Dad in Training
Autor:in
Cynthia Thomason
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Chapter One
FAMILY. THE WORD could be as irritating as a burr between a guy’s toes or as comforting as a soft pillow. Unfortunately, for Jace Cahill, the burr metaphor was the one he most thought of. Sure, he loved his brother Carter, his sister, Ava, and his mother, Cora. They were good people. But he’d practically thrown a party when his father, Raymond, died almost two years ago.
Animosity hardly described the relationship between Jace and his father. In fact, an accurate word probably didn’t exist in current vocabulary. Raymond had taught Jace two important things. Avoiding family drama was a good thing. And living alone was a blessing.
But today Jace was working on the schedule of raft trips down the Wyoga River, and his brother was seated across the counter from him, and that was all good. Now that August had come to the High Country of North Carolina, Jace knew his potential for getting money from the pockets of tourists was running dry. They would head back to wherever they came from, and the Wyoga would run cold and swift now that summer was almost over.
“So, how was your season?” Carter asked Jace. “Did you make a killing here at High Mountain Rafting at forty-five dollars a clip?”
Jace motioned for one of the younger guys who conducted the rafting trips to come to the counter. Jace didn’t lead the river trips unless he absolutely had to, if someone didn’t show up for work or asked for a day off. Jace knew every inch of the Wyoga River, but he was just plain tired of navigating from the back of a raft filled with anxious adults, screaming kids and overly zealous adventurists.
“A killing? Not hardly,” he said. “But I made enough to keep Copper in kibble.”
A picture of Jace’s eight-year-old ultra-calm Labrador retriever sat on the counter for all the tourists to admire and to keep Jace from flipping out at the repetitious questions from the folks who tried to convince themselves to take the plunge. Ha! An accurate description, because on at least half of the river trips, usually one person actually did plunge into the rapids.
“How fast is the river’s current?”
“Will we be issued life jackets?”
“Does anyone ever fall off the raft?”
And Jace’s prepared answers: “Slow. Yes, often, if they don’t listen to instructions. Why do you think we have that wall of slickers and goggles and life vests?”
“You know,” Carter began, “maybe it’s time for you to consider selling this business and taking over the Christmas tree farm. Nothing would make Mama happier, and you might be getting too old for rescuing folks every other day.”
“I don’t rescue people that often,” Jace said. “I only guide about once a week these days.” He raked his hand through his wavy light brown hair, stopping when he reached the spot where twine had held his short ponytail until two days ago when he’d had it cut off during a spontaneous moment that he still wasn’t sure if he regretted or not. “And you know how I feel about Snowy Mountain Tree Farm. I’ve never had an interest in it. And may I mention, neither have you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Carter admitted. “But Mama’s always held out the hope that you would take over her inheritance. Grandpa left that acreage to his daughter, thinking she would hand it down to her sons.”
Jace frowned. “One of whom is a cop, not a tree planter, I might point out.”
“Yeah, and one of whom is a disgruntled adventure guide,” Carter said. “Speaking of being a cop, I’d better get to the station. This town won’t protect itself.”
He stood from the stool he’d been occupying as Jace gave instructions to the young man who would guide the tourists waiting outside by the reclaimed school bus the business used. Every day during tourist season the bus transported eager rafters across the Tennessee line to the input area of the river. “Have you got your jokes memorized?” he asked the kid. “Keep ’em entertained, Billy. You need the tips. I don’t pay you nearly enough.”
The young man laughed, grabbed his paddle and safety gear, and headed into the parking lot.
“You going to Mama’s for dinner?” Carter said as he walked to the door.
“Nope. You and your bride enjoy her barbecue pork. I’ve got a gig at the River Café. Gary and I are making a fat hundred bucks for playing the patio.”
Carter stopped at the door. “Looks like you’ve got a late arrival.” He stared across the parking lot at a woman and a young kid who’d just gotten out of a small but sleek crossover vehicle.
“They won’t make it now,” Jace said. “Billy’s full up and he’s already pulling out.” He leaned over the counter and stared at the woman. “Whoa, she’s a looker. With customers like that coming in the door, you can’t think I’d actually give up this business to grow Christmas trees.” He grinned at his brother. “Maybe I’ll arrange a personal tour with me at the helm.”
Carter chuckled. “Behave yourself, Jason Edward Cahill. Your big brother’s a cop, remember?”
Carter was in his patrol car before the woman reached the entrance to High Mountain Rafting. She came up the three steps and in the door of the outfitter shop, gently prodding a boy ahead of her. The fact that she had a kid was something of a downer to Jace. He enjoyed being an uncle to his brother’s stepdaughter, but he had no interest in being a father himself. He had no interest in being anything other than what he was—a part-time rafting guide and an underpaid folk guitarist.
