The Map Home (Collier’s Creek Christmas)

Chapter 3

THREE

Tad

“He’s a complicated person,” Curtis Lewis commented when Tad returned to his station behind the bar, irritated that Dakota had taken off without agreeing to come out to the bonfire or waiting for fries.

“You have no idea.” Tad stared glumly at the door his friend had departed through.

“I’ve been around the block once or twice, so I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Tad eyed the older man. He liked Curtis and had enjoyed his short time working at The Chron as a college intern.

“After all these years circling the sun, I’m still no expert on humans, but”—Curtis stroked his mustache—“Dakota is not going to be an easy one to crack. I think maybe he doesn’t trust himself around affairs of the heart.”

Somehow, Curtis had figured out that Tad was stupidly head over heels in love with Dakota Green during the time they’d worked together. Probably because Tad talked about Dakota all the time. Since then, Curtis and had assigned himself the position of love advisor to Tad—for the past three years, he’d been a sounding board for all things Dakota. Tad’s mom probably knew too, but she wisely kept her mouth shut. Besides, Tad wasn’t sure just how much she approved of Dakota as a life partner for him.

Because that’s how Tad felt, and he suspected that Dakota felt similarly, but, as Curtis had noted, his friend and partner in crime was a complicated person. Frankly, that was getting old though, and nobody in Collier’s Creek knew Dakota as well as Tad. Nobody.

“Dakota is…” Tad searched for the right words. “He’s the most trustworthy person I know. Solid as a rock. Why wouldn’t he trust himself? Ugh, he’s so frustrating.”

“Being worthy of trust and trusting yourself are miles apart. Don’t give up though.”

“Triple ugh!”

“What’s up?” Jacob had returned from bussing the rest of the empty tables.

“Nothing.” Tad waved a hand. “Life, the universe, all that.”

The pub was starting to clear out. There could be one more small rush of customers before they closed for the night, but Tad hoped not. Snow was still falling, and everyone who worked at Jake’s preferred their customers to be safe inside their homes.

“Did you drive tonight?” he asked Curtis. Curtis lived close by, in an older apartment building not far from Tad’s. It usually wasn’t worth the effort for him to drive to Jake’s—unless the weather was crap like it was tonight.

“Nah, walked here. And now I’m going to walk home.”

“Alright. Be careful out there.”

Tad watched as the older man rose from his seat, shrugged into his heavy coat, and made his way to the exit. Turning, Curtis waved and winked before heading out into the darkness.

“How about you head home too?” Tad said to Jacob. “It’s gonna be slow until closing.”

“You sure?” Jacob asked, but he was also already untying his apron.

“I’m sure.”

“Thanks a bunch! I can get an early start on my five-alarm chili for the fire station.”

Jacob took off and Tad busied himself doing side work. The owners were nice and Tad liked working for them, but like any business owners, they preferred not having employees standing around for hours getting paid for doing nothing.

Slowly, the pub emptied out until it was just Tad and the dishwasher.

He was in the midst of wiping down the large mirror behind the taps and liquor bottles, when red and white lights flashed past on the street outside. They were going fast, too fast for the icy road conditions. The first thing that crossed his mind—because he was a love-struck idiot—was that something had happened to Dakota.

Tossing his apron the onto the counter, he jogged toward the front doors, calling out “I’ll be right back,” on his way.

The ambulance was only a few blocks from the pub. The lights were still on, flashing eerily over the crusty snow and darkened street and storefronts. An odd feeling of premonition crept up on Tad, making him shiver. The responders had stopped midway between Jake’s Taproom and Curtis’s apartment building.

The temperature outside were shockingly cold. He darted back inside and grabbed his coat off one of the hooks behind the kitchen door.

“Something’s happened down the street,” he told the kid washing the last of the dishes. Tony, that was his name. “I’m going to check it out. I’ll lock up, so just let yourself out the back if I’m not back by the time everything is cleaned up.”

The bad feeling in the pit of Tad’s stomach wasn’t subsiding.

“Right-o,” Tony replied, his expression concerned.

Back outside, Tad carefully made his way toward the scene. It didn’t appear to be a car accident as there were no sheriff’s vehicles—at least, none yet. As he drew closer, one of the responders stepped out, holding her hand up to stop him from coming closer.

“Give the man some privacy, okay? We’ve got this.”

