Misadventures Of A Single Mom (Big Sky Boyfriends #1)

Chapter 10

10

After two nights of roughing it up Hyalite with two RVs—the Colonel’s eighteen-foot-long monstrosity and my more modest pop-up—I’d had enough of wilderness fun. Sure, there were real beds with sheets, air conditioning and heat, a kitchen, pots and pans, a fridge and all the other accoutrements that went along with fancy RV living. But I longed for a real shower. The closest thing to that had been walking under the mist at Palisade Falls the day before.

My curly hair never looked great after a night of sleeping on it. Usually, it resembled a bird’s nest when I woke up. I didn’t dare get in front of a mirror now. I could only imagine what it looked like after two days outside in the wind.

I reached my camping limit and was desperate for a break from my children. I loved my kids, but I needed a time out. A time out from boys who fell into icy streams. A time out on gutting fish. Bug spray. Sunscreen. Dust. If that wasn’t enough, I smelled like a cooked ham from all the campfire smoke.

Hyalite area was Bozeman’s backyard playground. Only fifteen miles south of town, it was a quick trip up the canyon to the reservoir and extensive trails. You could hike, fish, kayak, mountain bike and in the winter, ice climb. In my opinion, it was one of the prettiest spots in Montana. Rugged mountains curved around the reservoir that reflected their snowcapped peaks. Aspen trees dotted the water’s edge and meadows. In the fall, their leaves were bright yellow. At night, it was so dark the Milky Way spanned the sky.

Our traditional camping spot was on the east side, right on the banks of the reservoir with views to the south of Hyalite Mountain. I loved the outdoors and I loved the quiet, but I loved my bed, too.

Goldie and Paul had joined us the day before, towing their own home on wheels. They’d come late since Goldie’d had to work Friday night at the store. Paul had rolled out early this morning because he was on call and needed to be near the hospital.

Goldie stayed behind, getting a ride back to town with me and the boys. For a woman who was high maintenance and a serious primper, Goldie loved to fish. In fact, she put everyone around her to shame. Sure, she wore designer jeans and the least wilderness-worthy shoes a woman could find to camp in, but once she slipped on a pair of waders and picked up a rod, she was a different woman. Fly fishing was her favorite. She said it calmed her, just like golf did for my mom. She easily picked up the plastic Mickey Mouse rod of Bobby’s and would hook a worm for him.

Goldie and her grandsons were up at the crack of dawn and spent the morning fishing in the reservoir in front of our campsite hoping to pull out a whopper or two. I wasn’t quite as worm friendly, so I left the three to their fishing fun while I packed up.

Even after two days, my body was sore from the full body slam I’d taken at the fair. Ty had felt like a ton of bricks when he’d landed on me and my muscles still complained about it. I’d wanted to have Ty on top of me, but not like that.

Anything was better than being run over by a car, so I was grateful for my aches and pains. My mind had spent the weekend processing the fact that someone was trying to kill me. I’d tossed and turned reliving the terrifying moments. I’d woken up in a cold sweat dreaming about the car’s broken grill. Someone hated me enough to want me dead. But why? My brain spun its proverbial wheels in the mud trying to answer that question.

“The only thing I caught this morning was a four-foot wiggle-fish,” Goldie said, laughing. They’d returned from their fish catching mission. Next to her stood a grinning, wet four-year-old who had clearly fallen into the reservoir. His shorts and T-shirt clung to his skin and his dark hair stood up in wet spikes.

I’d put all the cooking gear back in plastic bins and had been rolling up the last sleeping bag.

“Ah, so do we get to gut him and eat him?” I asked as I hugged and tickled Bobby, all the while he shrieked with laughter. I felt my front get cold and damp from his clothes. Oh well, at least he didn’t smell like dead fish. A shower was only a few hours away.

“It will go well with the Jell-O mold I plan on making for dessert tonight,” the Colonel added, joining us in front of my camper. “Lemon and whipped cream.” He wore his usual tan shorts and white collared shirt. Somehow, his clothes were pressed and starched. How he looked immaculate after two days I’d never know. He didn’t have a speck of dirt on him. I, however, probably looked like I’d wrestled a baby black bear.

“Man, we didn’t catch anything,” Zach grumbled. His hair was tousled, his cheeks a rosy hue of exertion and exercise.

“Good thing we’ve got carrots and celery for snacks then,” the Colonel replied, half joking.

Zach and Bobby both grumbled some more, debating what was worse, the lack of fish or the lack of junk food to eat.

“It’s hard to catch fish when you yak all the time and someone falls in,” Goldie commented. “We’ll have to stop and try a spot on the creek as we head home. Maybe those fish won’t recognize us.” She wore gray neoprene waders which came up waist high, held up with a pair of black suspenders. You could wade into water up to your belly button in them and stay dry. With the water around Bozeman all fed by melting snow, it was never warm fishing around here.

A hot pink short sleeved shirt looked strange beneath the waders, especially with bits of thin gold chain that hung in swags about the round neckline. Goldie wore a matching hot pink visor, her blond hair teased into a poof out the top and a full ponytail curving down the back. It wouldn’t surprise me if the blinding bright pink and gold bling had scared the fish away instead of the boys. “After that we’ll stop at the Dairy Queen on the way home.”