And besides, if this woman had a kid, she was probably married. Oh, well, it didn’t hurt to enjoy the view of long legs in dark denim jeans and a curve-hugging T-shirt. “Well, good morning,” he said, purposefully exaggerating the North Carolina drawl women seemed to like. “You just missed the bus pulling out for the morning rafting trip. Can you come back this afternoon?”
“Maybe,” the woman said. “But I’m mostly hoping to get some information.”
Here we go again. Same old questions. Does anyone ever fall out? How fast is the river? But heck, he could put on the charm for this lady. Average height, maybe five-six, she had shoulder-length hair the color of rich Carolina honey, a mix of golden blond and auburn. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched above long lashes and cool blue eyes. Prominent cheekbones drew attention to creamy coral lips. Yep. This woman was special.
She raked her hand through the hair streaming from a center part and let it fall in a tangled mass of waves. Slipping her oversize dark sunglasses on her head to hold the hair, she gave him an intense stare. “Are you Jace Cahill, the owner of this business?”
“Guilty as charged,” he said. “Hope you’re not from the North Carolina state tax assessor. I’ve paid my dues to be here, and my licenses are current.”
His admittedly corny remark was met with a firm press of those gorgeous lips. Maybe she didn’t have a sense of humor.
She stuck her hand across the counter. “Hi. I’m Kayla McAllister.” Nodding toward the boy, she said, “This is Nathan.”
Jace shook her hand, nodded at the kid, who looked to be about nine, same age as Carter’s stepdaughter. “Hello, Nathan. You wanting to hit the rapids?”
His eyes widened. “No, not really.”
“Well, if you just came in for souvenirs, I’ve got a bunch of them.” He indicated a display case along one wall filled with black bear statues and Native American memorabilia. Give a kid a prize and a jar of Carolina-made jam, and he was usually on cloud nine. “Go ahead and pick something out,” he added.
“That’s okay,” Nathan said, slipping his hand inside Kayla’s.
A kid turning down a toy? Some things just didn’t compute.
“It’s fine,” Jace said to Kayla. “Tell your son to pick one. I give them out all the time. Sort of a loss leader for this business.”
“He would if he were interested,” she said. “I guess he’s not. And besides, he’s not my son. He’s a family friend, and I usually let him make his own decisions.”
“Okay then. Understood. But it’s okay to change your mind, kid.” Jace settled back on his stool behind the counter. “Now, what information do you need? That, too, happens to be free today.”
“I’m just curious about these adventure places I’ve seen in the High Country. Wondering what kind of training you need to operate something like this. And you mentioned licenses...”
He pointed to a wall beside him. “Take a look. Sales tax forms, North Carolina small business license, federal withholding papers and more.” Thank goodness his certificates were all up to date and clearly posted. The state officials were sticklers about proper display. “We have to provide instructions and water gear to everyone who comes aboard a raft,” he said. “And our guides have to be trained in water safety and lifesaving procedures.”
“How long have you owned this business?” she asked.
He smiled at her. “You writing a book?”
Her cheeks colored. “No. I dabble in travel writing. Hope to sell this story to a Charlotte magazine. You want to be in it, don’t you? Free advertising.”
“Haven’t got a problem with free advertising, as long as you make me sound good. I’ve owned this place for ten years.”
“Do you lead most of the rafting trips yourself?”
“Nope. Not anymore. I leave that mostly to the younger guys who don’t mind jumping into the cool waters of the Wyoga.”
She angled her head slightly to the side. “Why do they jump in the river?”
“Because some stu—misguided tourist decided to take an unauthorized dip. But don’t worry. If Nate here changes his mind about rafting, I’ll strap him to the mast and make him wear a seat belt.”
She smiled, perhaps finally appreciating his sense of humor. She had full lips around perfect white teeth. Was she naturally this beautiful or did she pay for exorbitant upkeep? Botox and dental whitening or just lucky? He figured she was about his age, maybe thirty-two, so he was betting the years had so far been kind to her.
“Why did you decide to open this business?” she asked.
He noticed that so far she hadn’t written anything down. A reporter? Jace didn’t think so. But he answered. “I saw a need. All the adventure places were in Boone, and I figured we could use one in Holly River. We’re a small town, but we attract tourists.”
“And you’ve been successful?”
What did this lady want? His profit-and-loss statement? “I’ve done okay,” he said. And then, since he wanted to change the conversation to something about Kayla, he decided to ask a question of his own.
“We allow almost all ages on our rafts,” he said. “But mostly we appeal to the guys. Maybe your husband would like to take Nate on the adventure of a lifetime.” His standard line to describe his service. He figured she’d like it.
“I’m not married,” she said. “But maybe we’ll come back this afternoon. I think I could appreciate a real adventure.”
Suddenly he felt a bit guilty for exaggerating the thrills of the Wyoga. At its roughest point, the river rapids were only a class two on a scale of five. Not exactly on a par with the latest amusement park rides.
