Читать книгу Rocky Mountain Miracle - Leona Karr - Страница 10

Why did you agree to her request? Scott asked himself as he endeavored to put his thoughts in order after a restless night.

His time plan for turning the property over to a Realtor for immediate listing had been ambushed by a blue-eyed charmer from his past. When he’d heard Allie Lindsey’s voice on his answering machine, he’d felt an undefinable quiver of excitement, but as soon as she had stated her business, the joy had died. The few days he’d spent in the old house had been trying enough, but enduring a two-week church camp would only create a situation that he’d been trying to avoid. The last thing he wanted to do was to surround himself with a past that had promised so much, and delivered only heart-wrenching disappointment.

The camp was, also, far from being ready for twenty kids and their chaperones. His father’s death six weeks ago had put an end to any preparations for the summer. Scott had been slow in picking up the reins and canceling reservations because his father had not kept any kind of organized records. Fortunately, the Irish couple, Patrick and Dorie O’Toole, who worked for his dad had filled him in on the summer schedule.

The O’Tooles had helped Sam run the camp for more than fifteen years. They’d been friends with Scott since he was eleven years old, and all the summers that he and Jimmy had spent in Colorado, the couple had been almost family. The boys had spent lots of nights at their house, listening to Patrick play the guitar, and eating Dorie’s good cooking whenever they got the chance. Patrick was a raw-bone handyman who did everything from handling the camp’s maintenance to supervising exuberant youngsters during the summer and playing a mean game of chess with Sam. His chubby, outgoing wife, Dorie, ran the camp dining room, and her plump figure was a testimonial to her own cooking. She always had a ready hug and smile, and having children around her seemed to make up for the lack of her own. Scott knew how much his dad depended upon the O’Tooles to keep things in the camp running smoothly.

A sense of urgency suddenly overtook Scott. Right after the funeral, Scott had told them that he was closing down the camp and selling the property. They seemed to understand that it was the only thing he could do. Property values were at a premium in this mountain area because of the developing ski areas close by.

What if Pat and Dorie had already sold their own house across the river and moved away? How on earth will I get the camp ready by myself? he asked himself with a start. The last time he’d seen them at the funeral, the grief in their eyes and the slump of their shoulders had told him how much they loved his father. With so many other things on his mind, Scott hadn’t given them a thought—until now. With a jolt, he realized that he hadn’t seen either of them in the few days that he’d been back.

Throwing back the bed covers, he slipped into a pair of cords and a sportsman’s pullover. A valiant sun was breaking through the low, misty clouds as he left the house, and the promise of a lovely June day was in the offing. Breathing in deeply the high mountain air, he drew in pungent smells of pine resin and tangy cedar. He’d almost forgotten how beautifully clear and fresh everything looked with the sparkle of sunshine deepening nature’s tapestries. His ears were filled with the sound of rushing waters lapping and sucking over rocks in the swift-flowing river, and he remembered early morning fishing treks with his dad along the banks. They’d catch their breakfast, and the taste of fresh rainbow trout cooked in butter would always linger in his memory. He’d tried ordering trout in fancy Los Angeles restaurants, but the meal had always been a disappointment.

Just like life, he thought, and he stiffened against memories that taunted him. He should have handled everything through a Realtor. Coming back was a mistake, a big mistake.

He broke into an easy run and his footsteps echoed on the planked bridge as he crossed the river. Patrick and Dorie’s log house was built on the side of a hill on the opposite side of the river from the camp. He bounded up the roughly hewn steps, and knocked briskly on the thick pine door. Homemade chimes hanging from a porch rafter moved in the early morning breeze, making sounds like the muffled notes of an organ.

“Well, saints preserve us, look who’s here,” Dorie said, wiping her hands on her voluminous apron as she opened the door. “We were thinking that you were still in Californy.”

“I’ve been back a few days. I’m trying to go through some things at the house.” He knew his excuse was lame for not coming by and seeing them.

“Pat! Pat, we got company,” she called to her husband. Then she winked at Scott. “Sure, and I knew there was some reason for making a batch of buttermilk pancakes. It isn’t every day a handsome fellow comes calling.”

