10. Keep Going

Nadia

It was late-ish, and I was in the reading nook with a cup of tea and a book I wasn't reading because I was thinking about Abigail Riggs, Ledger's grandmother and Rigg's mom.

She was not what I expected, not any of the things that could be.

She wasn't broken down by having an abusive husband who didn't leave her alone even after she left their marriage. She wasn't a hardened, bitter woman who endured the same. She also wasn't a no-nonsense, outdoorsy type who looked like she could chop her own wood and definitely tended her own garden and canned her own tomatoes.

No, she was trim, though not slim, and wore nice jeans and a stark-white blouse that had some embroidery in it and looked part-prairie, part-southwest. Her jeans had a cool, thin, tooled belt with a lovely silver buckle threaded through the loops.

And silver, for Abigail, was a theme, since she had a lot of it around her neck, her wrists, on her fingers and at her ears.

She was also very pretty, with great skin that did not say she had a thirty-eight-year-old son and nine-year-old grandson.

And she was a redhead. It wasn't flaming and brazen, or strawberry and demure, but auburn and probably dyed, but it didn't look it, and I suspected it had been her natural color before time took it away.

She was also quiet, and looked at me in a thoughtful and kind way that told me on his drive to the hospital, Riggs had shared a few things, and although he and I being in the Friend Zone was one of them (because she didn't look me over), I knew other things were shared besides.

She was grateful I'd stepped up for Ledger, and before she took Ledger with her, she asked if I might want to get a coffee with her someday soon.

I agreed.

We exchanged numbers.

And that was that.

It made me wonder what Riggs's sister was like, because with a dad like he described, and the good-time, rough and ready, big-truck driving, part-time biker guy vibe Riggs gave off, Abigail Riggs was a surprise, so I wondered if the sister was the same.

This was on my mind when I heard it.

A noise coming from outside like two stones being cracked together.

I sat motionless, my eyes aimed at the hall to the back door. A door I could not see from where I sat.

I'd lit the fairy lights and the lanterns out there (when I'd found the AC remotes, I discovered the lanterns had remotes too). Same with the front lanterns, which were now also lit. I lit them all every night, because they were pretty, but also because they cut away the dark that pressed at the windows when night fell, something I wasn't yet used to.

The sound came again. It was louder, though didn't seem closer.

What it did seem like, was it was coming from the south side, or the trail that led to stables that had been burned to the ground fifteen years ago.

Okay, ghosts did not exist.

But I'd seen a variety of wildlife, in fact, a lot of it. Rabbits, squirrels, deer, even what I suspected was an elk. They were all over the place, and clearly not used to, nor overly fussed by, me taking over Weaver Cabin, because they didn't shy away when I wasn't outside, and even when I was out on the pier.

A deer, or an elk, could easily dislodge a stone with one of their hooves.

Couldn't they?

The sound came again, three times, in quick succession, and those noises sounded like they were getting closer.

For the second time that day, my heart rate spiked, and my mouth went dry while that prickling sensation covered my skin before I heard a strange, whispering noise I couldn't place at all, and it faded into the distance.

And as I sat there for an unknown amount of time listening hard, I jumped nearly out of my skin when a sharp rap sounded on the screen door.

I set the book aside, got up and moved just enough so I could look down the hall.

I saw Riggs standing at the back door.

When he spied me, he held up a bottle of wine identical to the one he'd had last night, and called, "This time, a thank you gift."

I moved that way, pulled the hook lock out of its holder and pushed the door open slightly.

Riggs pulled it open the rest of the way, and my invitation to come inside was me walking to the kitchen.

He followed and put the wine down on the kitchen counter while I examined his face.

I didn't have to examine very long before I said quietly, "It's not good."

"No," he confirmed. "It's not good. My friend, Bubbles, was beat to shit. So bad, he took so many blows to the head, they had to induce a coma in an effort to control the brain swelling."

"Oh, Riggs," I whispered.

He nudged the wine and said, "He's the one who sold me this. He owns The Hole. Or that's what locals call it. Officially, it's The Black Hole, a bar just out of town. One of his staff came in this morning, found him unconscious in the storeroom. He went in and out of consciousness until they induced, but he was so messed up, they couldn't get much out of him. They don't know what happened, when it happened, why it happened or who did it. But with Bubbles, the list of culprits could be a mile long."

"Do you want me to open the wine?" I offered.

"You got anything stiffer?" he asked.

"I could make you a gin martini."

"Done."

I set about doing that while asking, "Where's Ledger?"

"He's staying with Mom tonight."

"Right," I said, putting down the martini shaker and gin and heading to the fridge.

