by Lisa Jackson
“So, how’re things going up at the lodge?” Jan asked late one Friday afternoon as Melanie handed her some pictures of people gathered at a city council meeting in city hall.
“I think everything’s on schedule.”
“Good. I’ve got another interview with our friend Mr. Doel next week and I wanted to be prepared. If there’s any trouble at the lodge, I’d like to know about it. But everything’s okay, right?” Jan asked, perching on the corner of Melanie’s desk.
“No trouble,” Melanie replied, carrying the pictures to the layout editor’s desk. “In fact, when you go up to the lodge, I think you’ll be surprised how smoothly everything’s running.”
“Oh really?” Jan’s eyebrows drew together, and she made a point of studying her nails.
“Uh-huh. Looks as if the resort will be a huge success,” Melanie added, wondering why she felt compelled to defend Gavin.
Constance, who had overheard the tail end of the conversation, made her way to the coffeepot and asked, “So, do you know who’ll be invited to the grand opening?”
Jan mumbled, “I wish.”
Melanie shook her head. “I haven’t the foggiest. I’m on the inside, you know, just doing some freelance work for the resort.”
Constance sighed. “I’d give my right arm for a look at that guest list.”
“Why don’t you just ask?”
“I have. I got Doel on the phone yesterday, but he told me very succinctly that it was none of my business. I just thought maybe you had some idea.”
“Not a clue,” Melanie replied.
“Well, I’m going up there Monday and I’ll have a look around,” Jan said, filled with confidence as usual. “Maybe I can convince Mr. Doel that a copy of the list would add public interest. He might just sell a few more lift tickets if people thought some celebrities were staying at the lodge.”
“I wouldn’t bet on getting anything more from him,” Melanie said.
Constance agreed. Refilling her coffee cup, she said, “He’s impossible. It’s almost as if he resents the free publicity we’re handing him.”
“You were the one who pointed out that he was publicity shy,” Melanie observed as Constance’s phone jangled loudly from her desk.
With a dramatic sigh, Constance, said, “Jan, see what you can do.” She hurried back to her desk. “Beg, borrow or steal that guest list.”
“I doubt if I’ll burglarize Gavin Doel’s office all for the sake of a few names.”
“Not just any names. We’re talking names of the famous,” Constance reminded her as the phone rang impatiently. “There’s a difference. A big difference.” Frowning, she picked up the receiver and plopped down at her desk, immediately absorbed in the conversation.
Jan turned her attention back to Melanie. “What do you think her chances are of getting the names of the invited?”
“From Gavin? Zero. From Rich Johanson?” Melanie lifted her hand and tilted it side to side, “About fifty-fifty.”
Jan nodded. “Yeah, Johanson’s always been more interested in publicity than Doel. And speaking of our local infamous professional skier, how’re things going with you two?”
“Fine, I guess. We work together. That’s it.”
“That’s it? Really?” Jan arched a skeptical brow. “Come on, Melanie, you can talk to me. I saw how he looked at you, and you said yourself that you’d been serious with him.”
“I think I said I’d dated him.”
“You said you were serious.”
“Did I? Well, if 1 did, I meant I was serious for seventeen.” Dear Lord, why had she ever brought it up?
“I know, but I read between the lines,” Jan replied. “You two act as if you’ve never gotten over each other.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it?”
“Of course,” Melanie said, pretending to study an enlarged photograph of wheat fields to the south of town. “Gavin’s not interested in me,” she added tightly.
Jan laughed. “Yeah, right, and I’m the Queen of England! Don’t try to convince me that you can’t see the signs. That man is interested—whether he wants to be or not.”
Melanie didn’t comment and went back to work when Brian called Jan into his office.
The rest of the day she heard snatches of conversation in the office and most of it centered around Gavin. As she drove home, she wondered if there was any way to escape from him.
Unfortunately, Taylor’s Crossing was a small town and Gavin was highly visible and extremely gossip-worthy. She heard about him and the lodge everywhere she went. And it didn’t end when she stopped by her Uncle Bart’s and Aunt Lila’s house that evening.
