Returning home is bittersweet.
While I always loved my visits, they’ll never be the same anymore. Truth be told, they haven't been the same for the past handful of years.
As I look out over the wintry landscape, I’m thankful for the peace surrounding me, along with the space, ensuring solitude.
I'd spent nearly five years living and working near the Gulf of Mexico after separating from the Army, and even then much of my service had been in warm, humid climates. So the simple joy of the falling snow, whether it’s the first or the fiftieth of the season, always makes me smile. And boy do I need a reason to smile. This morning’s offering is the first in a week due to an unprecedented dry spell. No doubt many in the area are hopeful Mother Nature will finally get back on track and provide a white Christmas in a week's time.
Virgin flakes, big and fluffy, blanketed the decaying carpet of the earth, transforming the landscape into a pristine setting. Stick-figure trees as well as the mighty pines received a coat that clings heartily to branches and needles. Earlier at dawn, the view from my porch was muted like a watercolor painting, slightly out of focus. I'd watched as the pastels faded, making way for the brilliant blue spreading across the horizon. And now that the day has progressed and the sunlight skims over the undisturbed precipitation, clarity takes over as the land becomes blindingly bright. The air, crisp and clean, stirs, carrying what I've always thought to be a special freshness one will only find in Idaho.
It’s a reminder to me that a clean slate is always possible. Life will go on with its seasons, its stages, challenging you, testing your resolve and will to survive. And that decision as to what you do with life is always up to you.
Walking to the railing, I lift my head skyward and watch a few wayward geese fly overhead, honking while they pass as if to say good morning. A hoot owl calls out from a stand of aspen as if to scold and say quiet, it’s time for slumber.
Chuckling low to myself, I sip from my mug of coffee, the smell alone enough to give me a welcomed jolt to the morning. Stormi, my aptly-named Newfie, has already charged past me and leaped off the porch to take care of business. Now she's tumbling to her side, frolicking in the snow. She snorts and chuffs while her limbs splay above her as she wiggles on her back. Once satisfied that she’s adequately defiled a major portion of the accumulated snow, she bounds to her feet and shakes her body, ridding her silky black fur of the matted fluff. Acting like a ten-pound Chihuahua instead of the one-hundred-pound beast that she is, Stormi begins to dance and spin, yipping and snapping at the snow beginning to once again dust the yard.
As I watch her carefree antics, an overwhelming urge to join her swells inside me. The need to let go of the sorrow I carry and lose myself in the simple joy prods at my subconscious. Instead, I smile as the scene prompts childhood memories, taking me back to the days when the only thing I worried over was whether I’d complete my chores or homework quickly enough, leaving me time to embark on an adventure. No matter the time of year, if I wasn’t concentrating on school work, I was reluctantly helping Mom with various duties around the house, just itching for the moment I could get outside. Looking back, I realize I didn't always give Mom the credit she'd been more than worthy of. Not only did she do the bookkeeping for Dad—a self-employed jack-of-all-trades who was never without work either in logging, trucking, or mechanics—but she also handled the bookkeeping for a few self-employed drivers, and made various jams, jellies, and delectables from our crops of apples, pears, and mountain huckleberries. And as if that hadn't been enough, she'd work alongside Dad to maintain our property of fifty acres.
She had truly been the backbone of our oasis. The humble queen who wasn't shy about getting down and dirty with the peasants.
That thought makes me chuckle as I continue to reminisce.
The freedom we had to roam the land, explore the valleys, climb the mountains, and raft the lakes and rivers was beyond compare. Dad and Mom had taught me well to respect every aspect of our lives, but truth be told, I preferred my time with my dad, the tomboy that I was. I learned survival, how to use knives and firearms, and how to identify wildlife tracks. I experienced the thrill of victory with my compound bow on my first wild turkey hunt. I learned what each season brought, offered, took, and how to make the most of every day.
Even when you wished with all your heart you could erase some days from your memory, never to relive again. Or better yet, go back and change the course of history.