“You must have heard my stomach growling all the way here,” he teased back, his spirits suddenly made lighter by her laughter. He remembered all the times that he’d found comfort in her good humor. More than once through the years she’d put loving arms around a lonely boy who missed his mother. She’d never met Madeline Davidson, but Scott could tell Dorie didn’t hold much with a mother who could be away from her sons three months out of the year.

“Come on to the kitchen,” she said, leading the way.

Patrick was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a mug of coffee. He was a lanky fellow with a short, reddish beard that covered his bony chin, and a thatch of sandy-colored hair that never wanted to smooth down. There was a surprised lift to his eyebrows as he looked at Scott, but his expression wasn’t friendly like his wife’s. “We didn’t expect to see you in these parts again,” he said gruffly.

Patrick’s briskness made it clear that he didn’t look upon a visit from Scott as a cause for celebration. “What you come over for? Need some help tearing down the place? Can’t them high-flying land speculators bring in their own crews?”

The gravel in his voice warned Scott that he’d put himself in the enemy camp by deciding to sell out to investors. He knew that Pat was like a lot of people who had homes in the canyon. For years they’d fought to keep out any kind of modern developments. They didn’t like progress or change, and his father had been one of them.

“Now, Patrick,” Dorie said with a warning shake of her pancake ladle—she always called him by his full name when she was irritated with him. “Don’t you badger Scott. He’s just trying to do the right thing.”

“I’m here because I need yours and Dorie’s help,” Scott said frankly. He knew better than to try and outfox the Irishman. As plainly as he could, he told them about his visit from Allie Lindsey.

“Oh, that’s the pretty little lass that you took up with one summer,” Dorie said eagerly. “I remember her.”

Scott ignored the speculative look in her eyes. “We haven’t been in touch for years. Anyway, I wrote a letter canceling her church’s camp reservation, and Allie came to see me, hoping to talk me into honoring Dad’s commitment.”

“Oh, my,” Dorie said, a frown creasing her round face.

“You can see the difficulty.” Scott looked Pat straight in the eyes. “The cabins aren’t ready. The buildings need all kinds of cleaning. I frankly don’t see how we could get the place ready in a week, do you?” Somehow he knew he shouldn’t tell the Irishman that he’d already committed himself.

Pat took a slow sip of coffee from his mug without giving Scott any indication that he had even heard what Scott had been saying. Then he turned to look at Scott, and he said in a non-committal tone. “I reckon it could be done.”

“Sure it could,” Dorie jumped in eagerly. “All the bedding is clean and ready. Glory, I could make a list of things we need in the shake of a cat’s tail.”

“What do you think, Pat?” Scott asked in a deferential manner. They all knew that the decision rested with him. Dorie was wife enough not to push him, and Scott knew better than to pressure him.

Pat leaned back in his chair, his broad forehead creased in a thoughtful expression. “I reckon me and Dorie could handle things all right. I don’t hold with the idea of disappointing a bunch of young ’uns.”

Scott felt a heavy weight roll off of him. “I appreciate it, Patrick.” Now, he could leave the whole camping thing in good hands and tend to his own business.

Dorie beamed. “It’s funny how the good Lord works things out, isn’t it? You and Allie together again after all these years. Such a cute couple, you were.”

Scott said rather shortly, “Don’t try and play Cupid, Dorie. I doubt that we’ll even see much of each other.” He could have said that he had no intention of interacting with the church group. As far as Allie was concerned, he’d already told her how he felt about her strong religious convictions. He knew that she disapproved of his worldly lifestyle and anti-religious convictions. “We have nothing in common anymore.”

“It’s Jimmy’s death, isn’t it?” Dorie said gently. “Sure and I can see why your heart’s broken. T’was a horrible thing to have happened.” Then she touched his arm with her gentle hand, and said softly, “Your father grieved over the loss of his son, but it didn’t destroy his faith in God.”

“I’m not my father,” Scott said firmly.

Patrick nodded. “No, you’re not, more’s the pity, lad.”

He left their house, knowing it was true—you can’t go home again. Too many things change.

When Allie and Trudy arrived at the camp early in the morning a few days later, Allie couldn’t believe how different it looked from her first visit. There was a hint of expectancy all over the place. A grocery delivery truck was parked at a side kitchen door, some of the cabins were open and a load of wood had been dumped nearby, waiting to be distributed among the buildings.

