Thanksgiving Groom (5 page)

Penelope's mother had never “roughed it.” The surprise would be that Penelope had. But her adventures were her business.

“Here you go, a knife and potatoes.” Mrs. Johnson set a bowl on the table. “To put them in after they're peeled.”

Penelope picked up the knife and the first potato.

Okay, not a problem. Peel the potato.
She glanced across the table at Wilma, who had a potato in her hand and was circling it with the knife.
Easy-peasy.

The first potato disappeared with the peel. The five-
inch spud turned into a three-inch dagger-looking thing. She'd do better on the next one.

She chopped it up and tossed it in the bowl and then reached for the next potato.

“Haven't cooked much?” Wilma chopped her potato into the bowl.

“Not much at all. I can make a mean cup of single-pod coffee.”

“That's a skill.” The male voice behind her was laced with sarcasm. She shifted and shot him a look that was also considered a skill.

He didn't wither.

Instead, he laughed a little. The sound was as delicious, maybe more so, than the cup of coffee she'd been dreaming about a moment earlier. Smooth, a little sweet, and it could warm a person down to the middle. She turned back to the potato she held and he stepped closer.

“Leave some of the potato behind and we'll consider you a pro,” he teased with a smile that matched the laugh.

“Thanks, I'll remember that.”

Tucker crossed the kitchen with the bowl of fish. Penelope lifted her gaze to watch. She watched him pour water over the fish, and then he poured it over his hands. Without turning, he tended the stove. He shoved pieces of wood onto the embers, poked them, watched as they flamed and then closed the door.

When he turned to face them his face was ruddy from the wind outside and the heat of the stove. His sandy brown hair distracted her, because it was a shade
darker than the beginnings of a beard that covered his jawline.

Why, oh why did a man's mouth look like that when it was framed by whiskers?

“Something on your mind?” He winked, then reached into a drawer, pulling out a paring knife.

“Nope.” She anchored her attention back on the potato-peeling business and ignored the sigh from Wilma.

Tucker pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. Sat down, his shoulder close to hers, his scent all masculine and outdoors sifting around her, blending with the wood smoke.

“Why are we peeling potatoes? Didn't you have faith in our ability to bring home fish?” He shot the question at Wilma.

“Of course I had faith. But I also have the good sense to be prepared.” Wilma smiled sweetly and kept peeling. “And potatoes are always good. Rather than the soup I planned, I'll fry them. Where's that husband of mine?”

Tucker shrugged. “Saw him out by the shed.”

Noncommittal. Penelope wondered what he wasn't saying. For a lawyer, he was a man of few words. Maybe that was for the best.

But why did he need to be noncommittal about Clark being near the woodshed? There were too many secrets floating around here, and not just hers. She'd seen the two men earlier that morning walking around the side of the house, pointing at something. When she'd peeked out the front door they scuffed around in the snow and headed back to the wood they'd been chopping.

T
ucker watched the women peel a few potatoes and then made the excuse that he needed to do something outside. What he needed was a few minutes of not sharing space with people. More specifically with a person.

He found Clark outside, looking off into the woods, his cap pulled low, with the flaps covering his ears. The older man turned, his eyes dark and troubled in a face that was weathered and worn. But he smiled more these days. Tucker wondered if it was about faith? The older couple had been bitter when he first showed up here at their hideaway.

They'd welcomed him, of course, but they'd been hurting and looking for a way to get back to faith. Because they had trusted God and thought He had let them down.

Tucker hadn't really blamed his pain on God. He had blamed himself, thinking he should have been able to do something. He should have done what needed to be done—for his dad. For a young girl whose life was taken too soon. He should have done more to protect them, not done more for himself.

He stood next to Clark, sighing and breathing in frigid air. Dusk was already falling and the gray sky was getting darker.

“Who do you think is out there?”

Tucker shrugged. “Not a clue, but it has something to do with her.”

“Yeah, the two kind of showed up together.”

Penelope and trouble seemed to go hand in hand.

“I'll give her ankle a few more days to heal and then I'll have to walk her out of here. I guess I can't run from my life forever.”

Clark nodded, he flashed Tucker a quick look and then his gaze shot back to the woods. “I know. We've been out here for half of a year. Half a year of praying and trying to find peace. Our son was going to serve God, and instead God took him. I keep thinking about all of our prayers going unanswered. I know better, Tucker, I know God wasn't ignoring us. And for years I've preached a good sermon about God's will and finding peace in His will. But here I am…”

“Human?”

Clark smiled when he looked at Tucker and Tucker felt a lift in his own spirits. He gave God some credit for the plane engine failing at just the right minute for him to land in the lake close to this cabin. He didn't know where he'd have gone if that hadn't happened.

“Tucker, I've been angry with God for a good long while. Or hurt. I guess I felt like a friend let me down. A friend I've always trusted.”