My parents fed my sense of adventure, encouraging me to go beyond the world I knew to discover more. But they always made it easy to return to the comfort of home. I just wish I'd pulled my foolish head out of my ass sooner to take advantage of that.
Stormi’s bark snaps me out of my musings and back to the present as an unfamiliar vehicle wends its way up my drive. Being the only resident in this area for several miles, and the lane easily passed by, whoever the driver is must have knowledge of my place and is coming with a purpose. Only a few knew I'd returned; in truth, there weren't many who really needed to know. And those who did knew I wanted seclusion.
And time. Time to come to terms with life-changing disasters and the guilt for not having made it home nearly as much as I should have.
When the vehicle stops and the engine shuts off, Stormi is prancing and singing with excitement, even though she has no idea who the visitor may be. She’s probably just elated to have company other than her human mom.
“Stormi, come,” I order softly, maintaining my position on the porch. She’s well-trained and behaves as I instruct, circling back to the porch while constantly turning her head to keep an eye on the vehicle. It’s an older first-generation Bronco, I’d guess to be from the late 60s, in seemingly excellent condition. Usually not a vehicle you’d see on these back roads, and certainly not in wintry, often treacherous conditions.
As the door opens and the person begins to emerge, Stormi gets antsy, pacing near the bottom step of the porch while whining. I murmur for her to settle as I keep my eyes on the obvious male figure unfolding himself from the confines of the vehicle. Standing at least six feet tall, probably more, his eyes are shielded with dark sunglasses as the breeze tousles his blond hair. His broad upper body is covered with at least a few layers as the collar of a flannel shirt peeks out from looks like a well-worn, blue suede sherpa-lined jacket. Dark blue jeans cover thick legs like a second skin and hikers peek out from the hems.
After shutting the door, he waves a hand while striding toward me. Stormi lets out a soft bark just as the man calls out, “Morning.”
“I’ll ask you to stop right there to tell me who you are and why you’re on my property.”
Although he halts in his tracks, a grin transforms his mouth. At my tone, Stormi goes on alert, emitting a low growl.
“Stay,” is my only command, knowing to guard yet remain ready.
The man reaches for his glasses with both hands, removing them to reveal stunningly bright blue eyes. Even from the distance of at least twenty feet I can see the fine creases at the corners of those eyes as well as a dimple in his left cheek. And, damn, if that combination doesn’t stir something unbidden and completely unwanted in my chest. Not to mention my dormant lady parts.
What the hell, Piper? Knock it off!
“Piper Deacon, I'm sure your momma taught you better hospitality than that.” His grin becomes a full-on smile, showcasing ridiculously perfect teeth that usually result from orthodontia and bleaching. Or porcelain crowns. Or blessed genes.
Something familiar tugs at my memory, but before it can coalesce, I offer him a snarky comeback.
“She certainly did, but my dad also taught me caution around strangers.”
“Well now, good thing we aren’t exactly strangers then, isn’t it?” He tucks his glasses into a pocket.
At this point, Stormi’s impatience is palpable as her hairs rise and she woofs several times.
“And this must be the infamous Stormi-girl,” the man says while squatting down and offering his hand.
Glee overrides obedience as she springs forward, bypassing the hand to lunge playfully. Taking him by surprise, he topples to the ground, allowing Stormi to shower him with doggy kisses. Which actually means furious licks with a very big, very slobbery tongue. Before I can admonish her, he’s laughing while the affection continues.
“Okay, okay, I surrender,” he says. Managing a sitting position, the man rubs both hands vigorously along Stormi’s neck and sides, easily keeping her under control. He smiles up at me, pinning me with those intense eyes that are vaguely familiar. “Still not placing me, eh?”
“Uh, no,” I stutter, taken off guard by his natural ease and my unnatural reaction to him.
“Logan Shaw, former town bad boy turned lawman.” His statement is matter-of-fact with a hint of pride.