"His zygomatic bone was shattered, three ribs fractured, one punctured a lung," Riggs went on with the litany of trauma his friend endured. "He took some hefty shots to his kidneys and is generally bruised and battered everywhere. He also has a broken wrist, but the way that's fractured, they think it happened when he fell on it."

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," I said as I grabbed a martini glass.

"Hup."

At this strange noise from him, I looked over my shoulder to see Riggs shaking his head.

For a second, I was confused.

Then I realized hyper masculine, good-time, rough and ready, big-truck driving, part-time biker guys didn't drink out of martini glasses.

I put it down and showed him a pink glass that could be used as an old-fashioned, but it had a bulbous bee formed from the glass sticking out the side.

"This is your other choice," I told him.

He shook his head again and said, "Martini."

As I suspected.

I grabbed it and went back to the counter asking, "Olive or lemon twist?"

"Honey," was his only reply.

Okay, hyper masculine, good-time, rough and ready, big-truck driving, part-time biker guys also didn't do "sissy" things like olives and twists.

"Gotcha," I mumbled and set about making the drink.

When I poured it through the strainer (thank you, Misted Pines postman and Williams Sonoma online store) and handed it to him, I watched in stunned silence as he downed it in one.

He then handed the glass to back to me.

"Again?" I asked with no small amount of surprise.

"Yup," he answered.

I used the same ice and set him up again.

That time, he just took a sip.

When he was done, he set the glass to the counter, his fingers still to the stem, and said, "Fuck, Nadia, should have known Bubbles being a mostly fuckup would catch up with him."

"I don't know what to say," I admitted.

"Nothing to say," he replied.

"You wanna hang for a while?" I offered.

"Am I gonna drink alone?" he asked.

"I'll be there with you, but I'm not imbibing tonight. Until our spat and your peace offering, I was wallowing, and a lot of that was accompanied by a bottle of wine, so I need a break."

"Hear you." He cocked his head. "Outside?"

I nodded mine.

He nabbed his glass and led, I followed, and we resumed the positions we had last night, with our feet up on the coffee table.

I liked sitting there with him, but it wasn't as nice as last night, when there seemed a promise that it would go somewhere different, a promise I knew now wasn't going to lead to fruition.

It still felt good.

He took another sip of his martini, and I watched, noting that the glass truly wasn't him at all, but it was still appealing, watching him drink from it.

Who was I kidding?

Nearly everything about Riggs was appealing. Yes, Lord help me, even when he was being a dick.

He turned his head, caught my eyes and stated, "Angelica."

"What?"

"Ledger's mom."

It seemed he didn't want to talk about this Bubbles person anymore, and I understood why.

Anyway, I was interested in Angelica because I was interested in Riggs.

Dang.

"Right. Angelica. Talk to me," I prompted.

I felt relief when his lips twitched with genuine amusement at my words, then he looked to the lake and said, "Actually met her at The Hole. One-night stand that came back about six weeks later telling me she was pregnant, and she wanted to keep it. Apparently, the condom broke."

The way he said the last four words held more meaning, so I murmured, "Oh boy."

He looked to me. "Yeah. I was flipped out. I had no intention of becoming a dad, definitely not a baby daddy. I was twenty-nine years old and not a domesticated guy."

"Quelle surprise," I teased.

That got me a genuine smile before he continued, "Also wasn't sure, with Angelica being Angelica, and that's not throwing shade, you'll get me as the story goes along, that it was mine. But I helped out through the pregnancy, and I got a DNA test as soon as I could after Ledger was born, but I didn't really need it. He looked just like me when I was a baby."

"As he does now," I remarked.

"Yeah," he agreed, and his attention went back to the lake. He let out a big breath and carried on, "But DNA came back as expected, and Angelica took advantage of me falling instantly in love with my kid and talked me into giving it a go. She pushed for marriage. She said it was for Ledger's sake, but with her, I wasn't going to make anything legal unless I knew we could hack it."

Smart decision.

"Me being me," he carried on, "and her being her, we couldn't hack it. Us being a thing ended about five months into Ledger's life, and those were not good months. I moved into the extra bedroom and didn't move out until he was four years old, mostly for selfish reasons. I didn't want to miss anything. It also didn't totally suck, because she's Angelica, but she's a good mom, and those years were a lot easier on both of us because we had each other's backs. So it wasn't great, but it worked in a way for both of us. More importantly, it worked for Ledger."

"I can see that," I noted.

He hesitated a moment before he asked, "Want kids?"

"I used to."

Another hesitation before he suggested, "How 'bout we hit that when you're not taking a break from alcohol."

"Good call," I replied.

"So," he thankfully took us off that subject and went back to our other one, "I moved out, and that's when the fun began."