Scott had called her, reporting that the O’Tooles had agreed to take charge and get the camp ready. He told her that an extra pair of hands or two would be appreciated, but he was emphatic about not needing an invasion of church people. “They’ll just be in the way,” he said ungraciously.

“Okay,” she responded without further comment, relieved that he hadn’t found some way to back out of their agreement. “If it’s all right with you, my friend, Trudy, and I will come up for a couple of days and see how we can help out.”

“Good. Dorie will appreciate the extra hands.”

“It’ll be nice to see the O’Tooles again. I remember them as a very nice couple who really enjoyed having all of us around.”

“Dorie remembers you, too,” he admitted but omitted in what context.

“Don’t you remember the picnic box Dorie fixed for us the day we decided to hike up to the top of Redridge?”

“I remember,” he answered flatly. “See you in a couple of days.”

Such enthusiasm, she thought as she hung up. He obviously didn’t intend to engage in any watercolor memories of “the way we were.” Fine. He could chill out all he wanted, she decided with a spurt of pride—or was it disappointment? All she cared about was making sure the kids had a wonderful outing. Anyway, she doubted that Scott would stick around for the whole time, unless making arrangements for selling the property kept him at the camp.

“I can hardly wait to meet this ogre,” Trudy confessed as they drove into the camp. “He sounds like a real loser.”

“Oh, Scott’s not really all that bad,” Allie said quickly, surprised that she was so ready to defend him. “I told you what happened to his brother. Scott’s carrying around a heavy load of guilt, and I suspect his mother isn’t helping much.”

“Uh-huh.” Trudy’s tone was noncommittal. She’d lost a young husband in a car accident when a drunk driver plowed into them one evening after church services. Instead of blaming God and giving up, Trudy had used her anger to help in the campaign against drinking and driving.

“Don’t rock the boat, Trudy,” Allie warned as she stopped the car in front of the old house. “Scott agreed to let us have our camp, and that’s all that matters. Don’t be attacking him. We really don’t know what happened and what kind of wounds need healing under that crisp veneer of his.”

Trudy studied her friend’s flushed face, and let out a slow whistle. “Are you still carrying something around for this fellow?”

“Of course not,” Allie said quickly. Maybe too quickly, she told herself, wondering why the question made her feel defensive. Why was she letting Trudy bait her? “We haven’t seen each other for years. And the last time we were together we were just teenagers.”

“Some first loves are deep enough to last a lifetime,” Trudy warned.

“I wouldn’t think a little hand-holding, and one adolescent kiss in the moonlight could be called a deep first love.”

“But you haven’t forgotten him.”

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But at the time, I was naive enough to believe that Scott and I were soul mates. I guess that’s why I felt differently about him from all of the other fellows I’d dated at that time.”

“Okay, a word of warning from an older and wiser woman—”

“You’re a year older than I am,” laughed Allie.

“Right. Heed your elders. Don’t tear yourself up because the young boy who kissed you in the moonlight is now a man who has turned against himself and God. Just remember, Allie, life has a way of giving us lessons that we need, and Scott Davidson may be in for more than his share.”

“It’s so sad that he’s lost his dad and his brother. The place must be filled with painful memories for him,” Allie lamented as they got out of the car and walked up the steps of the house. In spite of herself, she felt a faint flicker of apprehension as they waited for him to answer their knock.

No sign of life at the windows. Allie tried to deny a wave of disappointment when it was obvious that he wasn’t there and wasn’t going to open the door. Maybe he’d already locked up the house, turned the camp over to the O’Tooles and gone back to California.

“Let’s check in at the dining hall. I bet Dorie has a bunch of chores lined up for us to tackle.”

A row of cabins stretched along the river, and an L-shaped dormitory stood next to a large building that was divided into the dining hall and activity room. Allie could see that even though Sam had tried to keep up with needed repairs, all of the buildings were showing the effects of time.

“See that stand of huge spruce trees?” Allie pointed ahead. “Right in the middle of them, there’s a natural grouping of rocks around an open space that makes a wonderful setting for early-morning worship services. It’s great for private meditation too, although my favorite spot is a large boulder just around the bend of the river.”

