Do You Trust Me? E-Book

B.G. Thomas

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 318

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

The path to happiness starts with acceptance, and sometimes the chance for a bright, loving future means letting go of the past. All his life, Neil Baxter has buried a large part of himself—the part that's attracted to other men. He married a woman and denied that side of him existed. And he plans to keep right on pretending to be straight after his beloved wife has passed away. To help him deal with his grief, Neil's sister-in-law convinces him to vacation at a dude ranch. There, Neil meets Cole Thompson, a young, gorgeous, unabashedly gay wrangler—who is unabashedly attracted to Neil. And try as he might, Neil cannot deny he feels the same way. But desire soon becomes something more profound as the two men get to know each other. Cole is much more than a sexy cowboy: he's kind, spiritual, and intelligent. In fact, he's perfect for Neil… except he's a man, and Neil isn't ready to let go of a lifetime of denial. If he cannot find the courage to be true to himself, he might let something wonderful slip through his fingers.

Leseprobe

Do You Trust Me?

By B.G. Thomas

The path to happiness starts with acceptance, and sometimes the chance for a bright, loving future means letting go of the past.

All his life, Neil Baxter has buried a large part of himself—the part that’s attracted to other men. He married a woman and denied that side of him existed. And he plans to keep right on pretending to be straight after his beloved wife has passed away.

To help him deal with his grief, Neil’s sister-in-law convinces him to vacation at a dude ranch. There, Neil meets Cole Thompson, a young, gorgeous, unabashedly gay wrangler—who is unabashedly attracted to Neil. And try as he might, Neil cannot deny he feels the same way. But desire soon becomes something more profound as the two men get to know each other. Cole is much more than a sexy cowboy: he’s kind, spiritual, and intelligent. In fact, he’s perfect for Neil… except he’s a man, and Neil isn’t ready to let go of a lifetime of denial. If he cannot find the courage to be true to himself, he might let something wonderful slip through his fingers.

Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Epigraph

CHAPTER 1: An Unexpected Request

CHAPTER 2: Getting There

CHAPTER 3: Cole and Mystic

CHAPTER 4: First Time

CHAPTER 5: Consolations

CHAPTER 6: Naked

CHAPTER 7: Confrontations

CHAPTER 8: Dealing with It

CHAPTER 9: Retrospect

CHAPTER 10: Heroes

CHAPTER 11: Anticipation

CHAPTER 12: Making Love

CHAPTER 13: Making Good

CHAPTER 14: Bereft

CHAPTER 15: An Unexpected Suggestion (Request)

EPILOGUE: Uncle Cole

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About the Author

By B.G. Thomas

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Copyright

This one is for Chris Miles and Sally Davis, the queens of betaing, and selfless friends I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting face-to-face. It will happen!

For Trace Zaber, for believing in this story the first time.

And for Angelia Sparrow, the friend and writer who pointed the way.

Acknowledgments

SPECIAL THANKS to…

Julie and Mike Williams for an amazingly “mystic-al” afternoon and teaching me to ride!

All the people who brought this book into a new light. The original edition of this story, as much as I appreciated it, was not what I had dreamed. It ended way too early and left out too much. Now you are reading what I always wanted this book to be.

Elizabeth North and Lynn West for believing in this story and giving it a second chance.

Matthew Ryan and Cristina Manole for proofreading extraordinaire.

And Noah Willoughby for more help than can be imagined.

When courage finally comes

You never see it coming

—Christine Kane

CHAPTER 1: An Unexpected Request

“YOU WANT me to go to a dude ranch?” I asked, my eyes agoggle in surprise.

“In Owen’s place,” Amy replied. Her voice was quiet but strong and did not waver.

Owen. I sighed. Her husband. Her deceased husband.

“Owen was so determined he’d make it. At least this far. He wanted it so much.” She paused. “The kids need this, and frankly… well, so do I.”

