C01 Take a Chance on Me

by Susan May Warren

  No. Wait. Ivy didn’t want a man who was going to leave her for some lost-treasure dream.

  What was she thinking? She wasn’t in the market for any kind of man. Or any kind of relationship that would inevitably end and break her heart.

  She edged toward the door, but not fast enough to tune out the little boy’s scream. Ivy turned and saw Darek hovering over his son, holding his hand, speaking softly to him as the doctor applied a long needle to the wound, probably to numb it. The child howled.

  This was where Ivy checked out.

  Besides, Darek had long forgotten her.

  It was probably for the best, really. But for the first time since meeting him, she hoped that he wouldn’t.

  Darek only had to blink and his son seemed to grow another inch. He drew the quilt up around Tiger’s shoulders, the child’s golden hair like a halo around his head. He looked like a cherub when sleep took him—and it had dropped him hard on the way home from the ER. Darek had removed the child seat from his Jeep in case his mother needed it, so she’d driven Tiger home in her Caravan, Darek following, and Casper behind him riding Darek’s old motorcycle.

  He’d briefly looked for Ivy as they’d exited the ER, but true to her word, she could take care of herself. He didn’t want to think about the crazy hour he’d spent with her, not sure why he couldn’t take his eyes off her, nor why it made him feel so miserable.

  She wasn’t so beautiful that it should knock him over. Nor particularly witty, or even flirty, like Felicity. Just . . . Direct might be the word. No games with her. Probably the lawyer in her—although most lawyers he knew hid something.

  Still, something about her . . . the way she didn’t pity him. Oh, wait, she had—that’s why she purchased him in the first place.

  Nice.

  He probably owed her the five hundred dollars she’d paid, but if he got lucky, she’d chalk the entire experience up to a bad decision and forget him.

  At least until he called her office to check on Jensen’s hours, with the wild hope that the man might go to jail. Darek would be on his best behavior then.

  He had put Ivy out of his mind as he pulled in behind his mother, retrieved his sleeping son, and hiked through the resort to his tiny A-frame cabin tucked on the far edge of the property.

  The twelve guest cabins that dotted the lakeshore stood lonely and dark, not a soul occupying them, although a young family was scheduled to arrive on Wednesday for a week. They’d have the run of the place, what with the dismal winter tourist season extending into June.

  The lack of snow this year had killed the influx of snowmobilers, snowshoers—even the dogsled mushers had to cancel. Worse, the early spring had dried out the land, turning the forest tinder crisp. Already, the forest service had issued a warning, outlawing campfires in the northern canoe areas. So much for the nostalgia of the north woods that might draw tourists to Evergreen’s shores. Thankfully, the forest service still allowed campfires at the resort areas. For now.

  Darek had had a powwow with his dad this evening, just before Owen’s phone call. He’d unrolled the plans for a sauna, a hot tub, and even a play area for kids. Maybe turn the resort into more of a camp atmosphere for the next generation. And if they could convince Gibs next door to sell his overgrown property, they’d have the only sandy beach on the lake.

  But the old man wasn’t budging, and they didn’t have a single fishing trip on the docket for this month, so even if Gibs had a lightning-bolt-from-heaven change of heart, they couldn’t afford to give him anything but a handshake and hope.

  After a century of running Evergreen Resort, they just might have to close their doors.

  Ivy’s words hung briefly in his mind. Carrying on the family business, huh? He’d never aspired to taking over the family resort, but God hadn’t asked him what he wanted. And now he had no choices left.

  He still hadn’t made peace with the Almighty over his losses—or his future. Maybe he never would.

  Darek never locked the cabin and now pushed the door open to the soaring ceiling of the family room. It collected the shadows of the night, the furry branches of pines imprinted on the walls. He’d built the place for Felicity, thinking she’d like the view of the lake and access to Claire’s grandfather’s place, but he hadn’t counted on how the lights of the Atwood family mansion nearly flooded his front room, turning them blind. Nor how it would make her feel so alone, so remote.

