What We Find (Sullivan's Crossing, #1)(18)

Maggie and Sully had been back for five days and she’d driven to Timberlake as many times. First for some fresh vegetables and salmon, then for seedlings for Sully’s garden along with fertilizer, then for some fish and chicken breasts. She went ahead and stocked up on frozen shrimp and ground turkey and she spent a lot of time on her laptop looking up heart-healthy meals.

This was not how Maggie envisioned her escape from reality. She’d been hoping to relax and empty her brain of all those disappointments and worries. But this? She was working her tail off. She was not used to cooking, for one thing. When she was working she typically ate hospital food which, paradoxically, was not the healthiest. It was so starchy, cafeteria quality. It wasn’t the food they served patients, either. If not eating at the hospital, she’d grab something on the way home, something light—there was a conveniently located grocer and deli that sold prepared meals for one. And then there were the times she went out with friends or some of the staff for a meal and they were partial to either sushi or Italian.

But now she was working hard at feeding Sully delicious things to at least intrigue him rather than bore him to death. Before, when Maggie was at the campground, they’d decide what they were having for dinner and meet at about seven, throw a steak, burgers or maybe some chicken breasts on the grill. And they’d eat their meat with fries or potato chips.

She was already tired of this new routine.

She also watched while Cal got the garden ready. This was not his first garden. He created neat, straight rows of slightly raised dirt, ready for planting.

There were two fishermen in the campground and one older couple in an RV. The couple was interested in getting pictures of the wildflowers that were springing up all over, some even popping through the snow at the higher elevations. Because there was still so little traffic there was a sign on the front door of the store—Winter Hours, 8-5.

After dinner one evening, she walked over to the store to pilfer a beer and she saw there was a campfire on the beach, one lone man enjoying the mild evening. She grabbed two beers and walked down to the lake. He was sitting on top of a picnic table, feet on the bench, his elbows on his knees. His short brown hair was wet, as was the collar of his sweatshirt. He’d had a shower and shave.

“Evening, Caldwell,” she said.

He turned toward her in surprise and she handed him a beer. “Caldwell?” he asked. “You’re getting desperate.”

“That’s true, but not about your name. I’m getting a little restless.”

“Maybe it’s time to go back to work,” he said. He toasted her, clinking the neck of her beer with his.

“I do a lot of chores around this place. Sully has always been a tough taskmaster. I’ve always had to haul stock, sweep, clean, chop wood, dig out trenches, clean gutters, clean that damn bathroom and shower, work in the store, but never what I’ve been doing this time—cleaning house, cooking dinner. I’m already bored with my little housewifely duties and I’m getting cabin fever. I’m sick of heart-healthy food. If I see one more hunk of fish I’m going to gag. Sully said he’s growing fins.”

Cal laughed.

“You think it’s funny? I can smell your bacon before I smell coffee in the morning. I sneaked over to Timberlake for a hamburger today and Sully claimed he could smell it on my breath.”

He leaned closer to her, sniffing. “Yep.”

“I asked him if he had any ideas for dinner and he said he’d like a New York strip, smothered in onions on a hoagie bun.” She took a pull on her beer. “God, that sounds good.”

“I knew it,” he said. “You’re a carnivore.”

“You’re kind of interesting, Caliber. You shower and shave while you’re camping.”

“I wash my clothes and change the lining in the sleeping bag, too. I’m a very clean fellow. Are you ever going to go back to work and leave Sully alone?”

“Gimme a break, I haven’t relaxed a day yet,” she said. “Are you?”

“Sure. I just left a job about six weeks ago. I work. I’m just not working now, except for you.”

“Well, not me, exactly,” she said. “You work for Sully. Have I said how much we appreciate all the free labor? It’s very nice of you to pitch in.”

“I have time on my hands,” he said.

“What was your last job?”

“I was an assistant to an assistant in human resources in a theme park. It basically meant driving a golf cart around, checking on people, helping them fill out forms or taking complaints. Or, sometimes it meant catching them screwing around on the job and reporting them to my supervisor. As little of that as possible.”

“Really? A theme park?” she said, fascinated again. “Which one?”

“The big one.”

“Really? Was it fun?”

“It really was. I applied to the ground crew but there wasn’t anything and they offered me the job in HR. I met all the actors. It was cool.”

“And you quit?” she asked.

“No, I got fired. I was checking someone’s human resources very closely. Not in public of course. Not on the job. It was consensual and private, but word got out. Apparently even adults have to refrain from that. There are rules if you want to work there. Strict rules. More for some than others.”