“But a dude ranch?” While my late wife Emily’s sister didn’t know me as well as Emily had, Amy and I had still been friends for years, especially the last two. She knew I was not the outdoorsy type. And horses terrified me. They had ever since one had thrown me at a church camp when I was a kid. Sometimes I had dreams of one of the beasts, the size of the Trojan horse, snorting and rolling its eyes wildly, and I’d wake up in a cold sweat.

I shuddered.

“The trip’s all paid for. It would be stupid for me to cancel. And after this, I don’t know if we’ll ever go back. The kids are growing up. I certainly won’t want to go all by myself. This was more for them anyway.”

I nodded. The whole family loved that ranch. Big Bear Ranch or Wild Bear… something like that. They’d even taken my daughter with them—for years.

“I think,” she said with a sigh, “it’ll be a good way to say good-bye to Owen. Our favorite place….” Then she looked up at me and her eyes were glassy. Tears? Amy? But instead of crying, she gave a little laugh. “Kids? Did I say ‘the kids’?” She laughed again. “We went for Owen. God, he loves… loved… that place. He fashioned himself a real cowboy.”

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and to my surprise I found I was laughing a little. Owen, a cowboy? It sure explained why he wore that damned cowboy hat every single year when they got home. At least for a week or so. Then reason would assert itself, and the hat would disappear somewhere in the house.

“Yes,” she said with a half smile. “A good way to say good-bye. Show him honor, you know? One more time?”

I nodded once, trying to understand.

“Which is why I wanted to know if you’d please come. It’ll be easier, you know? You might help fill the void that’s going to be there. And Owen’s left a mighty big void. It’ll be a lot less lonely for me, you know…?”

“But a dude ranch?” I asked again. Outside? Heat? Bugs? And… horses?

Amy looked at me in that I-can-read-your-mind way of hers (and sometimes I wondered if she could). “Neil, you’re not going to be sleeping on the ground or having to rub two sticks together to start a fire. It’s not like church camp. The cabins are nice. Very modern. They have their own bathrooms and everything. Showers even. No communal showers, okay? And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You don’t have to ride one single horse—not even one time. Just….” Her voice caught. “Keep me company?”

“Okay,” I agreed suddenly, holding up my hand. “I’ll go.”

I made the decision just like that before I could change my mind. It was the look on her face that did it. The slump of her shoulders and the tone in her voice. All of this was so not Amy. Not the always strong woman I’d known for half my life. She’d borne so much with Owen’s death. Now a vacation seemed to be tearing her down. And I couldn’t stand that. Couldn’t stand to see her that way. She really was the strongest person I’d ever known. Stronger even than Em.

Amy had, for all intents and purposes, saved me when my wife died. She had been there for me. Every day. Getting me through it. Could I be there any less for her now that she had lost her husband?

“I’ll go,” I said again as she looked at me with those blue-green eyes of hers. Usually I could only see the green when the lights were right or the sun was shining on her face. Her near tears had brought out the blue.

“You mean it, Neil?” she asked. She bit her lip, and I knew she was fighting back tears. She was an Olsen after all, and Olsen women did not show weakness.

“I mean it,” I said, turning the words “nice cabins with showers” into a mantra in my mind.

Amy surprised me by stepping right up to me, laying her head on my chest, and wrapping her arms around my waist. I’m a big man, at least compared to her. Amy was even more petite than Emily had been, and when I put my arms around her, she practically disappeared. It was like holding my daughter, Crystal. She even had the same fall of wavy auburn hair as Em and Crystal. Like almost everyone in the Olsen family.

Cancer had taken months to kill her husband, and I couldn’t figure out which of the two of us had the better deal. The aneurysm had taken Em in a heartbeat; I’d had no time to prepare. No time to say good-bye. Owen, on the other hand, had lived for nearly a year. Nine months, a little longer. Ten. I wasn’t sure. Amy had been given the chance to try to prepare herself—if anyone can prepare themselves for losing the love of their life. But the horror of Owen’s lingering disease made me wonder if it had been a good thing in the long run. To watch Em waste away would have driven me insane.

“It’s all right,” I told her and hugged her tight.

