Blue Ridge Hideaway

“What do you mean?”

She considered not telling him. She didn’t want to make an enemy of Bret Donovan. She needed him to make good on his father’s debt, but he had asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “I was just thinking that this place probably was a pretty good Boy Scout camp.”

“I imagine so,” he said. “And I don’t disagree with you that places like The Crooked Spruce could help shape young lives. I’ve seen enough troubled kids in my former profession who might have benefited from the responsibility and work ethic that a youth camp could provide, but I’ve moved on from that life and its problems. And I wasn’t responsible for the Boy Scouts leaving. So if they don’t want to come here anymore, why shouldn’t I take advantage of what they left behind?

“Bottom line,” he said. “The Crooked Spruce is mine now. I need to make a living, and this is what I want to do. This may have been a decent Boy Scout camp, but it’s going to be an even better outfitters.”

“Yes, it will. Still it’s kind of a shame....”

“Dorie, I can’t fix people. Lately I’ve barely been able to fix myself.”

She shrugged. “Fine. Good luck. Now where do you suggest I bunk tonight?”

“Pop and I sleep on the second floor. But you’ll be staying in the spare room down here.” He pointed toward the hallway where she’d gone to use the bathroom. “It’s the last door down on the right. Technically it’s a storeroom right now, but there’s a bed in there. Not fancy, but it’s clean. You can use the bathroom down here and avoid bumping into Pop and me.”

“All right.”

He walked slowly to the kitchen, favoring his right leg. Obviously the inactivity of the past few minutes had affected him. Before going in, he stopped and turned back to her. “I hope we can work this out,” he said. “What happened to you isn’t right.”

“We agree on that.” She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she said, “So you never told me what’s wrong with your leg.”

He paused as if debating whether or not to tell her. Finally he sighed and said, “A few months ago, when I was still a cop, I got shot in a botched liquor-store robbery.”

She couldn’t control her reaction. A startled cry came from her throat.

“I know,” he said. “Sounds like a cliché, doesn’t it? Liquor-store robbery in the middle of the night. But it happened. And I got a bullet in my thigh for my troubles.”

Her mind flashed back to the details of Jack’s case. A convenience store robbery. Three teenagers. One gun. A downed store clerk. She flinched.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, misinterpreting her reaction. “I’m getting better every day. You know the worst part? The shooter only got a light sentence. He’ll be out in three years if he doesn’t screw up.”

He stared around the room, a faraway look in his eyes. “So, yeah, The Crooked Spruce used to be a Boy Scout camp, but here’s some irony for you that came out in the trial. The guy who popped me was once an eagle scout. Had more medals than a five-star general. Guess you never can tell about people.”

She didn’t know how to respond. It was a crazy bit of irony.

He could have gone into the kitchen, but instead he held up one finger. “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“You got anything against kids?”

“Of course not. Why?”

“My ten-year-old son’s due back tomorrow. He’s been staying with my sister over spring break from school. He’s a good boy. Quiet. Won’t bother you too much.”

“I don’t have a problem with that...if I’m still around when he gets here.”

“Okay, then. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Dorie looked at the door after Bret had closed it. Questions flooded her mind. How did a ten-year-old like living on this mountain? Where was the boy’s mother? What kind of a father was Bret? She came to the same conclusion she often did about children who lived with only one parent. They were luckier than those who had none at all.

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