Redwood Bend

  And after all that baring of souls, all Stu had to say was, “God, I’d hate to lose that BBJ. She’s sweet!”

  The afternoon ride was not only beautiful, but silent. That part was typical as bikers didn’t have conversations when they wound noisily around the mountain curves and broke single file for logging trucks. They ended their day as they had the three days before—at Jack’s.

  “Has Preacher got the bouillabaisse going?” Walt wanted to know, because he’d been to the marina and delivered the seafood components.

  “I think you’ll be satisfied,” Jack said. “I’ve been helping and I’m satisfied.”

  “And how do you help?” Dylan asked.

  “Every so often I wander back there, scoop out a little and let him know how he’s doing.”

  They all laughed. Jack served up a couple of beers, a cup of coffee for Walt and a cola for Lang. By now, given the end of their fourth day in town, when people stopped by the bar, they wanted to know what the bikers had seen that day. And the men were more than happy to describe their ride, the views, the little towns they rode through, the other riders they ran into and sometimes rode with for a while.

  They raved about the stew, had some coffee and dessert, and eventually said their goodbyes because they were heading out in the morning. There was a lot of handshaking all around. Preacher came out of the kitchen where he and Walt grasped fists and pulled each other shoulder to shoulder like brothers.

  “You come back,” Preacher said.

  “Absolutely,” Walt promised. “And you know how to reach me if you ever feel like a trip to the valley. I have some places I’d love to take you for dinner.”

  And then they retired to the cabins.

  When they got there they found Luke was just stirring up a fire in a shallow pit in front of his porch and it was natural to wander down that way. Luke’s wife, Shelby, sat in a chair on the porch and their handyman, Art, was beside her. Luke welcomed them all to join them and before long Walt had himself a chair by the fire while Lang, Stu and Dylan stood around with Luke. They talked about nothing in particular—weather, fishing, the long ride back to Montana. Little by little they broke up—Shelby went inside, Art retired to his cabin, Walt decided to turn in. And finally Luke indicated a bucket of sand.

  “I’m calling it a day, boys. When you’re done with the fire, bury it. We’re coming up on fire season.”

  “You bet,” Dylan said. “If we don’t see you in the morning…”

  “I’m up early,” he said. “Knock before you go. It’s been a real pleasure.”

  And then they were left, the Childress Aviation management, sitting on the porch steps in front of a small fire. A few moments of quiet passed before Lang asked, “So…this is really it for the company, huh?”

  “Not necessarily. We’re definitely gonna have to lose the BBJ,” Dylan said, “but that should give us six months to figure out the next move. Either we find some charters for the Bonanzas and the Lear to keep us going or, the next step is, alternate work plans. We have a snowplow for the runway—maybe we start a little plowing business in the winter.”

  Lang laughed. “I’ve been using that plow on my road anyway.”

  “If you two can manage to find Montana on your own, I want to spend a little more time in California,” Dylan said. “I’m going to check out the smaller airports around here, see if there’s any work for our charters, any interest in a partnership. We have some things in common—charters into the mountains and isolated hunting and fishing locations. And also…” He paused. “I’m considering another idea. Sometimes over the years I’d hear from an old friend of mine, a producer, that he’d like to do a movie, if I had any interest. Jay Romney—he’s one of the good guys. I should listen to his ideas. It could keep us in business.”

  “Make a movie?” Stu asked, suddenly interested.

  Dylan lifted a corner of his mouth in a half smile. “I’ve made a couple of movies. And had that long-running sitcom as a kid.”

  “Yeah, but make a movie now?” Stu asked.

  “I could,” he said. “If the terms are right.”

  “Would actresses be involved?” Stu asked.

  Dylan laughed and Lang gave Stu a wallop to the back of the head.

  “Hey! I’m just saying…”

  “There would undoubtedly be actresses, but I have no idea what he has in mind. Could be a totally ridiculous sitcom reunion show of some kind, or it could be something else. But if there’s significant money, I should talk to him. Could buy Childress Aviation a couple of years and give the economy time to turn around.”

  “I hate to think of you doing anything you hate,” Lang said. “Life’s too short.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Stu asked. “Make a lot of money, date actresses, have some fun… Tell him I’ll do it.”

  Lang and Dylan had been best friends since college, so Lang knew everything there was to know about Dylan’s childhood, but Stu didn’t.

  “My experience as a child actor wasn’t good,” he said. “I thought it was at the time because I was spoiled and could have anything I wanted as long as I did the job I was paid to do because a lot of other jobs depended on it. But I was an ass. Every kid on that set was an ass and we were pure trouble—I’m sure people hated to deal with us. By the time I was thirteen my best friend, Roman, and I were fooling with liquor, pot and girls when we could get away with it, which was often. We pulled pranks, we busted up property, made off with cars we weren’t licensed to drive. I thought we were screwing around and having fun. We were cocky. Immune to failure. I didn’t really get that Roman was in over his head. He died of an overdose at the age of sixteen—he took a bunch of his mother’s pills and washed ’em down with rum, looking for a high. He had been my closest friend for a long time. We weren’t together the night he died. I was fifteen. The whole thing—it almost destroyed me.”

