Love on LaSalle

Marcia swore and threw a pinecone into the meandering creek with as much force as she could muster. The late-afternoon sun glinted off the ripples as the stream cut through the reedy grass at the back of the LaSalle Campground. Her rig was parked in the last loop in spot sixty-seven, which put Trumbull Creek and the surrounding meadow in her temporary backyard. Yesterday, she'd thought it was the best place on earth. Today...

"I hate this place!" she said, pushing her sunglasses up on her nose. Kalispell with its quaint western shops and huckleberry everything. She stooped to pick up a decent sized rock and hefted it into the slow current. Instead of giving her a violent splash, it kerplunked into the deep, leaving her with zero satisfaction.

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, so she squeezed 'em shut, keeping everything inside. What should she do? Nick had left her, and she had nothing in this world except her old green truck, an over-stuffed travel trailer, and new cowboy boots. She had no family, no pets, nowhere to go, and nowhere to be.

Once again, she was disconnected and alone. Nick Blue had taken a chunk out of her heart last night after a fight about their future. He'd slammed the trailer door and trudged off as if he had every right to be mad, and maybe he did, but it didn't change the fact that he was wrong. A lump of despair rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

"Such a jerk." Which was quite the opposite from yesterday when they'd bought new boots together in town. His were a slate-gray leather, and hers were smooth brown with intricate turquoise stitching. They'd held hands even though it was a sweltering eighty-five degrees, and while standing toe to toe on Main Street, he'd whispered, "I love..." Then his eyes widened like his mouth had gotten the best of him. He wrapped a strand of her red hair around his finger. "I love your hair."

"Nice save." She laughed with good humor—he was easy to read—but in the back of her mind she couldn't help wonder why hadn't he said the words?

"I love those freckles on your nose, too." He smiled, all blue eyes and tanned skin...handsome as ever.

Was he waiting for her to say "I love you" first? Because she wouldn't. No way. She couldn't put herself out there like that.

And she didn't, thank God, because now Nick was gone, probably hitching a ride back home to Washington.

Four lanes of cars and trucks vroomed back and forth on the LaSalle Highway. A busy yet beautiful valley, though the sweet memories here had turned bitter. It was time to put the Big Sky Country behind her, to hide her feelings deep in the storage wells—

"Are you done?" A deep voice cut into her thoughts. She spun and gaped at a man with unruly black hair and a beard to match. He sat on the picnic table between her clean travel trailer and a dusty fifth-wheel. His bare feet rested on the bench. "First you were cussing and throwing things in the water. Now, you're being quiet. I'm guessing you're ready for revenge."

"I thought, uh...I was—" How embarrassing that she hadn't been alone but putting on a show for this guy's entertainment. She squinted behind her shades. He was young, mid-twenties like her, in a worn tee and faded jeans, the free-spirit type and nosy, too.

"You know..." He leaned forward. "You can do a lot better than Nick. It's his name, right? Saw him stomping off last night. Looked like a mama's boy to me."

"Excuse me?" Marcia pulled back. Who was this guy? He didn't know a thing about Nick, who was an orphan in this world, just like her. Because of it, he was strong and motivated, so it was hard to imagine him being dependent on someone. "What do you know about anything?"

"Just as I was sitting down to enjoy my fish-fry dinner, you guys started fighting." He whistled. "You two were loud. Him yelling about all the junk, and you trying to defend yourself. I'm with you, though. There's nothing wrong with being sentimental."

He was way too forward for her, but he blocked the direct path to her trailer's door step. To escape around him would show that his words had affected her. She wanted to run, but straightened instead. "I don't know who you think you are—"

"Chase." He slid off the picnic table and ambled toward her. "That's what my friends call me. I'm next door here." He pointed to the unkempt fifth-wheel. "Listen," he said. "I felt bad for the way he treated you, telling you to throw your stuff out, to make room for his own. Talk about a power trip."

This guy may have heard a lot, but he didn't know a thing. Nick on a power trip? Hardly. After he'd stormed off with his belongings, all of it fitting so easily into his backpack, she'd stood in the trailer in his wake, staring through misty eyes at the stuff lining the counters, cabinets, and cushions: souvenir snow-globes, calico pottery, shot glasses, Dad's broken reading glasses, Mom's wool sweater with the burn holes, her little brother's Hot Wheels collection, and an old, cat collar. Since she had nearly nothing from her childhood, she treasured these things like gold.

What had started the fight was the cardboard box of tattered maps and beer coasters left on the bed. She hated things going to waste. But she'd left it out, and Nick had to go and blow a gasket about why she was saving it. She didn't have a good enough answer to suit him.

"Hey." Chase held his palms out. "I don't mean to get us on the wrong foot. How about I cook you dinner? I caught a few cutthroat this morning at Presentine Bar, my fishing spot on the Flathead River." He shrugged. "It's no fun eating alone. We can kick back and talk about the RV life."

She didn't need a dinner companion. She had too much Nick in her head and heart. Had he been right to leave? Was she wrong? Was keeping the box of "fire-starter" as Nick had called it, worth it? He didn't even know about the other boxes she'd stored.

Chase took a step back and tilted his head toward the picnic table. Behind him were campers, trucks, and motorcycles. It was her interim community where bicycles and kids were strewn about, where dogs barked on their leashes, and fires crackled in their pits. These people were travelers and wandering souls just like her. For today, this was her yard, her home, and Chase was her neighbor.

"C'mon. I've even got Flathead cherries for dessert, those sweet Lambert ones from the east-side. What do you say?"

Maybe he was right. She couldn't think about Nick if Chase were doing all the talking. Her step forward was all the encouragement Chase needed, and he began rattling off a list of his special ingredients. Bread crumbs, salt, dried mustard powder...

"Do you like tartar sauce?" he asked, stroking his beard as they stood opposite each other, she on her side of the picnic table and he on the other. Before she could answer, a movement caught her eye.

"Nick." The name fell off Marcia's lips as he rounded the truck and walked over with blue eyes only for her.

"Great timing," Chase muttered sarcastically. "There goes another fish-fry dinner." He turned abruptly and disappeared to the other side of his fifth-wheel.

"Who's that?" Nick asked, dropping his backpack on the table.

"Just some guy telling fishing stories." Marcia stood before him and touched his arm, hoping he was here to stay. How could she make things right? Could she throw out the chipped mugs and the frayed cat collar to keep the man she loved? Earlier, it had seemed unthinkable. But Nick was back, and suddenly keeping him was more important than maps and mementos. "Nick, I'm sorry."

"Me, too." He wrapped her in an embrace that smelled like white pine and fresh mountain air. "I know your family was taken from you—I mean a forest fire...it's horrific. But somewhere in between keeping their memories alive and having space for a future, is there room for me? I want to fit into your life."

She pulled back to read the tenderness on his face, and her heart fluttered. Stuff had been holding her back, and Nick was giving her a second chance to move forward. "It's hard for me...I mean, I want to..." It's true, so say it. "Nick, I will make room for you in my life, because—I love you."