids through the coals.
Wrong answer, Weston.
Susanna wiped her eyes. Wait, what? The woman was sniffling over someone else’s rebel? “Isn’t that all anyone needs? Just love. Jesus gives that in abundance. Paisley mentioned you’re both believers when we corresponded prior to the trip. I don’t know how to reach Matthew with God’s love, though. Any ideas?”
“Me?” Weston couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “I’m the last person to ask.”
“Oh?” She angled her face and studied him. “I don’t understand.”
“He’s just like me.” The admission hurt.
“What reached you?”
He wanted to say, “Nothing.” He wanted to walk away and hurl rocks in the lake. But he couldn’t. It had been an honest question, and Susanna didn’t deserve a pouting co-leader.
And she wasn’t entirely wrong. He was a Christian. He might struggle a whole lot with living like one, but the message had taken root inside him, regardless. How had that happened? How had he been so firmly entrenched that he failed to allow the presence of the Holy Spirit to mold him into a godly man?
Paisley forced her annoyance with Weston out of her mind. She and the kids had a great ride around the small lake, fording a couple of creeks that tumbled into it and the wider one that flowed outward. Then she set up the afternoon’s ‘capture the flag’ contest and let the kids go at it before turning to see if she could help Susanna with dinner preparations. Not that there was much to do, since Nadine had sent simple, mostly ready-to-heat meals.
Where was Weston? That seemed to be today’s Groundhog Day question, rolling around again and again with no answer. He’d tried to get out of helping lead this backcountry trip, and she’d pushed him into acquiescence.
Did that mean she deserved the silent treatment he was dishing out? If he was trying to make sure she never cornered him again for something like this, he’d succeeded. She needed a co-leader who shouldered his or her share. Someone who didn’t purposefully antagonize impressionable kids.
Matthew wasn’t bad. He just needed a gentle touch. Needed someone to see who he was beneath the bluster.
Sort of like Weston.
Huh. No wonder the two clashed, but Weston was the grownup and should be in control of his own actions and reactions.
“Do you have time to give me a hand?” Susanna smiled at Paisley. “I’ve started the big pot of chili heating, so it’s just a matter of making the cornbread mix into pancakes and setting up the serving line.”
Say what? “Cornbread pancakes?”
“Nadine prepped a mix, but since we don’t have an oven, we agreed this would be the easiest. The kids can dip them in the chili if they want, or just butter them and munch them on the side.”
“Clever. I’m glad you had a chance to go over the menu with Nadine before we rode out. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you taking over the meals like this.”
“It’s the least I could do. Harvey was so excited about signing us up as chaperones, but I’ve never been camping a day in my life, and there didn’t seem to be anything I could really help with until this need came to light.”
“You’ve managed the camp stove just fine for someone who’s never done it before.”
“Thank you, sweetie. I appreciate that. Would you rather make the cornbread pancakes or handle the rest?”
“I’m on the cornbread.” Paisley picked up the large Ziplock bag and scanned the instructions written on it in felt pen. “Just add water! Sounds simple enough.”
“Harvey and the kids caught a few trout earlier.” Susanna stacked paper plates beside the camp stove. “He seems to think we should cook those up along with dinner.”
“Mmm, trout.”
“At least, he cleaned them.” The woman shuddered. “But I don’t think there’s enough to go around. I wish he’d just have tossed them back in the water. ”
“I’m not a huge fan of catch-and-release.”
“Why not? It’s better for the fish not to be killed and eaten, right?”
“Maybe? But being snagged and reeled in and lifted out of the water is traumatizing for them. And removing the fishing lure isn’t always simple, even with a barbless hook. I’m a fan of fishing for food, but not just for the ‘fun’ of it.”
“Huh. That’s an interesting viewpoint. I’ve never thought of that before. I thought all conservationists were in favor of returning fish to the water.”
“Not this one,” Paisley murmured, stirring water into the dry ingredients. “But when Weston gets back, you could ask him to wrap the trout in foil and cook them in the fire, since the frying pans will be in use with the cornbread. I’m sure he knows how to do that, and we’ve got foil along.”
“Good idea.” Susanna set the two frying pans on the camp stove. “You two really should be dating.”
Paisley gulped. Back to this again? “Weston and me? No.”
“Why not?”
“Uh… why not ?” This was where she said because he was the same to her as any of the other men who worked at Sweet River, but Susanna would probably see through that. “I doubt there’d be any future for us. We’re much too different.”
“You know what they say.” Susanna chuckled. “Opposites attract and all that. Why, my sister used to say that if she and her husband agreed on everything, one of them would be unnecessary.”
“I guess that’s a point.” Not a very good one, but the more she protested, the more Susanna would think she was right.
“Harvey and I have a lot of differences, too,” Susanna confided. “He’s such a neat freak and I’m, well… I guess I’m a slob.”
Paisley glanced over as she dropped butter in the heating pan. “You’ve done a great job keeping this camp kitchen in order.”
“There’s not much to it, and nothing else to do.”
“Another point.” Paisley chuckled. “I’m not very tidy, either. I blame my ADHD, but that might be a copout. I don’t know.”
“There’s a benefit to marrying a neat freak, at least if he actually does the cleaning and doesn’t just nag his woman to get on it all the time.”
Paisley didn’t even know Weston’s habits on that front. The stable and tack room were always tidy, but maybe his serfs did that.
“Anyway, just saying, having different strengths is a really good thing in a marriage, so long as you respect that and work together for common goals.”
“I’m not marrying Weston. I barely even like him some days.” Most days, lately. Today, for instance.
A twig cracked behind her. Probably one of the kids sneaking around to keep their flag safe. But… what if it wasn’t?
She whirled around to see Weston standing not far away, boots braced, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the disapproving frown she’d come to expect. Who was she to think she could change him? Nobody, that’s who.
“I barely like you, either. Most of the time, not at all. ”
She shrugged. “Then I guess we’re on the same page.”
Susanna chuckled. “Invite me to the wedding.”
Paisley pivoted and glared at Susanna, who smirked while she flipped the cornbread pancakes Paisley was supposedly in charge of. “Thanks for nothing.”
“You’re welcome.” Susanna seemed barely able to keep from laughing out loud.
Was this a little taste of what Weston felt like when Paisley prodded him to smile about something? Because Susanna wasn’t the slightest bit funny.