Mountain Laurel Read online

  Watching his purposeful strides as he walked out the door, Laurel shook her head, still amazed by how different he looked now than he had earlier on the side of the road. Shouldn't she have realized he was okay? That he posed no danger to her and Ginny?

  And what was that he had said about a wedding? She stepped out onto the porch and returned his parting wave. Sighing, she thought that it was just as well that he was taken; there wasn't room in her life for a man, anyway.

  She saw Ginny coming up the lane. As the two vehicles passed, Laurel smiled at her sister's stunned expression.

  "That was..." She balanced a pizza box on one hand, pointing at the departing truck with the other.

  "I know, I know."

  "Well, what was he doing here?" Ginny's eyes were wide with curiosity.

  "Bring that pizza inside and I'll tell you the whole horrible story. I hope you got the works."

  Ginny's eyes grew larger with each embarrassing detail. But Laurel didn't mind sharing them with her. They were having the most intimate conversation they'd had in months. It was like old times between them again.

  "I can't believe it!" Ginny laughed, clearly delighted.

  Laurel muttered, "Well, believe it."

  "I can't believe you honestly thought you could fit through that window! I would have given anything to have seen it all."

  "Ginny!"

  They broke into a fit of giggles.

  A few minutes later, Laurel nibbled on a piece of pizza crust. "This is so nice." She stretched her legs out toward the fireplace and wiggled her bare toes a comfortable distance from the heat of the crackling flames.

  "It reminds me of that slumber party I had a long time ago." Ginny sighed. "Do you remember?"

  "Are you kidding me?" Laurel crossed her arms behind her head. "Mom had been sick about three months and I knew it was getting you down, so I wanted to do something special for your birthday."

  "You invited ten of my friends over—"

  "I should have made it five," Laurel interrupted.

  Ginny laid her head back on the couch and spoke dreamily, "We stayed up all night talking."

  "Or three. It took me two days to clean up the popcorn."

  "That was one of the nicest things you ever did for me." Ginny turned her head to look at her sister. "I never told you this, but I was scared then."

  Laurel sat up, tucking her feet under her, ready to listen.

  "It was like having two deaths in the family instead of one. Brian drowned, and the same day Mom left in an ambulance. I didn't see her for weeks." Ginny stared into the glowing firelight. "When she did come home she wasn't the same." The reminiscence filled Ginny's eyes with sadness. "She's never been the same."

  "I know, honey." The lump in Laurel's throat made it difficult to speak.

  "It's like living with a ghost the way she floats around the house, quiet and staring."

  Laurel was silent, not knowing what to say. Their mother's depression had left a shadow of the woman she once was.

  "Brian's death made Mom—" Laurel searched for the right word "—fragile."

  Ginny's smile was soft. "That sounds like Dad talking."

  "It is," Laurel confessed.

  "And Dad really promised to stay with Mom?"

  Laurel nodded. "Don't look so surprised. Jim is there to help. They'll do all right."

  "You know," Ginny informed her, scowling, "that all those business trips Dad takes are just a cop-out, a way for him to get away from all of our family problems. Brian dying. Mom." She paused, then her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper as she added, "And me."

  "Don't be ridiculous." Laurel knew her aim at nonchalance was awkward. She was surprised by Ginny's perception and didn't want her sister to be hurt by their father's ineptitude.

  "But it's not fair," Ginny stated flatly. "It's not fair to any of us, you, me or Mom."

  "Gin, you can't think of it as fair or unfair," Laurel tried to explain. "You shouldn't expect more from a person than they're able to give. And the rest you just have to learn to deal with."

  A silence followed in which both of them were lost in their own thoughts.

  The rest you deal with. Laurel knew that she had been given a lot to deal with in her life. But she had never viewed it as unfair. So what if she had to work a little harder to keep her family healthy and happy? She loved them and it was worth it.

  "You know what was strangest of all?" Ginny slowly twirled a strand of hair around her index finger. "Having my older sister go to my parent-teacher conferences. That was just plain weird."

  "Well—" Laurel shrugged "—with Dad working and Mom sick, somebody had to make you toe the line."