Recognition finally slaps me upside my head as I realize who he is, even though I'd only met him briefly about four years ago. I knew he was five years ahead of me in school and there was some trouble in his past before he joined the Marines. It was through Mom that I'd learned more. She and Logan's mom, Bea, had developed a friendship through a book club, and it carried on even after Bea had suffered a stroke. Then the tables turned and Mom ended up in the same situation.
I don't allow that train of thought to take root, instead, remember Mom taking every opportunity to slip Logan's name into conversation either during calls or on my scarce visits home. Pretty sure she was trying to do some matchmaking but I guess I remained immune to her ploys. I was, after all, living and working over two thousand miles away. At my previous time home this past spring she showed me the newspaper article of his promotion to Sergeant with the Sheriff's Department. His hair had been much shorter, and he had a beard and mustache hiding his contours.
As I take him in, I think how the added muscle, clean-shaven face, and hair growth definitely suit him. And the thought of preferring him smooth with his unruly hair has me shaking my head to clear that nonsense.
“Logan the lawman.”
If it were possible, his smile just doubled in size and wattage. “Piper the pilot.”
Seems Mom had also been regaling him with stories, making me wonder just how much he knows about me. “What brings you here? Must not be official if you’re not in a uniform or county vehicle.”
His face loses a bit of joy as he continues to pet Stormi after making her sit next to him. “I came to see how you were doing. I know you’ve only been home a few weeks and Kim said you needed time and space, and, well,” he pauses. “I just wanted to check on you.”
It takes a moment before I can speak due to the emotion welling up inside me. I nod before saying, “I appreciate that.”
Kim is the county sheriff and Logan’s boss. She’s easily ten years older than my forty years, and the few occasions I’ve interacted with her, she’s smart, capable, and caring.
I watch my dog drop onto her side and wiggle against Logan. “But as you can see, I’ve got a fully capable guard dog ready to defend me against big, bad guys and other intruders.” I try to keep a straight face, but when Logan laughs, boldly, I can’t help but sputter out a laugh as well.
“Yeah,” he chuckles, “I can see that.” With a final rub to Stormi’s belly, Logan springs to his feet with a grace and speed that shouldn’t be possible for a man his size. He dusts off his backside and Stormi follows his lead, jolting upright and once again shaking the snow from her fur. She remains at Logan's side as he pins me with another stare. “Up to sharing any of that coffee with a neighbor?”
Neighbor? Is he the one who purchased the parcel of land bordering the property to the north? Mom hadn't said a word. But then, maybe she didn't know.
As if reading my mind, he says, “Old man Newman finally gave in and sold me that ten-acre parcel. Thinking about building a house come spring. Until then I've got a comfy RV and a few horses to keep me company.” He grins.
I chuckle at the mention of old man Newman. His family had been one of the first to settle in the valley, owning plenty of land along with the constantly-evolving general store. One of the most crotchety men anyone ever had the displeasure to meet. Thank goodness his grandson, Ben, took over the store, making shopping a pleasant task. I'd been high school friends with Ben and his wife, Kaitlin, and ran into them shortly after returning. They gushed about having me back home and made me promise we'd all get together for a proper visit.
“So, what do ya say, neighbor?”
“How do you know I have coffee in this mug? Maybe I like tea?”
“Not according to your momma. It's black coffee or nothing. In fact, I'll betcha it's a batch of Osprey Organic Dark Roast from North Fork Coffee Roasters, am I right?”
I can't help but grin, enjoying our little back and forth. Maybe having some company wouldn't be so bad after all. Especially in the form of one gorgeous specimen such as Logan Shaw.
Stormi's decides she's had enough inactivity as she darts off, making fresh tracks in the snow. I follow her movement before turning back to Logan to find him staring at me, a grin still stretching his lips and a brow lifting as if to prod me into answering.