She was taking her family on their traditional annual family vacation—without her husband, without her children’s father. Me? I couldn’t imagine why she would want to go to her family’s favorite place in the world. I wouldn’t—or couldn’t—in the same circumstance. Owen had only been dead for two months. Em had been gone for almost exactly two years, and I still wasn’t living. Not really.

I’d wanted to sell the house, get rid of everything in it—anything that would remind me of Emily. I couldn’t sleep in our room for months. I’d slept on the couch instead. How could Amy go back, with her kids, to the ranch they had gone to every summer for years? Wouldn’t every cabin, every building, every horse, every bend in the river, every chorus of “Home on the Range” around the campfire remind her of Owen?

Wouldn’t his ghost be everywhere?

But different people cope with grief in different ways, and she was, after all, an Olsen. The whole family was strong, the women especially. So where I’d wanted to flee from anything that reminded me of my wife, Amy wanted to bathe in all things that reminded her of Owen. She thought that was a good way to say good-bye. Who was I to say which was better?

Because really, if Amy hadn’t shown up a few weeks after Em’s death and kicked me in the ass, I might still be sleeping on the couch. I probably wouldn’t even have a job. She had to remind me I had responsibilities, to my daughter if nothing else.

Thank goodness for Amy. At a time when she should’ve been grieving herself—Em had been her sister twice as long as she had been my wife, after all—she helped me deal with my own pain.

So yes, even though a week at a dude ranch sounded like the last way on Earth I would want to spend my vacation time, it was something I would do.

I didn’t really have a choice.

AFTER DINNER—Pizza Hut delivery, half-and-half: pepperoni for me, Hawaiian-style for Crystal—I googled Black Bear Dude Ranch. Crystal, who was trying (not too successfully) to do her homework, was thrilled, bubbling over even, ever since she’d heard I was going. She’d been sure her Black Bear days were behind her. Crystal had gone with Amy and her family since she was about ten. Owen had always insisted on taking her. He wouldn’t even let me and Em pay her way. They could certainly afford it. Owen had been a lawyer for a major firm, and Amy, comfortable in her own right with family money, was a very successful Realtor. That was saying something with the market the way it’d been over the last decade or so. And she rarely represented a home that cost less than a million dollars.

Funny that I’d never checked up on my daughter’s annual vacation spot in all the years she’d been going. Em had always handled stuff like that, and I’d let her. Sure, I’d glanced at the brochures, but that was it. I’d nodded at the photographs afterward and agreed that yes, yes, that was a pretty horse, Crystal (even though I couldn’t comprehend her enthusiasm). I listened to her tales of camping (on the ground—God!) and swimming in the river and wrangling cattle (whatever that meant). She loved those vacations with all her heart, and I had only been able to pretend any interest of my own.

Had that made me a crappy husband and father? It was one more thing that Amy had reminded me of. My duty to Crystal. How could I wallow in my grief when there was my daughter to take care of? I could only hope I’d stepped up to the plate since then. I thought I had. Crystal had said little things that made me think so.

The dude ranch’s website surprised me. Its official name was Black Bear Guest Ranch, which seemed much less… I don’t know… dude-y? I mean, what the hell is a “dude” ranch anyway? A place where dudes hang out?

Black Bear Guest Ranch was not the nightmare I’d imagined. Yes, there were lots of pictures of people riding horses—of course. But the ranch didn’t look as rustic as I had feared. I wasn’t all that excited to see some of them herding cattle. Herding cattle! I couldn’t imagine wanting to do anything like that. The website explained that Black Bear, like so many others, was a “working ranch.” Why would anyone want to use their vacation “working” when they could relax by a pool or enjoy cocktails without guilt?

Because—the site further explained glowingly—it gave vacationers a feel of what it was like to live in the Old West.

Yeehaw!

Not my thing.

The good news was the pictures really did make Black Bear Guest Ranch look beautiful. The landscape was lovely—I couldn’t deny it—with rolling hills, trees, streams, and a lake (if a sixteen-acre body of water qualified). There was even a real pool, cement and built-in, thank God. The idea of swimming in a dirty river or lake with… with fish and snapping turtles and God knows what else was a lot less appealing to me than to my daughter. But more, there was a dry sauna, Jacuzzi-slash-hot tub, weight room, and a spa. Massages were available, and I imagined after a day in the saddle I’d need one.