“I get that.” Hadn't he felt a little of the same when his mom left them?

“Wilma and I keep praying, trying to decide what
to do. It's been hard, thinking about going back to the mission field.”

“So you're going back when I take her out of here?”

“We'll discuss it and let you know.”

“I'm not crazy about leaving the two of you out here alone.” Tucker couldn't look at Clark, but he knew Clark would smile.

“We won't be alone.”

“I guess you won't.” Tucker shoved his hands into his pockets and tried not to think about feeling alone. He'd never been more alone in his life than the day he realized his dad wouldn't be calling him anymore. He would never have another chance to make amends.

What a crazy way to leave things, with anger over his dad choosing to buy a home in Treasure Creek. Stubborn. They'd both had a hand in the rift. They'd both been stubborn and unwilling to yield.

“Tucker, the pain doesn't last forever.” Clark must have guessed his thoughts. The older man was good at that, at reading Tucker's expression. “Sure.”

“I guess you wouldn't believe me if I said that someday you'll look back and see what God was doing with all of this mess.”

“Yeah, well, I haven't had my ‘aha' moment yet, if that's what you're talking about.”

“You could call it that.”

Tucker pushed down a load of guilt and anger, mixed in with a reasonable amount of pain. Those were the moments he was having, and there was nothing ‘aha'
about it. Two people had died. One that he should have been there for. One that he hadn't known.

“Do you think we'll be able to get Penelope back to Treasure Creek?” Clark asked as he turned back to the house with Tucker following.

The two of them walked slow in the cool night air. “Does that mean you're going?”

“If we go, I should have said.”

“We'll have to go slow. The road should be less than three days' walk. From there we can probably get a ride.”

“We have the tent, plenty of food and warm sleeping bags. We'll have to carry quite a bit of our supplies.”

“I have a good pack. Hopefully, this weather will hold.”

“We can pray.”

“Yeah.”

“Fish for dinner?” Clark climbed the stairs, pausing on the porch to wait for Tucker.

Tucker turned his attention back to his friend. “Yeah, fish and potatoes.”

“I thought I smelled something good.” Clark opened the front door. “I don't know if our guests are still around, but let's keep the women inside unless we go out with them.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“I'll be in shortly.”

Clark stood in the doorway, letting out a small shaft of yellow light from one of the lanterns in the hall. “Wilma will put your plate on the stove.”

“She doesn't have to.”

“But she will.”

The door closed with a soft thud. Tucker stood on the porch, looking out into the darkened woods. Nothing but silence, the occasional screech of a bird or some other wild animal and emptiness. It should have made him feel alone. Instead he felt a presence that settled over his heart, pushing at him to acknowledge something long forgotten that had been buried so deep inside him that he'd stopping thinking about it—about faith.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the first time he'd prayed, and the last. He could remember the first, when Mrs. Parker had asked him to pray at the end of a Sunday school class. The last? He couldn't remember, but he thought it was the day he came home from school and found the note from his mother, telling them she'd found someone else, someone who could give her the life she'd always dreamed of.

He opened his eyes, angry with himself for going back to that moment, to feeling like that kid again. He walked off the porch and breathed in the ice-cold air, letting it settle in his lungs and hoping it would clear his mind.

He wasn't that kid.

And people inside the house were expecting him to help get them to Treasure Creek. He peered into the woods, knowing that he wouldn't see anything, or anyone. Maybe they were gone by now. Maybe they'd been looking for something other than Penelope Lear.

That didn't add up, though. There wasn't much else to find in these woods. And if a person was lost, they'd ask for help. Someone lost would ask for shelter.

The door opened. He turned and it was Penelope. She
hobbled across the porch, silent for a moment, staring up at the now dark night sky.

“The stars don't shine like this in the city.” She sounded breathless, a little amazed.

“No, they don't.” He walked up the steps and stood next to her.

He looked up at the clear night sky and the millions of stars that glittered like diamonds in the velvety darkness. He'd missed this, missed the silence and the peacefulness of Alaska.

He grew up just a short distance from Treasure Creek. He didn't want to let the memories in—of his dad, fishing, and sometimes Jake showing up, to go on the boat with them. He'd been all too glad to leave it behind, to leave his dad behind. He'd been glad to leave hard times behind.

And yet here he was, back at home. He could have gone back to Seattle after the funeral. He could have buried himself in work. He'd picked the Alaskan wilderness. Maybe because it reminded him of his dad.

“Are you going to eat?”

“In a few minutes. I was just enjoying…” The peace and quiet, by himself.

“Being alone.” She turned, looking up at him. Blond hair catching the silver moonlight.

Tucker took a smart step away from her, away from temptation.

“Being alone is nice,” he admitted, smiling a little because she had read him so easily.