“Come in.” I turn for the door and hear him crunch through the snow before mounting the steps. As I hold the door open, he makes his way toward me, never taking his eyes off mine. He then stops right by my side and lifts his arm to place his hand above my head. Standing so close, I'm treated to the crisp scent of his laundry detergent along with a hint of spice. I have to stop myself from leaning in to press my face against his exposed throat and take a nice big whiff of his enticing smell. Given that I'm six feet tall and he's only a few inches taller, it'd be easy to snuggle up nicely to him.
I jolt at that thought, causing Logan to smile, as if again, he knew what I was thinking.
“Ladies first,” he drawls, his voice dropping to a low register.
Silently, I step through the entryway and kick off the shoes I'd slipped on to step outside. Logan follows, shutting the door behind him. He then sheds his jacket, hanging it on a peg before taking a seat on the bench to remove his shoes.
“I see you know the routine.”
He pins me with those sky-blue eyes and a lop-sided grin. “Yes, ma'am. Your momma trained me right.”
The memory of seeing my mother barking orders better than a drill sergeant makes me laugh. She is one of the sweetest people on earth, giving you her last meal if she knew you needed it more than her. But rules is rules, she'd say, and no shoes in the house was one of them.
Once his shoes are stuffed beneath the bench, he stands, giving me a smile. I simply stare, my eyes wandering over his handsome, clean-shaven face. He has just enough lines around his eyes and mouth that tell me he's no spring chicken but still a mighty fine-looking man. The top of a white t-shirt peeks from beneath his red flannel which covers broad shoulders and a barrel chest, giving me a pretty good indication, he keeps himself in excellent shape. I want to continue my perusal but his words have my gaze snapping to his.
“Should I turn a circle so you can see all sides?”
I feel my face heat and I shake my head. “Sorry. You'd think I never had guests before. Come on to the kitchen.” I turn and head that way, hearing him pad behind me.
“Has anyone else visited or am I the first since you returned?”
I give him a grin over my shoulder. “You're my first.”
His chuckle causes my skin to break out with goose bumps in spite of my sweater and long sleeve top. I had only planned to be outside for a few moments, long enough for Stormi to take care of business, so I hadn't bothered with a coat.
We reach the kitchen and I invite him to have a seat at the counter. “How do you take your coffee? Any sugar, milk, creamer?”
“No thanks, black is fine.”
I nod and reach for another mug, filling it up and sliding it to him before topping off my own.
“Thanks.”
We each take a drink while watching one another. Logan sets his cup down and continues to look at me, tilting his head as if he's studying a puzzle.
“What?”
“Just picturing you in the cockpit of a Sikorsky S-76, flying over the Gulf of Mexico.”
Ah, so he does know a few details.
I shrug. “Not much different than a Black Hawk, which is a Sikorsky UH-60.”
“A bit more maneuverability in the Hawk, I imagine.”
“A bit. Especially when negotiating canyons in Central and South America.” I grin.
“Hella fun.” Logan grins.
“Hell yeah.” I chuckle.
“Too bad you weren't a Marine.”
“Too bad you weren't Army Strong.”
He laughs. “Semper Fi.”
“Oo-rah.” I laugh along with him.
“Damn, that was pretty good, Chief.”
I grin as we both take another drink of our coffee, still eyeing each other.
“So, how have you been?” Logan asks.
“Been better...” I trail off, not ready to talk about my state of mind with him. With anyone.
“Yeah, I get it,” he says softly.
“Do you?” I say almost defensively as my arms cross over my chest of their own free will. Yep, getting defensive.
Logan raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, so maybe I don't get it, exactly, but I didn't come here to judge or pry or–”
“Why did you come here?”
Before he can answer, Stormi barks, apparently ready to come in. I walk to the mud room beyond the kitchen, and through the door window I can see her waiting excitedly on the back deck. She's shaken off most of the snow but I know she'll be wet and in need of a good rub down. I grab a towel off the shelf and open the door. She tries to bolt pass me but I manage to wrangle her and give her a decent toweling-off. “Hold on, you rascal. You can go maul our guest soon enough.”
