Page 42 of Bailey

“Yeah, and maybe an Australian shepherd,” Bailey added.

“Are you going to adopt him out?”

“Yep.” Bailey sighed and lifted her coffee to her lips again, then put her cup on the table too. “I’ve got a list of people who want me to call them when I have a dog or cat adoption,” she said. “It hasn’t been terribly difficult to find them new homes.”

“I’m glad.” He cleared his throat and wished he knew how to speak the thoughts in his head better. “Listen,” he said. “I wanted to tell you a little bit more about my upbringing.”

Bailey turned fully toward him, her eyes growing a little bit wider and filling with concern.

“If you want to hear it,” he said. “I mean, I don’t have to.”

“No,” she said. “If you want to tell me, I want to listen.”

“I don’t want to upset you.” He practically whispered the words. He looked up to Bailey, and then waited for her approval to go on.

“I can handle it,” Bailey said. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

He nodded and focused his attention back out on the water again. It moved religiously and relentlessly, and something about it called to Reeves.

“I was okay until my momma left,” he said. “That happened when I was five. Then my dad started drinking, but I was too young to really know what was going on. My mom only lived a couple of miles away, and I could ride my bike over there.”

He paused for a moment, because he did have memories as an eight-year-old. “But she died when I was eight,” he continued. “And my daddy just turned mean after that.”

He’d thought a lot about telling Bailey more about his childhood, and perhaps if he acknowledged the memories, they’d feel free to leave his mind.

“He told me once that he had to hit me in the face, so I wouldn’t look like her and remind him of her.”

“Did you have grandparents?” she asked.

Reeves shook his head slowly. “Nowhere near us,” he said. “And my dad wouldn’t let me go to school if I had visible bruises or bumps. Me staying home only irritated him more, and he started hitting me other places so no one would see.”

“I’m so sorry, Reeves.”

He nodded, though he hadn’t told her to elicit her sympathy. “I didn’t hit a growth spurt until I was fourteen,” he said. “So I wasn’t big enough to defend myself for a lot of years. But I learned how to cook, and I learned how to clean up afterward, and I learned how to check his pockets and wallet for extra money and take one dollar here and one dollar there, so I could pay for lunch money, or school fees, or bicycle tire repair kits.”

Reeves heard his own voice hollow out, and he gave himself a mental shake. “I told you about the steel-toed boots. That was just before my sixteenth birthday. I haven’t spoken to him in twenty years, and I moved to Alaska with Shane the moment I could.”

“Is that where you started your videos?” Bailey asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, we started out doing tourism videos, if you can believe it.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Showing people the fishing tours, the trains, and the cruises they could take in Alaska. Those were fairly new at the time, and it brought in enough money for me to pay for a place to live, feed myself, and get better camera equipment.”

Bailey didn’t follow up with another question, and Reeves appreciated that she simply waited and lent him a listening ear.

“I watched the trends and took the classes the platforms offered. When I saw the outdoor videos start to rise, I started planning my first one.” A smile came to his face, his memory of this video crystal clear. “I created a shelter against a fallen tree root ball, built a fire and melted all the snow to get to dry ground underneath, and I slept outside without a tent. It went viral.”

“I didn’t see that video,” Bailey said, her voice a touch defensive.

“That’s because you watch my Teton Mountain Man channel.”

A gasp filled her side of the picnic table, and Bailey got to her feet. “Reeves Durham, are you telling me you have more than one channel?”

He chuckled. “Bailey, I’ve been making online content for sixteen years. My Teton Mountain Man channel is my most successful, but it’s not the only one that’s monetized and makes money.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and placed one hand on a very sexy hip. “One-word-answer time.”

He looked up at her. “I’m sorry?”

“One-word answer,” she said. “I ask you a question; you give me a one-word answer. No expounding.” A playfulness rode in her eyes, but her voice stayed stern. “My momma used to do this when she just needed to get the facts out of us kids quickly.”