"I'm sensing facetiousness," I remarked.

"You sense correctly," he affirmed.

"Oh boy," I repeated.

He did a short head shake with another lip twitch and kept talking.

"It worked for Angelica when I was around, because Angelica could have a part-time job, and even though she loved our boy and looked after him, without me in her bed, she had needs she needed to see to. I got it. Same went for me. The thing was, once I was gone, I was all in to take care of my boy. I made more than her and I wasn't about to see him suffer when he was with her. But I wasn't about to make it so she could work sixteen hours a week, take care of our kid some of the time, then pawn him off on her mom and sister, my mom and sister, or some babysitter, and party the rest of the time on my dime."

"As you shouldn't," I stated firmly.

He gave me a small grateful smile at my support and shared, "Fortunately, a judge saw it the same way. She could earn. We never married. We weren't a couple but for a few months, and we were only for Ledger. She was given a choice. Appropriate child support payments with her contributing financially to the rearing of our son, or she could give up custody and I'd take the full financial burden of raising our boy. She didn't like that last choice, so she took the first one."

Another hesitation, before he went back to it.

"Then another condom broke."

I had begun staring idly at our feet on the coffee table while listening to him, but that brought my gaze to his face.

"No." I drew that word out.

"Yeah," he replied. "Another guy who isn't rolling in it, but he makes real good money. Know the guy, not well, but he's been around, and I've seen him and met him in that time. Though, he was not happy with the surprise of impending fatherhood, and not in a flipped-out way. He straight up wanted nothing to do with it."

"Shit," I whispered while he took another sip of his martini.

"Yeah," he repeated. "He told her to get rid of it. She didn't. He didn't support her while she was pregnant and demanded an immediate DNA test when the baby was born. Kid was his, only then did he kick in. Unless you're a total asshole, you can't have a kid and not fall for that kid, and he's not a total asshole, so he fell for the kid. She tried the same thing to get him to help her live free and breezy, including pushing marriage. He had less patience with it than I did, and I had zero patience."

I pressed my lips tightly together.

"Yeah," he said once again. "Things were rough for Angelica for a while, and I can't say I'm thrilled that Ledger has a little brother, who he adores, but he's only around every other week. Nor am I thrilled that Angelica and her second baby daddy get into it a lot, and sometimes, Ledger sees or hears that shit. But I can't deny, she really does love her kids, and this guy, his name is Storm, truly isn't an asshole, and he likes Ledge. So, after Ledge told me what shit was going down, I had a word with Storm to share I wasn't a fan of him hanging his shit with Angelica on my son, and he promised to pick his times so Ledger and his little brother Viggo didn't see it."

"First," I stated, and tried not to sound judgy, but failed. "Storm?"

Riggs grinned. "It's a nickname. Like Doc was before I changed it. His real name is James. Lots of talk around how he got his nickname. Some say it's because he can be broody. Others, mostly women, say it's about the color of his eyes, which to me are gray, like mine."

Riggs's were not stormy. Not at all.

Enough about Storm.

"Have things evened out?" I asked.

He nodded and took another sip.

"Do you think she got pregnant on purpose?"

His expression turned thoughtful, and he said, "With Storm, no clue. With me, I come prepared." He gave me a wolfish grin. "And I'm active."

I did an eye roll and replied, "I noticed."

"So I'm sure to keep that covered and it's never happened before or since," he carried on. "Not sure, with how it went down between us, how she'd have managed it. Though, the coincidence of it happening twice gives a man pause."

It gave a woman pause too, that woman being me.

"Do you think she's going to do it again?" I asked.

This time, he shook his head. "I think Angelica learned her lesson when she didn't have someone around to help with diapers and grocery shopping and baths and midnight feedings, and she also had a six-year-old to look after. But who knows? She's also still at The Hole, The Halfway Inn and The Squirrel's Nest a lot. So maybe not."

"How do you manage with being away so much?" I asked, then quickly added. "It's not my business, so?—"

Riggs cut me off. "Nadia, we're becoming friends, am I right?"

He was right, and I was glad to have a friend close, especially one like Riggs, who would rush out of his house because he was worried I was showing there upset about something.

But there was another part of me that felt something else.

I tamped that down and answered, "You're very right."

"So, you can ask. And the answer is, once I started taking jobs out of town, I paid her more. Not enough she can cut back hours or some stupid shit like that, but enough to make absolutely certain Ledger doesn't do without when I'm gone. And we have a deal. I see him as much as I can see him, and that means, for the most part, he comes and stays with me when I'm home. Also, on my Sunday's off, no matter where I am, I drive back to MP, even if I can only spend an hour or two with him. That way, he knows his old man will bust his hump to have time with him, so he knows, every week, his dad is thinking about him through that week. And when I get back, he's mine."

