by Lisa Jackson
“This is difficult for me, you understand, and I’m willing to do anything I can to help out, but I can’t leave his job open indefinitely.”
Oh, God.
“I don’t think Weldon would expect that and the man who’s taken over his position temporarily is willing to stay on indefinitely. In fact, he’s insisting that he needs more job security and that’s not an unreasonable request as he has a family to support.”
“Don’t you think you should be discussing this with my father?” she said, unable to hide her irritation. Her parents weren’t rich; they, too, needed the job security Fitzpatrick Logging had always provided. There was no way her mother’s small salary and tips from working at the soda counter at the drugstore would begin to pay their bills.
“I’ll speak to Weldon tomorrow,” Fitzpatrick agreed. He stroked the corner of his mustache with a long finger. “And you have to understand that it’s hard for me to make a decision like this. Your father could retire, of course—”
“But not at full benefits.”
Thomas sighed. He seemed genuinely unhappy. “Unfortunately, no.”
“What’s he supposed to do?” she asked, anger beginning to burn through her blood.
“As soon as he’s well enough, I’ll find him a job—a decent job, mind you—with the company. However, he won’t have the same responsibilities as he did while he was foreman.”
“Or the same salary.”
Thomas lifted the shoulder of his expensive wool suit. “I do have a way to help out.”
She didn’t believe him and she didn’t bother hiding it. “My folks aren’t interested in your charity, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
“Of course not.” He offered her a tentative smile. “The reason I’m bringing this all up to you is that the company annual report is due in a couple of months. We always had the photographs taken by Rory Jaeger.”
Was it her imagination or was Thomas smirking behind his cool blue eyes? She nearly shivered, for she was certain that he already knew every intimate detail of her life.
“I worked for him a long time ago.”
“And, as I understand it, you’ll be working with him again.”
So he did know! Carlie wondered if there was any word of gossip in Gold Creek that Thomas Fitzpatrick didn’t hear. “It looks that way. If things work out.”
“Good. Then I was hoping I could ask you to do the pictures for this year’s report. We’d need shots of the logging camps, the trees that are growing through reforestation, and photographs of the other phases of our business—oil wells and the like.”
“Have you talked to Rory about this?”
“He insisted on throwing the business your way and, in light of your father’s situation, I thought it was a good idea.”
As if he ever did anything noble. She itched to tell him to take his business and shove it, but she was more practical than that. She was in no position to turn away a job. Any job.
“What do you say?”
She hesitated, then looked him squarely in the eye. “I’ll call you once I set up shop.”
“Looking forward to it,” Thomas said amiably as he handed her his business card. His gaze lingered on hers a second longer than was normal and Carlie swallowed hard. Was it her imagination? He placed his hand on her shoulder, as if feeling the texture of her dress. The touch was intimate and Carlie took a step away. “Give my best to your dad.”
He walked back to the living room to join his wife and daughter. June stiffened at his touch on her elbow and Toni didn’t even look his way.
Wealth didn’t guarantee happiness, Carlie thought, tapping the narrow edge of his card against the counter, grateful her interview with him was over. Thomas Fitzpatrick might be one of the richest men in Gold Creek, but he’d already buried one son, and his second was in the legal battle of his life and his third—his bastard—Jackson Moore, refused to even speak with him. That left Antoinette “Toni” Fitzpatrick, pretty and petite, with dark blond hair and blue eyes and an attitude that wouldn’t quit.
It was rumored that Toni was more trouble than his other children combined.
Yes, Thomas was an unhappy man. Carlie stuffed his card into her purse and walked through the back door.
Outside, the night was still and snow continued to fall. Thousands of tiny lights illuminated the gazebo and boathouse, to reflect in the dark, shimmering waters of the lake. Somewhere overhead an owl hooted softly.
It was peaceful here. Serene. If she let herself she could forget all her problems with her family. With the Powells. With Thomas Fitzpatrick. With Ben. She frowned at the thought of him—handsome and rigid in his military best. A man who saw the world in terms of black and white, wrong or right, good or bad. No in-between for Ben Powell.
