Looking for Trouble Read online

  He didn’t know if it had been right anymore. On one hand, their mom hadn’t gotten any better. He’d avoided years of dealing with whatever was wrong with her, be it mental illness or self-absorption.

  On the other hand, maybe he and Shane could’ve had a relationship if Alex had stayed in touch. Maybe they’d have been brothers again.

  Shit. Who could say? There was no changing anything now, and no point wasting more time thinking about it.

  He pulled into the parking lot of the ghost town and parked the bike next to his brother’s truck. The place wasn’t quite as dead as it had been, but Alex refused to see that as any sort of metaphor.

  This was where the Bishop money had gone. The place had been forced alive with cash.

  He’d been here long ago with his brother and dad, but there’d been no parking area and no big glossy sign to mark the place. The road that ran through Providence had been nothing more than a wide expanse of tamped ground broken liberally by sagebrush and grass and an occasional scrub oak. All the vegetation had been cleared away now and the road smoothed until it looked like a wagon full of hay could come rolling down it at any moment. The buildings looked better, too, from what he could see.

  Alex walked down the road.

  Yes, the buildings definitely looked better. The Bishop money had been put to good use. Nothing had been painted or buffed to a shine, but the fallen boards and collapsed roofs had been repaired. Signs that had long ago been buried in the dirt had been resurrected and rehung. The saloon and mercantile had their identities again. A couple of the small houses even looked almost livable. And almost all the buildings had a placard set in front of them with text and sometimes pictures identifying the buildings and who had used them.

  Alex heard voices ahead just before Merry Kade stepped into the road at the farthest end of the town and waved at him. He raised a hand and took a deep breath to try to gather some patience before seeing his mom.

  “Hi,” he said to Merry when she met him halfway through town. “It’s quiet out here.”

  “Yeah, weekdays during the slow season aren’t exactly our busy time. But this summer was pretty exciting! And we’ve set up a few field trips for the elementary school later this month. I can’t wait. They’re going to love it.”

  “Absolutely,” he said, wondering how many kids she knew who got that excited about history, but he kept that thought to himself. If anyone could inspire school-age kids to love history, it would be Merry.

  “Come on,” she urged. “I have something so great to show you. The signs were installed yesterday. Your family is the first to see them!”

  Apparently he was moving too slowly, because Merry grabbed his hand and pulled him forward, her feet sending up tiny puffs of dust as she dug in.

  Alex shook his head at her enthusiasm, but he picked up the pace, raising a hand to his brother as Shane turned around to watch.

  “You weren’t trying to resist her, I hope?” Shane drawled as they drew closer.

  “I could see it was futile.”

  “Alex!” their mother gushed, and rushed over—an awkward, limping kind of rush—to give him a hug.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know. I’m old. The cold doesn’t help.”

  He frowned at her weary sigh, but gave up. If there was something seriously wrong, she’d make a big deal out of it.

  “Well?” Merry finally asked. “What do you think?” She gestured toward a tall sign, which stood next to a foot trail angling through the grass ahead. A narrow creek flowed next to it, though it was nearly dry at this time of the year.

  Their mom moved back toward the sign with a satisfied nod. “‘The Wyatt Bishop Memorial Trail,’” she read in a booming voice. “Look at that. Shane, Alex, your father is finally getting the recognition he deserves.”

  Below the name of the trail was a picture of the town of Providence taken just after the flood had destroyed most of it. The Fox Creek, which this trail follows, was the lifeblood of the Providence community, providing clean drinking water and irrigation for crops. However, a series of environmental catastrophes led to the destruction of most of the town when the creek flooded in 1899.

  There was a description of a landslide and then the eventual burst of that natural dam along with some other historical details, but Merry was waving them forward along the trail. “There’s more,” she said excitedly.

  They all followed her down the trail another fifty feet or so and there it was, a metal plaque set on a stake overlooking the creek bed. A picture of his father was etched into the silvery metal.

  Wyatt E. Bishop

  1948–1989

  Beloved husband and father, and cherished

  member of the Bishop family,

  one of the founding families of

  Providence, Wyoming.

  This trail is dedicated to his life and memory.

  “Oh, boys,” their mother whispered. “Oh, it’s so beautiful. Look at that.”

  Alex looked, but all he saw was hypocrisy. They’d left off the part about him being the beloved lover of a married woman, not to mention that the Bishop family had turned its back on his young sons. But Shane seemed to like it just fine. He put his arm around their mom and they both stared at the plaque.

  Alex just cleared his throat. “It’s nice. Thank you, Merry.”

  She was grinning but had to wipe away a tear. “Your mom helped me come up with the inscription. We couldn’t fit everything she wanted, but I hope it’s all right.”

  His mom had likely written three paragraphs.

  Shane turned to pull Merry into a hug. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “And I’m so glad there’s something here to remember him after he spent so many years in that canyon.”

  Alex looked up the trail to where it disappeared into a slash of broken rock and climbing trees.

  “So awful,” their mom murmured. “Here all this time. Right here with us. I knew he’d never leave.”

