Down from the Mountain. Barbara Gale
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Thirty minutes later they were heading out of Albany in David’s dusty blue pickup truck, which he’d left in long-term parking. He could almost feel himself beginning to relax. He had hated to leave the forest preserve. He was always glad when the strange cities that cramped him were only a memory, when he drove back into the mountains, breathed in the pine-scented air and remembered why he chose to live there. But not quite yet. He had one more errand to run, an hour north of Albany, in a tiny hamlet called Queensbury, located at the foot of the Adirondack Park. He headed the truck in that direction.
“Be careful when you get out,” David advised Ellen as they pulled up to a small clapboard house. “Might be that Rafe Tellerman is my friend, but he’s also the damned laziest guy I know. He hasn’t cut the grass in years.” With a firm hold on her thin arm, David helped Ellen from the truck and guided her past a rickety screen door desperately in need of oil.
“Rafe, you home?” David bellowed.
“That you, Hartwell?” a male voice called from another room.
Ellen heard a chair scrape, but it was the sudden barking of a dog that captured her attention. Then suddenly there it was, barking ecstatically, and David was laughing—laughing!—apparently the focus of the dog’s affection. The man’s, too, judging from the way he laughed as he followed the dog into the room.
“Davey, me lad! When did you get back?”
She could almost see the smile on the man’s face, he seemed so happy to greet his friend.
“Just this morning,” she heard David answer above the dissonance of paws scraping the floor. “Down, Pansy, sit! There’s a good girl. Stay!”
“Well, it’s good to see you, ranger. And just so you know the worst right away, my mother’s madder at you than a hornet!” But the way the stranger was laughing, she guessed it wasn’t much of a threat.
“What exactly did I do to make Miss Callie angry? I haven’t been around the last few weeks.”
“That’s just it, friend. You were supposed to show up for dinner, the Friday before you left. Not only didn’t you show—oh, don’t go slapping your head for my sake!—you also neglected to let her know that your father had passed away. Glen Makker told her when she was searching for your whereabouts.”
“You’re right, I forgot. Will you tell her that I’m real sorry, that events conspired, etcetera, etcetera?”
“No thanks! That’s one you’ll have to do yourself.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“But seriously, David, we’re real sorry about your dad.”
“Thank you, Rafe.”
“How was the funeral?”
As she stood quietly in the doorway, Ellen listened to their small talk, amazed that anyone held sway over David Hartwell. She hadn’t thought about the fact that he had a life beyond the Hartwell manor, that he might have friends who loved him. Lovable was not a word she would have applied to him, not even close. Apparently he kept his rancor reserved just for her.
Lulled by the undertone of their deep male voices, Ellen was startled when Rafe discovered her. Or Pansy, rather, because the dog had ambled over to where she stood and thrust her cold nose on Ellen’s knees, causing her to lose her balance and fall.
“Pansy, no!” David shouted. Pushing Pansy aside, David kneeled down beside Ellen, awkwardly sprawled on the floor. “Are you okay?” His voice was rough with anxiety while his hands explored her, checking for bruises.
“Holy cow, David! What’s this?” Rafe’s voice was tinged with wonder as he took in Ellen’s long legs and luscious curves.
“Don’t you recognize a girl when you see one?” David asked irritably, his eyes fastened on Ellen. “I’m really, really sorry about this, Ellen. Pansy is as gentle as they come, but I should have warned you—and her. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
A blush pinked up Ellen’s cheeks as she lightly dismissed the accident. “It’s all right, David. She just startled me. I haven’t been near many dogs.”
“Seriously? I would have thought—”
“Well, you thought wrong. Not all blind people have seeing-eye dogs, silly. Or else I’ve misplaced mine, hmm?”
“Very funny. I’m laughing all over the place,” he muttered, rising to his feet with Ellen in tow.
“So am I,” chuckled Rafe, nursing his surprise. “You didn’t mention you’d brought company.”
“Ellen’s not company, she was my father’s ward. And now she’s mine, for a couple of months. I’m taking her up to my place to stay awhile. And she’s blind,” David added bluntly, “so be careful what you say and do.”
“Ah, David Hartwell, tactful as ever,” Rafe rebuked him as he pushed his friend aside. “Don’t mind him, miss. He has the manners of a goat! My name is Rafael Tellerman and I’m David’s best friend. At your service, ma’am.”
Ellen held out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Tellerman,” she said softly. “I’m Ellen Candler.”
“Ah, but you must call me Rafe. Only my students call me Mr. Tellerman—and God knows what else!”
Ellen laughed and her glow caught the men unawares. Rafe looked as though he’d gone straight to heaven, and David knew he had never seen Ellen smile quite that way before. But then, he’d never given her any reason to smile, had he?
“I take it this is your home, Rafe?”
Clasping Ellen’s hand, Rafe pressed it to his chest. “Mi casa es su casa!”
Disgusted by the nauseating display in front of him, David was quick to intervene. “We’re in Queensbury,” he explained to Ellen in a clipped voice. “Rafe’s been watching Pansy for me. Pansy is my dog. My home is in the park.”
“In the park?” Ellen asked, a little puzzled.
“I’m a forest ranger for the DEC—that’s the Department of Environmental Conservation. I thought you said my father told you.”
“He did. He told me you were a forest ranger, but he didn’t go into details.”
“So I noticed. Almost like I didn’t exist,” David muttered.
“But that’s the way you wanted it, wasn’t it?” Ellen countered cooly but David refused to be baited.
“Well, that’s what I am, lady, a forest ranger, and the territory I patrol is the Adirondack Forest Preserve just west of Indian Lake. It’s not quite as far as it sounds, and we could conceivably make it home by nightfall, if lover-boy ever lets go of your hand.”
Rafe dropped Ellen’s hand abruptly. “Sorry.” He grinned, but the tone of his voice told Ellen he wasn’t, not in the least. “Ellen, I’m a single, thirty-six-year-old college professor, and tenured, too, so I make a decent living.” He laughed, and she could hear the imp in his voice. “I didn’t want to leave the transmitting of such important information to my buddy, here. You are unattached, aren’t you?” he demanded with a sidelong glance at David.
“Of course I am.” Ellen smiled.
“Why do you say ‘of course?’”
Ellen floundered, unused to such blunt questions. “Well, for one thing I haven’t dated much.”
Rafe looked shocked. “Well, that’s one thing that’s going to change real soon, you have my word!”
“Mr. Tellerman, are you flirting with me?” Ellen asked curiously.
Gently, Rafe flicked the tip of Ellen’s nose. “Why, Miss Candler, yes, I do believe I am. Does it bother you? Do you want me to stop?”
Ellen