  Stu was younger than Dylan and Lang and hadn’t been up to speed on the gossip surrounding Dylan’s Hollywood career. Plus, being a guy, he had no fascination with another guy’s antics. He merely whistled.

  “My grandmother flew back to L.A. from London, took me to Roman’s funeral and got me out of Hollywood. She put her own career on hold and raised me in Payne until I went to college. She probably saved my life. So, going back to that lifestyle…”

  “Yeah, but you’re not stupid anymore,” Stu said. “You’re older now.”

  Dylan opened his mouth to speak, to explain that it was more complicated than that, that he had an entire family there in various levels of fame and infamy, from his half sister’s chronic problems with drugs to his half brother’s long running habit of trashing hotel rooms in which porn stars or hookers always seemed to be present. One stepsister was in drug treatment and a stepbrother in jail for dealing. And that was not to mention his mother, who he considered the worst of all. But before he could say any more, Lang put a firm hand on his shoulder and, in the dark, gave his head the smallest shake.

  Don’t bother, he was saying. “All Stu wants is a girl to spend the night with. He’s not going to understand any of this.”

  “Right,” Dylan said. “So I’ll get in touch with Jay and find out if this is just a lot of talk or if there’s real interest with a contract and money attached. And if it’s a way to keep us afloat a couple of years, I’ll consider it.”

  Stu grinned hugely and stood up. “Call if you need backup on that movie or at some Hollywood parties!”

  “You’ll be the first,” Dylan said drily.

  And Stu ambled off to his cabin.

  It was quiet around the fire for a minute before Lang said, “You probably should’ve told him you’re not keeping the BBJ, even if you get an Oscar.”

  Dylan laughed.

  “Don’t do this unless it really feels right,” Lang said. “Don’t do it for me. I can always manage, you know that.”

  “Yeah? You have a wife and five kids.”

  “Five brilliant kids. I’ll rent ’em out. Sell
’em to the circus.”

  Dylan laughed with a shaking of his head. Lang and Sue Ann were the most devoted and conscientious parents Dylan had ever known.

  “Seriously.”

  “Yeah, trust me—I’m not stupid anymore,” he said, echoing Stu. “I’m older now.” And then with a touch of solemnity he said, “Trust me. I take this very seriously. Jay Romney’s a decent guy or I wouldn’t even talk to him.”

  Lang stood up. “Do what you want, I’ve always got your back. But I’m with Walt—it doesn’t take that much to keep me happy and working. I’d be happy to run that snowplow around town until Childress Aviation gets on its feet again. I’m better at driving a snowplow than running a company anyway.”

  Dylan stood and put out his hand. “Thanks, Lang. Can you manage without me while I stay behind?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “This is your chance to file a complaint with management.”

  Lang just gave a snort of laughter. “You going to bed?” Lang asked.

  “I might sit here awhile.”

  “Kill the fire,” Lang reminded him. “See you in the morning. I expect a good send-off.”

  Four

  Katie laughed at what seemed like a perfect life shaping up. She’d had a great dinner with her brother last night—burgers on the grill with Leslie. She took her boys to the new Virgin River school, introduced them to Miss Timm, the teacher, and signed them up for the summer camp program. They needed at least one program to keep them busy, and to keep them from becoming bear food. She couldn’t watch them every second. Then she went back to her enchanted cabin in the woods and installed the newly purchased TV in the loft, hooking it up to the satellite dish. Then she changed her oil.

  How sexy, she thought. Well, after a major trip, that was a good idea, and these were the kinds of things it was always hard to find time for. When she’d finished and used a cone to pour the oil into an empty plastic milk container for discarding, she relaxed on her porch with a soda. She drank it out of the can and put her feet up on the porch rail. A small shaft of sunlight on the porch warmed her bare legs; it was nice to finally be in shorts again. Summer in the mountains would be so much more comfortable than the hot, steamy summers of Sacramento had been.

  The hood of the SUV was still up, the jug of oil sitting next to the oil-coated pan on the ground and she thought, I am seriously demented, because I consider this a flawless life. Time for everything. No rush. Someone else watching the boys for a while. Isolated in the woods, surrounded by the beauty of nature. In fact, if it hadn’t been marred by the growl of an engine, she would think she was in the Garden of Eden.

  And then he drove his motorcycle right into her yard.

  She didn’t move a muscle, but took a drink of her cola as he, hidden behind the dark visor of his helmet, revved his engine a couple of times.