  Shane glanced over Merry’s head and met Alex’s eyes. “Have you been up there yet?”

  “No,” Alex said. His skin prickled. He wanted to turn and leave.

  “Come on. We’ll walk a little ways up.”

  “We’d better not,” Alex said. “Mom doesn’t look up for it.”

  “I’ll stay with her,” Merry volunteered. “The office has a space heater. We’ll sit and have a coffee and work out the last-minute details for tomorrow. You two go on.”

  Well, shit.

  He glanced toward the trail. “We should really help,” he insisted.

  “Oh, sure,” Merry answered. “Because you boys will contribute a lot to how the chairs should be set out.”

  Shane nudged his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get out while the getting is good.”

  Alex didn’t have any better arguments at that point. He supposed he could have just offered the truth, but he wasn’t sure what that was. Why didn’t he want to walk up the trail with his brother? His father’s body was long gone and Alex didn’t believe in ghosts.

  So he shook off his hesitation and stepped onto the Wyatt Bishop Memorial Trail. It felt like any other trail, so he walked on.

  After a few moments, he glanced back to see his mom and Merry walking through the town. “I wouldn’t think Mom would support any of this. Shouldn’t she be raging about how the money should belong to us? About how Gideon Bishop left this money to a ghost town just to spite her and shut her up and cover up the truth?”

  Shane chuckled. “Yeah, there was plenty of that for a while. When I filed my lawsuit against the estate, she was over the moon. She wanted me to teach them a lesson. Shit, I guess that’s what I wanted, too, but I got over it. And she did, too.”

  “Really?” he asked, shocked.

  Shane flashed a smile. �
��Okay, she had a little trouble getting over it.”

  “A little?” Alex asked.

  This time Shane burst into full-out laughter. “Yeah. A little. The same amount of ‘little’ trouble she has getting over everything.”

  “Yeah. She’s stubborn. I’ll give her that.”

  “When her psychiatrist suggested that we have a funeral or a memorial or something, Merry offered this trail, the plaque, and Mom jumped on it. I don’t know. It was like she wanted to let it go if someone would just acknowledge something.”

  Alex watched the canyon coming closer as they walked. “Doesn’t seem like she wants to let it go too much.”

  “I’m hoping that it’s just coming to a head. It’s almost over. She’s panicking a little at the thought, but once it’s done... I don’t know. If it’s not over after tomorrow? Shit. If she won’t help herself, there’s nothing I can do anymore.”

  Alex rolled his eyes, but Shane watched him without a hint of anger.

  “Let’s just get through this and see. You’re already here. What’s the harm?”

  “Fuck, man. When did you become the personification of patience? You got kicked out of school for fistfights a half dozen times.”

  “The truth?” Shane asked.

  “That’d be a first in this family.”

  Shane shrugged. “All right. The truth is that I was just as angry as you for a long time. After you left, I was pissed as hell. I wanted to make people pay. That’s why I tried to take my pound of flesh after Granddad died. And then I met Merry.”

  “Really? Love of a good woman?”

  “No. It’s not that. She’s had a rough life, she’s had challenges and pain, but she sees the good. And that shamed me.”

  Alex felt his whole body tighten at that. With shame or something like it. For mocking his brother. For thinking he knew anything about it. After all, Alex had been in love, too, and he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing with it. He’d fumbled it and dropped it and walked away from the mess he’d made. What the fuck did he know?

  He swallowed the thickness in his throat and nodded. “All right.”

  He noticed then how far they’d walked. How narrow the trail had gotten. Grass bent over the dirt. Their legs brushed it aside. The smell of aspen touched him, and then it was inside him. Every time he smelled that scent, he was home again. He never wanted to be. It just hit him. Home. Hiding from his brother during a game of tag. Running from the house after an argument. Sitting at a campfire with a girl, hoping to lose himself in her body for a few minutes.

  His leg brushed sagebrush and that bright menthol scent broke over him, too. That was an earlier memory. Of being here. With his dad, with Shane.

  “You found him,” he said as they reached the mouth of the canyon.

  “Yes.”

  The shade swallowed them and the air was suddenly cold. “Here?”

  “About thirty minutes up the trail. I was on horseback.”

  “Happenstance?”

  Shane barked a dry laugh. “No. Merry again. I’d taken her up a higher trail to show her something, and I spotted a flash of white. I didn’t think it had anything to do with Dad. I only rode up out of curiosity.”

  Alex stopped and looked up the narrow canyon. The tumbled rocks looked like they were frozen, just waiting for a signal to start rolling down again, straight toward Alex.

  “Do you want to walk up a ways? Get an idea of where he was?” Shane asked.

  “No,” Alex snapped before he could temper the word.

  “The truck’s gone. It’s just a clearing.”

  “No.” He crossed his arms to hold back a shiver. This was the place. The mysterious spot their mother had searched for. The place that had kept her husband from her for reasons she couldn’t understand or sympathize with. This canyon had swallowed Wyatt Bishop whole and kept him from his family for so many years.

  “She was right, after all,” he murmured.

  “What?” Shane asked.