  "You did that all right!" Taking a sip of soda, Ginny continued, "You never missed one of my concerts. Or the school play."

  "You were good in that," Laurel complimented her. She took a bite of pizza, then teased, "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, right?"

  "Laurel," Ginny reprimanded. "It was the Shoemaker and the Elves! I played the shoemaker's wife."

  "I knew it had little people in it." Laurel wiped her greasy fingertips on a paper napkin. "It was hilarious. All those gangly teenagers walking on their knees."

  Ginny ignored the gibe. "We wanted to do something exotic like South Pacific or Hair, but Mrs. Ross said, 'Stick to a fairy tale, children,'" Ginny mimicked the old teacher with a high, cracking voice. "We did everything—wrote the script, made the set and costumes. We were even responsible for refreshments."

  "It was a big job. Your class pulled it off just fine."

  "We did," Ginny agreed. "Oh, we had our setbacks, but it turned out great." Grabbing another lock of hair, Ginny sighed wistfully. "High school was great."

  Not missing a beat, Laurel said, "Speaking of school..."

  Determined that Ginny would not be forced into the family business as she had been, Laurel desperately wanted her sister to expand her horizons, to go as far as her dreams could take her.

  "Oh, no." Ginny pulled a frown. "Not again! Look, Laurel, I told you already. You're not going to push me into college."

  Laurel watched her sit up and cross her arms protectively over her chest.

  "Ginny, what is it you want to do with your life?"

  "I don't know!"

  Laurel patiently said, "You can't go on the way you have been."

  "What's wrong with the way I've been?" Ginny's lips were stubbornly taut. "Wait! Let me answer that!"

  Laurel didn't want to fight. They'd shared such a wonderful evening. But, looking at her sister's face, she knew it was too late, that all she could do now was suffer the storm.

  "I'm wild and uncontrollable, right?" Ginny glared. "And you're worried. And Dad's worried. And Mom. Ha! Mom." Her bitter voice shook with emotion. "She's not even aware of her evil daughter, now, is she?"

  This outpouring of hostility surprised Laurel. She stared at her sister a long moment before saying, "You're not evil. I don't think that and neither does Dad."

  "What do you think?" Without giving her a chance to respond, Ginny plowed on. "I suppose everyone wants me to be like you—Miss Mature, Miss Responsible." Anger reddened her face. Her shoulders were square and tight.

  "Why do you say those words like they're dirty?"

  "I knew it!" Ginny spat out.

  "Calm down," Laurel softly pleaded.

  "I am calm!" Taking a deep breath, Ginny stated, "Okay, let's examine your mature, responsible life-style."

  "Now wait just a minute. We're talking about your life, not mine," Laurel argued.

  "No, I'm serious," Ginny insisted. "I say we talk about what a wonderfully full life you lead." She paused for effect, then pointed accusingly. "You don't want to because you know what a bunch of baloney it is. Your life is so wrapped up in me and Dad and Mom and the shop that you don't have a friend in the world!"

  "That's not true. Jim—"

  "Jim doesn't count, Laurel! He works for Dad. That's the only reason you even know him." Ginny was thoroughly
disgusted. "Face it! You have no fun. Your life is boring with a capital B. Boring!"

  Laurel looked down at the napkin in her hands and saw that she had pulled it to shreds. She hated to admit it, but some of what her sister said was true. She managed Seashell Cove, their family-owned gift shop, because, after her brother's death and her mother's breakdown, her father needed her.

  She'd wanted to go to college, to pursue a career in education. But as her family's need of her had become greater and greater, her hopes of ever getting her teaching credentials had dwindled. Instead, she had become Ginny's surrogate mother, her mother's nursemaid and her father's confidante and business partner.

  Resigned to the fact that she'd never continue her education, Laurel took care of her family the best way she knew how: loving them, looking after them, thinking of them every minute of every day. But she had never thought it a burden. On the contrary, she was more than happy to give them everything they needed, help them in any way possible.

  "My life is full," she said in her defense. But why did the words sound so hollow, so unconvincing?