“The weather service predicts snow in the mountains by Friday,” Bart said, squinting through his kitchen window to the night-blackened sky. Melanie dropped into a chair near the table, and Bart followed suit. “That should be good news for Doel.”
Melanie, tired of all the talk about Gavin, took a swallow from the steaming mug of coffee Aunt Lila handed her.
“Now, Bart,” her aunt said, “you quit fishing.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” Bart asked, one side of his mouth lifting at the corner.
“Of course it is. She’s barely been here ten minutes and you’ve brought up Gavin twice.”
Bart lifted a foot and placed it on an empty chair. “I was just making an observation about the weather.”
“Sure.”
“And it wouldn’t kill me to know how Melanie and Gavin are doing working so close together.”
“You’re worse than a gossiping old woman,” Lila muttered, but smiled good-naturedly.
“Oh, for God’s sake, I am not. I’m just interested in Melanie’s welfare, that’s all.”
“She’s old enough to make her own decisions without any help from you.”
Melanie couldn’t help but grin. Lila and Bart’s light-hearted banter had always been a source of amusement to her, and since she’d lost her mother at a young age, Aunt Lila had stepped in and filled a very deep void. “Well, if you must know,” Melanie said, deciding to end the speculation about Gavin once and for all, “Gavin and I get along all right. We don’t see a lot of each other, though. I deal primarily with Rich Johanson.”
“That stuffed shirt!” Bart muttered.
“He’s okay,” Melanie said. “In fact, I like him. He keeps Gavin in line.”
Bart smoothed his white hair with the flat of his hand. His faded eyes twinkled. “Does he need keeping in line?”
“All the time,” Melanie said.
“And I heard he hired his old man, too.”
This was dangerous ground. Melanie felt her equilibrium slipping a little. “That’s right. Jim does fix-it jobs for the resort—things that the general contractor didn’t bid on, I guess.”
“How long is he staying on?”
“I don’t know,” Melanie said honestly. “We don’t talk much.”
“I’ll bet,” Bart said. “But Gavin can’t be all bad if he takes care of his kin.”
For once Aunt Lila agreed. “He’s helped Jim more than any son should have to.” Then, as if realizing she’d said too much, she added, “You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?”
Melanie finished her coffee. “Another time. I’ve got an appointment later tonight. Cynthia Anderson is coming over to choose some pictures I took of her boys a few weeks ago, but I had something I wanted to give you.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small package wrapped in tissue paper.
“What’s this?” Bart asked as she handed it to him.
“Open it and see,” Lila prodded.
Bart didn’t need any further encouragement. He unfolded the paper and exposed a framed picture of himself and Big Money taken on the day of the fair over a month before. Bart was grinning proudly, while the nervous colt tugged hard on his lead and tried to rear.
“Melanie,” Bart whispered, touched, “you didn’t need to—”
“I know, but I wan
ted to. This was my favorite shot, but my editor preferred the one that ended up in the paper. I picked it out weeks ago, but it took a while to find the right frame.”
“I have just the place for this,” Lila said, eyeing the picture lovingly. “Thank you.”
Melanie felt a lump in her throat as she finished her coffee and pushed back her chair. “You’re welcome. Now I’d better run home before the Anderson boys show up and terrorize Sassafras.”
Uncle Bart walked with her out the back door. Rain had started to fall, but the temperature had dropped. Goose bumps rose on Melanie’s arms.
“Despite what your aunt said in there,” Bart said, squaring an old Stetson on his head, “you know she thinks the world of Gavin. He used to do odd jobs around here, you know, and Lila’s pretty soft where he’s concerned.”
Melanie eyed him in the darkness. “You already told me I should be chasing after him.”
“I didn’t say that.” Bart’s teeth flashed and his breath fogged. “But if he decides to do the chasing, I wouldn’t run too fast if I were you.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said dryly as she slid into the car.
