Of course he wanted to see them, but he missed Charlie. Yeah, he’d seen her off and on all day, but they were circumspect when Will and Joey were around. In the evenings at his place, they let loose.
Charlie insisted it was only—could only be—sex, and it was driving him crazy. Did she really share her body so generously with other lovers? Did she talk about the years she’d spent traveling around Canada, the string of loser jobs she’d had until she met her friends Ginger and Jake? Did she tell other guys how much those friends had meant to her? Did she talk about her dream of having an art exhibit?
Did she share memories from her childhood in Whistler?
He didn’t think so. But maybe. With Charlie, he often regressed to the insecurity he thought he’d left behind with his teens. She totally fascinated him. And, though she definitely saw him in a sexual way and liked him as a person, she rejected the idea of caring for him. Whereas he couldn’t stop himself from caring for her.
He’d seduced her with sex that made her scream in orgasm, romanced her with candlelight and love songs, shared the fun of decorating a Christmas tree, and still she went home each night to her solitary bed. He was running out of ideas.
Was there any hope that tonight she’d actually miss him?
When he opened the door of the family home, Romeo darted in, and the two of them were swallowed up in hugs. “Hey, you guys look great,” he told his parents, both tanned and relaxed. “You, not so much,” he said to Emily. “You okay?” Her face was pale and drawn, her blue eyes bloodshot.
Still, her grin was vibrant. “Just tired. It’s been a tough haul, but I feel good about the exams. And it’s Christmas, and there’s snow on the ground just as there should be. Vancouver’s so gray and green, it never feels like Christmas until I get home.”
Soon they were all grouped around the kitchen table, with Dad at the head, Mom at the foot, and him and his sister across from each other. They were eating Emily’s favorite winter meal: meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and a big tossed salad. His family serenaded him with the highs and lows of the cruise and law school.
“What have you been up to, Lester?” Mom asked. He’d given up trying to persuade her to call him LJ.
“Got going again on the reno project at the Mountain View.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Charlotte Coltrane’s back in town?”
“Charlie, yeah.”
She sniffed. “Ridiculous, taking a boy’s name. Though that was the least of her sins.”
LJ’s jaw clenched. He loved his parents, but sometimes they pissed him off. “Her only sin was being born to the wrong parents.”
“Her parents weren’t the ones painting graffiti or getting expelled,” his mom said.
“She was only suspended.” Three times. Before dropping out. “And her graffiti was art.”
“Her graffiti was illegal,” Dad snapped.
“I liked Charlie,” Emily said. “She saved Romeo’s life.”
He shot her a grateful look just as their dad said sarcastically, “Well, that’s certainly enough to judge a person on.”
“It’s more than you have,” LJ accused his parents. “You didn’t know her.”
His sister leaned forward, likely trying to defuse the tension. “Is Charlie going to run the B&B?”
Mom snorted. “Not unless she’s changed a lot.”
He ignored her and answered Emily. “No, she plans to put the place on the market and move back to Toronto.” Just saying it made his heart ache.
“That’s too bad. What does she do there?”
“She’s going to start her own business. She’s, uh, an artist.”
“Artist? What kind of artist?” his mom asked.
“All kinds.” He was hedging, and Charlie’d hate that. “Mostly, a tattoo artist.”
“Really?” Emily said excitedly, as his mother said, “Oh, dear God. Doesn’t that just fit?”
“It’s a respectable business, and she’s talented.” Long ago, he and Emily had learned there was little use arguing with their strict, old-fashioned parents. It was easiest to turn a blind eye to their prejudices and other outdated opinions. But he couldn’t sit there and take it any longer. He shoved his chair back from the table and stood. “Forget it. I don’t need to defend Charlie to you.”
“Lester!” his mom protested.
“I have to go. I told Mr. DiGiannantonio I’d go see him.”
His father scowled. “Tonight, when we just got home?”