  No wonder she hadn’t been able to ignore Jensen Atwood. Darek practically pushed her into his arms.

  Tiger snuggled closer to him, and for a moment, he debated putting the tyke in his bed with him. But then he’d have to climb into the loft, and he didn’t allow Tiger up there anyway. He’d simply sleep on the couch, listening for a whimper.

  Darek kissed Tiger on his chubby cheek, tucked his worn stuffed tiger—the one Felicity bought him at the hospital after his birth—into his arms. The hospital had thrown out his precious Spider-Man sleep shirt, too bloodstained to save, so he’d have to head down to the Ben Franklin and order a new one.

  Oh, Felicity, he has your nose. Your freckles.

  In every other way, Tiger had inherited his father’s traits—his recklessness, his sense of danger, his independence. It scared Darek sometimes how much he loved his son. And feared moments like this.

  If Felicity were here, none of this would have ever happened. But if Felicity were here, maybe Darek never would have realized how amazing and precious his Tiger was. He’d still be chasing fire, part of the Jude County Hotshot team, possibly working as a fire manager by now. He would be spending even less time at home—and who knows if their marriage would have lasted?

  He might have a son who didn’t even know his name.

  But that couldn’t be worse than being motherless, could it? Darek pressed his hand against the burn in his chest and closed the door, after making sure the Spidey night-light was on.

  Felicity might have had her faults, but she adored Tiger. She had been a good mother, tried to be a good wife. They might have had a good marriage, been able to figure out their problems, if he’d been a better man, ready for marriage, ready for responsibility. Yes, he could blame this entire mess on himself.

  Mostly.

  Partly.

  He grabbed a blanket and pillow from the hall closet and headed for the couch. The tiny cabin could fit inside his parents’ great room. A small hallway connected the open family room and kitchen to the main-floor bedroom. He’d created a loft upstairs for Felicity and himself, but toward the end, she’d slept on the sofa downstairs. She blamed it on wanting to be close to the baby, but he knew better.

  She’d furnished the place—it still had her sense of opulence, with the oversize leather sofa and matching ottoman, the red suede recliner, the fifty-five-inch flat-screen TV for the satellite dish he’d long since disconnected. Stainless steel appliances and granite countertops in a kitchen the size of a boat galley.

  Cadillac tastes on a firefighter’s salary. He was still paying off the credit cards.

  He winced as he remembered his accusations. You should have married Jensen Atwood!

  Yeah, well, you’re probably right! But he didn’t get me pregnant, did he?

  They’d had better times before that. Like when Tiger came into the world. For a brief moment he’d thought it might work.

  The lake glistened tonight under the caress of moonlight. The Atwood place loomed across the water, a hulking castle in the woods.

  Darek tucked the pillow behind his head. Stared at the ceiling.

  Tried to figure out a way to save the resort. It remained the only thing he had to give to his son.

  Instead, Ivy drifted into his head. His hand slid to his arm where she’d touched it. He hadn’t expected that, a moment of kindness from a woman he’d all but growled at.

  He should have given her the attention she deserved. But according to Felicity, he hadn’t a clue how to give of himself, how to pay attention to others.

  A knock a
t the door jerked him up. He opened the door to his mother standing on the stoop, holding tight the cardigan wrapped around her. She had her blonde hair pulled back, and her face looked gaunt and tired.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” He turned on the light and moved aside.

  She stepped in, and only then could he see that she’d been crying, her eyes void of makeup, a little bloodshot.

  “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head over and over. “I just keep thinking, what if something had happened? He could have lost an eye. I would never forgive myself if . . .”

  Darek drew his mother into his arms. “Shh. I know. And it was an accident, Mom. We can’t hover over him every minute.” But oh, how he wanted to. To wrap the kid up and protect him from life. From bad decisions. From the mistakes of others. Even from his own father’s stupidity.