“But I crashed your alone party?” She leaned against the post and looked out at the woods, away from him.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Sorry.” She glanced his way with a smile that he didn't think showed remorse. “Or maybe I'm not. I love it here.”

“I hope you're feeling up to a little bit of a journey and a real chance to prove what you're made of.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“In the next few days, as soon as your ankle is ready for travel, we're heading out.”

“Walking?” Her eyes were wide, dark orbs in a pale face.

“How else?”

“We could find the Jeep?”

“Which is where?”

“I don't know.” Her voice raised a little, got a little higher in pitch.

“Well, I have an idea, why don't you let Clark and me take care of the travel arrangements.”

“That's the problem, your plan includes walking for days in the cold. It's Alaska and it's November. Or has that little detail been forgotten?”

“Rather self-righteous for a person who went off by herself after a treasure no one is positive exists.”

“I was trying to help people.”

“Now I'm trying to help you.” And ignore the way her lips pursed and her eyes sparked like dark blue fire.
Redirect, Your Honor.
If he'd been in court, he would have redirected—his thoughts, her words, her look. “Weren't you the person who wanted to prove herself?”

The wind picked up, cold and out of the north. She shivered and huddled down into what he thought was
probably very little warmth. They'd have to find her more suitable clothing for the trip out.

“So we'll walk out. Fine.”

“I thought you'd be thrilled at the prospect of getting back to civilization.”

“I think I'm doing just fine here. I'm actually enjoying myself. I'm not weak or a sissy.”

“So you don't have any desire to get back to town, to electricity and to running water?”

Her chin came up at a stubborn angle. “No, I'm not in a hurry to get back. I could live off the land if I had to.”

He laughed. “You couldn't fight your way out of a wet paper bag.”

“That isn't true. I caught more fish than you. I could learn to shoot a gun and cook…game, or whatever.”

His laughter faded because he couldn't laugh in the face of such an outrageous and obstinate protest from a woman wearing fuzzy boots.

She quickly looked away, but not before he saw shadows. He felt bad for baiting her. She was just as on the run as he was. Maybe more so. At least he was making his own decisions.

“Don't worry, we won't be there for a few days. I promise that after three days of pretty serious roughing it on the trail, you'll have proven yourself. And you'll be ready for Treasure Creek. You'll probably be ready to climb in your dad's jet and fly back to Anchorage.”

“Thanks for thinking so highly of me.” She turned and walked away, still limping, but her back was stiff and unyielding.

He was arrogant, and every other word he'd ever been
called. He could have told her, had she waited to hear it, that he didn't even think highly of himself.

It wouldn't have hurt him to tell her that he admired her, that she was brave. He figured she'd been testing herself on that for years, just to prove it to a world that never noticed. No one noticed but herself.

And probably him. But he didn't want to notice.

He stalked off the porch and across the rough yard of the cabin. Ten minutes alone. He needed those ten minutes to tell God why he was still angry and why he wasn't ready to leave this cabin and the isolation of the Alaskan wilderness. He resented being forced to return to Treasure Creek, and he resented the intrusion of a woman who was determined to poke her nose into his life.

He glanced up at the dark sky, and to the north. Wisps of white and lavender light swirled in the night sky. The northern lights.

Where was God? When his mom walked out; when his dad held onto faith and Tucker couldn't; when his dad was dying and stubbornness kept the two of them from talking. Where was God?

When Anne died.

He let out a deep breath, and he wanted to hurt someone. He hadn't known her, but her death had changed his life. Because if it hadn't been for him, she would still be alive. Her parents would still have her.

If he wanted, he could make a big, long list of why he didn't need God. And he ignored the push, the voice that told him to write down a list of reasons he needed God.

The front door of the cabin opened again. He expected
Clark. It was Penelope again. She stood in the lamplight, her hair brushed gold by the flame of the lantern she held.

It wasn't Christmas yet, but she reminded him of Christmas. She reminded him of twinkling lights, candy canes, the first snow. And annoying music. The kind that started out okay, but after a while it got under your skin.

He added the last as a final grasp at sanity. Fortunately, she turned and went back inside. Maybe she hadn't seen him. Maybe she decided to leave well enough alone. Either way, he was grateful the door closed.

 

Penelope helped Wilma wash the dishes. Clark had eaten and gone off by himself. Penelope thought he spent time each evening in prayer. Tucker still hadn't come inside. Or if he had, he hadn't shown his face to claim the plate of food left warming on the stove for him.

The water in the bowl was lukewarm and even the rinse water was a little sudsy and gray. She dipped the clean plate that Wilma handed her, and then dried it and set it on the counter. Her mind slipped back to Treasure Creek and the small community church that she'd attended. She thought back to Amazing Grace and how it had felt to find faith, to fill the emptiness in her life with something that had seemed to be missing for as long as she could remember. Faith. That missing ingredient. She thought it was missing in Tucker's life, too.