And yes, Amy was right. The cabins were lovely. I’d imagined, just as she’d said, something from those enforced church-camp days from my childhood. Large rooms with rows of bunks stacked three high, which were hot in the summer and chilly on wet days, with cold breezes sneaking in from many a crack in the walls and around windows.

In comparison to that grisly image, the rooms at Black Bear appeared rustic only in design. On the outside, they did look a lot like log cabins, only extended, with multiple doors. Pictures revealed that was because there were private rooms, several per building, like a motel. Surprisingly, though, they were more like time-share condos than motel rooms, but a rich, modern cowboy version instead of one from the Old West. The walls were bright pine with prints hanging on them, the rooms nicely furnished, including large, comfortable-looking beds. The bathrooms were completely modern, with large tubs and showers. And some had bearskin rugs.

And the food! The breakfasts looked fit for an army of guests. Dinner included steak, barbecue, grilled salmon and fresh-caught rainbow trout, Cornish game hens, and even buffalo. Plates were heaped high and obviously not designed for vegetarians or those on a diet. I was going to gain a ton! You’d have to work on your vacation unless you wanted to come home two pants sizes bigger. Looking at all that food made my mouth water, and I had just eaten.

Of course, Pizza Hut hardly compared to the feasts pictured.

This might be fun after all, I thought.

Emphasis on “might.”

And wouldn’t it be nice to get away? Go someplace completely different?

As I was about to sign off, my eye caught on a button reading Things You Should Bring. Now that was something I needed to look at. I didn’t want to get there only to find out I was missing something important, re the time Em and I had gone to Orlando only to realize I’d forgotten swim trunks and we had no sunblock for her. Which was pretty silly considering swimming was what one generally did when going to Orlando—certainly at a resort. And Em, like all the Olsens, was not only redheaded, but pale. She burned easily. So yeah, I didn’t want to show up at the ranch looking for all the world like the rube I was.

Only, in my haste, I missed the button with my mouse and hit Our Staff instead.

A large picture of some two dozen people appeared on my screen. A lot of them looked young, twenties at the oldest, and all smiled at the camera. And, of course, all wore cowboy hats. They seemed to radiate good cheer, each beaming face saying, Yup, this is where you want to spend your vacation. Black Bear Guest Ranch. Where else?

Ah, those faces. To be that young again. Was it a requirement to be attractive to work there?

One young man leapt out at me. Well built, his smile sweet—this was no fake smile, because it could be seen in his eyes as well. And his eyes were so unique. I couldn’t tell what color they were, but they looked a tad Asian. Or maybe he was one of those people who squinted their eyes when they smiled? Whatever the reason, he was dazzling.

A few more clicks of my mouse and I found a picture of him alone on horseback, and I could see he was quite muscular. He was a wrangler, the site indicated, although it didn’t give his name. Apparently Black Bear Guest Ranch usually took on about thirty guests at a time, and a wrangler was assigned to no more than four or five people. In the case of a large family, two wranglers were assigned to them.

Damn. He looked like my daughter’s type. I’d have to watch Crystal around him.

In that almost-psychic way of hers, Crystal was suddenly standing behind me and leaning over my shoulder. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “That’s Cole! I just adore him.”

“You do?” My inner father alarms started going off. “How come I haven’t heard about this ‘Cole’? How old is he?”

“Oh God, Pops. He’s old. Twenty-five at least.”

I almost laughed. What did she think of me? I must be ancient.

“Besides, Cole’s gay,” she said matter-of-factly.

I froze. Gay? I looked back at the screen. He was gay? “He doesn’t look gay,” I whispered.

“Oh, Pop, please. What d’you think? Gay guys wear dresses or something?” She put a hand over her mouth and giggled. “Well, some do. Drag queens.”