  “He’s so much like you,” his mother said, disentangling herself from his arms. She wiped her cheeks. “I was always terrified you’d fall into the lake and drown. Or go headfirst over your handlebars and lose your teeth. Or go hiking in the woods—”

  “And get eaten by bears?”

  She gave him a little push. “You know what I mean. Those woods are dangerous. And none of you boys had a lick of fear in you. I call it boy brain. And Tiger seems to have inherited every bit of yours.”

  “Um, thanks, Mom?”

  She caught his face in her hands. “That’s not a criticism. It’s a warning.”

  Even after he’d grown a foot taller than her, she could still make him feel like a small boy, the kind who wanted to say, Look, Mom! and get a smile.

  She sighed.

  “Something else on your mind?”

  She walked past him to the kitchen and put the container of milk back in the fridge. It was probably sour by now. “Your father mentioned that you were angry with him.”

  She had picked up a washcloth and was scrubbing his tiny table, the place where Tiger spilled his cereal this morning.

  “Mom, I can do that.”

  She looked up at him. “Do what?”

  Right. “I was just . . . Well, you can’t imagine how humiliating it was to stand there in Owen’s place, a mule at auction, just for some good press. If Dad wants to boost stays here at the resort, he’s going to have to think about updating the place. And maybe you and Gracie could upgrade the lodge canteen offerings to something more than box lunches and s’more kits.”

  His mother gathered the cereal remains in her hand. “We’ve always said that Evergreen Resort was an oasis. A place to get away from all the noise of the city.” Turning on the water, she began to wash out the rag. “It’s supposed to be quiet up here.”

  “What if people don’t want to get away anymore? What if they like—?”

  “The busyness? Being constantly entangled in life?”

  “Being connected.”

  “Sometimes a person just has to break away from all that. Listen to their own thoughts, maybe hear a few of God’s.”

  She wiped her hands on a paper towel, then threw it away. “Can I just look in on him?”

  Darek nodded and watched as she tiptoed to Tiger’s room.

  What if someone didn’t want to listen to God’s thoughts? What if . . . what if someone preferred the chaos, the noise?

  It might keep them from looking too deep inside, from being horrified at what they saw.

  His mom reemerged and shut Tiger’s door behind her. “He’s so precious. Especially when he’s sleeping.”

  Darek couldn’t disagree. He followed her out to the porch.

  The lodge lights flickered in the distance. “You want me to walk you back? Tiger is like a log when he goes out.”

  “No. I know my way.” Of course she did. She’d walked these paths for over half of her life. But as she stepped off the deck, she glanced out over the water, pausing for a moment. “Do you think he sits over there and watches you like you watch him?”

  He stilled. “I don’t watch him.”

  His mother glanced at him.

  “Much.”

  “I remember the days sitting on the deck watching you boys waterskiing or hitting a hockey puck around or swinging from that dangerous rope swing. You two had so much fun together.”

  “Mother—”

  “Must be a terrible thing to have to look every day into the faces of the people you hurt.”

  “Jensen doesn’t care who he hurt.”

  She was silent. Then, “I wasn’t necessarily talking about him.”

  “Whose side are you on here?”

  “Why, yours, of course. Which is why I ache for you and all you lost.”

  “Felicity.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” The wind tugged at her hair, and it whispered around her face.

  He glanced at Jensen’s castle and a dark boil simmered in his chest. “I still can’t believe he got off so easily. He should have gone to jail. Should still be there, rotting. Remembering what he stole from me. Us.” He looked at her. “He’s never, not once, asked for forgiveness. And he hasn’t had to—his lawyer made sure of that.”

  She considered him, her eyes soft. “Does one have to ask for forgiveness to be forgiven?”

  He tightened his jaw. “Is there forgiveness for someone who kills another man’s wife?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I hope so, for your sake.”

  “What does that mean? I shouldn’t be required to forgive a man who stole everything from me, should I?”

  With a sigh, she patted his arm. “I know forgiveness is a lot to ask.” She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad Tiger is okay. Good night, Son. I love you.”

