Home to Montana

Their eyes met as he took the flashlight from her hand. The depth of her blue eyes and her furrowed frown told him she was dubious he could fix anything. He wasn’t all that confident either.

He checked behind the machine, handed her back the flashlight and grabbed hold of the dishwasher. “I need to move it out from the wall a few inches so I can get a better look.”

“It’s heavy,” she warned.

“Yeah, I figured that.” Rocking it side-to-side, he inched the dishwasher far enough forward to get a better look but not so far that he’d mess with the drain or water hoses.

He took the flashlight again and squeezed up against the wall. The machine was plugged into a power strip along with neighboring equipment. While he couldn’t reach the plug, he had no reason to think it wasn’t providing power. Everything else was working.

He fussed with the connection at the back of the machine. It seemed solid.

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?” Alisa asked.

He glanced over his shoulder. With her blond hair pulled back, she looked younger than she had outside. No blemish marred her fair complexion. “I’ve eliminated the two most obvious reasons it won’t work. Your mother’s electrician would’ve charged her a hundred bucks for doing that. I’m saving her money.”

“Very thoughtful of you.”

“I’m that kind of guy.”

“Glad to hear it.” Her overly friendly smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He sensed her distrust and turned back to the machine, opening the door. Racks of dirty dishes were stacked inside. He pressed the latch on the door.

“Try starting it now,” he requested.

“The door has to be closed before it will start.”

“Unless the latch is the problem.”

“Okay,” she said, still dubious. She punched the start button. The motor hummed and water spewed onto the dirty dishes.

Nick shut the door and the action came to a stop. He grinned. Good guess, Carbini!

“How did you do that?” Alisa asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

Mama scurried across the kitchen. “You got it fixed already?”

“Not yet, ma’am.” He opened the door again. “Looks like I’m going to need a screwdriver.” Fortunately, the only problem was that the latch had loosened and didn’t make a solid electrical contact. Thus the machine wouldn’t work. It wasn’t the first time Nick had seen that particular problem. The heavy use of equipment in a 24-7 military kitchen meant lots of parts broke. He’d had to learn to keep things going with whatever he could find.

From somewhere Alisa produced a screwdriver. With a few twists, Nick tightened down the latch.

He closed the door and stepped back. “Okay, try it again.”

The motor hummed. The water whooshed.

Mrs. Machak threw her arms around Nick and kissed both of his cheeks. “You’re a genius! Thank you! Thank you!” She patted his face, which was now hot with embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that hard to do, ma’am.”

“You call me Mama. Everyone does. I’m going to bring you a big plate of my special chicken and dumplings. Alisa will show you a nice place to sit out front—”

“I really can’t—” He figured he looked a mess, his face streaked with sweat from fighting the memories that were reflected in the stainless steel. Even without that, he was pretty dirty from chopping wood and being on the road so long. “My dog’s outside. I was hoping he’d get some table scraps.” He glanced at Alisa.

She nodded. “I’ll fix Rags a dish.”

“Thanks. And if you don’t mind, Mama. I appreciate your offer of supper, but I’d just as soon eat on the porch with my dog. Looking the way I do, I think I’d scare off your customers if I ate out front.” Being outside would also get him away from the reflections. Give him some space to breathe again.

Mama narrowed her eyes, appraising him. “Trust me, we’ve seen worse. But if that’s what you’d like, it’s fine with me.”

He made his way out the back door and walked halfway into the yard, his leg more painful than usual, before he could draw a comfortable breath of cool, fresh air. He supposed the prison chaplain who counseled him about his post-traumatic stress disorder would say it was a good thing he’d done. He’d gone into a kitchen without having a full panic attack like the one he’d had when they’d assigned him to prison kitchen duty. They’d transferred his work detail to the prison laundry in a hurry.

Good thing or not, he was still shaking on the inside.

Rags did a couple of circles around Nick. He knelt and wrapped his arms around the dog. A calming sensation eased his nerves. The tight muscles of his neck and shoulders relaxed. More than one night since he’d found Rags, the dog had awakened Nick before his recurring nightmare had a chance to send him screaming out into the cold. Instead, he’d buried his face in the dog’s fur, holding on while the bloody images faded.

