No Strings Read online

  Copyright© 2009 by Gerri Hill

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

  First Edition

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Cover Designer: Stephanie Solomon-Lopez

  ISBN 10: 1-59493-147-x

  ISBN 13: 978-1-59493-147-5

  About the Author

  Gerri Hill has thirteen published works, including 2007 GCLS winners Behind the Pine Curtain and The Killing Room, as well as GCLS finalist Hunter’s Way and Lambda finalist In the Name of the Father. She began writing lesbian romance as a way to amuse herself while snowed in one winter in the mountains of Colorado, and hasn’t looked back. Her first published work came in 2000 with One Summer Night. Hill’s love of nature and of being outdoors usually makes its way into her stories, as her characters often find themselves in beautiful natural settings. When she isn’t writing, Hill and her longtime partner, Diane, can be found at their home in East Texas, where their vegetable garden, orchard and five acres of woods keep them busy. They share their lives with two Australian shepherds, and an assortment of furry felines. For more, see her Web site: www.gerrihill.com.

  DEDICATION

  No Strings is dedicated to my pal Judy, the HP, and to all the other GGGs…WWWendy, Wingnut, Norma, WKS, Rubbin’ Peg, Butch, JJ, Mo and Paula, Ann, Baby Raye, Babemm, Cheri, Adri, Ally, Sister Sara, Ana, Janet, JT, Mandy, Anneroo, Shannon, Dianne, Canadian Julie, Texas Julie, Shyfox, Lotuspeed…and the many others who found a family with the GGGs. Thank you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  Many thanks to my editor, Cindy Cresap. I have enjoyed working with you. And to Judy Underwood, thanks as always, for being a sounding board.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Morgan wiped the tears from her eyes again, thinking maybe she should have let Tina drive. The snow was coming down heavier now and she blinked several times, trying to clear her vision.

  But all she could see was Jackson, his big trusting eyes watching her. Oh, God.

  “You okay?”

  Morgan shook her head. “No. I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “You kept him going as long as you could. You know that. The vet said it was well past time.”

  “And that’s supposed to help? He’s been my friend, my partner for eleven years. And now he’s gone. Just like that.” She wiped her face again as a tear slid down her cheek. Yes, just like that. She barely had time to realize what was happening. Within seconds of getting the shot, Jackson’s eyes closed and it was almost as they say. Putting him to sleep. Almost. Because Jackson wasn’t going to wake up. Not ever.

  “I’m sorry, Morgan. I know he was your…your buddy. But you can get another puppy.”

  “No.” Of that, Morgan was adamant. She would not go through this again. The heartache these last few months was nearly too much, knowing the end was near, knowing she’d be the one to make that decision, the decision to put him to sleep.

  “No. I can’t get another dog.”

  “Give it some time.”

  “You think I’m being ridiculous, don’t you?”

  Tina shook her head. “Of course not. I’ve got two kids, and I often wondered if Jackson was treated better than my own children.”

  Morgan took a deep breath and tried to smile. “I guess getting him cremated was a good idea,” she said. “I’d have a hell of a time trying to bury him in this mess.”

  “I think I’d rather brave the snow than try to dig a hole big enough for a ninety-pound Labrador in this mountain of rock.”

  “Yeah, okay. So that was a factor too,” she said with a quiet laugh. Yeah. It was a factor. But for some reason, the thought of putting Jackson in a deep hole and covering him with dirt was less appealing than cremation. And Dr. Bryant said he’d find a nice decorative box to keep him in. No one would have to know that she kept him on her mantel, or on her dresser, or by the sofa.

  She rolled her eyes. Christ, she was turning into one of those old batty women and she wasn’t even forty yet.

  “It’s snowing hard. I thought we were just supposed to get a dusting,” Tina said.

  “It’s November and we haven’t had a major storm yet. Maybe this is it.”

  “And you’re taking it pretty well. You normally bitch for a week after our first storm.”

  “I hate being cold.”

  “You live in the Rocky Mountains. What do you expect?”

  “I expect summertime temperatures in the seventies, that’s what I expect.”

  Tina laughed. “And you get that. You also get single digits in the winter and fifty feet of snow.”

  “You know, after my first winter here, I swore I would ask the Forest Service for a transfer. But after that first summer, I thought I was in heaven.”

  “Yeah. And winter follows summer.”

  “And it’s been seven years. I’ll do what I always do. Haul an ungodly amount of firewood to the house, take out my skis and lean them by the door and pretend I can’t wait to get out in the snow.”

  “With all the cutbacks, you’re not worried about them cutting your position?”

  Morgan shook her head. “No. Charlie says I’m safe. Besides, that’s why you get laid off every winter, so I can keep my job.”

  “I do not look at it as being laid off. I’m seasonal. And I vacation from October to April.”

  Morgan slowed as they topped the crest, looking down on Lake City, Colorado, below them. It was a beautiful sight.