Bart slammed the door shut for her, then paused on the step to light a cigarette. Melanie waved as she drove away. So now everyone thought she should try to start a new romance with Gavin. Jan, Uncle Bart and even Aunt Lila. It was enough to make a body sick.
And yet, falling in love with Gavin again held a distinct appeal. “You’re hopeless,” she told herself as she wheeled into her driveway and recognized Cynthia Anderson’s gray van parked in front of the house. “And you’re late.”
As she climbed out of her own car, the side door of the van flew open and the boisterous Anderson brood, dressed in blue and white soccer outfits, scrambled out.
Cynthia herded them toward the front porch. “I know I didn’t say anything when I made this appointment,” she said quickly, “but do you have time to take a couple of shots of them in their soccer gear?”
Groaning inwardly, Melanie nodded. “I suppose.”
“Good, good. Because Gerald would just love a picture of them like this—oh, but, boys, we mustn’t tell Daddy, okay? It’ll be a surprise. For Christmas.”
Melanie wondered how the four boys could keep a secret for ten minutes let alone two months. “Let’s get started.”
“Oh, thanks, Melanie,” Cynthia said, whipping her comb from her purse and pouncing on the youngest one. “Okay, Tim, hold still while I fix your hair.”
“No!” the boy howled. “No, no, no!”
“Aw, knock it off, Mom,” Sean, the oldest, chided. “We look good enough. Besides, I’m freezin’ my tail off out here. Let’s go inside!”
Steeling herself, Melanie opened the front door, the boys thundered down the hall and Sassafras bolted outside, splashing through puddles as he headed around the corner of the house.
Melanie followed the Andersons through the door and hung her coat on the hall tree near the stairs. She didn’t have time to think about Gavin for the rest of the evening.
* * *
The first snow arrived on a Saturday in early November. Large powdery flakes, driven by gusty winds, fell from a leaden sky. Storm warnings had been posted, but Melanie decided to chance the storm, hoping that it would hold off for a few hours. She tossed her chains into her car and carefully placed five huge portfolios in her car.
The drive was tedious. Already tired from spending most of the previous night getting the coloration on the prints just right, and she was anxious to take the pictures to the lodge and finish that part of her employment.
Because you want to see Gavin again, her mind tormented, but she pushed that unpleasant thought aside and ignored the fact that her heart was beating much too quickly as she drove through a fine layer of snow to Mount Prosperity.
Aside from half a dozen cars and a few trucks marked GAMBLE CONSTRUCTION and the snowplow, the freshly plowed parking lot was relatively empty.
Melanie drove straight to the lodge, and because she wanted to protect the prints as well as her car, she pulled into a parking shed that connected with the side entrance to the lodge. Grabbing her largest portfolio, she steeled herself for another cool meeting with Gavin. You can handle this, she told herself as she trudged up the stairs and opened the door.
Inside, the lodge was quiet. The screaming saws, pounding hammers and country music were gone. Only the few workers finishing the molding remained.
Most of the renovation was complete. The high wood ceilings had been polished, the oak floors refinished and new recessed lighting installed in the lobby and bar. Two snack bars boasted gleaming new equipment, and the restaurant had been recarpeted.
Fresh paint gleamed, and new blinds were fitted to the windows. An Oriental rug had been stretched in front of the fireplace, and several couches and lamps had been placed strategically around the room.
Melanie propped her portfolio against a post and eyed the renovations. Tugging off her gloves, she walked over to the bar to admire the polished, inlaid brass.
“Something I can do for you?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Jim Doels, voice. She whipped around. Tall and lined, Jim settled a cap on his head and waited, his face tense, his eyes never wavering.
She and Gavin’s father had never gotten along. Working at the lodge together hadn’t made things any easier. She pointed to her portfolio. “I’m here to meet Rich. I have those old pictures he was interested in.”
“He’s busy.”
“Then Gavin.”
The older man’s lips tightened. “He’s busy, too.”
“Are they here?”
Nodding, he motioned toward the back of the lodge. “Got some bigwigs with them. Don’t know when they’ll be through.”
“It’s okay,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’ll wait in the north wing.”