She turned, intending to slip through the breezeway when she saw him, standing near the far side of the gazebo, snow collecting on his shoulders and in his hair.
“Just can’t tear yourself away, can you?” he said without bothering to hide his animosity.
“I was about to leave.”
“After your little chat with Fitzpatrick.”
She glanced to the house and the kitchen window where the lights cast squares of light onto the snow. Inside, the caterers were busy refilling trays. Carlie could watch their movements as clearly as if she were in the room. Obviously Ben had seen all of her exchange with Fitzpatrick. “We had business to discuss.”
His lips tightened at the corners. “He’s trouble, Carlie.”
“So you’ve finished insulting me and now you’re giving me warnings?”
He lifted his shoulder, as if he really didn’t give a care, but the rigid set of his jaw said otherwise.
“You know, the same could be said about you,” she pointed out.
He leaned one hand against a leafless oak sapling, then dusted off the snow that clung tenaciously to the bark. “I just thought you should know.”
“‘Forewarned is forearmed’—isn’t that an old army saying?”
“Take it any way you like,” he said hotly. He moved dangerously close to her. “Besides, what do you care, from the looks of it, you’ve got Thomas Fitzpatrick wrapped around your little finger.”
“I don’t even know him.”
“It won’t be long, Carlie,” Ben predicted harshly. “I saw him with you. He’s on the scent and a man like that usually gets what he wants.”
“You’re crazy.” Thomas Fitzpatrick? Interested in her? The idea was outlandish. Or was it? Her skin crawled.
“Just watch out.”
“You’re serious.”
“Absolutely, and you’d better open your eyes or quit playing that you don’t know what’s going on.”
“He’s a married man and old—”
“—enough to be your father. I know. Big deal. He wants you, Ms. Surrett. So the question is whether you’re going to go for the bait. Fancy house, all those businesses, more money than you can count. What about it, Carlie?”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Tell me that in a couple of weeks. The way I figure it, Fitzpatrick will make another move by then.”
She lifted her hand as if to slap him, but he caught her wrist and his eyes flashed fire. “Don’t even think about it!”
“You bastard.”
His mouth twitched into a sarcastic grin. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He let go of her hand.
Shaken, Carlie decided to have it out with him. Obviously they couldn’t both live in this tiny little town, trying to avoid each other, hoping to steer clear of the other person’s path. Tilting her chin, she eyed him speculatively. “You know, you don’t have to hate me, Ben.” Her words seemed to echo across the lake. “It’s not part of the rules.”
Ben winced and looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing on her face. “I don’t—” He moved back, snapped his mouth closed and glowered angrily, as if he were suddenly mad at the world.
“You don’t what? Hate me?” She almost laughed. But her hea
rt soared at the thought that there was a chance they could, at the very least, be civil to each other. “You have a funny way of showing it.” Shoving her hands in her pockets, she walked through the tiny drifts of snow to get closer to him. “It would be a lot easier if we could get along.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’d rather despise me.”
He raked fingers through his hair and squared his cap on his head. “It just makes things easier.”
“You don’t believe that,” she said, feeling suddenly bold. There was anger in his dark gaze but something else, as well. Doubts? Passion? Memories of the love they’d shared? She wondered what he’d think if he knew the truth—all of the painful truth.
“I don’t think it matters.”
“How long are you staying in Gold Creek?”
He wanted to lie, to tell her that he’d be on the next bus out of town, but the deceit would catch up with him. “I don’t know.”
“A few days?” She stepped closer. Too close. The scent of her perfume wafted through the cold air. “A week?” Her face turned up to his, defying him, challenging him to lie to her. “A month?” She was so near that he saw the reflection of the Christmas lights in her eyes.
“Why does it matter?”
