by Lisa Jackson
Resting a hip against the counter, Shelly watched the clouds of cream roll in her dark brew.
“Uh-oh. Shelly?”
Blowing across the top of her cup, Shelly stared at her sister. “I’m pregnant.”
“What?” Thunderstruck, Ronni nearly dropped her mug. Pregnant? “But—”
“I know, I know, I don’t need a lecture.” Tears starred Shelly’s lashes and she blinked rapidly. “This couldn’t have come at a worse time with Vic’s being out of work and all, but you know something, Ronni, I’m happy about it. We’ve always wanted another baby and I guess we’re going to have one.” She was smiling despite the tears drizzling from her eyes.
How in the world were they ever going to make it? Financially strapped as they were, another mouth to feed was the last thing they needed. On the other hand, the thought of a new baby was invigorating and uplifting. Maybe a new member of their family was just what they needed.
“I think this calls for a celebration!” Ronni said, though she was stunned. Not only was Vic out of work but Shelly was already run ragged. Between working for Ronni and dealing with the twins, Shelly barely had a minute to herself. How could she squeeze in any extra time for an infant?
“Vic doesn’t think so.” Shelly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing streaks of mascara that were already running down her cheeks. “He—well, he’s in a state.” When she read the horror on her sister’s face, she held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t want me to do anything to jeopardize the pregnancy, but—”
“But he’s not happy.”
“And he blames me.”
“Didn’t a wise man once say that it takes two to tango?”
Shelly laughed a little and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “He knows that, but he’s just having a little trouble adjusting. He’ll get used to the idea.”
“He’d better,” Ronni said, her hackles up a bit. She liked Victor, he was a great guy, but he had a tendency to place blame and come up with excuses when things didn’t go exactly as he planned. Though Ronni didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d be as good a father to this new baby as he was to the boys, another child was a burden as well as a joy.
“Vic’s worried, and, really, I don’t blame him. We don’t have insurance, you know, and if there are any complications, like last time with the twins and the C section...it could be devastating.” Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. “Look, I didn’t mean to bring you down, I just wanted you to know that you’re going to be an aunt again.”
“And I’m thrilled,” Ronni said from the bottom of her heart. Sliding out of her chair, she crossed the room and hugged her sister fiercely. “There’s nothing so special as a new little person.”
“I knew you’d feel that way,” Shelly said, her eyes filling with tears once more. A broken little sob escaped her throat. “Oh, look at me, blubbering and going on. You know how emotional pregnant women are.”
“So when’s the blessed event going to occur?”
“Middle of July. I suspected that I might be pregnant last month, even took one of those in-home tests, but I didn’t want to say anything until I’d seen the doctor.”
Ronni was disappointed; while growing up, and even as adults she and Shelly had shared their deepest secrets. “I don’t blame you,” she lied. “And really, you couldn’t have chosen a better time of year to have the baby. No worry about not being able to get to the hospital because of the weather in July.” She squeezed her sister’s shoulders again. “Well, come on. We just have time for me to take you to lunch before I have to pick up Amy.”
“But we should work.”
“Nah. The shipping’s done for the day and I can clean up tomorrow. I’m closing down the shop at the beginning of the week anyway and I think we—” she glanced pointedly at her sister’s belly “—all three of us, need a break. Come on, get your jacket. Hamburgers on me.”
Shelly brightened. “Okay, but just this once. The doctor’s already worried about my weight.”
Ronni grinned. “Good. Then I get your fries.”
Shelly took a look at her sister’s slim figure. “You’re disgusting,” she said with a grin.
“Yeah, but I work hard at it.” Ronni tossed Shelly’s thick jacket to her. “You know, Shell, I think this is the best news I’ve heard in weeks.”
Ronni wrapped a scarf around her neck as they trudged through the snow to her van. The snowman was still standing, looking a little heavier with a fresh layer of snow dusting his features, and the tracks where she and Amy had rolled the snowballs were covered with white again.
