Chapter 9 #3
Topher was smiling at him. “I can imagine that you have few memories without Harley in them.”
Jericho made a face. “She did live next door.”
“You two were inseparable.” Topher loaded more logs.
Huh. They were. “Sometimes, in the winter, when the northern lights were out, we had this . . . signal. My room faced hers and I’d flash my light, or she’d flash hers, then I’d sneak out and we’d meet on her dock.
We’d lay there in the snow, or sometimes in the summertime cold, and watch.
It made me feel small and yet caught up into something bigger too.
Like God had put on a show, just for us. ”
And oh, that sounded wretchedly sappy coming out of his mouth, but, “The first time I kissed her, it was under one of those northern light shows.”
A smile from Topher. “I kissed Winter once, under the northern lights.” He made a face. “It didn’t take.”
Right. Topher had sort of been pining for Winter most of his life, so maybe he did understand the pull of the right woman.
The thought stilled Jericho. The right woman. Not just his first love. His only love. No wonder he’d let the bold words out last night . . . truth, spilling out of his disobedient heart.
As if reading his thoughts, Topher said, “Surprising few days. You back, Harley back, now Gabe. Lots of drama.” He picked up another log. “Feels like old times.”
Jericho frowned at him.
“Oh please. There’s been an open wound in Copper Mountain since you two left, and it only deepened with the death of your parents. Except now, God has brought you back for a second chance.”
Jericho stood, clapping his hands, log debris falling off his gloves.
“I . . . don’t know. I mean, yeah. I used to .
. .” He sighed, looked out at the lake, the forest beyond.
“We were always spark and then fire. She knows how to push me to my last nerve, and yet, she puts a sort of steel in me. I find myself doing things way beyond myself.”
“So, she makes you a better man?” Topher asked, also cleaning off his mittens.
Better? “Maybe.” And her words from yesterday rumbled back into his head. “Sometimes all we need is someone to remind us who we are.”
She’d brought Orlando out of his funk by reminding him that he was a search dog. A dog who lived to seek and find.
And with her, Jericho became a protector. A man of promise, of commitment. At least, that’s what he’d sounded like to himself last night.
Huh.
“Well, it’s good you’re back. Hud could use the help.”
“What do you mean?” Jericho asked.
Topher frowned at him. “The Eagle’s Nest rebuild has him in over his head.
And I only know this because Hud shows up at our Copper Mountain men’s group sometimes.
Always seems tired. He’s been holding off selling the family house—not sure why since he could use the influx of cash.
The resort needed an entire new heating system last year, so that sucked away almost all his savings.
And then the fires of last summer—the entire town clogged with smoke for about a month—definitely drove down heads in beds, as Hud puts it .
. . Anyway, he says the place needs all new plumbing, along with a new roof, and he’s sort of a one-man show now that Malachi is running the store.
Plus, now Hud’s got the Nest . . . it’s a lot. ”
Jericho just stared at him, hollow. “He mentioned the plumbing but I didn’t know. He never really said anything.”
“Yeah, well, you’re off saving the world, so . . .” Topher lifted a shoulder. “He was the guy who stayed behind. Took care of Malachi. Tried to keep the ship afloat.”
Jericho tried not to hear indictment in his words. Still. “I was deployed.”
“I know. It’s all good. But I’m just saying, maybe that’s why God brought you back. Family. Legacy. You know, that big stuff.”
That big stuff. The words settled in his chest, tightened. But, even then, Harley’s words from last night found him. Their conversation.
“I’m just not enough, I don’t know, but someone always gets hurt.”
“You can’t save everyone.”
“I can try.”
But he hadn’t tried—he’d run. Sort of.
Okay, yes.
“I shouldn’t have reenlisted after my parents’ deaths. It just felt . . . I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do, so I just . . . kept on with what I knew.”
Topher blinked at him, then frowned. A pause, then, “Dude. We all got it. It’s nobody’s fault that life gets overwhelming.
It just . . . does. The worst patients I have are those who can ‘take care of themselves.’” He mitten-quoted the words.
“I’m trying to help them, and they won’t let me, or they get in the way of my giving them the treatment they need, and then they just make it worse.
They hurt themselves or prolong their suffering or even miss out on something that can help them heal faster.
Drives me wild. And sure, I get it. They only see the present.
Their pain. Their panic. They can’t look ahead, to see their way out, so they just .
. . keep holding on. But they forget that I know what to do. ”
He leaned down and looped his mitten through the leather handle and picked up one side of the caddy. “I want to say to them, just admit you’re hurt already. There’s no shame in asking for help when you need it.”
Jericho took the other side and lifted. Heavier than he thought, the supply of logs enough to keep them warm for the day, even into the night if they needed.
They fought their way toward the cabin.
At the stoop, the door opened. Gabe stood there.
It still felt like Jericho was seeing a ghost. Mostly because the guy only slightly resembled the Gabe he remembered. This guy seemed confident. Capable. So maybe yes, resurrected into a new life.
He held the door and stepped back. Orlando barreled in ahead of them, snowy, shaking off the flakes.
“Dude!” Gabe said, but he laughed.
They came in and set the carrier down in the rack by the fire. Then Gabe knelt in front of the fire, moved the screen, and started to pile in fresh logs.
The place smelled of maple syrup and cooked oats. And, as Jericho pulled off his gloves and hat, he spotted Harley in the kitchen with Winter.
Harley looked over at him and smiled.
And heat, maybe fire, just poured through him. She looked so . . .
Happy.
The sense of it shook him. He hadn’t seen that since . . . well, maybe the summer a few weeks before he enlisted, when he’d . . .
When he’d told her he loved her.
The moment swept over him, the memory as vivid as yesterday, the sun refusing the night, the sense their tomorrows would never end.
“Hungry?” she asked now as she set the table with bowls.
“Like a bear after hibernation.”
She lifted an eyebrow and then laughed, something short and sweet and . . . oh yes. He was keeping those promises from last night.
Even if she broke his heart.