“I just wonder how often I’ll run into you and how I’m supposed to act? Like a complete stranger? Or maybe just an acquaintance, someone you’ve heard of but don’t really know? Or maybe a friend? No—that wouldn’t be right, now would it? We’d be bending the rules.” Her nostrils flared just a fraction. “I know,” she said, tossing from her face the few strands of hair that had fallen out of her braid. “I’ll act like a jilted ex-lover. You know, a girl who had all her hopes and dreams pinned on the boy she loved only to find out that he didn’t care about her at all. Yeah, that’s it. Like someone who was unjustly accused of something and who didn’t even get the chance to defend herself.” There was more she wanted to say, but thoughts along those particular lines were dangerous, made her vulnerable, which, right now, she could ill afford.
His back teeth ground together, and as she stared up at him with those damned blue eyes it was all he could do not to touch her, not to grab her by the arms and shake some sense into her, not to drag her body close to his and shut her up by kissing her so long and hard, she could barely breathe. Instead he just stared down at her, like a statue, the trained soldier he was, his face a mask of disinterest. “Act any way you like, Carlie,” he said harshly and winced a little inside when he saw the color drain from her face. “You can do whatever you want, ’cause I really don’t give a damn.”
Chapter Six
THOMAS FITZPATRICK SWIRLED a drink in his hand and stood near the window of his office. He tossed back a large swallow of Scotch, felt the alcohol hit the back of his throat and burn all the way down to his stomach. It was still morning. Ten-fifteen. Too early for a drink except on special occasions: birthdays, anniversaries, the signing of a particularly good deal. Or the day a man’s served with divorce papers. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed the neatly typed documents from some high-powered lawyer in San Francisco. James T. Bennington. A tiger. The best. June was going for blood.
He swallowed the rest of his drink and poured another. Two would be his limit. Sitting at the desk, he stared down at the divorce papers. Signed, sealed and delivered. His wife had actually filed. She had more guts—and pride—than he’d ever given her credit for.
Being served had been humiliating, but not surprising. His reconciliation efforts with June had been feeble. They’d just gone through the motions of seeing a marriage counselor, engaging in a few “dates,” trying to figure out what to do with the rest of their lives. All that time and money had been wasted. June wanted out. She was tired of Thomas’s deals and his women. When Jackson Moore had come back to town and discovered that Thomas was really his father, all hell had broken loose. June had known the truth, of course, but it had been a well-kept secret. The boy had even been kept in the dark and Thomas had continued his on-again, off-again affair with Sandra Moore, Jackson’s sexy, loose-moraled mother. He smiled as he thought of her. Sandra, of all his mistresses, had most touched his heart.
June had found the strength to move out and take their daughter, Toni, with her. Though Toni was old enough to be on her own, she’d still been living at home, here in Gold Creek. Thomas’s baby. His little girl. His princess.
He sighed. He didn’t really blame his wife. The love they’d once shared had died a long time ago. Sandra Moore wasn’t his first mistress, nor had she been his last.
There had been lots of other women. Bosomy, beautiful females he’d met when he’d been out of town. Young women who had pretended an interest in him but were really impressed with his wealth.
He sipped this drink slowly and set the glass on the table as he settled deeper in his chair. The old leather creaked.
He thought of Carlie Surrett. Lord, she’d turned into a beauty. His fingers moved slowly up and down his sweaty glass. Years ago she’d caught his eye, but he’d drawn the line at girls still in their teens. If he remembered correctly, she’d left town because of that scandal with the older Powell boy, Ken or Conrad...no, Kevin. That was it. He’d committed suicide, or so everyone thought, because he’d loved Carlie and she’d broken up with him and become involved with his younger brother—that arrogant kid who ended up joining the army. There had even been some scandal about pregnancy, but no one knew for sure if that was true. Carlie certainly hadn’t come back to town with a kid tagging behind her.
Pulling on his mustache, he thought long and hard, as he always did when he considered something he wanted. Without realizing what he was doing, he shoved back his chair, walked to the bar and plopped a couple of ice cubes into his glass. He caught his reflection in the mirror and scowled. Age was creeping up on him. Age and disappointment. He hadn’t wanted to lose Roy years ago, and he didn’t want to suffer the pain and financial strain of a divorce now. He’d hoped Jackson would forgive him and that somehow he’d end up with Turner Brooks’s ranch. He’d even tried to wrangle the sawmills from his nephew, Hayden. Nothing had worked. He seemed to have lost the Midas touch he’d once possessed.