The old Ford started without a fuss and as they drove passed the turnoff to the old Johnson place—now the Keegan lodge—Ronni bit her lip. She’d envisioned the huge old lodge as a bed-and-breakfast inn that she’d own and manage, and Shelly and Vic could move into the caretaker’s house and out of their small duplex in town.
Snapping on the radio, she heard the first strains of “White Christmas.” She’d had a lot of silly dreams, she realized, but they’d all changed in the past few days. All because of Travis Keegan.
* * *
“Come on, come on,” Travis growled, glaring at the fax machine and waiting for a report that was supposed to have been transmitted. For the most part, everything was working correctly. He’d had to call an electrician whose crew had worked the better part of a week rewiring the old house, bringing it up to code, making sure that there was enough power to accept the strain of the additional equipment such as the microwave, satellite dish, three televisions, extra telephone lines, computer, modem, fax machine, printer and on and on.
He’d converted a small first-floor bedroom with a bay window overlooking the lake for his private office, which was linked electronically to the factory and home office just northeast of Seattle. His vice president, Wendall Holmes, was in charge of operations. When Travis had decided to move to Oregon, he and Wendall had worked a deal and now Wendall was buying shares of the sporting goods company. Eventually, if everything worked out over the long haul, he and Travis would be equal partners in TRK, Inc., which was the umbrella corporation for all his businesses.
For his part, Travis was glad to be this far away from the rat race.
The fax finally whirred and pages started spewing forth, a memo from Wendall and sales reports, accounting information, employee reviews, everything. Satisfied that the electronic linkup was working properly, Travis began reading through the latest proposal from the advertising firm handling his company’s accounts, the newest marketing strategy to sell more skateboards, snowboards and ski equipment. The new line of apparel called Rough Riders was selling well in the Northwest and as far south as Sacramento. Yes, Wendall was doing a more than respectable job and this setup hundreds of miles away was working.
He worried a little because just two days ago this room was cold enough for ice to sheet on the inside of the windows. He’d contacted a local contractor who’d helped him with some preliminary remodeling and revamping of the place. Storm windows had been added and a new furnace and duct work was scheduled to be installed at the beginning of next week. A plumber had already given his estimate to replace the ancient pipes and fixtures. Some walls would have to be broken into and it looked as if there was no chance of a simple remodeling job, but maybe that was good. Travis had envisioned Bryan working with him to restore the old lodge. Trouble was, Bryan wasn’t interested. He was still grousing about missing his friends in Seattle and now that he was laid up, the father-and-son bonding would have to wait for other projects.
At that moment, he heard his son hitching himself across the huge room they’d designated as the living area. A few seconds later, the rubber tips of Bryan’s crutches came into view and he was leaning against the door frame.
“I called Marty today.”
“Did you?”
; “So that he would have my new number.”
“Good idea.” Travis tried not to show any sign of emotion though he didn’t trust Marty Sinclair, a friend of Bryan’s from Seattle. The kid had been in and out of trouble for the past six or seven years, his latest stint involving driving under the influence of alcohol with a suspended license. There had been another incident with stolen compact discs and then the trouble with vandalism. Bryan had been in on that one. All these “incidents” and Martin was barely sixteen. He’d only escaped being sent to a juvenile center because his old man had money and a bevy of lawyers at his command. “What did Martin want?”
“For me to fly up and spend the weekend with him.”
This was the part he hated. Saying no. It was harder than any kid could ever imagine. “I think you’d better stick around. You’ve got another appointment with the doctor on Monday and sooner or later we’ve got to register you for school.”
“Yeah at Backwoods High. What do they teach here—whittling, tobacco spitting and log rolling?”
“Those are just electives,” Travis replied, managing to keep a straight face while consternation crossed his son’s features. Obviously, Bryan was in no mood for jokes.
