Finding Refuge Page 5

  Travis hadn’t noticed quite how the years weighed on his father until that moment. Terrence Holt didn’t hold his big frame quite as straight and tall as he had in his prime. His hair had thinned considerably and filled with white, all without Travis realizing it. He’d put so much energy into Danny that he hadn’t spent enough time with his father lately. “Hey, Dad, I hear that new World War II movie is pretty good. Why don’t we take off early one day next week and go see it?”

  Terrence beamed at him, a wide grin showing the dimples Travis inherited. “Sounds great, son. How about Tuesday? I can clear my schedule if you can clear yours.”

  “For you, I’d cancel anything.” Travis gave his father’s shoulders a squeeze and watched him walk out the door.

  Travis yawned again, running a hand through his hair. He added his father to the mental list of crap to worry about, then grabbed the roll of blueprints for the Okada house and walked into his brother’s office.

  Danny sat at his drafting table, leaning into his work as he sketched. Travis stepped behind his brother, watching the gorgeous facade of a Victorian-style house flow from Danny’s pencil onto the paper. His brother had always preferred drawing on paper, even though nearly everything else he did was computerized.

  Travis waited silently as his brother completed the act of creation. While Travis had skills, he was no artist. In addition to Mother’s looks, Danny inherited her talent. Beauty, whether classic, modern or whimsical, sprang from Danny’s fingers when he worked. Travis had long since outgrown his jealousy to become quite proud of his brother’s abilities.

  Abilities he hated to see thrown away when Danny’s addictions got the best of him.

  Danny finished and shifted to the left, giving Travis a better view of the creation. Two stories, dormer windows, scrolled gingerbread accents under the eaves and decorating the wraparound porch. Full stone front. Knowing Danny, the final layout would come in around eight thousand square feet above ground, plus basement. On a nice acre and a half or two…He did the estimate in his head. Two point five, maybe two point six million dollars worth of new Victorian luxury, easy.

  “What do you think?”

  Travis met his brother’s gaze, saw the need for approval reflected in the deep blue. “It’s beautiful.”

  His eyes lit up. “Thanks. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, wanted to get it on paper.” Danny flexed his fingers and popped his knuckles, eyeing the roll of plans Travis carried. “What’s up?”

  Travis handed the blueprints to his brother. Danny slid his new drawing onto a wide shelf above the table, then opened the plans of a sprawling ranch house.

  “Go to the main floor.”

  Danny flipped through the pages of elevations until he came to the main floor layout. He laid the plans on the table, using the clips at the top to secure the curled pages. His mouth pursed as he examined the plans, shaking his head. “What idiot drew these?

  Travis laughed. “I thought that would be your reaction. The Okadas had them drawn up years ago, but now that they’re ready to build, they want some changes.”

  Danny crossed his arms over his chest. “I should hope so. The design is terrible. There’s no natural flow to the layout. They’ll feel like rats in a maze, scurrying from room to room.”

  “Mrs. Okada wants a more open design, but I don’t think she has specific ideas about how to change it. Will you meet with them and help them figure it out?”

  “When are they coming in?”

  “Whenever Peggy makes an appointment for them.” Wait, maybe that was a bad idea. Travis added, “Or, do you want to call them?”

  Danny’s eyes darkened. “Afraid I’ll space off an appointment, Travis?”

  Travis met his gaze directly, sliding into his business mode in an effort to keep emotion out of the argument he felt brewing in the air. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  His brother picked up his drafting pencil, twirled it around his fingers. “I won’t fail you. I mean, I’m here, aren’t I? I promised I’d be here today, and I am.”

  Travis bristled inside at the defensiveness in Danny’s voice. “Is that what I have to do? Make you promise every day that you’ll be here the next? Will that keep you out of trouble?”

  Danny laughed bitterly. “That’s rich. When did you and Dad switch roles? He’s just happy to see me when I come in, but you come down on me like I’m a teenager you’ve caught sneaking into the house after curfew and smelling like beer.”