“Your dinner’s on the way, buddy.” His voice was hoarse, his mouth dry. “Sorry it took me so long.”

The back door opened. Alisa stood backlighted on the porch with two plates in her hands, her slender figure revealed in silhouette.

He pushed up to his feet.

“You really could eat inside,” she said. “We get hikers and fishermen who’ve been out in the wilderness for weeks that look worse than you do.”

“I’m fine here, thanks.” He took Rags’ plate and put it down at the foot of the steps. “Here you go, buddy.” Tomorrow he’d have to find a grocery store and stock up on dog food. He didn’t usually take handouts, but he had to admit the paprika smell of the chicken was enough to make his mouth water. Rags didn’t have any objection to the chunks of steak on his plate, either.

“We do appreciate you fixing the dishwasher. I was afraid Mama was going to blow a gasket if we had to do without until our electrician could get here tomorrow.”

“Glad I could help.”

Alisa hesitated for a moment before handing him the plate of chicken. “Just bring your dirty plates inside when you’re done.”

He nodded and watched her walk back into the kitchen. An ache of loneliness rose inside him, and he wished he could follow her into her world. A world that used to be his.

He’d be a fool on any number of levels if he acted on that impulse. She’d be worse than a fool if she let him.

He bent over his plate, said a silent grace and dug into the chicken. The mixture of sour cream, paprika and garlic in the sauce slid across his tongue giving his taste buds a treat. He chewed the fork-tender chicken thoughtfully.

Mama Machak sure knew how to cook.

* * *

Alisa shook her head as she returned to the kitchen.

The man was a puzzle. Scruffy and unkempt, a drifter but well-spoken. A man who worried about his dog before eating his own supper.

Normally she’d find that admirable.

In this case, she’d put it down to her quixotic quirk that made her a sucker for the underdog.

“You get that young man his dinner?” Mama plated two chicken specials and added a serving of steamed julienne vegetables.

“He’s eating on the porch with his dog. Just like he wanted.”

“He’s a good man. I can tell.”

“Why? Because he fixed a switch on our dishwasher?” If she’d known what was wrong, she could have fixed it herself.

“No, it’s in his eyes. They’re honest eyes.”

Alisa thought they were intense eyes. Penetrating. Almost mesmerizing. She didn’t know about honest. And wasn’t about to volunteer to test Mama’s intuition.

“You think he’s looking for a job?” Mama asked.

“I doubt he’ll stay around that long.”

Mama slid the two plated dinners under the heat lamp where the waitress could pick them up. “What’s his name?”

“Nick. Carboni? Caloni? Something like that.”

Cocking her head, Mama frowned. “There used to be a family here. Carbini, I think it was. The mother was sickly all the time. The father worked summers at the mill and got drunk all winter. There was a cute little boy—”

Alisa gasped. “Nick Carbini! I remember him from third grade. He had a neat smile and told knock knock jokes and dumb riddles until we were all sick of them. But he couldn’t be the same—” This Nick rarely smiled. She doubted he was into telling jokes. There was too much sadness about him. Still, as she remembered her classmate’s eyes...

“When the mother died, the old man took the boy off with him,” Mama related. “I wondered sometimes if the youngster would be all right with his father. He wasn’t a good example for the boy.” She tossed two New York strip steaks on the grill, and they sizzled.

“Maybe,” Mama mused, “your young man has come home to stay.”

“He’s not my young anything.”

Mama pulled off her disposable gloves and tossed them in a nearby trash container. “You watch the steaks, sweetie. I’m going see if young Mr. Carbini would like a job.”

“Mama! What kind of a job? You don’t know anything about the man. He could be a criminal for all you know. Just because you knew him as a boy and felt sorry for him, doesn’t mean you can trust him as a man. It doesn’t sound like he came from a very good family.”

“Not everyone is as lucky as you were to have a nice mama and papa. From what I’ve seen, Nick Carbini knows enough to fill in for Jake for a couple of weeks.”

Mama grabbed her sweater from the coatrack, tossed it around her shoulders and stepped out onto the porch.

Alisa rolled her eyes. Nick might have had a rough life, but he was still a drifter. She didn’t want him or his dog around, not when Greg was so obviously drawn to the pair. Not when she knew her own weakness.