She drew in a deep breath of pine-scented air, and time sped backward to the wonderful hours she’d spent walking through the trees and listening to the musical roar of the rushing stream.

“You love this place, don’t you?” Trudy said with a smile.

Allie nodded, “I didn’t realize how much I really do. I can hardly wait to walk some of the old trails and check out some of my favorite spots along the river.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve got a good cook,” Trudy said. “The outdoors always makes me ravenous.” She stuck her hands in her ample overalls. It was clear that having lots of good food for a healthy appetite was the most important thing as far as Trudy was concerned.

“Hiking over some of these hills will give you an appetite, all right.”

“Hiking?” Trudy mimicked. “Who said anything about hiking?”

Allie laughed as they mounted the steps to the dining room, and then sobered as the door flew open and Scott came out.

“Oh,” she said with a start of surprise. “I thought you weren’t here. I mean, we stopped at the house and I was thinking that you might have left the O’Tooles in charge, and locked up the house, and—” she caught herself. Quit babbling. What was there about him that flustered her so much that she sounded like a ninny?

“I’m still here, obviously.”

“Yes, obviously,” she said collecting herself. “This is my friend, Trudy Daniels.”

“Nice to meet you, Trudy,” Scott said politely.

“And you,” Trudy responded with a smug smile. Allie could tell that Scott didn’t look like anything Trudy had imagined. He wore jeans and a tight knit shirt that molded his well-conditioned muscles, and a deep tan testified to hours on the beach or on the water, and skiing. The veiled look she sent Allie, said, “Wow!”

“Wouldn’t have missed it, Mr. Davidson.”

“Scott,” he corrected.

Trudy cocked her head and studied him with her large guileless eyes. “I have a feeling this will turn out to be the best outing our church kids ever had.”

Allie hid a smile. Leave it to Trudy to put a positive spin on his reluctance to have them here.

“I hope that’s the case, but we’re playing catch-up,” Scott answered honestly. “I’m really depending upon Pat and Dorie to run things.” At that moment a sleek Mercedes came into view on the river bridge. Scott frowned as he looked at his watch. “I guess hauling in that load of firewood took me longer than I imagined. I’ve got some business appointments that will keep me busy. Why don’t you check with the O’Tooles and see what needs to be done? Please excuse me.”

With a thin smile, he brushed by them, and strode quickly toward the house where two men in business suits were getting out of their car.

“So that’s the heartthrob,” mused Trudy. “He’s got a way about him, all right. No wonder you’re having trouble closing the book on young love.”

“I told you, we enjoyed an adolescent friendship for one summer. That’s all, for heaven’s sake. Will you quit trying to make it into some Romeo and Juliet drama?”

“I will, if you will.”

“What?”

Trudy laughed. “I’m betting that the shiny flush on your face has nothing to do with the sun, nor is the high mountain air responsible for your quick breathing. You like this guy.”

“Sure, I like him,” admitted Allie. “At least, I used to, but that’s water under the proverbial bridge. Scott’s gone his way, and I’ve gone mine. Really, Trudy, I don’t want to discuss it any further. We’re here to help get things ready for the church camp. What Scott does or doesn’t do isn’t any concern of mine.”

“Uh-huh,” Trudy said.

“Let’s go see what they have for us to do.” She led the way into the dining room, and her breath caught as she looked around. The place looked as if a whirlwind had swept through it. Nothing was set up for the feeding of a crowd of hungry campers. Chairs were stacked, tables shoved together and all the counters loaded down with stacks of trays, cups and dishes. Only the floor looked bright and shiny from a recent scrubbing.

At that moment Dorie appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I thought I heard voices,” she said as she greeted them with a merry wave of her hand from the kitchen. “Come on in. I’m busy putting away all the foodstuffs that have just been delivered.”

“Can we help?”

“Sure.” She looked as happy as a busy bee flitting around a field of clover. “I like to set up the kitchen myself.” She nodded toward the connecting door between the dining room and the activity room. “I think Pat’s been needing some help. Why don’t you gals give a look-see?”

“Okay. We’re here to do whatever needs doing.”