"That's very sweet."

"That's being a dad."

That hit me, hard, and I could see from the gentle look on his face he felt it for me, and considering his history, with me, and this was why he instantly went on.

"Fortunately, I left when he was four, too early for him to remember his mom and dad living together, which was why I picked that age to leave. But it was also when he was starting to put things together, so his whole life is being shuttled back and forth. It's what he knows. It's all he knows."

"Does that bother you?"

"Knowing him now, it's impossible to believe I had these thoughts, but it can't be denied, I did. I didn't want a kid. Which means I didn't want him. That's history, and maybe one day when he's a grown man he'll consider it, put it together, but put himself in my shoes and know where my head was at. By then, I hope like fuck I put in the work that'll show I couldn't imagine life without him, and I love him to my soul, so he'll get it, and it won't wound him. All that said, warning, I'm gonna get crass."

I nodded for him to go on.

He went on.

"His mother is a knockout, not as gorgeous as you, but she's a fine-looking woman, but she was only a decent lay. I had no intention of going back for more, because what I got wasn't all that good. So I definitely had no intention of having a relationship with her. This means it is what it is. Life is like that. Shit happens, you deal the best you can trying not to harm anyone in the process, and no matter what it throws at you, you keep going."

"You keep going," I whispered, focusing on that rather than his not as gorgeous as you comment.

And it was a good thing to focus on.

More wisdom from Doc Riggs.

"Yeah," he whispered back.

"You've got a great kid," I told him.

"I know. What did you two do?"

"I showed him the cabin."

He threw back more martini before he said, "He's been here before."

"I know. That's how I know he's a great kid. He humored me even though we both knew he'd been here before."

Riggs grinned.

I enjoyed it in the way I could, and tucked the way I couldn't somewhere I hoped it never escaped, because I knew, the more I got to know this man, the more power it would have to hurt me.

"I also like your mom," I shared.

"She's awesome," he muttered.

"Is your sister like her, or you?"

Another cock of his head, this one curious, when he asked, "What am I like?"

"A really great guy, but one who doesn't wear crisply ironed, blemish-less white, cotton prairie shirts, but instead, lives in a house that it's good no one in it is living with a disability, and it's as weird as it is frightening and fantastic."

He let out a bark of laughter.

There it was.

His friend had been assaulted by an unknown attacker, and it only took two martinis, some history sharing and me to crack a lame joke to get him to laugh.

Good.

"My sister, Kate, is like Kate," he answered after he stopped laughing. "She's the branch manager of a bank in Seattle. She moved about a year and a half ago when her partner got a promotion and had to head that way."

"Right."

"We miss her. Them. Her man is a good man, and they've been together since high school. She isn't far, but it also isn't easy to fit the trip into life."

"I bet."

His gaze became searching. "You okay about the bullshit Kimmy landed on you?"

"I heard some stones cracking together, maybe a couple of minutes before you showed."

His brows drew together ominously. "Where? Out here?"

I pointed in the direction of where the stables used to be.

Then I had to shift my legs unexpectedly because he instantly got up, putting down his glass and pulling out his phone to engage the flashlight.

I got up as he jogged down the steps, and with the light aimed to the ground, he moved in the direction of the derelict trail that used to lead to the stables.

"You come this way at all?" he asked, having stopped with his light still to the ground.

I went from house to pier and back. I hadn't explored. Something else I intended to do, and soon. I hadn't even put out the hammock.

"No," I called back. "Are there footprints?"

"No."

Well, that was a relief.

He kept looking around, and he did this awhile, veering from the path, from what I could tell, and also going farther than I thought was needed.

Only after he looked around the space where I thought the stables had been—not that I'd investigated, just that the trees there weren't as tall, so they had to be younger—did he come back.

I'd gone to the top of the steps, and I didn't move out of his way, even when he was only one step down from me.

And I didn't because I wasn't certain about the expression on his face.

"Well?" I prompted when he didn't say anything.

"Looks like some stones have been freshly dislodged."

"But no footprints?"

He shook his head.

That meant animals probably did it.

That expression, however, was still on his face.

"What?" I asked.

"It's not a thing," he didn't quite answer.

"What's not a thing?"

"It's dark. I'll come out tomorrow when it's daylight and look again."

Oh no.

"What, Riggs?"

He took a second, and I was about to ask again, when he pushed out, "There aren't any animal tracks either."

I stared at him.

No animal tracks either.

So who—or what—dislodged those stones?

I knew one answer.

And that answer was great.

Just great.