  Everything clean and white, their first major snowfall of the season. Lake City survived only because of the tourists who flocked to the mountains during the summers, most to rent Jeeps and try their skill on the Alpine Loop. And with the lake and the clear trout streams, it was a fisherman’s paradise. Most of the shops closed up after Labor Day though, making the town seem nearly deserted. The few that stayed open catered to the skiers who came to enjoy their pristine trails for a cross-country adventure, and the snowmobilers who enjoyed the numerous backcountry routes. The summer cabins closed too, and most of the resorts and bed-and-breakfasts, but the small lodge out by Slumgullion stayed open through winter, filling nearly all the rooms on weekends as snowmobilers headed right from the parking lot and onto the forest trails.

  Even though she hated the cold, Morgan no longer thought about transferring to a warmer climate. Lake City had become home. The locals treated her as one of their own now and she knew everyone by name. Of course, that hadn’t always been the case. She had been originally assigned to the Gunnison National Forest and Curecanti. She looked forward to working on Blue Mesa Lake. She’d been around water most of her life, coming from central Florida where lakes were more numerous than towns. But she hadn’t been in Gunnison a day when they’d told her she’d been transferred. Just down the road. Lake City. You’ll love it.

  She remembered taking this very drive, seeing the same view, only in June. There was no huge lake she’d be patrolling, no medium-sized town that offered most modern conveniences.

  No, she was assigned to the Slumgullion Earthflow and Lake San Cristobal. She’d balked at first. With personnel limited, she’d be expected to wear a lot of hats, from game warden to campground host. Oh, sure, the San Juan Mountains were beautiful—spectacular, really—but after she’d spent two long, lonely summers in the remote Arizona desert, isolated from people and the world, she wasn’t eager to embrace the remoteness of this tiny town. But after a week of Charlie dragging her all over the mountains, through Big Blue Wilderness, La Garita Wilderne
ss, and up through the Umcompahgre National Forest, she was hooked. She’d even fallen in love with her tiny house, one of several the Forest Service owned. Tiny, yes, and close neighbors too, but that hardly mattered. She could walk out her back door and be swallowed up by the forest within ten feet. The four identical structures had been built nearly forty years ago to house the ever-changing personnel of the Forest Service. She and Jackson had made one of them into a home.

  And now when she walked out her back door and into the forest, there wouldn’t be an old yellow dog ambling beside her, too spent to even muster up the energy to chase the chipmunks that scurried ahead of them on the trail.

  “Hey, have you heard anything about Charlie’s daughter?”

  Tina asked.

  Morgan frowned. “Other than he allegedly has one, no.”

  “I know. You’ve worked for the man seven years, you’d think you’d have at least met her, right?”

  “Or at least seen a picture.”

  “Well, Berta read an e-mail from her. Since he’s retiring next year, apparently the daughter—”

  “Wait. How did she read his e-mail? And why would she read his e-mail?”

  “You know as well as I do that he barely knows what a computer is. She always opens his e-mail for him. And why… because she’s nosy.” Tina grabbed the dash as the truck slipped on the snow when Morgan turned onto their road. “Anyway, she’s coming for a visit.”

  “The daughter?”

  “Yeah. She’s got a ski trip planned up to Crested Butte so she thought she’d pop over.”

  “I wonder if Charlie will bring her around.” Morgan glanced quickly at Tina. “Why do you think he never talks about her? Or doesn’t have any pictures or anything? It’s almost like they’re estranged.”

  “I guess not so much if she’s coming to visit.”

  “Yeah, but it’s just kinda strange. She’s always been the phantom daughter.” Morgan pulled to a stop in front of Tina’s house. “Look, I appreciate you going with me.” She turned to face her and gave a small smile. “I don’t think I could have done it alone.”

  Tina leaned over and gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “We’re best pals. Of course I was going with you. I’ve known Jackson as long as I’ve known you, remember?”

  “Thanks.”

  “You going to be okay tonight? I mean—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m going to clean out the house and…and put his stuff up. I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, call me if you’re not. You can have dinner with us. Paul has requested pork chops.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

  Although a few minutes later when she pulled into her own driveway, she wasn’t so sure. Snow blanketed the short walkway and porch and she found she was dreading going inside. There would be no one to welcome her home, no tail thumping on the floor, and no whimper of greeting. There would be an empty spot by the fireplace where Jackson spent most of his time these last few months. And there would be the empty food bowl and the scattering of toys that Jackson no longer played with.

  “I’m sorry, boy,” she whispered. It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. But he couldn’t get up anymore, couldn’t walk. She carried him outside to do his business, then back inside where he spent his day until she came home again. She’d tried leaving him outside, thinking he’d enjoy lying in the sunshine, but that lasted two days. On the second day, she’d come home to find he’d pulled himself by his elbows—which were ripped and bloody—up near the steps of the deck, as if he was trying to get to his old dog bed by the door. It nearly broke her heart to see him like that. So another visit to the vet and more steroid shots to try to get his hips working again—the last resort.

  But that wasn’t the last resort. The last resort was putting him down. Which she’d done this morning.