In fact, he’d left it vague with Mr. D, and had planned to spend the evening with his family. But he didn’t want to spend another minute with his parents. “I’m busy these days, on a tight schedule with the renos. Charlie wants them done before Christmas.” So she could run back to fucking Toronto.
Mad at the world, he strode to the front door. Emily caught up as he was putting on his boots. “Don’t let them get to you, LJ.”
“They’re so fucking judgmental.”
“They are what they are. You know it’s easier to steer clear of the danger areas.”
Her troubled expression made him ask, “You talking about Charlie, or something else?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m dating a guy from the Songhees First Nation.”
For their parents, there was no such thing as a good “Indian.” “What’re you going to do?”
“See how things go with him.”
He sighed. “For basically decent people, our folks have a lot of prejudices.”
She offered a small grin. “Amazing we turned out so good.”
“We let them get away with it. Like, you not bringing this guy home for Christmas.”
“I’ve only been dating him since September,” she said defensively.
“If things get serious, you’re going to have to deal with the parents.”
She sighed. “I’ll wait until then.” Her face brightened. “What about you and Charlie? You used to have a crush on her. Sounds like she’s still cool. Is she married? Are you dating?”
“Uh…” Emily often did that, laying out so many questions he lost track. “She’s cool, and a great artist. Not married. And, uh…” Dating? Charlie’d never admit to that. To keep things simple, he said, “I like her, but she hates Whistler and can’t wait to leave.”
Her mouth tightened. “No surprise, given how the town treated her. How people like Mom and Dad still view her.” She touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
A few blocks away from his parents’, LJ pulled the truck to the side of the road, opened his cell, and called the Mountain View. “Okay if I come over?”
“Sure,” Charlie said, “but I thought you were at your parents’.”
“I was. See you soon.”
When he pulled up at the B&B, he gazed critically at the exterior. If Charlie wanted top dollar, she should wait until spring to sell, when the whole outside could be cleaned up.
He walked up the path and went in. He and his crew were currently working on the expanded dining room. Next, they’d move on to the reception area and lounge. The rooms had been opened up to better feature the freestanding stone fireplace that gave on to both rooms. Lots of work left to do, and he’d finally got Charlie to understand the project needed more than a week. Still, she was determined to leave before Christmas.
Discontent weighted his shoulders as he walked toward the kitchen, where she usually hung out. Her head was bent over a drawing, and she didn’t notice him.
He glanced around. The kitchen had been expanded and modernized, but in a homey rather than institutional way. The lighting was bright and warm. Under it, the brown highlights in Charlie’s dark hair gleamed. Her red sweater and a vase filled with colorful mixed blooms he’d brought over were cheery touches. On the table sat her open computer, a bunch of sketch papers, some of her drawing stuff, and a half-eaten piece of Sandy’s Christmas cake.
Sensing his presence, she glanced up with a smile. “Hey.”
“What are you working on?”
; She pointed to a painting that was still damp. “The eagle for Joey’s snowboard. What do you think?”
He stood behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder, and gazed down at the striking image in shades of blue and gray. Over the past days, as she and Joey talked, LJ’d been surprised to learn things about his apprentice. After two years of having Joey on his payroll, of chatting at lunch breaks and going for an occasional drink, he’d thought he knew all there was to know. Actually, he suspected Charlie’s gentle but penetrating questions had helped the youth reach insights about himself.
“You do the same thing with your tattoo clients?” he asked. “Draw them out until you’re sure they know what they want, and you understand it?”
She tilted a smile up to him. “Is that your way of saying you like the eagle?”
“Yeah. Joey’s going to be the envy of all his friends. An original Coltrane snowboard.”
An exclusive one, too. She’d told Joey not to bring his friends around. She was so damned determined not to become part of the community.
He glanced at the computer screen and saw clothing designs—blouses and short dresses. “Sandy’s stuff?”
“Yes, she e-mailed them to me.” Sandy, Will’s wife, had come by after work a couple days ago, excited about the art Will had taken home.