“I’ll let you know when I need an extra pair of hands,” Dorie promised.

They left her happily humming to herself as she filled the freezer, fridge and cupboards. When they entered the recreation room, they saw that the same happy mood did not apply to her husband. Pat O’Toole was sitting on the edge of a raised dais that served as a stage, staring moodily around the room, as he filled his pipe.

“Oh, oh,” murmured Allie. The recreation room was in a sorry state. All but one wall and the ceiling showed ugly watermarks around the windows and on the ceiling. Only one wall had been freshly painted a pretty rose color, and a heap of painting tarps and paint cans pushed to one side were evidence of an interrupted project.

Allie wasn’t sure that Patrick O’Toole really remembered her. Unlike his wife, he had no welcoming smile on his lips nor recognition in his eyes as she introduced herself and Trudy. He just nodded at the introduction, and continued to give his attention to a pipe that he was trying to light.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. O’Toole,” Allie said brightly, ignoring his distant manner. “We’re from the church. Just tell us what you want us to do. We’re here to help.”

He peered at her from under bushy eyebrows. “So you’re the lass that talked Scott into keeping the camp open?”

“Yes, thank God,” she said, relieved that he was speaking to her at least. “We appreciate your offer to handle everything for us.”

“We’ve got some nice kids who are looking forward to coming to Rainbow Camp,” Trudy said.

Patrick shook his head. “Well, ladies, I reckon I forgot how many things were left half-done after Sam’s passing. Look at this room, would you?” He got up and walked around the room, pointing out the unpainted walls and ceiling. “We got all the leaks fixed and were starting to paint when Sam had his spell.” He shook his head sadly, and Allie heard the break in his voice. “It’s a disgrace to his memory to have anybody even see the place like this.”

The two women exchanged glances, and Allie wasn’t surprised when her friend spoke up. “Well then, Mr. O’Toole, I guess we’d better get to painting,” Trudy told him in her take-charge manner. She eyed the ceiling. “A nice tall ladder will do just fine.” In a few minutes she had organized the whole project. Allie knew that she was the one responsible for redecorating all the Sunday school rooms. Trudy could wield a paintbrush roller with the best of them.

The room was rather long and narrow, and even though one of the longer walls had already been done, the challenge of painting the other three and the ceiling kept them busy through the morning.

When Dorie brought in some drinks and sandwiches, they took a brief break for lunch. She nodded her approval. “Sam picked out that color. Said it reminded him of that cluster of moss roses down by the spring.”

Pat sighed. “I was telling him, the color would show hand prints to beat the band, but he didn’t care. Crazy guy.” He turned his head away quickly as if there were something in his eye.

They had to push to finish by late afternoon, but a sense of satisfaction made their effort worthwhile. They took a few minutes to enjoy their work as soft sunlight bathed the walls in a warm glow. It had certainly been satisfying.

“Nice work, ladies,” Patrick said with a smile. “Sure and you’re a credit to the Painters’ Union.” He winked at Trudy. “If I weren’t a married man, I’d be giving you the eye, lass. I’ve got a few rooms at the house that could use your touch.”

They were all weary, but pleased with the job they’d done. Patrick started carrying out empty paint cans, and painting debris to the trash while Allie and Trudy put the room to rights.

“I’ll ask Dorie for some cleaning rags,” Trudy said, and headed for the kitchen.

A moment later, while Allie was putting some lids on some leftover paint cans, Scott came in the rec room. He took one look around at the freshly painted room with an expression of utter disbelief on his face.

Allie stood up, brushed back her hair, suddenly aware of the paint spatters on her arms, jeans and shirt. She looked a mess, but then, what did it matter? She smiled. “Looks nice, doesn’t it?”

For a moment, he looked speechless. Then he swore, “What in blazes! Why on earth did you put in all this work, painting this room?”

She looked at him, stunned and dumbfounded. What was he so angry about?

“Is this some kind of subtle trick you’re playing?” he lashed out.

“Trick?”

“Whatever you’re trying to pull off, it won’t work,” he warred her. “You can’t make me change my mind, Allie.”

“I’m not trying to make you change your mind.”

“Good, because I’ve just made arrangements for this building to be pulled down in three weeks.”