As she unpacked boxes, she turned up Tim McGraw and danced around her new space. Each time she heard a vehicle on the road she rushed to the window to see if maybe her neighbor had returned. Perhaps she could catch his “moody ass” on one of his good moods. Then she would be on the right side of his moods. Or she hoped anyway.
There was the slight fear too, that he was some lunatic living in the mountains and now she lived right next to him. He’d know her comings and goings, her sleep patterns, and her favorite food wrappers would be in the trash.
She shook her head. That kind of thinking would just turn into hysteria. She could easily lock herself in her house and never look outside if she let her mind wander too far.
But again, a car passed going up the mountain and she looked out again. Still no neighbor.
She cooked herself some dinner and ate at the kitchen table. It was looking like home. There were no television channels, and she didn’t care. She had a box full of DVDs she hadn’t seen in years. It might be fun to watch them, or have them on for noise for a while. There had been a box of pictures she’d found among her things, and she’d hung them up.
A separate box held discarded pictures of Alan. They were memories she’d keep, hidden in the dark recesses of the closet, but she’d keep them nonetheless. However, there was no use in hanging pictures of your ex-husband on your walls when you were starting all over.
Midnight rolled in, and when she laid her head on the pillow she immediately thought of Chris. It had been two days since she’d seen him, and even though the anger was easing the resentment was there. Emptiness loomed in her and she wrapped her arms around her stomach to comfort herself.
He had no right to act the way he had. He should have understood how she felt and left it at that. Hadn’t he felt the same way when he’d left her standing there in her prom dress?
Malory rolled over, pounded her pillow into place, and tried to settle in.
At least her father was in love. That made her smile. He deserved to be with someone, and Maggie Douglas would have been her choice.
Then the thought struck her. If she didn’t mend things with Christopher, Thanksgivings were going to be unthinkably awkward.
CHAPTER NINE
Sunday afternoon Malory unloaded moving boxes from the back of her Jeep and carried them into her house. Setting the boxes in the living room, she enjoyed the thought that the space was hers and only hers. What better way was there to start over than with blank walls and empty rooms you filled with your own belongings?
She headed back to the Jeep and reached to close up the tailgate when a big Ford pickup pulled into the drive.
The driver, an elaborately made-up blonde, jumped down from the truck and tried to manage the steps of Malory’s neighbor’s side of the house in tight pants, stiletto-heeled boots, and a shirt that probably cut off her breathing. It was a sight. One she hadn’t seen since she and Alan had tried to get into a nightclub on a trip to L.A. once. As a couple they were very conservative, and those who gained entrance looked like they could’ve been bought for an hour’s pleasure on the street. Malory and her ex were as unsuccessful at gaining entrance into the club as this woman was at keeping her footing on the icy steps. Malory lingered on the driveway to see what would happen. The woman rang the doorbell and pounded on the door.
“Open this door! I know you can hear me.”
“He’s not home,” Malory offered. “He hasn’t been home in at least three days.”
The woman turned and tipped her large, dark sunglasses so she could glare at her with her over-shadowed eyes. With her arms flailing to keep her balance—or make her jewelry clank, Malory wasn’t sure—she stumbled her way over the icy ground to Malory. “Where did he go? I told him I was stopping by when I was in town. He said he’d be here.”
“Well, I don’t know where he is. I’ve yet to meet him.”
The trampy woman in front of her cocked her head to the side and looked her over. “Well, he’d never look your way anyway. You’re not his type.”
“I’m not too worried about it.”
“Tell him Portia was here. And I’m not coming back. I didn’t set out to be some weekend pick-me-up.”
“You got it. I’ll tell him.” It wasn’t exactly the best way to meet your neighbor when he was already a moody ass. She was sure he’d welcome the message from Portia about as much as he’d welcome a smack in the face.
“You do that,” she said as she turned, tumbled off her stilettos on the ice, and fell on her ass.
Malory kept the laugh that bubbled inside her until Portia picked herself up and poured herself into the truck. Then she let the laughter roll as the pickup sped away down the road.
Aside from his being moody, she knew one thing about the man next door—he had no taste.
Wednesday morning Malory got an early start. By four o’clock the mixer was mixing and the ovens were baking. She was cutting brownies to take to Maggie’s for the dessert display, and she’d have breakfast too when she delivered her rolls for the day.
She’d spent the first couple days of the week establishing her own routines. There were little things to learn, like the fact that Mr. Johnson, who Malory had thought was ninety when she was six, would stop by, look in the window, beg a cup of coffee and a muffin. When she’d told him she didn’t have muffins that morning he began a barrage of Polish curses.
For the most part things ran smoothly, but all that time in the bakery alone, with only the radio to keep her company, gave her plenty of opportunity to think about Christopher and wonder where he was.
Not long after she placated Mr. Johnson with the promise of muffins on tomorrow’s menu, the door flew open. An unshaven, furrow-browed Christopher stomped in and threw down a packet of papers on her prep table. A cloud of flour erupted and she took a step back.
