right of him again.
Asking anyone for anything was about as far out of Gavin’s comfort range as standing in the middle of the busy coffee shop, but he had to do it. If he had any hope of his plan succeeding, he couldn’t sit back and wait for his entire lousy life to do a one-eighty without putting forth any effort. The thought had no more crossed his mind before he changed it. Much of his life had hit below the lousy line, but not all of it. Not by a long shot.
Now … well, now was fairly decent. And he couldn’t forget Russ and Elaine Demko or the gifts they’d given him, either. God, he hated thinking that both of them were gone.
Little had his scruffy, twelve-year-old self known how fortunate he was to be placed with them, or how much he would come to love them. Yep, he’d been headed down the wrong path at full speed when Russ and Elaine became his foster parents, and damn if he knew how, but they’d seen clear through his tough act and shown him what family, and being a part of one, meant.
He’d stayed with them only for a little over two years before they’d decided to move out of state. Work-related, he’d been told. They hadn’t forgotten him, though, and had kept in touch on holidays and his birthday and a letter here and there. It had hurt, sure, but he’d found some peace in knowing they cared, that they were out there somewhere, still caring.
Elaine had died several years back, from cancer. Russ just about two years ago now, from a heart attack. Or, more likely, heartbreak. And he’d gone and left Gavin some money. Not a little and not a lot, but some. Enough to buy some land. Enough to situate himself, to get started here, in Steamboat Springs, where Russ and Elaine had brought Gavin a time or two while he’d lived with them. Good days. Good memories.
He’d rather have Russ and Elaine.
Gavin stifled a sigh tinged with sadness and relief when the damn line finally moved forward by one. Lola, she liked to chat up her customers, that was for sure. Good business sense combined with a naturally friendly nature, he supposed.
Before stepping forward, he darted a glance toward the right, curious if enough space now existed for the woman to retake her place in front of him. That would be a … no. She inched herself up but maintained her hovering-to-the-side position as if her very life depended on it.
Accustomed to the behavior or not, it rankled.
His clothes were clean and well kept, if not brand-spanking-new. He was clean and … well, relatively well kept, though a shave probably wouldn’t be out of order. He hadn’t said a word to the woman, for crying out loud. So yes, it disturbed him, the way folks stepped out of his path when they saw him coming or refused to look him in the eye. And when little old ladies clutched their purses to their chests and watched him in a mix of distrust and fear, he just about died inside. He was used to it, but he wanted more.
Stupid to think Steamboat Springs, Colorado, would be any different. It wasn’t. Folks here treated him the same as they did anywhere else, except for a handful of them. Lola being one, which was why he’d decided to start with her. He wasn’t about to give up.
Someday, he’d walk these streets and folks would raise their hands and say hi. Someday, he’d have a place here. Not just for him, but for boys stuck in the system, as he had once been. A sanctuary, albeit a temporary one, where he hoped to make some type of a difference for these kids. Just as Russ and Elaine had done for him.
That was his goal: to open a camp of sorts, for boys who didn’t have real homes, where they’d learn to ski, go on hikes, sit outside around a campfire. Somehow, and he wasn’t quite sure how, he wanted to show these kids what Russ and Elaine had taught him—that life kept moving, changing, morphing from one thing to another. Bad now didn’t mean bad later. And he couldn’t figure a better way than sharing his love of the outdoors.
Being outside, whether working or playing, had often helped Gavin feel that he was a part of something bigger, better, than whatever was going on in that moment. He’d like to pass that feeling—belief—on, if he could. And no, he didn’t have all the details or specifics worked out, but he would. In time.
That was the promise he’d made to himself when he’d received the check from Russ’s estate, when he’d read the letter Russ had written to him.
Turned out, the Demkos had wanted to adopt him, along with the other boy who’d been staying with them, and had actually tried to sort through the red tape before Russ’s job had taken them to Massachusetts. Bad luck that they’d run out of time before they’d run out of red tape, forcing them to give up. Bad luck, as well, that Gavin’s mother had chosen that exact moment to get her act together long enough to go for another chance at raising her son.
A chance she’d ruined within months. She’d had more chances, later, down the road. All of which had amounted to a big, fat pile of nothing. Just like always.
But that letter from Russ—the sheer fact of knowing that the Demkos had wanted him as their legal son—had arrived in the nick of the time. Gavin had been in Aspen, fighting with himself over a decision. And that letter. Well, Russ’s words had once again altered his view of himself, of what he wanted out of life, and had pulled him off the disastrous path he’d come too close to taking. So yeah, he owed Russ and Elaine. Owed them the best he could give.
More than that, he owed himself.
Lost in the past as he was, in his hopes for the future, Gavin didn’t realize when someone else stepped into line behind him. It was the voice that filtered into his thoughts. A female voice, warm and sultry, and somehow effervescent, that broke his concentration. For a beat, he stood there and soaked in that voice, let it seep into his soul and calm his ragged emotions.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” the female said again, louder this time, more insistent. He half turned to see who was speaking and to whom, because while he’d been mistaken for many things, not a one of them had ever been a “ma’am.” Thank God for that.
Ah. Haley Foster. The sweetheart of Steamboat Springs, live and in person. He knew who she was, of course, from the sporting goods store he’d tried to get a job at, but also by reputation. In this town, the Fosters were well liked, well respected and very much involved in … well, it seemed like just about everything. And while he didn’t know for sure, he thought Haley was the baby of the family. Her brothers, from the few times Gavin had seen them, appeared to be older.
But who knew? He’d never been that great at guessing age. If he were to take a stab, though, he’d put her on the lower end of the twenties. Maybe midtwenties, but surely no older.
Something inside sort of tightened as he appraised her. Her long, auburn hair was up in one of those contraptions only females knew how to use, forming a loose knot that wasn’t completely doing the job it was meant for. Escaped tendrils framed her face in a messy yet no less appealing sort of way. Her eyes, a riveting combination of smoke and willow and fog—green but not all-the-way green—were aimed at the woman he’d somehow spooked.
“Ma’am,” she repeated. “Are you in line or …?”
The woman, apparently catching on that she was being spoken to, tilted her chin in Haley’s direction. “Yes,” she said. “Of course I’m in line.”
Haley widened those riveting eyes of hers in a darn good imitation of surprise. “Oh. Um, you do realize that you’re not actually standing in line, though. Right? I mean, I thought you were just looking at the menu, the way you’re so far off to the side like that.”
“I’m in line,” the woman repeated.