If Nick decided he’d take the job, she’d have to make sure to keep her distance.

How she’d manage to do that with him working around the diner was beyond her.

* * *

Nick looked up as Mama stepped out onto the porch. At the same time, Rags lifted his head and his tail began to swipe through the air. Greedy as he was, he was probably hoping for another plate of scraps.

“This chicken is great. Wonderful flavor,” Nick said. “I’ve never had dumplings like these either.”

Mama beamed. “My mama taught me. It’s a Czechoslovakian dish. Some people use water for the dumplings, but milk is better.”

“Gives it more flavor and body.”

“Yes, absolutely.” She sat down on the step beside Nick. “So, young man, are you looking for a job?”

Petting Rags, he frowned. “I don’t plan to hang around long.” He had no idea where he might go next. But he would leave as soon as his flashbacks returned. The nightmares that woke him in a cold sweat. Then he’d move on. Trying to outrun them.

So far that hadn’t worked.

“How ’bout for two weeks? Our handyman’s gone,” Mama said. “Jake’s daughter was hurt real bad in an accident in Spokane. He plans to come back when she’s able to manage on her own.”

Two weeks. Could he hang on for that long? He wasn’t sure. He was about to say “no thanks” when the image of Alisa popped into his head. The thought that she might give him an honest smile, more than her overly practiced, the-customer-is-right smile, gave him a jolt. He had no business thinking about that. Or wanting it.

“The job comes with a rent-free room at the motel next door. We own it like we own the diner,” Mama added. “You get Sunday and Monday off, unless there’s a crisis. And all you can eat here at the diner plus an hourly wage.” She named a figure that made sense to Nick.

A tempting offer. “I’ve got my dog.”

“I can’t let him in the diner, and I wouldn’t want him running loose around the grounds. But you can have him in the room with you as long as he behaves himself. On a leash otherwise.”

Considering the job, he scratched his beard. He was definitely tired of being on the road. A clean room with a shower and free meals had a certain appeal.

Foolishly, he knew the real appeal was Alisa. He doubted she’d feel the same about him. Not if she knew the truth about how he’d spent the past three years in prison for a barroom brawl. One of the many fights he’d gotten into, part of his battle with PTSD.

“I sometimes get restless and need to move on. I wouldn’t want to leave you in the lurch.”

Shrugging, Mama grabbed the porch railing and pulled herself up. “If you don’t steal me blind in the meantime, and I don’t think you will or I wouldn’t have offered you the job, I won’t be any worse off than I am now with Jake gone.”

That was true. He didn’t have to feel pressured to stay.

Slowly, he stood. “Okay, I’ll take your job.”

She smiled, and he had the feeling she wanted to pat his cheek again or hug him. It had been a long time since anyone had wanted to do that, which made him feel strange and oddly vulnerable.

“I’ve got a retired couple managing the motel. Frank and Helen Scotto. You’ll be doing some work for them—changing lightbulbs, maybe a few repairs, nothing heavy. And if I have anything break down here at the diner, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good.”

“Tell Frank or Helen to fix you up with a room. You can start work in the morning after breakfast.”

He scratched his beard again. “Could I start a little late tomorrow? I’d like to get some of this fur off me.”

“Good idea. Guess we’d all like to see what you look like under that mop you’re wearing.” Her eyes, the same deep blue shade as Alisa’s, twinkled, and she laughed. “Ned Turner’s the barber. He’s a block up the road on the left hand side. He’s got one of those red-and-white poles out front. Opens at eight.”

“I’ll find him.”

She stooped to pick up his plate and the dog’s. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Machak. I appreciate the job. And supper.”

Her brows rose. “Mama, remember?”

He chuckled low in his chest. “Yes, Mama.”

As Mama vanished into the kitchen, his laughter evaporated and a knot of fear twisted in his stomach. He knew he didn’t dare get too comfortable here in Bear Lake. He’d be moving on soon, a residual problem left over from his abbreviated tour in Afghanistan along with the irrational fear that drove him.

Chapter Three

Nick pulled open the drapes on the sliding glass door in the motel room. On the second floor at the back of the building, it had a small balcony and an angled look at the diner and a clear view to the west. A perfect place to watch the sun go down, and with the drapes open he wouldn’t feel like the walls were closing in on him.