I hear Logan's chuckle which only serves to spur my girl on. Once I've done all I can, Stormi bounds into the kitchen and I hear the stool scrape the floor, assuming it's Logan making room for my big pooch. After tossing the towel across a bar, I reenter the kitchen to find Stormi's front paws practically on Logan's shoulders as she slathers him with kisses.
“Get down, ya big goof,” I say. No way am I angry at her, because Logan doesn't seem to mind at all, but I don't want her in the habit of jumping on people.
“Okay, beauty, sit so your mom and I can finish our conversation.” When Stormi only stops licking him but doesn't get down, Logan commands her again. “Stormi, sit.” He isn't harsh but puts just enough authority in his voice to make her comply. She moves down to sit then immediately slides down to rest, releasing a long sigh.
“Oh, so pitiful, my Stormi-girl,” I tease. She looks up at me with her sad eyes which only makes me laugh. “Don't give me that look. You know better.”
She produces a huff, causing both Logan and me to laugh more.
“She seems pretty well trained. What is she, about five, six years old?”
“She's five and thinks she's still a puppy.”
Logan looks at her and I see him wink. “We all wish we could stay young and energetic, huh, girl?” Stormi lifts her head as if encouraged but Logan shuts her down from making any movement. “That wasn't an invitation.”
I simply chuckle and shake my head as I pick up my mug I'd put down and resume nursing my coffee. Logan swings around to do the same, only he finishes his drink. When he sets his mug down, he pins me with another stare.
“As for why I came by... like I said, I wanted to check on you, make sure you were okay.” When I start to reply, he holds up a hand to stop me. “Not that I think you aren't capable of taking care of yourself. Just know you've got people around who care about you and your situation. I know we weren't friends in school, we didn't know each other, but maybe, maybe that can change.”
I can only nod, finding no words yet to respond. I want to ask him what else he thinks he knows about me, about... anything. But, I can't. Not yet.
“How's Dawn?”
His use of Mom's first name, said with such familiarity, sends a prickly feeling through me, causing me to stiffen. I feel my lips pinch as I remain silent.
Just how acquainted had he and Mom become? And why does that thought upset me so?
He gives me an odd look, but seems to realize my reluctance to discuss the topic because he changes the subject.
“Supposed to be a good storm rolling in. Prediction is for a couple feet of snow, at least. Are you set for supplies? Wood for your stove if you lose power?”
“I'm pretty well set. I had planned to make a run into town today or tomorrow for some things. There was a decent supply of wood all ready, but I spent the last few days cutting up two more cords.” Logan nods without comment, yet I feel the need to say more. “I'm not afraid of hard work, and swinging an ax to chop wood can be very therapeutic.”
“It certainly can.”
After a moment of silence, he stands as if he knows this is the end of the visit. “Guess I'll leave you to it then. Can I leave you my number? In case you need anything.”
“Sure. Wouldn't hurt to exchange numbers. Neighbor.” My grin is more of a smirk yet I receive a charming grin from him. Once we have each other's information, Logan gives Stormi a rub across her head, telling her good bye. She simply thumps her tail a few times but remains prone on the floor.
“Okay, guess my shine wore off.” He chuckles then straightens, meeting my gaze.
“Until the next time you visit. Then she'll maul you like it's the first time.”
“I hope there'll be a next time.”
“I... I think there's a good possibility that can happen,” I say, trying to make up for being such a snot.
He smiles and it's enough to make my knees weak. Yeah, his smile has that much power over a grown woman.
“Until next time.” He dips his head and turns for the living room. I follow at a distance and watch as he puts his shoes on and slips into his coat. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You're welcome. Thanks for the company.”
He cocks his brow, probably wondering if I'm being sincere. “Anytime.” His reply is definitely sincere.
We stare at one another, letting the silence stretch out as if we're both waiting for the other to say something else. But when neither of us says a word, Logan nods again and is out the door. I remain still, listening for his vehicle to start up, and when I hear him drive away, I release the breath I didn't realize I was holding.