“What is wrong with you?” She coughed as the flour went up her nose and entered her mouth, and she pulled a towel off the counter behind her and wiped off her face and hands.
“Aspen Creek’s first annual celebrity hockey tournament. Those are all the agreements, press releases, and all the junk that goes into planning one of these things.”
“You act like this is a problem.”
“It’s a lot of work.”
“Hey, pal, I gave you the idea. I didn’t say you had to do it.”
“I do if I want that rink to survive one more year. Your dad was ready to declare bankruptcy. Did he tell you that? Everything he had, he put into that thing. I’ll bet you and your little California boyfriend didn’t know that did you?”
Malory threw down the towel. Flour kicked up again, but this time she evaded it by storming around the table to meet him eye to eye.
“What is this really about? Are you pissed that it took so much work to put this together?” She gave a nod toward the stack of papers he’d thrown on the table. “Or that it’s going to take such an event to save something as dear to you as it is to me and this town? Or . . .” She took a step closer to him. “Are you pissed off that Malory Wilson, Ms. Walk-the-Line, screwed up? Which has you in a tizzy?”
Christopher shook his head. “You are a piece of work, aren’t you.”
Malory fisted her hands and settled them on her waist. “Which is it?”
“I don’t know why I thought I was attracted to you. I forgot how pigheaded you are.”
“Really? Back at ya.”
“Real mature, Wil.”
“My name is Malory. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind using it.”
“I would mind.” He picked up the papers and walked to the door. He slid his sunglasses off the top of his head and put them on then turned back to her. “Here’s the deal. This thing starts on the twenty-third. Your dad is my business partner. We need your help getting the word out so we can sell it out. If we don’t, we close down.”
Malory chewed the inside of her cheek. She hated that things were tense between them. They shouldn’t be.
“Fine. I’ll help yo
u for my dad’s sake.”
“That’s all I’m asking.” He turned and walked out.
Malory turned, picked up the towel, and threw it toward the door. Flour flew through the air as she huffed out a curse. Why did she still have to love the man? Why hadn’t that part gone away when he stranded her in that parking lot in her stupid teal dress?
Christopher turned up the stereo in his truck as he headed up the mountain. He needed a shower and a shave. If he hadn’t had to head back to town, he would have closed himself in and had a stiff drink.
Why was it Wil could get him so worked up? Then again, why did he act the way he did around her? He didn’t mean to make her mad. He had wanted to show her what he’d been doing, but it didn’t work out that way.
He’d take the blame for it too. She’d opened up to him and he shut her down. She admitted she’d made a mistake, and hadn’t his mother told him she had words with her? He knew her side of the story, but it didn’t help. What good was it to know she’d gotten married and then had an affair with someone who reminded her of him?
He pulled into the driveway and parked his truck. The air quickly cooled around him as he sat looking out over the lake.
He hadn’t come back to Aspen Creek to be miserable. He’d come back to be part of something he believed in. That rink was going to survive, and he was going to be a part it.
It hadn’t been just the ice rink that had financial problems. His mother’s restaurant was one of the only ones left in town. The hardware store was being run by Kelly and her brother John because their father had had a heart attack running it and almost losing it. The dance school and karate schools hardly had any students. Doctor Palmer opened his practice only three days a week, but like a small town doctor, he still made house calls.
It wasn’t just Aspen Creek either. Lots of people had tried to find work in Denver, Boulder, or Grand Junction but came up short there too. Times were just tough, but Christopher had the means and the will to do what he could for the community. With his mother, Harvey, and even a very angry Wil on his side, he could do anything.
He stepped out of this truck and noticed the snow didn’t crunch under his feet. Someone had scooped the driveway, and he knew that someone was Wil.
Christopher walked to the other side of the duplex his mother owned. A worn mat with daisies and faux grass welcomed him.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” he whispered with a halfhearted wave and a shake of his head as he headed back to his place to get that shower he needed.
Malory pushed open the back door of Maggie’s with her elbow, balancing the boxes of rolls carefully. Samantha hurried across the kitchen.
“Let me hold that for you.” She pulled open the door as Malory walked through.
“Thanks. I think this is her biggest order yet.” She set the order on the prep table.
“Yeah, well, the restaurant just past the gas station just shut down. It was the closest thing we had to a truck stop. Now they have to come up here, and things are busy.”
“They closed up this close to Christmas?”
“Yep. Handful of people out of work too. Maggie hired one of the gals to wait tables, and the scrawny cook too, but that’s all she could do to help.”
Malory wondered what price that really carried if things were that tough. Could Maggie afford that many more employees?
“She around here?”
“Yep. She’s working the tables. I think Pastor Bill just proposed to her.”
Malory snorted out a laugh. Would Harvey Wilson ever pop the question?
Maggie floated more than walked through the dining room. Malory watched her with admiring eyes. She’d always wished she’d possessed some of the personality that Maggie Douglas had. The room was sold on the single mother who had raised her son, ran her business, and had managed to remain a strong force in the community. Malory never could have had a better role model.