“What do you know about drag queens?” I asked—snapped out—in surprise. Damn. Where had she come up with this stuff? Drag queens? Gay wranglers? “They let a gay man work at a family ranch?”

Crystal rolled her eyes in the way only eighteen-year-olds can. “Pop, it’s the twenty-first century, for goodness sake. Gays are here to stay. Sorry if you don’t like it. They can get married now too, you know.”

For a moment, I didn’t say anything. I was stunned. It was the last attitude I’d expected my daughter to have. Had times changed that much since I was her age? “And you’re okay with that?” I managed.

Crystal nodded. “Oh yeah,” she said with delight, giggling and waggling her eyebrows. “Two boys kissin’ is hot!”

I reeled back in shock. My stomach had clenched so tight it was hurting. “Kissing? You’ve seen this ‘boy’ kissing other boys?”

“God no, Dad.”

“Then what…?”

She pointed at the computer. “You’ve heard of the Internet.”

“So?”

Once more she rolled her eyes.

It hit me then. She’d been looking up all kinds of stuff I’d never imagined on the Internet. I was a shitty father. It had never occurred to me to monitor what she did on the computer.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I haven’t been going to porn sites.” Crystal sighed dramatically, then reached out and touched my shoulder. “Pop, it’s the way it is. Some people are gay. They can’t help it.” She gave me a sympathetic smile and turned and left the room.

They can’t help it?

Well, she may think—as the typical teenager did—that she knew everything. But about that, she was wrong. They could help it.

Who knew that better than I did?

CHAPTER 2: Getting There

THE DRIVE from Terra’s Gate via Kansas City down to Arkansas was fairly uneventful, but beautiful. The farther we drove—it was about six hours in all—the lovelier the countryside became. It was an amazing day, not too cool and not too hot. Roll-down-your-windows weather versus blast your air conditioner. Perfect.

The sky was a color that usually only appeared in paintings—a dazzling, cloudless, robin’s-egg blue. Even the air was sweet. There was no smell of chemicals or exhaust or gasoline, only the scent of growing things—clear, clean, and full of promise.

Promise? I wondered. Now where had that analogy come from?

I sat up front with Amy, who was driving, and Crystal was in back with Amy’s children—fifteen-year-old Todd, and Robin, who was the same age as my daughter. Like Crystal and so many of Em’s side of the family, Robin had red hair. Given my height, build, and dark eyes and hair, my daughter looked more like one of Amy’s brood than someone related to me. Only Todd looked anything like me, and we weren’t even related by blood.

The two girls chattered like birds (Crystal would be furious with me for saying that), and Todd’s nose was buried in some kind of game, like just about any boy his age.

The two weeks since Amy asked me to go on the trip had gone rather smoothly.

I had dreaded going in to work and asking for the time off. After all, I hadn’t had the new position that long. But Gary, the manager of Horrell & Howes, surprised me with how quickly he agreed. He seemed happy, almost relieved.

“Yes, you can go. You bet you can go!”

He was a big man, although not the way I was. He wasn’t so much tall as… well, round. He reminded me a lot of George from Seinfeld—bald, same glasses—but older… plumper.

“Gary! Are you sure? I mean, we’re gearing up to one of the busiest parts of our year.”

“I’m sure,” he said, leaning forward over his desk.

“But….”

He shook his head. “No buts.”

“But why?”

He looked at me for a long moment and then asked me to close the door.

Nervous, I got up and did as he asked.

“Neil, I’ve been worried about you for a very long time. You’ve been with us for almost three years now, and in the first year, you did nothing but blow me away. Blow a lot of us away. I knew you were meant for more than answering phone calls, even though you were better at it than just about anyone I’ve seen in all my years here.”

He took a deep breath.

“And then….”

I looked away. Don’t say it, I begged him. Problem was, I didn’t say it out loud.

“I only met Emily once. At our Christmas party. She was amazing. She lit up the entire room, you know?”

I knew. She always did that. That’s who she was. I had fallen under her spell a long time ago, and she had been the compass in my life, pointing me always true north.

For a long time, Gary didn’t say anything. Then finally he did. “I hurt for you, Neil. I really do. When she….”