He turned back to scan the room. A queen-size bed covered with a forest-green quilt. Two pinewood end tables and a matching low chest of drawers. A small flat-screen TV. Pretty standard motel fare but he’d stayed in worse. Like an eight-foot by eight-foot prison cell.

“What do you think, Rags? Home sweet home?” For a few days. Maybe a couple of weeks. It couldn’t hurt to stay put for a while.

Without responding, Rags did his sniffing thing. In every new spot they’d stopped, the dog had to investigate the area thoroughly. Nick had no idea what Rags expected to find, but he sure was looking hard for it. Maybe he was searching for the trail of the family who had left him stranded in Colorado.

Nick knew where his own family was, what was left of it anyway. He had no plans to track his father down again.

He should have known better than to try.

His old man had never had time for him. And Nick had learned to keep his distance when his dad was drinking. At least until he was old enough and big enough to hold his own. After that, his old man had left him alone.

Opening the sliding glass door, he stepped out onto the balcony. Rags followed him and sat down, peering across the parking lot at the diner. The faintest hint of hamburgers on the grill drifted on a light breeze.

Nick wondered which of the upstairs rooms belonged to Alisa. She sure hadn’t wandered far from home. And where was her son’s father? He hadn’t seen any sign of a husband around the place. Maybe he worked somewhere else.

Or maybe he’d moved on. She wasn’t wearing a ring.

None of your business, Carbini.

“Come on, Rags. Let’s get our gear from the truck and then we’ll go looking for some regular dog food for you and a regular leash instead of that ol’ rope I’ve been using.”

Rags whined.

“Yeah, I know. You’d rather run around on your own.” He shooed the dog back inside and closed the door. “But Mama says that’s a no go. She doesn’t want you running off her customers.” He didn’t think Alisa wanted Rags playing with her son either. He’d guess Greg would think otherwise.

* * *

The Thursday night crowd at the diner had thinned by eight-thirty.

“Good night, Alisa.” Larry Cornwall, the high school football coach, tipped his cap as he was about to leave. “I’m still waiting for you to say yes to going to the Harvest Festival with me.”

She shot him a grin. “Larry, you know how busy I am on Saturday nights.” He’d been asking her out ever since he moved to town three years ago. For reasons that annoyed Mama, Alisa had always refused his invitations.

“The festival’s a good cause. Football team needs your support.”

“I’ll make sure to get a check in the mail to you soon.”

Frowning, he shook his head. “One of these days I’ll wear you down, and you’ll say yes just to get rid of me.”

She laughed. “Have a good evening, Larry.”

Alisa waved goodbye to him. She turned to straighten the menus and slipped them into place beside the cash register.

“I’m going to call it a night,” she said to Jolene, who was working the evening shift. An attractive woman in her thirties with two children and a husband who worked for the state highway system, Jolene was unfailingly chipper. In addition to her, Tricia, a sweet teenager who worked part-time, was waiting tables. The two of them could handle the thinning crowd.

“Time to put Greg to bed, huh?” Jolene asked.

“Working the number of hours I do, bedtime is about the only chance I get to spend with him.” A reality that gave her a large dose of guilt, yet she couldn’t seem to figure out how to change the situation. She couldn’t leave Mama to run the whole diner. There had been signs lately that her mother’s arthritis was beginning to bother her.

“Whatever you’re doing, he’s a great little kid. Smart as a whip, too.” She dumped out the coffee from the old pot and started to make a new one.

“I chalk that up to being very lucky, not to my parenting skills.” Being a single parent had many disadvantages including the lack of enough time to give her child the attention he deserved. Of course, all of the staff and most of the regulars doted on him. But she wasn’t sure that made up for her inattention. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Say hello to Fred for me.”

“Will do.” Jolene shot her a bright smile. “And if you’re asking, I think Larry would be a good catch for some woman. He’s good-looking. Has a decent job.”

“Guess I’m just not that woman.” As nice as Larry was, she hadn’t felt any spark with him. Without a spark, there couldn’t be love. She wasn’t going to settle for less than the real deal. If that meant she’d never have the kind of relationship her mother had had with Papa, so be it.