  Travis drew a deep breath, steadying his temper. “I dragged you out of that foul apartment yesterday. You’re fresh off a four-day bender. Now I’m supposed to take your word for it that you’ll actually come in and earn your salary?”

  His brother’s jaw ticked and if he hadn’t been so angry, he would have withered under Danny’s glare. “I made a mistake, Travis. One mistake. Yeah, I fell off the wagon. You have no idea how ashamed I am, and how much it bothers me that I can slip up so easily. I don’t need your guilt trip when I can put myself on one so well.”

  They stared at each other in silence for a moment, the tension weighing heavily in Travis’s lungs. Finally, he leaned forward and clasped his brother’s shoulder. “I know you’re trying, Dan. Are you taking your antidepressants?”

  Danny cursed. “I hate those things. They wipe me out. And they’re drugs, too, you know. All I’m doing with that shit is exchanging an illegal fix for a legal one. It isn’t a real solution, it’s a crutch.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with using a crutch until you heal.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  Travis stepped back, loosening the tension between them with space. “Fine. Do you want Peggy to set up an appointment with the Okadas?”

  “Yes, whenever is convenient for them.” Danny paused, then said, “I’m here to work, Travis. I’ll do my job. Trust me.”

  Travis left Danny’s office and stopped by Peggy’s desk long enough to ask the grandmotherly woman to take care of the appointment. He closed his office door behind him, then stood by the windows and stared out at the mountains that bordered Salt Lake City. He clenched his fists, then relaxed them purposefully, trying by force of will to unwind the tension in his muscles. Trust me. He wanted to, so much that his chest ached and his shoulders were rock hard with the strain.

  Unfortunately, he knew better. Damn, it hurt to recognize that he couldn’t trust his brother. He’d hope for the best with Danny, all the while waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  ****

  The next several days ran smoother than Travis expected. Unfortunately, that left him with a lot of time to think, and what kept surfacing in his otherwise orderly thoughts was a curvy little thing with gorgeous hair, an incredible smile that filled him with sunlight, and a kiss that made him hard if he thought about it too long.

  One week after he’d taken Andri to dinner, he checked the schedule to figure out which jobsite he’d have to visit to run into Rachel. If Andri was still in town, she’d probably be on the job, playing gofer. Stupid as the idea was, he wanted to see her again. So he’d called her. She didn’t answer and she didn’t return his call. He’d texted. Nothing. And damn, rather than being smart and taking the hint with a huge sigh of relief, he’d found himself more intent on seeing her again. Stupid.

  He left the office for a late lunch and drove to a custom home under construction in Draper. He went through the house, anticipation winding through his gut, until he spotted Rachel running wiring on the upper floor. “Hey, Rach.”

  She looked up from pulling wiring through the hole into a box. “Hey, yourself. I’m a little miffed at you.”

  He leaned against the door jamb. “What did I do now?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, pointing a staple gun at him. “It’s what you didn’t do.”

  Ah. That was it. “I didn’t call Andri.” Well, he had, but nothing had come of it. To Rachel it would probably be the same thing.

  “He shoots, he scores. So, what, you didn’t like her, ma
ybe because you have the brains of an amoeba?”

  He hated it when she got snippy with him. She was the annoying sister he never had. “Of course I like her. Where is she?”

  “Doing something besides being my slave girl. You didn’t call. I hate guys who don’t call.”

  Arguing that he had, in fact, called wouldn’t help him. She was on a roll. “Does she want me to call?”

  She grumbled under her breath. “No, but that’s beside the point. She likes you, but she’s kind of a mess right now, not that she’ll really admit it.”

  “Want me to be honest with you?”

  “Why is that even a question? Lay it on me, Travis.”

  “I like her. A lot. I want to see her again.” His heart pounded, a sudden trickle of fear slithering down his spine at admitting how he felt. “I don’t think she’ll let me.”

  Rachel stopped working and faced him squarely. “Why would you think that?”