“Sure, Dad. Look, I don’t see what going back home would hurt. It’s just a couple of days,” he whined.
“This is home now. Marty can come and visit.”
“Here?” Bryan gestured broadly, taking in the entire lodge with its rough cedar walls and sparse furniture.
“Sure, he could think of it as camping, you know, roughing it.”
“Travis, get serious!”
“I am.”
“This is Nowhere, U.S.A. Marty’s not going to want to come here.”
“He would if he’s a good friend.”
“Yeah, and if I were a good friend, I’d go up there.”
“The answer is no.”
“You hate all my friends.”
“No, Bry, not true.” Travis snapped out the lights in the den and walked down the short hall to the living room with its dying fire and tall windows, all of which would be eventually replaced with double panes. Bryan followed after him, his crutches moving jerkily over the old wooden floors. “I like all your friends, including Marty. But I don’t think he’s a very good influence right now,” Travis said.
“Just ’cause we got caught ripping off a couple of hood ornaments.”
“Right. Stealing and vandalism all wrapped up together.”
“The car belonged to Marty’s uncle. The guy’s a jerk.”
Travis raised a hand. “Good thing he wasn’t enough of a jerk to swear out a complaint against you. Do you realize how lucky you were that he let you pay for the damage and get off without dealing with the police?” Bryan had spent four weekends stacking boxes in Travis’s sporting goods company’s warehouse in order to earn the money to pay off his debt. “Look, call Marty back and invite him to come spend some time over the holiday break, but don’t count on going to Seattle.”
Bryan wanted to argue; Travis saw all the classic signs, defiant light in his eyes, chin thrust forward belligerently, fists opening then closing over the handholds of his crutches, but he didn’t argue. With a sound of disgust, the boy turned and headed back to his room on the first floor. It was small, originally some kind of servants’ quarters, Travis suspected, but until the remodeling was finished and Bryan could mount the stairs, there was no reason to move him to the second floor.
Bryan’s door slammed, the noise echoing through the high-ceiling rooms.
He’ll get over it, Travis told himself. He looked around the big, empty lodge and thought of Ronni’s cozy cabin just down the lane. With a lumpy snowman standing guard and a string of lights on the front porch, the little cottage seemed more like home than this cold, empty behemoth. But all that would change—he’d see to it.
Walking along the hallway to Bryan’s room, he called loudly, “Come on, Bryan, I’ll buy you dinner, then we can pick out a Christmas tree.”
No answer. Just the pounding sound of rock music.
Travis rapped sharply with his knuckles, and pushed open the door. “I said, let’s find ourselves a tree.”
“Can’t you have one delivered?” Bryan was lying on his makeshift bed, his hands stacked behind his head as he stared through the window to the moonlit night. Some hard rocker was screaming through the speakers of the stereo.
“I suppose, but we can pick one out.”
“Oh, sure. Next I suppose you’ll want to pull a Paul Bunyan routine and chop down your own!” He slid his father an ungrateful look. “If only I could remember where I put my ax and blue ox. Get real, Travis.”
“Lose the attitude.”
“I don’t have an attitude, I’m just bored.”
“Well, it’s time to change all that.” Travis snatched a pullover from a wrinkled pile and tossed it onto his son. “Let’s go, Bry. I’ll buy you a pizza and a rootbeer, too, but not one more word about going north for any part of the holidays.”
“You just don’t know what it’s like,” Bryan grumbled as he struggled into a sitting position and reached for the hooded sweatshirt. “This is a big adventure for you. Throw away the suit and tie, put on flannel shirts and jeans and move to Oregon. Play Dad for a while. Don’t you know that I don’t know anyone here—not one stupid person? How do you think I’m gonna feel walking into that school the day after New Year’s, huh? You know how embarrassing it will be to be introduced to each class—to have the principal or the teachers tell the kids to welcome me, that we all should become fast friends?” He blinked against tears blurring his vision. “It’s gonna be hell, Travis,” he said, swallowing hard. Jerking to his feet, he sniffed loudly. “Good thing I know just who to blame.”