As Alisa took the stairs to the second floor, she removed the band that held her ponytail and shook her hair loose. Her aching feet loudly announced it had been another long day. Maybe she ought to promote Jolene to shift manager and hire an additional waitress. Then she could take on some of Mama’s load in the kitchen.

The fly in the ointment would be the increased employee salaries they would have to pay. The profit margin for a restaurant was slim under the best of circumstances. These days the increasing price of food from the wholesaler kept the diner on a financial razor’s edge.

The second-floor living quarters had three bedrooms, a cozy sitting room with a television rarely watched by anyone except Greg, a small kitchen and eating area. Considering they had a huge kitchen downstairs and ate most of their meals there, the upstairs kitchen didn’t get used much. Greg’s cereal for breakfast or a popcorn treat at night were about the limit of its use.

In the early days, before they’d bought the motel next door, Mama had rented out the rooms on the third floor. Now it was mostly unused except for storage.

She found Greg sprawled on the floor watching the Disney Channel. The arrival of satellite TV had been both a blessing and bane. She tried hard to limit Greg’s TV time and the programs he saw. She wasn’t always successful.

“Hey, buddy, how’s it going?”

Without looking away from the TV screen, he said, “Fine.”

Little boys were often inarticulate and very adept at ignoring their mothers. “So I’m planning a trip to Africa. I’m leaving in the morning. Want to come along?”

A pair of matching frown lines formed above his eyebrows. Belatedly he glanced up at Alisa. “Uh? Where are you going?”

She chuckled, sat down beside him on the floor and ruffled his curly hair. “Nowhere. But you’re going to go get your pajamas on and get ready for bed.”

“Ah, Mom. Can’t I watch the end of this? It’s almost over.”

“How about you get your pajamas and change in here? When the show’s over you can brush your teeth.”

“Can I wait until the next commercial?”

Alisa rolled her eyes. Her son was going to grow up to be a big-time negotiator, maybe even someone who negotiated treaties with foreign countries. He always wanted to get a little more of whatever was being discussed. He usually got his way, too.

Of course, that was her fault. She hated to deny him anything.

She wondered if it would be different if he had a father who set the rules. Not that Ben, the drifter who had deserted her, would have provided much of a role model or been a disciplinarian. She’d had word a few years ago that he’d been killed in a rodeo accident. Although she felt bad that he had died so young, he never would have been a factor in Greg’s life anyway. His loss.

The commercial started. Good to his word, Greg hopped up and dashed into his room.

Alisa stood as well. She strolled over to the window to close the curtains. Lighted windows in the Pine Tree Inn across the parking lot indicated they had nearly full occupancy. Idly she wondered which room was Nick’s. And how long he’d stick around.

Not long, she imagined, giving the curtains a hard tug.

No way was she going to build a fantasy of happily-ever-after with another drifter.

The curtains hung up on something. She was about to give them another jerk when she saw the figure of a man standing behind the motel.

Squinting, she realized two things. First, despite the shadows she recognized the man was Nick. Second, he had balanced a stick or bar between two trees and was doing chin-ups one after another. His dog sat nearby watching Nick’s every move.

A moment later, he dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups. One, two, three...

No wonder Nick seemed so strong, his arms so muscular. He was seriously into physical fitness.

Shaking her head, she finished closing the curtains. What was it, she wondered, that drove a drifter to push himself so hard physically?

* * *

Nick finished his workout. Despite the cool air, he was sweating from every pour. His muscles screamed from the exertion. He barely had enough energy to get to his feet.

Physically exhausted, he’d take a shower and hit the sack. Maybe with a firm mattress beneath him and clean Montana air to breathe, he’d sleep through until morning. Assuming the titanium rod and screws in his left leg didn’t put up a battle.

“Come on, Rags. Let’s call it a night.”

They climbed the stairs to the second floor. Nick let the dog into the room and threw the deadbolt on the door.

It didn’t take him long to shower and get into bed. He smiled at the feel of the crisp sheets, the stack of pillows beneath his head and the silence outside the sliding glass door. You’re coming up in the world, Carbini.

After making a few revolutions in order to pick exactly the right spot, Rags settled down on the floor next to the bed.