  "Your life may be full, but it's boring! You never have a good time. I don't even think you know how. You don't have any friends. You don't go out with guys. When was the last time you had a date? Your senior prom?"

  "I can have just as good a time as anyone." Laurel bristled. Ginny's last remark had hit home. She'd dated several men, summer vacationers who had wanted more of her time than she could give. She had found them immature and irresponsible. One of them had even had the gall to make a joke about her mother. After that she refused all offers to go out, not wanting to waste her time with such childishness.

  Trying to change the subject, Laurel asked, "Why is it you equate having a good time with dating men?"

  Ginny ignored the question and persisted. "Give me one example."

  "Of what?" Laurel asked, her eyes narrowing warily.

  "Of you having a good time." There was a teasing glint in the teen's eye.

  Laurel sat, silent.

  "I only asked for one." Ginny chuckled. "All I'm saying is I am not you. You can't expect me to live like you do." She rolled her eyes. "My social life would be pushing up daisies!"

  "Your social life." Laurel jumped in with both feet. "That's what we're supposed to be discussing here."

  "But what we've both discovered is that it's your social life that needs work."

  "I've discovered no such thing." Laurel walked around the couch.

  "Are you up for a bet?" Ginny's face was mischievous.

  Laurel had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  "You show me that you can have a good time." Ginny twisted her body around and rested her elbows on the back of the couch. "And I'll..." She paused, thinking of the right phrase. "I'll think about college."

  "What do you mean, show you I can have a good time?" Laurel asked suspiciously.

  She watched as Ginny turned around, plopped down on the cushion and rubbed her chin. "Well, let's see."

  Laurel closed her eyes and shook her head. She was in big trouble. Opening her eyes, she saw Ginny's excitement.

  "For the next two weeks," the younger girl gleefully explained, "throw caution to the wind! Have a good time. Meet some men, go out on a few dates." She wickedly wiggled her eyebrows up and down. "Maybe even fool around a little." She laughed at the horrified expression on her sister's face. "You'd think I said a bad word."

  Laurel snapped her mouth shut and thought fast. "I don't know whether or not you've noticed," she said with a smug smile, "but we're out in the middle of the woods. Where, pray tell, are we going to find any men?"

  "Guys are around," Ginny shrugged. "We'll find them, don't worry."

  "I don't like how you said that. Like you're some kind of expert."

  "Well."

  "Never mind! I don't want to know." Laurel scowled.

  "We could always round up that gorgeous cousin of Jim's." Ginny's grin was infectious.

  "Ginny." Laurel couldn't help but chuckle. "You sound like you're herding cattle."

  "In a way, we are," she said with an impish smirk. "We'll have him hog-tied before he knows it. He'll never know what hit him."

  "Well, cowpoke, I have some news for you." Sauntering a few steps, Laurel said, "That bull's already been branded."

  "Oh? He's married?"

  "Not yet. But he will be soon, though. He expected Jim home for the wedding." Then she speculated, "Maybe Jim's going to be his best man." Staring into the wavering shadows the fire cast across the room, she was bewildered by the tiny tug of dismay that the thought of his wedding caused inside her. Impatiently, she shook off the feeling, bringing her thoughts back to her present problem.

  Laurel studied her sister's peachy complexion and her long silky blond mane and thought that someone who didn't know Ginny would think she was an angel.

  "Well, is it a deal or what?"

  "Don't rush me. I need to think about this a minute." Laurel heaved a sigh. Heaven knew she'd tried everything to make her see reason short of locking Ginny in the basement. Laurel thought of all the lectures she'd doled out that had gone unheeded. Maybe it was time to change tactics.

  "Now, let me get this straight." Laurel picked up the poker and jabbed at the fire, sending glowing ashes swirling up the chimney. "All I have to do is show you I can have a good time?"

  "You have to fraternize with the opposite sex."

  Ginny's bluntness made Laurel grimace. It wasn't that she didn't like men. Men were fine. A necessary part of the human race. It was just that she was a bit rusty where men were concerned.

  Rusty? That didn't even begin to describe her.

  "If I'm not able to?" Laurel asked.

  "Then you'll keep your nose out of my life," Ginny retorted.