“You going to work with her?”
“I think so.” She tapped the computer screen. “Her designs are great. She’s found some fabric she loves, but it’s in solid colors and that’s too boring.” Excitement sparking her voice, she went on. “So I’d create art that’ll work with her designs, then she’ll get the fabric printed.”
“Cool. You said you wanted to do art other than just tattoos. The two of you could go into business together.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “We can work by e-mail.”
Shit. Didn’t she see she could build a career here? Tattoos, snowboards, and designer clothing. If only she didn’t have such bad feelings for Whistler.
That reminded him of why he’d come. “I’m going to visit Mr. D. Gather up some of those drawings and come along. He’d love to see you.” LJ was sure of that.
“You know how I feel about going out in Whistler.”
“Resurrect the old badass Charlie who doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.”
Her lips twitched. “You liked her, didn’t you?”
“She was hot. But so’re you. Come on, it’s an old folks’ home. We’ll visit him, then we’ll go.”
She worried her bottom lip, clearly tempted.
“He’s an old man. He doesn’t get many visitors, and he hasn’t got much time left in this world.”
Another lip twitch. “You’re shameless.”
“Grab those drawings and put on your coat.”
“Okay.” Her face lit. “I’d love to see him.”
Clutching her sketchbook and some loose drawings, Charlie followed LJ into Glen Woods, an attractive facility done in cedar with big windows. A middle-aged couple and an older woman sat on a floral-printed couch in the reception area, having a discussion that was clearly emotional.
She shivered, thinking about growing old with no family support. Mr. D was lucky to have LJ and his sister. As LJ strode toward the reception desk, she tucked her hand inside his arm. “You’re a good man, Lester Jacoby.”
He gave her a surprised smile, then put his hand over hers. “Thanks.”
He’d grown up kind, competent, handsome, sexy—and pretty damned easy to care about. Too bad he didn’t live in Toronto and have different parents.
“LJ,” the receptionist greeted him. “Merry Christmas. Mr. DiGiannantonio will be glad to see you.” She gave a pleasant smile to Charlie, who returned it.
How paranoid and self-centered she’d been, thinking all of Whistler would recognize and censure her. Maybe it was time to get over herself and be more open to the town. Musing, she walked down the hallway, LJ’s hand warm atop hers.
“He’s often in the lounge in the evening.” LJ stopped in the doorway of a large room.
Inside, Christmas had exploded. A big tree laden with lights, garlands, and ornaments dominated one corner, one side table held a manger scene, and another had a Santa’s workshop. Poinsettias, holly wreaths, boughs with pine-cones, and Christmas cards littered other surfaces and hung from the walls.
It was gaudy, overdone, and actually kind of touching. Still, she had to comment, “Wouldn’t want to be Jewish.”
“They did Hanukkah, too. When the menorahs came down, the tree went up. They figure, the more celebrations the better.”
“Keeps life interesting, I guess,” she said approvingly.
She glanced around at the people: a half dozen seniors around a TV, a three-generational group taking up one corner, residents and guests playing games. “That’s him, isn’t it? Playing cards with those three women?”
“Yup. He’s changed some.”
“He has.” Mr. D’s white hair was almost gone, his large frame had shrunk, and his shoulders were rounded. It was his smile she recognized.
LJ started across the room, his hand firm on hers. “Evening, ladies. Hey, Mr. D. I’ve brought a surprise.”
Pale brown eyes behind horn-rims lit with pleasure. “LJ, my boy. And who’s this?” He scrutinized her. “Can it be young Charlie Coltrane, all grown up?”
She stepped forward to take his hand. “Hi, Mr. D. It’s good to see you.”
He grabbed her hand in both of his and squeezed tight. “I must have been a good boy this year, because Santa brought me a gift I’ve been wishing for for years.”
His unaffected pleasure warmed her heart.