Don’t say it, I thought again. Don’t say “died,” and don’t say any of those fucking stupid words people use. Those euphemisms for death. Passed. Crossed over. Departed. That I had lost her.

“You’re not living anymore, Neil.”

It took everything in me not to lash out at him. But one look from those eyes and I saw the empathy. He wasn’t feeling sorry for me. There was no pity. What I saw was not what I was expecting.

It was pure compassion.

“Forgive me for being an asshole,” he said then, once more surprising me. Although dammit, Gary was a good man. He had come to Emily’s funeral. What boss did that?

“You haven’t taken time off in a long time, my friend,” he said, and somehow his calling me friend felt good instead of fake. “I want you to go. Take as much time as you want. We owe you four weeks. Take it all if you want.”

I sighed.

I saw that he meant it.

I shook my head. “A week is enough,” I told him.

He nodded, and I left that office feeling weirdly… what? Why, almost elated.

I’d thought with summer being a busy time for us, there might be a problem, especially because it hadn’t been a year since my promotion. Instead, I had been given the golden key and practically a company car.

Oh! That promotion….

IT WAS almost funny how that happened.

Yes, my work had gone to shit after Em died, even after Amy pulled me up by my bootstraps. For months, I hadn’t been able to concentrate. Hadn’t been able to help the customers like I should have. I was making mistakes—none that Roxanne, the department supervisor, had to be on my back about (at least not much)—but way too many as far as I was concerned. I’d begun to worry I would get fired. At one point, I was a shoo-in for employee of the month almost every month. Taking calls and working with frustrated, hysterical, even weeping people was something for which I had a knack.

But with Em gone, my heart had gone as well. I had to fight-fight-fight the urge to tell angry, even distressed, customers to fuck off. To say, “You think you’ve got problems? I lost my wife of twenty years. I can hardly get up in the mornings. I cry every time I see our wedding picture hanging in the hall, but I can’t bring myself to take it down.”

Two years. Two years she had been gone. And I had gone with her. I wasn’t living. I had become a good actor. I could smile and nod and make happy. I had even fooled Crystal. Or at least I thought I had. It was hard to tell with a teenager. They were so preoccupied with their own lives and their raging hormones and their belief that they were right and their parents—who had lived at least twice the number of years they had with twice the experience—were wrong.

Not that Crystal was a problem. She didn’t disobey me and had only gotten herself into trouble a couple of times, though not in over a year. Nothing serious. It seemed that she had done what I couldn’t.

Moved on.

Really moved on.

Then Roxanne went on vacation, and to my surprise, Gary asked me to take over her duties while she was gone. I’d done that a bit here and there, a few hours or a day or two, but two weeks?

Shelia, my team lead, wasn’t happy about it, and she did nothing to disguise the fact either. Horrell & Howes was her life. She breathed, lived, and crapped the company. Her very identity was wrapped up in H&H. Me? I took pride in my job. Hell, besides Amy, keeping busy helped me survive. I did a good job, or I wouldn’t get the awards, which mostly consisted of getting my picture on a bulletin board and a couple of movie tickets or twenty-dollar gift cards for a local restaurant. Not exactly a trip to Vegas. But I certainly didn’t consider Horrell & Howes to be my career. To be honest, I’d never considered any job to be more than a job—never my life’s work. To be even more honest, I was one of those who were watching the clock by the end of the day.

But I thought, what the hell, and jumped in. In for a penny, in for a pound, as Em used to say.

I was surprised when, by the third day, I found I was getting into it. There was something about getting off the phone with customers I could no longer sympathize with and instead getting lost in Roxanne’s many duties that made me feel like I had purpose again. I kept seeing little things that could be done to improve operations. I found I wasn’t watching the clock to see when I could go home, but was checking it to make sure I had time to get things done.

My fellow employees were impressed as well. I knew them. Knew their quirks, their interests, their worries. I made allowances, which brightened their attitudes, even though they knew those allowances would only apply for two weeks. To my delight, call volume went up and complaints were down.

