Mindy Obenhaus - The Doctor's Family Reunion

Maybe he wouldn’t pine for Starbucks after all.

He hurried across the street.

“What can I get you?” A bubbly blonde, barely old enough to be out of high school, smiled behind the counter.

After eyeing the menu, he said, “How about a tall Americano?”

“We only have one size, sir. Sixteen ounces.”

“That’ll work.”

Cup in hand, he paused at the corner. Less than a block away, the vacancy sign at The Alps Motel glowed red-orange. Apprehension kept his feet glued to the sidewalk. Were Blakely and his son there? Or did they live in one of the apartments over The Jeep Company—make that Adventures in Pink?

He wanted—needed—answers.

“Trent?”

Turning, he found Blakely’s grandmother, Rose Daniels, smiling up at him. He couldn’t help smiling back. The woman who’d provided him with many a meal that summer and more cookies than he’d had in all the years since had always held a special place in his heart.

“I was hoping I might run into you.” Sincerity sparkled in her blue eyes. “Blakely mentioned you were back in town.”

That must have been an interesting conversation.

“It’s great to see you, Mrs. D.” A motorcycle sputtered past, its engine mimicking the chug-chug of his heart.

“I hear you’re working in Ridgway?”

“At the medical clinic. Yes.”

“Wonderful.” A wisp of white hair escaped her tight bun to dance about her round face. “Bill would have been so happy to know that you achieved your dream of becoming a doctor.”

“I was sad to hear he’s no longer with us. He was probably the greatest man I ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Trent observed the rows of colorful Victorian buildings that lined Main Street. How he wished he could thank Bill for the impact he’d had on his life. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Someday.

“Would you like some help with those?” He gestured to the green reusable grocery sacks that dangled from Rose’s capable hands.

“That would be lovely. Thank you, Trent.”

He gathered the trio of bags in one hand and started in the direction of The Alps, making sure to abbreviate each stride so Rose wouldn’t feel rushed.

“How long have you been back in Ouray?” She carefully maneuvered down the sloped sidewalk. No matter where you went in this town, you were either walking up or down hill.

“Since Sunday. I’m staying at the San Juan Inn.”

“What?” She sent him a sideways glance. “Not The Alps?”

“Uh...” The muscles in his jaw tightened. The Alps had been his first inclination.

She nudged him with her elbow. “I’m teasing. The San Juan Inn is a wonderful choice.”

Relaxing, he eyed the planters of red, white and purple flowers that graced the front stoop of the Daniels’ home. The picket fence surrounding the tiny yard added an old-world charm to the beige two-story that also housed the motel’s office.

Rose held open the gate, and he followed her to the door, his desire for answers getting the best of him.

“Tell me about my son.”

The old woman looked bewildered for a moment before a proud smile erupted. “Austin is a good boy. Kind, friendly, active.” She chuckled on the last word. “And he looks just like his father.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.” He glanced down at a small patch of grass, emotion clogging his throat.

“You will.”

“I promise, Mrs. D, I never knew. If I had...”

She laid a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. “Neither Bill nor I ever doubted you, Trent. We may not have understood, but we never stopped praying for you.”

He studied the woman in front of him, who, even now, after everything that had happened, made him feel loved. So confident. Wise. Caring.

Somehow, he had to make things right.

She reached for the doorknob, turned it, but the door refused to budge. “Oh, this silly thing.” She shoved one more time and it jerked open. “Bill had planned to put in a new one this winter.”

Only then did Trent notice the weather-worn wood on the bottom half of the door. “Well, I’m pretty handy. If you’re not in a big rush to get it fixed, I’d be happy to take care of that for you.”

“Only if you’ll let me pay you.”

“I won’t hear of it.” He handed her the bags. “However, you do make the best peanut butter cookies I’ve ever had.”

That earned him a grin.

“You can have all you want.”

“So is Blakely at Adventures in Pink?”

“Should be.”

He raised his coffee cup. “Wish me luck.”

“I’ll do you one better.” She winked. “I’ll pray.”

“Thank you. And I’ll be in touch about the door.”

He headed down the alley across the street then eased left at Seventh Avenue. Two bright pink four-wheel-drive pickups with three rows of bench seats were parked in front of the familiar blue building, just waiting to introduce visitors to all these mountains had to offer.

The long narrow bench where Trent had shared countless conversations with Blakely and her grandfather still stretched across the front of the building. Trent had lived in one of the upstairs apartments along with a couple of fellows he’d dubbed Chaos and Destruction. His escape from the madness had been this bench, taking in whatever bit of history or insight Bill chose to impart.

Now, his heart hammered against his ribs as he opened the door and stepped inside.

A mural of Twin Falls was the first to welcome him, followed by a tiny dog with a high-pitched bark.

“Jethro.”

The voice didn’t belong to Blakely, and Trent was surprised by the hint of disappointment that swept over him. He’d have expected relief.

Instead, a green-eyed brunette glared at the pup from behind the counter. “Don’t mind him. He’s all bark but no bite.”

“That’s okay.” Trent knelt, holding out his fist to allow the animal to sniff. “You were just saying hello, weren’t you?” He stroked the dog a couple of times then straightened, returning his focus to the painting. The attention to detail was so pronounced that he could almost hear the roaring waters and smell the Columbines and Indian Paintbrushes. And was that—he leaned closer—a marmot?

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

He faced the thirty-something woman. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Our owner did that.” She leaned back in her chair. “She’s quite a talented lady.”

“Blakely.” He’d recognize her work anywhere. Work that seemed to have improved with age.

“That’s her.” She cocked her head. “Are you a friend?”

“I’d like to think so.” Even though Blakely might disagree. He approached the counter. “Is she here?”

“She’s out in the shop. I’d be happy to get her—”

The telephone rang.

“Excuse me.”

While the receptionist took the call, he roamed the selection of T-shirts, bumper stickers and other souvenirs near the front windows. What a great addition, as was the snack bar in the corner that boasted sodas, coffee and water. They’d really ramped up the old Jeep company.

The telephone conversation grew lengthy, and impatience got the best of Trent. After catching the brunette’s eye, he let himself out the back door.

An acrid odor assailed his nostrils the moment he stepped into the garage. The place had more rubber than a tire store. Wheels were stacked five high throughout the space, with more lining the walls overhead.

The whir of an impact wrench cut the air. Blakely was out here, all right. But where?

Two pink Jeep Wranglers and a large red tool chest later, he found her.

Squatting beside a third Jeep, Blakely’s movements were as adept as any pit crew member at the Indy 500. No sponsor-littered coveralls for her, though. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, pink, of course, with the company’s logo in white lettering. Her hair had been gathered into a ponytail that trailed down her back.