  “Hmm, I don’t know, maybe the fact that she won’t answer my calls or texts.”

  “That’s bad for the ego. Didn’t know she was serious.”

  “Serious about what?”

  She waved a hand, pursing her lips. “Nothing. Listen, I like you, most of the time, so I’ll throw you a bone. Of course, you have to know what to do with said bone when it lands in your lap.”

  “I’ll figure it out. What do you want me to do?”

  Rachel, bossy thing that she was, gave him a perusing look. “Get your hair cut, it’s way long. Then, I expect to see you at my house for dinner. We’re eating a bit late, be there by seven.”

  The fear flashed again, with hope hot on its heels. “Am I bringing anything?”

  “A cleaned-up version of what I see before me should be sufficient.”

  He had to be out of his mind. This could only end badly, for both of them, but in this moment, he understood the meaning of hope springs eternal. A spark of optimism deep inside him chanted what if? Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, already seeing the likely ending, the heartbreak, looming before him if he took this path, but that spark pulsed bright and he had to chase it. “I’ll be there.”

  ****

  Andri sat part of the way out of the back of her car, taking off her sandals. She tossed the sandals over her shoulder, hearing them slap against the opposite door as she slid her feet into the new waders she’d bought yesterday. She slipped her boots on, then stood, sliding the waders up over her shorts and t-shirt until she could pull the suspenders over her shoulders.

  She looked down at herself and grinned. Sky-blue waders, what an excellent find. She’d only found khaki and hunter camouflage before, and, ugh. Really? If companies were going to bother making waders for women, they could at least run with the concept and make them pretty. After all, the fish didn’t care what color she wore.

  She’d considered hip boots, but the one time she’d tried fishing a river in hip boots, she’d stepped into a deep spot and ended up drenched to her waist. Better to stay dry when the water was still runoff-cold. She turned the dial on each boot to tighten the laces and popped the trunk to get her gear. Well, Rachel’s gear. Hers sat in her mother’s closet in Phoenix. She slid the pack from the rod tube and unrolled it, then drew the rod components from their pockets one by one as she assembled it. Her own rod paled in comparison to Rachel’s. Gorgeous deep blue carbon blanks with a silver band edging the wrap at each section’s end, the rod was so much more sensitive and responsive than her own. Someday, she’d allow herself to spend the money on a custom fly rod. In the meantime, she didn’t mind borrowing one.

  She attached the reel and threaded the line, then clipped a small box of flies and a pair of forceps onto the rings on the wader belt. She locked the car, secured her keys on a carabiner clip, then made her way down to the riverbank.

  She’d come to the Lower Provo River, a wide spot where the river ran surprisingly smooth, given what Rachel had told her about the cold, wet spring delaying the mountain runoff. The Upper Provo, her preferred fly fishing river, was still running hard, turbulent and filled with debris from the melting snow. But here, below the second of two reservoirs on the river, the water flowed just right.

  It didn’t matter if she caught anything today. It was the experience of fishing she came for, not the victory of the catch. Besides, between her long work hours and the time she devoted to being a good fiancée to Peter, she hadn’t spent time on a river in a couple of years. It would probably take a while before she smoothed out her casting rhythm.

  She stepped into the water, carefully selecting a place to plant her feet so she could work a good section of the river. She fumbled several casts, her line failing to pay out properly, plopping into the water. Sheesh, had she forgotten everything Dad taught her? This used to be a rhythm she felt in her soul, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She tried again. Finally, she drew a deep, steadying breath, pushed aside the frustration and the lack of confidence, and smoothly drew the rod back, forward, back, forward again. There. A proper four-beat cast, and all was right with the world. She’d found her way back as if she’d never been lost.

  As she danced the fly over the water, settling for a bit before lifting off again, she let her thoughts drift. A delivery had come that morning before she left the house. Roses, from Peter, and a note directing her to check her email, where he explained what drove him to send her flowers. He’d found a job in Boston and his boyfriend was moving with him. Her leaving gave him the shove he needed to try to be honest with himself.