  “He really didn’t mean to leave.”

  “No. He didn’t. They were taking the trailer up to that clearing by the old settler’s cabin. It’s the only place that road led.”

  Alex couldn’t figure out why it didn’t make it better. It should. He could recognize that. But it didn’t change anything, somehow. All the things he’d felt as a kid, they were still there. And he still hadn’t had a father for a dozen years. Not until he’d met Oz.

  Alex shifted a rock and saw the moisture underneath, waiting just beneath the surface. There was no creek here that anyone else could see, but it was there, flowing slowly just beneath the rocks, making its way down the mountain.

  The real flow of the world was always beneath the surface. Oz had taught him that.

  “We’d better get back,” he said.

  He turned before Shane could answer and headed back down alone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ALEX WATCHED THE sun creep past the trees next to the motel parking lot and wiped a hand over his eyes before crouching back over his bike. That little trip down memory lane had exhausted him. Alex made a point of not looking back in his life, but he didn’t have much choice these days. There wasn’t a present in Jackson. Or a future. It was all his past and he couldn’t get away from it.

  The two hours they’d spent in the office with Merry going over the details hadn’t helped either. His mother had wept bitter tears when he’d insisted—eventually, in a very loud voice—that he wasn’t giving a goddamn speech about his dad. She accused him of rejecting his father and everything the man had ever done for his children. Alex had just barely managed not to counter that at least he hadn’t changed his name like some people in the family. He’d avoided reverting to childhood levels of immaturity, but just barely.

  He’d tried to lose his mind in work after, studying the reports for the site he’d be visiting in Alaska, but he hadn’t been able to shake the tension, so he’d washed his bike instead. He’d lost himself in that, finally, then found himself tinkering with the throttle for an hour.

  That was something he loved about his bike. He could ride it, fix it, maintain it. He didn’t have to depend on anyone else. If it broke down, he ordered a part and fixed it himself. He knew his bike inside and out. It never changed. It was the one constant in his life, waiting for him whenever he got back from his travels. It centered him, somehow.

  By the time the trees completely blocked the sun, Alex was totally relaxed. He stood up and stretched, feeling the breeze against his neck. A warm front was shaking off the cool that had settled in that morning.

  Perfect.

  Sophie had said she got off work at seven. Alex got out his phone.

  Interested in a sunset drive? he texted her.

  YES!!!! she wrote back immediately.

  Alex could picture her delight perfectly. She took such joy in pleasure. Of course, everyone liked pleasure. But she was fed by it. Wine, pretty dresses, wicked underthings, travel, motorcycles, sex. It was all beautiful to her.

  He wished he could see more than Jackson Hole with her. He wanted to watch her face the first time she saw Alaska, the ocean, the world. If she ever left this place, she’d come alive.

  Considering how alive she already was, it’d be a fucking wonder to behold.

  But all he’d get was Jackson, so he’d take it.

  When should I pick you up? he texted back.

  7:15 at my place. Or maybe around the corner?

  He smiled. I’ll sneak up.

  Perfect.

  Yeah. One more perfect night with her before he had to go.

  * * *

  SOPHIE ENJOYED THE look on his face when she stepped outside.

  “You look different,” he said simply, but his eyes took their time sliding down her body.
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  She didn’t often wear jeans and boots, but this time she wanted a long ride on the bike, and heels and a skirt wouldn’t cut it. “Have I lost all my feminine mystique?” she asked.

  “You’re made of feminine mystique,” he said as she slid on her favorite bright pink coat, “and you know it.”

  She laughed because she did know it, but then she pressed a hand to her mouth and glanced down the street. “Where’s your bike?”

  “Around the corner.”

  “Let’s go out the back.” She led him through the house and out the back door. “This feels like high school. Except I was never bad in high school. Were you?”

  He grinned and said nothing. Sophie took in the rough stubble on his head and the wide shoulders and leather jacket and big hands and shook her head. “Yeah, you were really bad.”

  “Come on. I wouldn’t say bad. I’d just say that I took smart advantage of the benefits of living in a ski town.”

  “Spring break?” she asked wryly.

  “Man. I had a great affection for college girls at that age.”

  “Player,” she tossed out, feeling a little jealous. Not that he’d had his fill but that she hadn’t.

  “I’m not surprised you were a good girl in high school,” he said as they sneaked through her neighbor’s bushes to the sidewalk beyond. “So when did you get so naughty?”

  Now she flashed her own grin. “A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “No? Does she fuck and tell?”

  “No.” She stopped next to the bike and waited while he got out the helmets. Glancing around to be sure they were alone, she leaned close to his ear to purr, “And she doesn’t say things like ‘fuck’ either.”

  She loved the way his eyes immediately went dark. “God, I love the way you say that word. Your mouth makes it sound like a whip.”

  “A whip, huh?”

  One big shoulder rose in a shrug. “If that’s what you want, bring it on.”

  “I’ll try anything once,” she said, her heart speeding a little at the idea of hurting him. Not because she wanted to, but because it would piss him off. She wanted to see him pissed off. He’d be fucking magnificent.