Satisfied that he had learned just enough about Miss McAllister, he said, “Haven’t seen you around, and I’ve seen most everybody. Are you new in town? Just visiting?”
“Just visiting.”
“How long you staying? We have a number of businesses in town that are worth a curious reporter’s investigation.”
“I can stay as long as two weeks,” she said. “Then I have to be back at work.”
“Which is where?”
“DC. I work in the Capitol building, assistant to a congressman.”
A political junkie? If so, Jace sensed that any common ground they might have enjoyed had just suffered a seismic shift. His only interest in politics was an occasional fishing trip with the mayor. No problem. There was enough about this woman to hold his attention.
“I’d be happy to show you around while you’re here,” he said. “The nice thing about owning my own business is that I sort of have built-in references. Ask anybody in town about me. And I can plan my afternoons off. This is beautiful country, and who better to guide you than a man who makes his living doing just that?”
She thought a moment, tapped her finger on the counter. “Yes, that would be nice.”
“Shall we start with dinner tonight?” He remembered his gig at the café and frowned. “Make it tomorrow night instead?”
She nodded. “I’ll look forward to it. But I hope we can go somewhere that caters to children. Nathan will be with us. Maybe a restaurant with a video game room?”
Okay. His vision of the perfect first date just plummeted. But they could go to the Louisiana Barbecue joint. Video games inside and corn hole and volleyball outside. Should keep the kid occupied while Jace’s attention was right where he wanted it—on Miss Kayla McAllister.
“We’re staying at the Mountain Laurel Inn, cabin C,” she said. “Is seven o’clock okay? Nathan usually goes to bed around nine thirty.”
“See you then.” Maybe he could tire the kid out so he’d turn in a bit earlier. Worth a try.
* * *
NATHAN WALKED QUIETLY beside Kayla and sighed deeply. “What’s wrong, Nathan?” she asked. “Is something bothering you?”
“No.”
Nathan had been so sullen in the office of High Mountain Rafting, Kayla hoped he was feeling okay. She sensed he was withdrawing more and more into his own world these days. And why not? According to the psychologist who was working with him, this behavior was not unusual for a nine-year-old boy who’d recently lost his mother.
Kayla opened the passenger door of the crossover vehicle that had just brought them the seven hours from DC to Holly River. Nathan looked up at her with doe-like brown eyes just like his mother’s. His sandy-blond hair was the same color as Susan’s, too, but a recent haircut had made him look more like a little man than the raggedy-haired kid who’d been Susan’s pride and joy. Kayla thought a new look would help Nathan adapt to the other, more serious changes in his life.
“Something is kind of bothering me, Auntie Kay.”
She leaned against the passenger door. “What is it, sweetie?”
“We’re not going on a raft, are we?”
“No, Nathan, not if you don’t want to. I was just curious about the man who runs the place. I probably would try it, but we’re not going to do anything unless you agree to it.”
Relieved, Nathan crawled into the vehicle.
“We’ll find oodles of other fun things to do while we’re here. There’s an old-timey railroad nearby and I understand we can search for beautiful gems from local mines. And if, in a few days, you decide you’d like to try rafting, then we will.”
Kayla walked around to the driver’s side, took one last look at the entrance to High Mountain Rafting and slipped behind the wheel. “We’ll have dinner with Jace tomorrow, and maybe after you get to know him, you’ll trust him enough to want to raft down the river.” She prayed that this dream of the future would become a reality. “I’ll bet it’s fun.”
Nathan shrugged one slight shoulder. “Maybe.”
“He seemed like a nice man, didn’t he?”
“I guess.”
Truthfully Kayla hadn’t been all that impressed with Jace Cahill. Like many of the men she ran into in Washington, Jace seemed more interested in her looks than anything else. Kayla had been blessed with good genes, great hair, a rosy complexion—all the qualities women seemed to want. And she had lived her life trying to downplay those superficial advantages. She wanted people to appreciate her for her mind, her drive, her skills at making a name for herself in Washington. She did not want to be remembered for physical traits bestowed upon her by some capricious act of fate.
Still, she couldn’t ignore the fact that Jace Cahill had been blessed with a few pleasing qualities himself. Soft, touchable light brown hair that appeared kissed by the sun. A strong, athletic build, broad shoulders and a slightly crooked smile that must endear him to many people.
Unfortunately he seemed to know that he approached that elusive ten out of ten category that good-looking men seemed to chase. He was a bit too sure of himself, too cocky. His answers to her questions were quick, mock-serious responses that left her wondering what, if anything, was really important to him.
Jace might be the perfect huckster to talk tourists into paying a small fortune to brave the Wyoga River, but she didn’t see anything in his character today that would make him a good father for Nathan. Poor man. She imagined those deep butternut eyes widening in surprise, that sculpted jaw dropping in shock when she told him he was Nathan’s biological father. She hoped he would recognize and accept his responsibility and be more to his son than just a contributor to his existence.