  She was genuinely happy for him. Still, if she thought about it too much, it left her feeling stupid, naïve, and more than a little used. The brain understood. The emotions, the pride, the longing to not be alone, didn’t.

  A shimmer of color flashed through the water where her fly bobbed on the water, and then the fly vanished, line flying out as the fish zipped away. She lifted the rod against the tug of the fish, pulling the line with her other hand. She worked the fish gently toward her. Gorgeous dark spots covered the fish’s back and sides: a lovely brown trout. She let the line slack a bit, working with the fish until it flipped itself off the barbless hook and swam free. She always felt better when the fish left the hook on their own, avoiding any potential damage she might do if she had to handle them to return them to freedom.

  Andri looked to the left as a fellow fisher approached along the bank. He was an older man, brown hair shot with gray, tanned face lined with age and likely a whole lot of time spent outdoors. His fishing vest hung open over a pot belly and khaki waders. “That was a good lookin’ trout there.”

  She smiled. “First bite of the day, can’t complain.”

  “If you’re working upstream, there’s a real nice hole ’bout a hundred yards up, on the far side. At least one big boy in there. He’s too wily for my flies, though. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

  She thanked him and he lifted a hand in farewell as he made his way downstream. She fished along several hundred yards of the river through the afternoon, having no better luck with the fat rainbow the older fisherman had mentioned than he had. Still, it was always worth trying. She crossed paths with a couple of other fishers, but on both occasions, they each merely nodded at the other.

  The solitude generated peace. The rich, living scent of the river, the soft rustle of leaves and branches when the breeze kicked up, the twitter of birds, the sun’s heat on her skin all worked to set her mind free.

  She’d come to Utah with a lot to sort out, and as she sifted through her options, she realized she was content here. She’d enjoyed living in Salt Lake during college. She’d never been a fan of intense heat and she loved having seasons. The only thing pulling her back to Phoenix was her mother. Just because Ma lived there didn’t mean she had to.

  She really didn’t want to go back. She knew some people but she hadn’t really engaged with anyone locally. Peter had provided much of her Phoenix social circle. Her true friends were spread all over the country, staying in touch online. Except
now that she was here, spending time with Rachel, she realized how much she’d missed having girl time. Going out with some of Rachel’s friends the other night was great fun, too.

  It was time to start poking around for job leads, which shouldn’t be too bad. The state was a tech magnet, perfect for someone with her skill set. She had enough money in savings to get an apartment and start creating some stability while looking for work. She toyed with the details of such a move as she wrapped up fishing and drove back to Rachel’s. This would be great. She could breathe here.

  Her breath vanished when she pulled onto Rachel’s street and found Travis Holt’s black pickup in the driveway next to the work van.

  Chapter Five

  Andri pulled into the driveway behind Rachel’s van. Maybe it wasn’t his truck. There had to be dozens of black pickups in the Park City area, right? Oh, who was she kidding. He was here, and she was in no condition to face him. Mentally, she’d have time to square her thoughts away before she walked in the house, but physically? A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed what a toll the day took on her appearance.

  Her ponytailed hair was windblown, strands waving and curling all over after working their way free of the band. She wore no makeup at all, and the shine on her skin screamed for powder. A faded, bleach-spotted green T-shirt and denim shorts completed her casual day look, but at least she wasn’t wearing her waders. She’d actually shaved her legs this morning, her only saving grace.

  She sighed. Well, if he wasn’t scared off already, this would do it. That was a good thing. Major life changes and starting a relationship should probably be mutually exclusive endeavors. Besides, he was not a candidate, she reminded herself. Too much baggage wrapped up in an irresistible package. Nothing but trouble. Ugh. Why was he here?

  When she walked in the house, she heard voices in the family room. She followed the sound and found Ian and Travis talking on the couch, a half-empty pitcher of iced tea on the coffee table beside the bouquet of roses she’d left there.