“It may be awhile.”
“I’ve got plenty of time,” she replied, not letting him dissuade her. Jim Doel had never said why he didn’t like her, but she assumed it was a combination of feelings—guilt for the death of her mother and anger that she, at least in Gavin’s father’s opinion, had betrayed his only son. He’d never know the truth, so she would have to get used to his glacial glances and furrowed frowns until she was finished with her job here.
Inching her chin up a fraction, she hauled her heavy portfolio off the floor and said, “Please let Rich know where he can find me.”
Jim nodded grudgingly, and Melanie, rather than ask for his help, made two more trips to the car to pick up the bulky pictures. It took nearly half an hour to carry them into the north wing, and as she paused to catch her breath on her final trip, she heard the sound of voices coming from the banquet room.
The door was ajar, and her curiosity got the better of her. She looked into the crack and caught a glimpse of several men, all dressed in crisp business suits, clustered around the huge, round table. Smoke rose in a gentle cloud to the ceiling.
Gavin sat across from the door, and he looked bored to tears. His hair was combed neatly and he was wearing a blue suit, but his gaze lacked its usual life and he tugged at his tie and stuck his fingers under his collar.
Melanie couldn’t help but grin. Where were the beat-up leather jacket and aviator glasses? she wondered, wishing she dared linger and watch him a little longer. She’d never thought of him as an entrepreneur, and she found it amusing to catch a glimpse of him in a starched white shirt and crisp tie, dealing with lawyers or accountants or investors or whoever the other men happened to be.
She made her way to the end of the hall and the north wing. As wide as the lodge itself, the huge room was vacant, aside from some chairs stacked in a corner and a few tables shoved against the windows.
Melanie shrugged out of her coat, then began setting out the photographs that she’d selected for the sepia-colored pictures that were to decorate the main lobby. There were pictures of miners with pickaxes, wagon trains and mule teams
, crusty old-timers panning for gold and younger men gathered around a mineshaft. There was a shot of a steaming locomotive and another of a nineteenth-century picnic by a river. She laid them out carefully, proud of her work.
She didn’t hear Gavin walk into the room, nor did she notice when he stopped short and sucked in his breath.
Gavin hadn’t expected to find her here, leaning over the table, her hips thrust in his direction and her black glossy hair braided into a rope that was pinned tightly to the back of her head.
Her lips were pursed, her eyebrows knitted in concentration, and her hips, beneath her denim skirt, shifted seductively as she arranged photograph after photograph on the table.
As if feeling the weight of his gaze, she glanced over her shoulder, and for a fleeting second her eyes warmed and her lips moved into a ghost of a smile.
Gavin’s breath caught in his lungs for a heart-stopping moment, and he had trouble finding his voice. “Are you waiting for Rich?”
He noticed her shoulders tighten. Turning, she eyed him suspiciously. “Isn’t he here?”
“Not now. He had business in Portland.”
Her lips turned down. “But I just saw him—”
“I know. He got a call. There’s some emergency with a case of his. He just took off.”
“Well, that’s great,” Melanie said, motioning to the windows. “I hoped to get out of here before the storm really hit.”
“What’s keeping you?” he baited, and saw a spark flash in her eyes.
“My job. We have a contract, remember?”
“Rich’s idea.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter whose idea it was, does it? Because, like it or not, you and I are stuck with it.”
“You could always leave,” he suggested, and the look she shot him was positively murderous.
“I came here to do a job, Gavin, and I intend to finish it. The sooner it’s done, the sooner I’m out of here.” She placed her hands on her hips.
“Then let’s get to it.”
“Okay, first you need to figure out exactly where you want these hung. For what it’s worth, I think you should hang them in chronological sequence—” Impatiently he listened as she explained about each of the pictures and how each shot had a particular meaning to the forty-niner theme of the lodge. Though she spoke with enthusiasm, he had trouble concentrating and was constantly distracted by the slope of her cheek, the way her teeth flashed as she spoke, or how her sweater stretched across her breasts.