“I’m not an ambulance chaser,” Tad said. “I’m worried about a friend of mine who lives just down the block, and I know he was walking home. Can you at least tell me that whoever is hurt isn’t Curtis Lewis?”

The woman grimaced, giving Tad his answer.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Tad? Tad Gillespie?” Curtis called out weakly. “Is that your voice, or am I hallucinating?”

The EMT lowered her hand and Tad moved closer to where Curtis had been lifted onto a gurney. The other responder was steering it and Curtis toward the back of the ambulance, stopping when he saw Tad.

“Yeah, it’s me, Curtis,” Tad confirmed. “Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”

Tad stepped a little closer, stopping by the side of the stretcher. Curtis was clearly in pain. His face had a pinched look to it and his lips a thin slash.

“I was being careful,” he insisted. “I was walking along, minding my own business, when my feet flew out from under me. Next thing I knew, I was looking up and not down. Luckily I got my breath back and started to call for help. Someone must have heard me and called 9-1-1. I don’t think it was more than five or ten minutes.”

Even in the low light cast from the streetlamps, Tad could see Curtis’s face was pale and sweaty with pain.

“We need to get Mr. Lewis to the hospital,” the first EMT said.

Tad started to move back and out of the way. “Is there anything I can do for you? Feed your cat?” Did Curtis have a pet? Tad didn’t know.

Curtis pulled his left arm out from underneath the silver space blanket they’d tucked around him to grab Tad’s hand with a surprisingly strong grip and pull him back toward the gurney. His right leg was wrapped with an inflatable split to keep it immobilized, and he had a bloody-looking scrape on the side of his forehead.

“No cat, but promise me you’ll take care of The Chronicle. You’re the only one I trust,” Curtis rasped.

The only other person at The Chronicle was Honey Sweeting, and Tad knew from experience that she and Curtis butted heads more often than not. But her advice and gossip column sold papers, and Tad knew that her “society” pieces—things like engagements, obituaries, and the like—kept revenues strong as well. “Of course,” Tad promised. “Whatever you need.”

“Don’t let Sweeting get her claws into my work, nowhere near my computer. I’ve done a number on my leg and may be down for the count for a little while.”

“Sir, we need to load you up.”

“Fine, fine,” Curtis grumped. “Take me away to the one place in town where I am almost guaranteed to get sick.”

Shaking their heads, the EMTs slid Curtis into the back of the ambulance. One climbed inside with him and the other went around and got behind the wheel. Lights no longer spinning, the bus drove off down the street and took the first right, heading toward the community hospital.

“Well, this sucks.”

As if to confirm his opinion, a drop of icy slush dropped from somewhere overhead and slipped down the back of Tad’s neck.

The next morning, before driving out to his folks’ place, Tad took a detour. He figured he’d head to the hospital to check in on Curtis and ask if he’d been serious about Tad keeping an eye on things at the paper.

From the hospital lobby, he was directed to another desk, where a tired-looking nurse with a badge identifying him as Evan pointed Tad in the direction of Curtis’s room.

“I’m glad someone came to visit him. He’s been quite agitated this morning,” Evan said.

“You mean a pain in the butt?” Tad said.

Evan grinned. “Yes, that.”

Tad made his way down the hallway to room 119 and tapped on the door.

“What is it now? I don’t want any more of that cra—stuff you call food around here.”

Tad pushed open the door and past the privacy curtain.

“You know, I’ve heard that a person gets more flies with honey.”

Curtis beamed at him even though it was clear to Tad he was in pain. “Tad Gillespie, you’re a sight for sore eyes. For public record, I don’t want flies. All I ask for is a decent meal.”

“I think they keep the quality down so patients don’t want stay too long,” Tad joked. “What’s the news?” He gestured to Curtis’s right leg, which was still in a temporary splint.

“Broken this, that, and everything else. Some kind of spiral fracture, they’re saying. If it’s not broken, it hurts anyway. Doc Hammond is taking me for surgery on my leg tomorrow, I think. Sounds like I’ll be put back together with titanium rods and screws.”

“You’ll be good as new.”

“One would hope better. My parts are getting old, so I guess I’m getting an upgrade.”

“So,” Tad said, “were you serious last night? About me keeping an eye on The Chronicle while you’re out?”

“Damn straight I was. Am. Sweeting can’t be left to her own devices. Who knows what she’ll get up to if no one is there to keep an eye on her? There’s a story I’m working on about water rights. Also, a guy named Peter Kline keeps popping up in my inquiries. He’s new around here, might be part of a development company, and I want to know whose pockets he’s lining. Also, can you keep on top of the fun events, like the tree lighting on Saturday? All the kitschy stuff.”

