Page 17 of His Wounded Heart

“Can you call me and let me know how your friend’s brother is doing? Now you have me concerned.”

“Sure I will. Good-bye.”

It does my body good to hike the twelve miles to Bernie Faulks’ cabin.

When I get to Bernie’s place, I can see why he rents out the shack and lives in this place. It sure doesn’t look like any off-the-grid house that I’ve ever seen. It’s a two-story A-frame with a deck out front. The man even has a decent grill on his deck, along with chairs. Looks like he isn’t as much of a loner as I had thought. I hope he has the information that I need.

“You must be my renter,” an old guy shouts as he limps onto the deck.

“You must be my landlord,” I call back.

There’s no need for us to introduce ourselves more than that since we’ve talked to one another on the phone twice. I walk up the stairs to his deck and nod my head at his leg.

“Gout,” he says.

I wince.

“Come on in for a beer. But keep in mind, I don’t have any of the fancy shit.”

“Do I look fancy?” I ask.

“Your watch sure does.”

I look down at my watch and grin.

“Will you take me out of the doghouse if I tell you I know and actually use every feature on the watch?”

“Do you?” Bernie asks as he opens his refrigerator.

“Yep, every last feature.”

“Then you’re not fancy, you’re prepared. I like that. I’ll give you a bottle instead of a can.” He pulls two bottles of Miller, and I follow him back out onto the deck.

Once we settle and I have a few swallows of beer my gaze turns back to the inside of his house. “Did you make that furniture inside?”

He tilts his head and nods. “Sometimes I just can’t abide being around people, so I needed a hobby.”

“I can see that.” I nod solemnly. “And the rugs? I’ve never seen anything like them. I felt like I was walking on works of art.”

“Two sisters up the mountain make ‘em. Judy and Janice. They gave them to me after I upgraded their solar panels. They used to make ‘em for their family, but not much of them is left, so I took the rugs into town and talked to the gal who owns the coffee and gift shop. Before you know it, my mountain ladies are making some money selling those rugs in a shop out there in Pigeon Forge. Cost quite a pretty penny, too.”

“You’re a good neighbor.”

“Used to be, before the gout. Shoulda gone in sooner for treatment, now it’s gotten out of hand and I’m on my third round of drugs.” Bernie frowns. “Can’t get done everything that needs doing.” He takes a long swallow of beer, then looks me up and down. “So, why you here?”

“Couple of reasons. First, there’s a couple of trees that are dying on your property. One of them is really close to the cabin. Before I cut them down, I wanted your permission.” I watch him scratch his chin as his brow furrows.

“It needs doing, doesn’t it?” he asks.

I shrug. “To my mind, yes.”

“So why are you asking permission, just get ‘er done.”

I chuckle and take another swallow of my cold beer. “I like your style, Bernie. I guess I’ve been dealing with the Brass and Suits so long, that I forgot the first rule of being in the field—it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

“So, you were high up in the Navy?”

I tilt the top of my beer his way and nod. “What about you?”