  And as another wave of tears and guilt hit her, she got out of the truck and hurried through the snow, pausing to stomp her boots on the mat before going inside. When she closed the door on the cold, her eyes automatically were drawn to the blanket by the fireplace. Next to it lay the old stuffed bear that Jackson used to chew on. It no longer had eyes or a nose, and one ear was hanging by a thread, but it was as much a part of Jackson as anything. She bent down and picked it up, her hand squeezing the worn toy as she stared where the eyes used to be. She could get rid of his things—his bed—but she knew she’d never get rid of Mr. Bear.

  “You’re pathetic,” she whispered, and she was glad there wasn’t anyone there to see her. Of course, that thought struck her as funny. There hadn’t been anyone there in so long, she rarely even thought about it anymore.

  She tossed Mr. Bear on the sofa and shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on the peg behind the door. She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, just for some noise. She couldn’t stand the emptiness of the house. Even though he could no longer follow her around like he used to do, at least just knowing he was there, by the fire, was enough. At least she wasn’t alone.

  Standing in the kitchen, she tucked her blond hair behind her ears, doing a mental inventory of her pantry and fridge. Nothing appealed to her. For a second, she thought about calling Tina and taking her up on the offer of pork chops, but the kids would want to know all about Jackson, and she just wasn’t up to it.

  She sighed heavily. What little appetite she had vanished as she contemplated a can of soup for her dinner. Instead, she turned away, going back into the living room and pulling on her jacket again. Snow or not, she couldn’t stay here alone.

  Not tonight.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Despite the snow, the bar was packed. Or maybe it was because of the snow. The first major storm of the year produced excitement in most, and Morgan could imagine the locals crowded around the bar and pool tables, talking about how deep it was out at their place. Seven years and she still didn’t know why people got excited by the white stuff. She hated it. Hiking came to an end, replaced by the blasted cross-country skis. Roads became nearly impossible to drive on. It would take a good two hours to get to Gunnison now if you had shopping to do. And with the snow came an end to weekend tourists, campers and hikers.

  And for her, that meant an end to any possibility of spending the night with a warm body instead of a book…or a toy.

  She smiled as she found a parking spot, glad her sense of humor hadn’t left her. Actually, even with the summer tourists, she could still count on one hand the number of times another woman had shared her bed. Lake City, Colorado, wasn’t a retreat for lesbians, she’d found. Not single ones, anyway.

  “Hey, Morgan,” Jeff called to her as he hurried past with a tray loaded with burgers and beer.

  She nodded in greeting and went to the bar, smiling as Tracy had already filled a mug and slid it along the smooth surface toward her.

  “Didn’t think you’d show up tonight,” Tracy said as she wiped a water spot on the bar. “Sorry to hear about Jackson.”

  “Yeah. But it was time.” She took a sip of the cold beer.

  “Great, thanks.”

  “You want a burger?”

  “No. This is fine. I just wanted out of the house for awhile.”

  Tracy nodded. “You’ve come to the right place for distraction. The first storm of the year, they all get a little crazy.”

  And it was loud and boisterous in the bar, the country music of the jukebox just barely drowning out the slap of balls on the pool table, yet not loud enough to muffle the conversations and laughter that filled the room.

  She knew everyone there, some better than others, but after seven years, there weren’t many new faces and Sloan’s Bar was the hangout in town. Whether it was breakfast or lunch, when the bar became the café, or afternoons and evenings, when the dinner menu consisted of burgers and chicken, and the once-aweek steak special, if you wanted to see someone, to socialize, you came to Sloan’s Bar.

  Which was why Morgan was there now. To socialize. To see familiar faces. To hear familiar stories. And to dr
ink a beer or two and waste a couple of hours. She spun around on the barstool, watching the activity in the bar, smiling as Phil and Buddy argued over a shot in pool. When her gaze landed on a stranger, a woman, she paused, staring. It wasn’t often a lone woman ventured into the bar. Especially on a weekday evening long after tourist season had ended.

  As she stared, the woman turned, meeting her gaze. Morgan’s eyebrow rose. She’d recognize that look anywhere. But even though the woman was attractive—with just a bit too much makeup for her liking—Morgan turned back to the bar. She wasn’t in the mood to flirt and make small talk with a stranger.

  Not tonight.

  “Another beer, Tracy,” she said, motioning to her empty mug.

  But before she could take a sip, she felt a presence beside her. She turned, not surprised to find the woman standing there, a smile on her face.

  “And here I thought I was coming to the boondocks. Imagine my surprise to find a very attractive woman in this heterosexual hellhole.”

  Morgan drew her brows together. “Heterosexual, yeah. But hardly a hellhole.” She smiled. “You obviously have not tried their double-battered fried chicken.”

  “I don’t eat in places like this. But I was in the mood for a drink,” she said, holding up her glass which now contained three melting ice cubes. She shook it teasingly.

  Morgan took the hint. “Tracy, how about another over here?”

  “May I sit?” the woman asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Scotch on the rocks. Here you go,” Tracy said, eyeing the stranger suspiciously.

  Morgan winked at her, then turned to the woman. “Where are you from?”

  “New York.”

  Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. “On a Wednesday night in November after an all-day snowstorm? I’ll assume you’re stranded here?”

  “Of my choosing.” The woman leaned closer. “So, what does one do for fun around here?”