So now he wanted Carlie. She was old enough, and he was soon to be single. Nothing was standing in his way. Unless she was involved with someone; he’d have to check. It wouldn’t be hard to find out all about her.
Carlie’s father, Weldon, worked for him as a foreman at the logging company. Good man. Steady worker. Company man. Carlie was Weldon’s only daughter and he’d disapproved when she’d taken off for the city. Weldon had grumbled about her getting too big for her britches though Thomas suspected that Weldon was covering up because he was hurt that his only daughter had run off to the city.
Rumor had it that she’d been married, briefly, but that wasn’t confirmed. Thomas didn’t really know much about her except that she and Rachelle Tremont had backed up Jackson Moore to prove that he hadn’t killed Thomas’s eldest son, Roy. Grief stole into his heart as it always did when he thought of Roy. God, he’d loved that boy. So had June. He’d been so bright, so athletic, and Thomas was sure there wasn’t anything Roy couldn’t do if he set his mind on it.
While Roy was alive, June had been a different person. Afterward, she was a shell of the woman she had been—a bitter shell. She had no longer turned a blind eye to Thomas’s affairs.
The whole family had started to unravel when Roy was killed. Brian... Hell, Brian was never half the boy Roy had been and then he’d married that tramp, Laura Chandler, who’d trapped him into marriage and who, it turned out years later, had actually killed Roy.
So Carlie Surrett had been right, and grudgingly Thomas admired her principles. Among other things. Her long legs, her blue eyes, her perfect face. No wonder she’d been a model. He felt a restless stirring between his legs, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time and in his mind’s eye he saw himself seducing Carlie, lying with her on silk sheets.
/> It didn’t matter that she was less than half his age. She was an adult, a gorgeous adult, and she was single. Rumor had it that she wasn’t rich and after all, her father was still working at the mill, struggling to make ends meet.
He folded the neatly typed documents and shoved them into his desk drawer. He decided to find out everything there was to know about Carlie and her family. The strengths and, more importantly, the weaknesses. He pushed the button on his intercom and told Melanie, his secretary, to get Robert Sands, a slick private investigator, on the line. For the right amount of money, Sands would leave no stone unturned and would find out all the dirt there was on the Surretts—finances, illegitimate children, affairs and any other little skeleton they’d like to keep locked in their closets.
For the first time all morning, Thomas Fitzpatrick smiled.
* * *
“WE’LL SEND A crew over to clean up the debris at the lakeside site.” Ralph Katcher, Ben’s foreman, reached into the back pocket of his jeans for his tin of chewing tobacco and propped one leg on the small step stool in the trailer Ben used as the official offices of his new company. It had been nearly two weeks since Nadine’s wedding—two weeks since he’d seen Carlie—and Ben had spent that time buried in his work, trying to start his own construction business. “The Hardesty brothers are looking for work and they’ll be able to salvage whatever’s left,” Ralph added.
“It’s not much.” Ben stood and stretched. He’d been sitting behind his beat-up desk for hours and his neck ached. He reached for the coffeepot still warming on a hot plate. “Nothin’ much but the chimney. I was over there the other day.”
“Leave it to Lyle and Lee. Believe me, they can find something out of nothing. ’Sides, the Hardestys work cheap. Best scrappers in the county.”
“Good enough. Coffee?”
Ralph shook his head, and chuckled. “I’ll pass. I’m about to head out for a beer. Besides, that sludge looks deadly.”
“It is,” Ben agreed, pouring the coffee into a chipped cup and taking a sip. Scowling at the bitter taste, he set his cup on the clutter of paperwork strewn over his desk and picked up his pencil again. The best decision Ben had made since he’d returned to Gold Creek was to hire Ralph. A hard worker who was supporting an ex-wife and a son, Ralph was glad for the work and had pointed Ben in the direction of several potential jobs.