  "And if I win this bet? If I have what you call 'a good time'?" Laying the poker down, she faced Ginny with her question.

  "Then I'll think about my future."

  "College?" Laurel challenged.

  "I'll think about college." Ginny's confident look said that this was something that would never happen.

  Laurel mused. How hard could it be? Go out to dinner a couple of nights, maybe a movie or two. It might even be fun.

  A slow sardonic smile played on her lips as she said, "You're on."

  ~ ~ ~

  Laurel awoke with a start, aware of only one thing, the bone-chilling cold. She pulled at the quilt and drew herself into a ball, trying to stop the violent shaking, but warmth evaded her.

  Dawn was beginning to light the sky. She crept out of bed, the floor like ice on her already frozen feet. Groping for her robe and a pair of wool socks, she shivered uncontrollably. The fire in the living room hearth had died to a soft orange glow.

  Removing the screen that protected the floor against sparks, she placed the last chunk of wood on top of the ashes. Adding a piece of wadded newspaper, she gently blew on the embers, bringing the fire crackling back to life.

  After slipping into her sneakers, Laurel stepped onto the porch on her way to the woodpile. She paused at the eerie beauty that met her eyes. A thin lacy fog slowly danced and swirled in silent abandon around the trees and bushes of the forest. The screen door creaked as it slid from her fingers.

  A sudden movement on the porch made her stop. Not three feet from her was a skunk. He, too, had stopped and was curiously sniffing in her direction.

  "Ohh...I think I'm in trouble," she whispered.

  Inching her way back to the front door, she spoke quietly to the animal.

  "Stay as long as you like. The porch is all yours."

  She slipped back inside and closed the door with a sigh of relief. She glanced at the fire and decided the chunk of wood would last a while yet. Biting her bottom lip, she grinned at her first successful encounter with nature and padded to the kitchen for a mug of hot tea.

  Ginny was still snoring in the loft after Laurel had showered and dressed. Knowing a herd of elephants couldn't wake her sister, Lau
rel went about straightening up the tiny cabin. That didn't take long and she found herself pacing from bedroom to kitchen to sitting room. She was so used to being constantly busy that she didn't know what to do with herself.

  Relax! she scolded silently. You're on vacation.

  Moving to the bookcase, she chose a book and sat down, propping her feet up. Forty Years in the Life of a Hunter turned out to be a fascinating account of one man's life in Garrett County. Meshock Browning lived in the early 1800s, she learned, and was a famous hunter of deer and bear right here in this very area. Resting the book on her chest, she pictured Michael as a rough and rugged hunter.

  She wondered what it would be like out in the wild with him: eating fresh grilled fish over a camp fire, or sharing wild berries, or snuggling deep into a soft warm sleeping bag, his hands and lips on her body.

  That last errant thought made her gasp softly and set her heart racing. She lifted the book and tried to concentrate on the words, but thoughts of Michael Walker kept intruding. The vivid description she read of the beautiful Appalachian Mountains made her eager to experience them for herself, and a nice long walk was sure to vanquish her unsettling thoughts. She closed the old book and gently placed it back on the shelf.

  She grabbed her jacket and left the cabin. Taking care that the skunk was nowhere around, she chose a path and started walking. The sun glistened through lacy wet spider webs and sparkled on diamonds of dew clinging to the tips of wild ferns. The calm serenity of the forest was majestic, glorious, almost holy. But the tranquility of the forest didn't extend itself to Laurel as doubts and confusion of another kind tumbled over her.

  Had she done the right thing in accepting this silly bet with Ginny? She wasn't sure. She plucked a long weed growing along the path and ran her hand over its feathery tendrils.

  If it took a bet to make Ginny think about college, then Laurel was happy to accept it.

  A smile smoothed her lips into a delicate curve as she thought of her sister's suggestion of Michael as a possible candidate for "fooling around." His face came to her in a crystal clear image: dark lashes fringing laughing eyes, that little cleft in the chin of his handsome face. And she was sure his strong broad shoulders would be a perfect place for a woman to lay her head. Wondering how it would feel to be enveloped by his warm embrace, she sighed heavily.