  Then he shut down and got off the bike, dragging off the helmet. She gave herself a lot of credit for not sharply inhaling at the shock of his good looks. He swaggered toward her, peeling off his gloves. He had that swagger thing down; it was probably due to the constriction of the tight jeans around his hips. She took another slow slug of the soda. “Lost?” she finally asked.

  “Just checking out the back roads,” he answered. “Car trouble?”

  “Nope. Everything’s fine.”

  “You usually park with the hood up like that?”

  “I just changed the oil,” she informed him. “Lots of miles on that car in the last few months. I just moved here from Vermont.”

  He grinned at her and touched his cheek, indicating the oil on hers. “You might’a got a little on you, there.”

  “Yeah?” she asked, returning the grin. “I’ll clean up later. I thought you left. I heard the gang pulled outta town.”

  “The boys left,” he said, slapping his gloves into the palm of his hand and looking around her clearing. “I’m hanging out for a couple of days. Taking a closer look at this place. Interesting area.”

  “Don’t you have a job?” she asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  “Right now this is my job,” he answered. “Don’t you have a job?”

  She gave him that one, laughing. “Besides mothering five-year-old boys? Not yet,” she said, finally taking her feet off the rail and standing up. She tugged on her shorts; they’d been riding up. “Want a Coke?”

  “Why not.” He shrugged.

  “Can okay?”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  She disappeared into the cabin and was back in seconds with a cold can. She handed it to him and he studied it briefly. “Diet,” he finally said.

  “Well, if I sat on a vibrating machine all day, I probably wouldn’t have to watch my weight, either. By the way, who pays you to do that? I might be interested in that job.”

  He came up on the porch and casually took the second chair, propping his feet up on the rail as hers had been. He wore leather pointy-toed cowboy boots; she wore old beat-up tennis shoes with a little oil on them.

  “I probably wasn’t clear. The bike was recreation while I was riding with my friends but it’s now transportation—I’m here on business.” He popped the top on the can and took a drink. He made a face.

  She returned to her seat, put her feet back on the rail. “What kind of business?”

  “Well…my friends and I have a small air charter operation in Montana. Very small. A little airport in the middle of a bunch of national parks, great hunting grounds and dude ranches that aren’t doing such a great business right now. People are a little too hard up for fancy vacations. So I’m checking out the area fixed base operations to see if there’s any opportunity around here.”

  She sat up a little. “Really? You fly?”

  He gave a nod. “I fly. Our airport is a long way from the big airports, so, sometimes people need a puddle jumper. Or a charter to a lodge or something.”

  Genuinely interested, she turned and faced him. “Fun,” she said, smiling. “I’d love to do that. Fly planes. Or jump out of them. Fun.”

  “Why don’t you?” he asked. Because it never occurred to Dylan that you didn’t pursue any old thing that came to mind.

  She laughed indulgently. “Oh, gosh, a little busy, I guess. And my line of work never left a lot of disposable income for extras, like learning to fly or skydive or mountain climbing or…or a lot of things.”

  “What line of work is that?” he asked, completely interested.

  “Hmm,” she said, taking a drink of her soda. “Well, my dad owned a hardware store, in which I was working on Saturdays by the time I was eleven. By the time I was twenty and had a couple of years of college under my belt, both my parents were gone, and Conner and I were struggling to run the store. He made sure I stayed in school, but I worked as hard in that store as he did until I got married and moved away.”

  “In a hardware store?” he asked. Then he gave a little laugh. “She changes tires and changes oil…”

  “I do a lot of things. When the boys came along, Conner stuck me with paperwork. I was happier in the store, building things, helping customers learn how to build and repair things, but you know—a person can only do so much.” She whistled and shook her head. “Twins. Couldn’t be twin girls, right? I’m probably better off with boys, given that I enjoy team sports a lot more than things like ballet and origami.”

  He looked into her eyes. “You were kind of busy, I guess.”

  “I lost Charlie right before they were born,” she said. “If not for Conner, I don’t know what I would’ve done, so when he gets all big brother on me, I let it go. But from twenty-one to twenty-six I worked full-time in that store. I worked as hard as Conner and I did as much, too. I wasn’t some girlie girl who could only do the books. I trained to be a phys ed teacher, but we had a commitment to the store.”

  Now, this business about losing Charlie, this brought Dylan upright. His feet came off the rail; he turned toward her, leaning his elbows on his knees an
d said, “If you don’t mind my asking about Charlie…”

  “He was army. He was deployed, I was pregnant, he was killed on a mission, the details of which I’ll never know, and the boys never knew him. But I have medals and pictures and I try to be sure they know about their dad. He was a great guy. He was a hero. When they’re older, they’ll be proud of him.”

  Dylan nearly blanched. The closest he would ever come to being that kind of hero would be playing one in a movie. “Army widow,” he said for lack of anything intelligent.