But even though she worked the room, Malory could see Maggie’s head was working on something. The lines around her eyes were deeper today. That usually meant something was troubling her. Having heard she just took on two new employees, Malory would venture to guess her woes were about business.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter. Samantha appeared with her order pad in hand.
“Whatcha’ have this morning?”
“Who’s cooking?”
“That skinny guy from the gas station.”
Malory nodded. “Tell him how I like my eggs and surprise me.”
Samantha turned back to the kitchen with a nod as Maggie walked around the counter.
“My new cook makin’ you up some breakfast?”
“Sounds like it.” She sipped her coffee. “Pretty busy, huh?
“Makes me wonder if anything will be left of this town in a few years.”
“It’ll still be standing if it’s up to you and your son.”
Maggie nodded and leaned her arms on the counter. “Finally talked to him?”
“Oh, he dropped by. Threw all his papers on my table and let me know just how much work the whole event thing has been.”
“He wants you to be proud of him.”
“I would be, if he wasn’t being such an ass.” She shook her head. “Sorry. He just always gets under my skin.”
“Always did.” She stood and gave Malory’s hand a pat. “You headed home sometime?”
“Thought I’d get some groceries between deliveries and take them home afterward.”
“Well, your neighbor is back in town. You might pop over and say hi.”
Malory laughed. “Oh, I’ll say hi. I have a little message for him too.”
“Message?”
“Yeah, some hot little number stopped by and was mighty pissed he wasn’t there. Said to tell him Portia had dropped by and she wasn’t no weekend gal.”
Maggie’s lips pursed. “You don’t say.”
“I’ll bet he’s a real winner.” She smiled as Samantha came out with her breakfast and sat it down in front of her. “Give my compliments to the cook.”
“I’ll do,” Samantha said as she picked up the coffeepot and began to make rounds.
Maggie pointed at the plate. “You’d better try it first before you hand out compliments.”
“He wouldn’t be working here if he couldn’t cook.” She lifted her first bite to her mouth and tasted morning heaven. “Compliment stands. I just found my new favorite dish.”
“Good.” The worry lines on Maggie’s face eased a little. “Then I won’t have to fire him.”
Malory backed her Jeep into the driveway. She took the shovel to the newly fallen snow, making herself a path to the door. She loaded her arms down with groceries and began hauling them into the house.
She’d bought much more than she needed, but it was time to fill the pantry with staples and begin living like a normal person. On her second trip out to the car she looked up to see the head of a man disappear into the house next door. The groceries would wait. She’d walk over and introduce herself.
She hadn’t seen or heard a car. He must have parked in the garage. The wife who’d divided up the house had kept all the good things on her side, including the garage.
She tapped on the door, but there was no answer. She tapped again.
“I just saw you go in there. I came to introduce myself.” She threw her hands in the air and turned around to go back to her place when the door opened. She looked back.
Christopher leaned against the jamb and shook his head. “She didn’t tell you who your neighbor was going to be, did she?”
“You?”
“Surprise, surprise.”
Malory raced back toward her house with Christopher on her heels. He was barefooted and let out a string of muffled curses as she trudged over the ice toward her truck and picked up a bag of groceries.
“I was going to ask you in,” he called.
“Well, now you’re out and you look like a fool on the ice in bare feet.”
“Give me that bag.” He snatched it from her arms. “I’ll be inside.” He took the bag and ran into her house.
Malory blew out a breath as she shut the tailgate of her Jeep and followed him into the house with the last of the grocery bags.
“So you knew she was thinking of renting me this place and you didn’t say anything?”
“You’ve been mad at me for so long I thought it would be an icebreaker.”
“Great.” She dropped the bag on the counter and stood “Well, here’s an icebreaker. Portia dropped by. She said she’d be no weekend fling.”
“Portia?” His brows drew together and he shook his head. “Have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“Oh, and you think I’m some piece of work?”
Christopher narrowed his eyes. “My opinion on that hasn’t changed.” He leaned against the counter. “Seriously, I don’t know any . . .” He rubbed his hands over his face and then through his hair. “Oh.”
“Yes?”
“LeBlanc.”
“LeBlanc? Quincy LeBlanc?” She stood taller, but fought the urge to go to him. “What does he have to do with your bimbos?”
“Not my bimbos. His.” He shook his head and walked toward her.
He towered over her, his dark eyes burning into her, desperate to make her understand what was going on. The anger that had stirred in her took on a new heat. It almost hurt to keep herself from running her fingers through his dark curls or sliding her hands up his broad chest. She held strong and stood face-to-face with him.
Christopher narrowed his eyes at her. “I would venture to guess, from experience, that you will be visited by three bimbos.”
“Nice, Chris.” She pushed him back, picked up a bag of groceries from the counter, and walked toward the refrigerator. “I’m not sure I want to know, but why am I being visited by his bimbos?”
On Thin Ice Page 12