The elderly women started cracking jokes about him being a good boy all right. He broke in. “Ladies, please excuse me. I’m going to take my friends up to my room.” As he struggled to his feet, LJ put a hand under his arm to assist, then handed him a cane that had been resting against the table.
Charlie fell in with them as they walked slowly toward the door. So slowly, she heard one of the women say, “Charlie Coltrane. That name rings a bell. It’ll come back to me.”
She shuddered, then straightened her spine. What did old lady gossip matter to her?
With his arthritis, Mr. D moved so slowly it took forever to get to the elevator, then down the hall to his room, but he managed under his own steam. He ushered them into a small apartment with a bedroom, bath, and a sitting room with a TV, couch, and recliner. In an alcove sat a small fridge and a microwave.
He dropped into the recliner. “This requires a toast. LJ, get out the grappa.”
LJ opened a cupboard and took out a bottle. “It’s an Italian brandy,” he told Charlie. “Very potent. There’s also soft drinks, tea, or instant coffee.”
She studied the contents of the fridge and took out a Sprite. “Thanks.”
“Have a real drink,” the elderly man urged. “It’s a digestif.”
“And an acquired taste,” LJ said wryly, handing her a tall glass, then pouring perhaps an ounce of liquor into each of two small glasses.
“Thanks, Mr. D, but I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Ah.” He studied her for a moment, no doubt remembering her parents. “Wise girl. But it eases my arthritis and helps me sleep better than the doctor’s fancy pills.” He raised his glass. “Salute. To old friends, and seeing each other after all these years.”
Touching her glass to his, she felt the burn of unaccustomed tears, and blinked quickly. Someone had missed her and was glad she was back. Someone other than LJ, who got her so confused. “Mr. D, you were always nice to me. It meant a lot.”
“Ah, Charlie. You made it hard for people to be nice to you. You had such a chip on your shoulder, like you hated the world.”
“I felt like the world hated me. Except for you. You gave me a chance.”
“You helped me, that day I dropped my grocery bag. I knew you had a good heart.”
Her parents and aunt hadn’t thought so, nor the teachers or other students.
“Now, my girl, tell me what you’ve been doing these past ten years.”
Sitting beside LJ on the couch, she gave an abbreviated—and lightly censored—summary, ending up with getting work at The Barbed Rose.
“A tattoo artist.” Mr. D seemed more fascinated than repelled. “You must have tattoos?”
She showed him the one on her neck. “This one’s for Ginger and Jake, the friends I told you about.”
“Magnifico. If I wasn’t all wrinkles, I’d get you to tattoo me.”
“What would you get, Mr. D?”
“I’m an old romantic. My wife’s name Rosa, and a heart and a rose.”
She’d draw him a design anyhow, one that was soft and romantic.
“Charlie, show him some of your drawings,” LJ urged.
“Yes, yes, let me see.”
She showed him the swirly designs she’d drawn based on Sandy’s clothing. Variations of Joey’s eagle. LJ, Will, and Joey. A squirrel that frequented the tree outside her bedroom window. Romeo, dozing on the bed. The evening sun sliding behind snowy mountains.
The old man studied them, eyes bright with interest, making comments that showed his approval. “You should have an exhibit, Charlie.” He gestured toward the pastel scenic on his wall. “That’s an original. I paid good money. Your work is much better.”
“Thanks. If you want one, I’d be glad for you to have it.”
“Really? Yes, please. But I’ll pay you. That’s only right.”
His acceptance of her, then and now, meant so much more than money. Gently, she took his hand. “No money between friends. Okay?”
His trembling fingers closed on hers. “Thank you, Charlie.”
“Pick the one you like the best.”
“I know the one. The flowery purple one.”
She flipped pages. “This one?” It was a swirly abstract, vibrant yet with a gentle softness. She’d been thinking of spring violets.
“Yes, it reminds me of Rosa,” he said.
Carefully, she removed it from her sketchbook. “I can’t think of a better compliment.” When she drew him the rose tattoo design, she’d use a complementary style.
The Naughty List Page 25