“Why do you keep Honey on anyway?” Tad asked.

“Money,” Curtis answered gruffly. “It’s always money, isn’t it? Honey married my business partner, and when he passed away, she inherited his shares. I’ve tried to buy her out, but that woman is stubborn.”

Evan poked his head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but the doc is starting her rounds.”

“Okay, thanks for letting me in to see him.” Tad turned back to Curtis. “I’ll check back in with you tomorrow.”

“Call first,” Evan said. “We can let you know if he’s awake.”

“Sure thing. Um.” He looked at the man in the hospital bed. “I’ll try to come by after your surgery, Curtis. But if you want me to take pictures and stuff, I should get to the craft fair early.”

“Thanks, kid,” Curtis said with a frown. “Honey is not sweet, regardless of her name. I don’t trust her and neither should you. Just visit when you can.”

Tad was pretty sure Curtis was covering up his fear of the upcoming surgery by obsessing over his paper. He didn’t blame him.

“It’s tradition, so you’d better be here,” Tad repeated, feeling the slightest bit grouchy. It was late but he’d held off calling Dakota all day since Tad knew he was working a double. He wished he’d gotten him to say yes to the bonfire at the pub last night.

“Or else what?” Dakota demanded, sounding suspicious.

Tad was too stuffed, full to bursting with the traditional dishes his parents had cooked for the holiday meal, to come up with a good argument. He just wanted Dakota to be at the fire. Spending time with Dakota was Tad’s number one favorite activity.

Now, if Dakota would just open his eyes and see Tad as more than the rich kid whose family took him in all those years ago, that would be awesome. Instead, Dakota had built a wall thicker and higher than the Great Wall of China around his heart. As obvious—or subtle—as Tad tried to be, Dakota remained resolute, refusing to even acknowledge that they might be good together.

“Or else what, what?” Tad repeated, officially irritated.

“You implied an ‘or else.’”

“I did not. Just. Be here, okay?” Tad really was grumpy now. “Mom has been after me for days. She’s calling you too, by the way.” Tad wasn’t against bringing out the big guns when it came to Dakota Green. “Fair warning though, even Boone is supposedly showing up.”

The attendance of Big Boone, as Tad’s older brother was known, was not one of the arguments that would bring Dakota to the bonfire tomorrow. Ever since they were kids, Boone enjoyed needling Dakota, and Dakota had never been very good at ignoring his efforts.

Privately, Tad thought that when Boone had been standing in line for brains, he must have gotten distracted and turned the other way. His brother was good with the horses and cattle—all animals trusted him. He definitely seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to the weather. And women, for some reason, seemed to like his company—he’d always had a girlfriend, almost as if having one was a necessary accessory for life.

But Boone was also the guy who’d put diesel in a regular gas engine. Twice. And the second time it had happened was only a few months ago. In college, he’d almost burned down his dorm trying to heat up a frozen pizza still in the box. Once, when trying to make popcorn, he hadn’t had vegetable oil and decided to substitute corn syrup—thinking, Tad supposed, that the syrup was made from corn? Who knew. The pot had to be thrown away. The list went on and on.

“Please, just say you’ll be here.”

“Fine.”

“Fine is not yes.”

Dakota chuckled and Tad smiled. He smelled victory.

“Yes, Tad the Persistent, I will show up tomorrow night. But I don’t know when I’ll get off shift.”

Tad tamped down the urge to jump up and down while pumping his fist and yelling, Yes!

“Cool, see ya then.”

Tad clicked off and set the phone beside him on the couch. Frowning, he plopped his head back against the cushion and released a heartfelt sigh. What was it going to take for Dakota to admit he might have feelings—romantic ones—for Tad? Tad wanted to give Dakota everything and instead stubborn Dakota just stood outside the Tad-shop with his nose pressed against the metaphorical windows, not paying attention to who was inside.

“Okay, that’s a bit dramatic,” he muttered, “but, dammit, it’s how I feel.”

Mildly irritated at both himself and Kota, Tad picked up the TV remote and pressed Power. The TV blinked on.

“Yes,” he hissed.

Love Actually was streaming—he’d indulge in one of his favorite Christmas movies for a couple hours. But first he needed to make some popcorn.