On the second Friday, my last, several of my coworkers even asked me to go out for drinks with them after work. And I went! I had a fun time, getting a buzz I hadn’t dared in a long time. Everyone told me how great the last two weeks had been and that they’d be happy to work for me anytime. They said they were sorry I’d be on the phones again the next week.

They were sorry!

The biggest surprise that night—no, the second biggest—happened when I realized one of the ladies, Charleen, had been flirting with me all evening.

“She’s hitting on you pretty heavy,” said this new guy named Sloan.

“Huh?” I’d asked, slack-jawed.

How I’d missed that until we were ready to go, I don’t know. In retrospect, she’d been pretty obvious. We were in the parking lot, and she asked me if I would like to come to her place for dinner sometime. I was startled. She was asking me on a date?

Everything in me rebelled at the idea. I had to tell her I wasn’t ready. I think she understood.

The biggest eye-opener, though, was when I told Crystal. Her reaction was explosive.

“No,” she’d actually yelled. “No way!”

I’d just looked at her, dumbstruck.

“Pop, you just can’t. You can’t. Please. I can’t watch you be with another woman besides Mom. I couldn’t. I don’t want a stepmother. Not ever.”

She’d made me promise.

And truly it wasn’t a hard promise to make. Not really. I couldn’t imagine being with another woman either.

No. Not again.

Em had been special. The one. The only one I could be with like that.

So I never went to dinner with Charleen.

The following week at work was hard, and it was no shock when I was called into Roxanne’s office. It was with dread that I saw both the manager, Gary, and someone from Human Resources there as well.

It seemed Roxanne had accepted a transfer to New York, the very same place she had been for “vacation.” They wanted me to take her job.

I couldn’t believe it.

It was like a ray of sunshine breaking through dark and stormy clouds.

I won’t go into all the smiles and patting of backs and handshakes or the “We’re impressed” comments.

But I will say life began to get a little better. For the first time since I’d been without Em to encourage me, I was doing something. I was doing it on my own. I won’t say I was happy, but gravity seemed a tad less heavy, the air a little easier to breathe.

And to tell the truth, I didn’t mind beating Shelia for the position one bit. Not only because she had been such a bitch to me for two weeks, but because she was a bitch to everyone. It had pissed me off when I’d overheard her saying that it was “typical” that they promoted a man instead of a woman. I wanted to believe—needed to believe—that I had deserved it. She worked hard, yes. I couldn’t deny that. But she really was a mean person—the kind who would have been thrilled to be in charge so she could write people up and look for excuses to fire them instead of encouraging them and helping them be proud of their jobs. Being a call-center rep wasn’t easy. It could be a thankless job even without having to deal with the rude and angry customers who often phoned in.

Shelia was one of those “company people,” and she forgot that people—her fellow workers—were the company. The heart and soul of any company. She would have been a horrible supervisor, and it had nothing to do with her being a woman.

Horrell & Howes was one of those miracle companies. It hadn’t forgotten that their employees counted. That had helped me survive the last two years.

I hadn’t had the position a full year when I asked Gary for the vacation time to go to Black Bear and he said yes. “Hell yes!”

IF THE countryside we traveled through was any indication, Black Bear Guest Ranch might be just what I needed, and I found the closer we got, the lighter my heart felt.

I was actually getting excited.

When we got off Highway 5, we went another ten miles or so on a pleasant dirt road, and then we were there.

We stopped at the entrance to the ranch, and everyone scrambled excitedly out of the car. Apparently, the first tradition was for everyone to get their picture taken in the arms of one of the two huge carved bears standing on either side of the ranch’s gate. Above was the time-honored arched wrought-iron sign with the words Black Bear Guest Ranch. Everyone insisted I take part, and soon I found myself enfolded in the embrace of a rough-hewn bear that towered at least two feet above my head. This elicited applause from all, and Amy declared I was now a part of the Black Bear family.

Before we could leave, another car pulled over and another group of people, cameras in hand, began to assemble themselves around the bears. So this wasn’t only my family’s standard way of beginning the week’s vacation.