Chapter Five
RONNI SLID HER skis into the back of the van and slammed the back doors. She was tired. It had been a long, hard day on the mountain. Strong winds and whiteout conditions had closed down the upper lifts and she’d had to deal with lost skiers and too many injuries. Finally, the storm had abated and the sun had dared to peek through the dark clouds, even as a few final flakes floated to the ground. But the damage had already been done. Rubbing the kinks from her neck and finding her keys in her pocket, Ronni was thankful the day was over. She envisioned a hot cup of tea and a warm bath.
Then she spied Travis Keegan leaning against the driver’s door of her van, his arms folded over his chest as if standing in the middle of the parking lot of Mount Echo’s base lodge was the most natural thing in the world. Wearing aviator sunglasses, old jeans and a rawhide jacket, he managed a thin replica of a smile when he saw her.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she quipped, yanking off her cap and shaking out her hair.
“I was looking for you.”
She couldn’t help the silly little jump in her pulse when his gaze, hidden though it was, sought hers. “Why?”
“I think I need your help.” Sunlight refracted against his dark lenses and he scowled as if the admission was difficult. It probably was. Keegan didn’t appear to be the kind of man who asked for assistance. While everyone else was wearing down coats and parkas, ski pants and woolen hats, he stood bareheaded, snow catching in the dark strands of his hair, the arms of his jacket shoved up to his elbows, his big hands bare.
A horn honked as a four-wheeled pickup roared past. Ronni waved to Tim and his son before turning her attention to Travis and quieting the unsettling feeling that played with her mind whenever he was around. There was something about him that put her on edge, made her restless, though she didn’t know why.
Because he’s attractive, sexy and a take-charge kind of guy, the first man who’s interested you since Hank. Oh, God. She nudged that wayward thought back into a dark corner of her mind where it belonged.
“What kind of help?”
<
br /> “I need your expertise,” he admitted.
Laughing, she said, “My expertise? Let me guess—how to tie a four-year-old’s shoelaces?”
“Nothing quite so complicated,” he drawled and behind his tinted lenses his eyes sparked. “Why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee or a drink while I plead my case?”
Tilting her head to the side and sizing him up, she decided it wouldn’t hurt. Hadn’t everyone she knew told her it was time to start meeting people again, time to start letting go of the past? “Why not?” She checked her watch. “I have to pick up Amy in about forty-five minutes, but until then, I’m free.” The errands she was going to run before she stopped at Shelly’s to collect her daughter could wait until later.
Travis Keegan interested her and it had been long, too long probably, since she’d spent any time alone with a man. Maybe Amy was right. Maybe she was lonely. No, she told herself as they walked carefully over the icy ruts of the parking lot and climbed the metal-grate steps to the lodge, she just missed Hank.
They found an unoccupied booth near the window of the café where they each ordered cups of Irish coffee. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a panorama of white snow, tall evergreen trees and skiers racing down the runs.
“How long have you been a part of the team?” he asked, motioning to her red jacket with its patch proclaiming her part of the ski patrol.
“Ever since I was eighteen,” she admitted with a smile. “Years ago.”
“You must be quite a skier.”
“My dad had my sister and me up on skis about the time we learned to walk,” she admitted. “He was part of the patrol and a ski instructor part-time, so it was pretty natural that Shelly and I would follow in his footsteps—or ski tracks, I guess.”
“Shelly—your sister?”
“Yeah. She still lives in town, too.”
“You’re close?”
“Best friends.” Ronni nodded as the waitress brought glass cups filled with coffee and topped with whipped cream. A drizzle of green crème de menthe added a bright spot of color that melted into the cream. “You said something about needing my expertise,” she prodded, expecting him to ask her to teach Bryan the finer points of skiing. She was wrong.
