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Buck nodded and took a long drink of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Zorro looked at Bear. “You’ve been quiet. What do you think of all of this?” All of them riveted on Bear and his deep wisdom.
Bear, his face as inscrutable as usual, said, “Whatever braces Buck’s tepee pole is fine with me.”
That did it. The line delivered in Bear’s usual matter-of-fact tone got to them all, including Buck. Buck gave the big man a menacing look then grinned as he shook his head.
A moment later, the very air seemed to shiver. Bear’s eyes narrowed as if he was channeling something none of them could see. “As we know, wolves run in a pack, and we’re always out for blood. Those who challenge us will go under our teeth one way or another.”
The spark of humor in Buck’s eyes faded, and he stared at Bear, then the rest of them, a heavy retrospective look settling on his face. He lifted his bottle. “To the pack,” he said.
“To the pack,” everyone repeated, then they clinked bottles to seal the deal.
When the party broke up, D-Day headed out of Buck’s townhouse.He looked out to the ocean at someone fishing from the shore, his heart heavy. The sky that had been a fine clear blue earlier was now banded with clouds tumbling up from the far horizon. The wind had come up as well and shook the leaves of a tree that grew near his car, flipping them inside out.
He stood there for a long moment beside the door to his vehicle, just staring at the ocean, wondering at the mistakes he’d made. Not even time away from Bedford softened the memories of his humiliation, just the image of the town resurrecting old pain, old shame.
He raked his hand through his hair and rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck. He should have stayed here in San Diego.
The if onlys piled up all over the place, adding to the pile he’d started as a teenager. The layers below were thick with remorse, hard with guilt. If only he’d seen his high school crush Heather for who she was…If only he hadn’t gone to Wyoming…If only he could overcome his own self-disgust…
If only he weren’t so ineffectual and weak…
If only.
But even with all that, the image of Helen burned in his mind like a beacon…of hope, of an even harder fall from grace, of a salvation that he craved and didn’t think he would ever achieve. He learned all over again how cruel life could be, even as he faced the fire in his own soul. He wasn’t destined to lose her, that battle had already been lost when he walked away. Now? Now he had to live with his decision, even as that image of her still burned.
* * *
After no response from the first three texts Mari sent Buck, she wasn’t worried. He was a straight shooter and wouldn’t have ghosted her. He also wouldn’t have spent two of the most wonderful days she’d ever experienced with her if he hadn’t been interested.
She hadn’t managed to avoid thinking about him, even when it came to her business trip and all that was riding on her success. What she remembered most about him was his honesty, and his directness when he was talking to her about his life, especially about his time growing up on his ranch. There was more to that story, and she craved the information as much as she craved his hard-muscled body. Thank you, Uncle Sam.
All the memories came rushing back, flooding her mind with vivid details and forcing her to recall every grin, every nuance of his personality, every pleasurable, thrilling, and emotional sensation of Sam “Buck” Buckard. Especially the way he’d lost control of that tough resolve with her.
It was the emotional part that she was surprised about because she’d never, ever expected to feel so connected to Buck in anything more than a physical way. Sex with him had been exceptional, hotter and better than she’d ever imagined, but it was the aftermath of their time together that shook Mari to her core.
Something was happening between them that Mari couldn’t quite define, but whatever it was, it was something she did not want to jeopardize. Add to that the glimmer of tenderness she’d seen often in his gaze, and was it any wonder that her heart was feeling a bit torn and confused?
If he’d been able, he would have answered her. There was no doubt in her mind.
No, he must have been deployed. She mollified herself with that thought as she kept her appointment with a building owner in the Gaslamp district. The rest of her trip had been a resounding success with a beautiful venue bought and ready for renovation in each city: LA, Monterey, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle.
The brick building was a bit dilapidated for the location, but she could see the charm and potential of the ground floor transformed into the Golden Grain lobby and coffee shop with the corporate offices on the second floor, and her living space on the top floor, a loft-sized area of five-thousand square feet.
She had bought the building on the spot, then went on to visit her grandparents, eager to tell them about Buck, but refraining. She couldn’t really say she was seeing someone when it had only been a few days. As hard as it would be to swallow, the reality of their jobs kept them apart. At this time, she didn’t even live in San Diego, and he was tethered to Coronado and the Navy.
To keep her mind occupied, she threw herself into her work, neglecting even contacting her family as she negotiated construction contracts, picked out building materials, tiles, flooring, furnishings, office equipment, and planned landscaping.
She finished everything she needed to do, hired a manager to oversee everything, then took a late-night flight home. At the airport, she caught a late bus back to La Cruz. Except for Carmen’s dress, she left her luggage with the bus company for pick up the next day and grabbed a ride from one of her laborers to the crossroad near her house, walking the rest of the way back to La Buena Tierra.
Everything was dark when she got there, and she was startled when she encountered one of the guards, who let her through the moment he recognized her. When she reached the house, she slipped inside quietly so as not to disturb any of her sleeping family. When she reached her room, she undressed, washed up, and fell into bed.
The next morning, she overslept and woke up as if she was coming out of a three-day drunkenness. She immediately checked her cell phone. Nothing from Buck.
After trying to alleviate her gray mood in a long hot shower, Mari put on a ratty T-shirt and an old pair of ripped jeans that had seen better days. She was going to keep herself occupied by cleaning out and scouring the roasting shed. They were getting ready for the tail end of the harvest, which began in October, and she would be roasting a lot of coffee in the next few weeks. Her deputy roaster had taken over for her when she’d gone to San Diego. The hard labor would also keep her mind off Buck. He was going to respond to her. It was just a matter of time.
She tried to shore up her disappointment by remaining positive. When she reached the shed, she opened the door and went inside. The most important part of their business other than growing and picking the coffee beans was the roaster. It was imperative to keep it in working order, and not just because the taste of the coffee could be compromised, but for safety purposes. She’d noticed the last time she’d roasted that she’d had to up the airflow, and bad airflow could reduce her machine by ten to twenty percent efficiency.