We got back in the car for a short jog down a narrow tree-lined road. Then the road opened up, and we were there. The ranch lay spread out before us. There were more buildings than I’d expected, each in the style of a log cabin. We passed two people on horseback, and I marveled at the size of the animals. Not Trojan-horse-sized, no, but seemingly giant all the same. A sign shaped like a bear—what else?—welcomed us, and another told us guest services was right ahead.

Around a slight bend sat a building that was obviously the place. It was big. And like everything else, quite lovely. I was surprised at the number of people gathered either on or near the building’s long front porch. There must have been fifty people standing around and at least twice as many pieces of luggage.

The parking lot was packed, but Amy gave us a whimsical little smile and magically pulled into one of what she called the “rock-star parking spots,” right up front. Somehow there was always a space for Amy.

We got out of the car, and another of the carved bears, even larger than the others, loomed over us. It was an impressive sight.

“Mr. and Mrs. Radcliff” came a cry, and a young blonde girl ran up to us and then froze. “Oh my God,” she said with a gasp.

Amy turned and forced a smile. “Cassie, how are you?” Amy looked at me. “Neil, this is Cassie, one of the wranglers here.”

Then, to the blonde, “Cassie, this is Neil Baxter, Crystal’s father.”

Cassie’s eyes were still wide, and I could see she was horrified, but she put on her best front and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Baxter.” She looked like she was probably in her midtwenties. No girl. This was a young lady.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Cassie,” I answered, pretending not to notice her mistake. I felt pretty sorry for her. I had opened my mouth and inserted my foot more than once in my life. I wanted to make her feel better. “I take it this isn’t your first summer here?”

“Oh no.” Her smile broadened slightly. “My sixth.”

“You must like it here,” I said.

“Oh yeah!” She nodded vigorously, her tight curls bobbing around her round little face. “I love it. I’d live here year-round if I could.”

“That’s a recommendation if I ever heard one,” I replied. If everyone was as sweet as this young woman, it was one more plus, I thought. I looked for Amy and saw she was opening the hatchback.

“Let me help,” Cassie said and shot to Amy’s side, where I could hear her whisper, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Radcliff. I feel so bad. I forgot. I—I thought….”

“I know what you thought, dear,” I heard Amy say. “It’s all right.” She hugged the girl. “Now help me with these?”

“Of course!” And together they began to pull our luggage out of the back of the car. Before I could move, Todd jumped in. “Mom! I’m the man of the family now. Let me.”

“Okay, then.” Amy stepped back to let Todd demonstrate his masculinity. Todd had transformed in size and height during the last year, as surely as Owen had seemed to shrivel away. Unlike his mother and sister, he didn’t have red hair. That had done nothing to prevent him from looking like Opie Taylor. But our Opie had metamorphosed into a handsome young man, with a mop of dark hair and even the very beginnings of chest hair—at fifteen! It was so ironic, and sad as well, that Todd changing from boy into man should happen in time for Owen to miss most of it.

A moment later, a pudgy young man raced up with a half-full luggage cart. “Hey, Mrs. Radcliff,” he said excitedly and started to place the bags on it with no other preamble.

Amazing was all I could think. Sure, Amy and her family had been coming here for years, but it was only one week. How many guests must they have in a year? How did they not only remember her among so many people passing through, but even remember her name?

“Leo, isn’t it?” Amy asked, smiling, her eyes lighting up.

And of course they remember her, I thought. Who wouldn’t?

“Yes, um, ma’am,” he said, and blushed. “You remember me?”

Of course she did.

“Of course,” Amy said and introduced us. “Leo, this is Crystal’s father, Neil Baxter. Neil, Leo.”

Leo grinned mightily. “Oh. Hey!” He held out his hand, and when I took it, he gave me an even mightier shake. “Awesome. It’s great to meet you. Crystal is way awesome!”

Way awesome? Did I have to watch for him too?

Well, not “too,” I remembered. Because Cole was gay. My stomach clenched, and I glanced around me. Was he here? Where was Mr. Some-people-are-gay-they-can’t-help-it?