A smile lit up Zach’s face as he fist-pumped the air. So much for eating carrots and celery. “Go get dried off and cleaned up while I finish packing up,” I told them. More fishing. Yippee.

After packing and loading up, we found another spot at a pull-off about a mile down from the reservoir. Goldie and the boys spent another hour attempting to hook something besides overhanging tree branches and rotting sticks without success. The Colonel joined them, although he chose a deep swirling eddy upstream. Without the ruckus of Goldie and the boys nearby, he caught three small rainbow trout before releasing them. Not to be a party pooper, I joined them at the water’s edge, but found a nice big boulder in the sunshine, laid back and savored the rock’s warmth against my back and the sun on my face. I promptly fell asleep.

“I swear I’ve seen old people climb a hill faster,” Goldie said once we were on the road. “You could barely make it up the river bank to the car. What’s wrong with you?”

It wasn’t hard for Old Eagle Eye to notice how gingerly I’d moved up the steep bank to the car. All I needed was a cane and I’d be ninety. Muscles I didn’t even know I had were sore. “I think I pinched a nerve sleeping last night.”

Goldie nodded sympathetically. “Sciatic. Sometimes happens during more”—She lowered her voice—“intimate moments, although I’m guessing that’s not the reason in this case.”

“GG.” I used my warning tone and the name the boys called her, reminding her of their presence.

“Mmm, right,” she replied, obviously remembering herself. “When you play field hockey with someone else, sometimes you hit the ball too hard with your stick and you get hurt.”

I peeked in the rearview mirror. The boys weren’t listening. “Like you said yourself, I wasn’t playing field hockey last night, I was camping.”

“Camping’s a great place for field hockey . Especially when you have a really good stick. You can definitely score. Sometimes you feel like playing more than one game.”

“Mommy, what’s field hockey? Is that some kind of sport?” Zach asked. Apparently, he had been listening after all. I gave Goldie a pointed look.

“Yes, it’s a sport you can play when you’re thirty,” I replied. “And married.”

“Huh. I thought you used to play soccer. You don’t need a stick for soccer,” Zack added.

“You’re right, love, I did.” I gave Zach a quick smile in the rearview mirror, then darted a look at Goldie. “I don’t have lots of experience with games that use sticks.”

“Then maybe you should find someone who does,” Goldie added. “I bet Ty is really good at games, and I’m sure he’ll let you use his stick .”

I thought of the feel of Ty’s stick when he’d pressed me up against the fire truck.

“Yeah, Mommy, Ty told me he played lots of sports as a kid. I bet he’d teach you!” Bobby added, breaking off that line of thought.

I rolled my eyes at Goldie.

“Use a heating pad when you get home.” Obviously, she, too, thought it was time to drop the subject.

After that fun-filled conversation I stayed quiet. I didn’t need any more talk in code. Or talk, period. Since the road twisted and turned for ten miles following the banks of Hyalite Creek back to town, I wanted Goldie to think my silence was due to my focus on the driving. Which in part, it was. With a camper, top speed maxed at thirty-five going down due to having to deal with the steep decline and narrowness of the road. Take in lack of guardrails and potentially falling rocks, I kept both hands on the steering wheel and both eyes on the road.

The Colonel followed behind us in his truck, blissfully unaware of my ridiculous conversation with Goldie. I couldn’t tell either of them the real reason I was sore. The last thing I needed was for them to go off the deep end about someone trying to hurt me.

The boys were in the back staring out the open windows. The gnomes, brought along for the weekend, were in the middle between Zach and Bobby, the lap belt securing them in place. The hot breeze blew the hair on their sweaty heads. They were both in almost vegetative states after a weekend of camping fun and hours of fishing. I wouldn’t be surprised if they fell asleep before we got home.

A few minutes later, Goldie piped up. “Whatever happened the other night with Ty? At the demolition derby.”

“Mmm?” I tried to remain mute, but I knew it would be impossible. She wouldn’t shut up until she’d wheedled it out of me. And the last thing I wanted to bring up was the other night. I’d end up blurting out about the derby car and possible death. That would not be a good thing.

We came around a right turn and hit a small stretch of straightaway. I felt a thunk and took it for a pot hole.

Goldie turned to look at me, settling in for a good long chat. “Don’t mmm me, missy. You know very well I gave you an opportunity and I want to know if you grabbed the bull by the horns.”

I smiled to myself thinking of grabbing Ty by the….

“ Holy Mary, mother of God !” Goldie pointed out the driver’s side window in utter disbelief. Her mouth hung open, her eyes wide. What on earth could make Goldie speechless?

“Mom! What’s the camper doing over there?” Zach yelled.

I yanked my head to the left. There, moving parallel to the car, was the pop-up camper. All white and shiny. Even the black pin stripe down the side was clearly visible…since it was only four feet away.

I shifted my eyes off the camper for a split second and back on the road.

I was going straight.

The camper was going straight.

The road curved to the right.

“Holy crap!”

My brain finally kicked in and I yanked the wheel to stay on the road. Both feet slammed the brakes. All four of us, as well as two gnomes, whiplashed in our seat belts and watched, stunned, as the camper rolled right past us, off the road, across the dirt shoulder and over the edge into the creek.