  Darek watched until she disappeared into the darkness.

  Yes. Yes, it was too much to ask.

  He stepped inside and closed the door to the house across the lake, shining in the moonlight.

  Claire Gibson wasn’t sure what bothered her the most.

  The fact that Jensen Atwood no longer lurked in the shadows of the VFW, a ghost in the audience of her performance, or that Darek Christiansen had left with another woman. A woman not Felicity.

  A woman not his late wife and Claire’s deceased best friend.

  She stood at the keyboard trying to concentrate as fellow musicians Kyle Hueston and Emma Nelson churned out a version of “I Heard It through the Grapevine,” a cover that always pleased the locals.

  Emma finished the last bars of the song as the crowd cheered. Yes, an appropriate song for Deep Haven, where gossip grew like weeds.

  Claire expected to know by her shift tomorrow at Pierre’s Pizza the name of the red-haired beauty who had purchased Darek Christiansen tonight.

  She’d debated bidding herself, the deafening silence nearly squeezing the words from her. She could admit a swell of relief when someone blurted out a bid.

  As the applause died, Kyle came around from his drum set and took the mic. “Hello, everyone! Thanks for sticking out the night with us here. Before we play our last song, I’d like to . . . um . . .” Kyle glanced at Emma, gave her a strange look, a grin mixed with a touch of fear.

  Claire didn’t think Kyle Hueston, local deputy, was afraid of anything.

  Suddenly, as Claire’s breath stopped, he knelt before Emma and took her hand.

  Emma froze.

  “Emma Nelson. You put the music in my heart. My life is richer, better, stronger, and more beautiful since you came into it. Please, would you marry me?”

  Emma had pressed her hand to her mouth. When he dug out a ring and she nodded, the entire town erupted. She flung herself into Kyle’s arms.

  Claire smiled, but her throat burned. She swallowed it down, hating the way all that joy pooled in her chest and turned sour.

  Kyle had graduated with her. Emma, three years later. Everyone around her had a life, plans, family, friends.

  A future.

  And she had . . .

  “Claire, can you manage the last song?” Emma turned to her, eyes glistening. “I can’t
sing.”

  “No problem,” she said as Emma took up her guitar. Kyle settled behind the drums again.

  Claire spoke into her mic. “Hey, everybody. How about if we end with a little Jefferson Airplane? ‘Somebody to Love’?”

  No wonder Kyle had picked this set. Claire dug into the chords, leaned into the microphone.

  “‘Don’t you want somebody to love?’”

  Yes, actually, she did. But apparently that wouldn’t happen as long as she lived in Deep Haven. In fact, everyone around her seemed to be finding the one, knitting their lives together, finding a niche.

  Claire had managed to settle into her two-bedroom attic apartment above the Footstep of Heaven Bookstore and Coffee Shop. Beyond that . . . well, she had been voted head horticulturist in charge of the roses in Presley Park.

  And she made a mean spinach pizza.

  Keeping her smile to the end, she let the last chords fade into the walls as the crowd took Emma and Kyle into their embrace.

  She packed up her keyboard without acknowledgment and wished the crazy thought that Jensen might still be here.

  Not that she’d talk to him, but at least with him in the room, she knew she existed.

  Sometimes she wondered if anyone else knew. For the daughter of missionaries changing the world one life at a time, she’d managed to flop hard into oblivion. What a stellar disappointment.

  The night smelled crisp and sweet, a breeze off the lake cooling the June air. Claire drove along the shoreline, then up the hill, and took the north entrance to Evergreen Lake, moving from pavement to a dirt road. The south-siders had pooled their vast resources and had a private paving company smooth out their dirt road. Those on the north side still waited for the city to receive a transportation grant. Someday, maybe.

  Gravel and dirt kicked up behind the Yaris, her headlights cutting a trail through the inky darkness. She passed the sign for Evergreen Resort and hoped they had a few guests. But she spied no cars in their parking lot.

  She turned in to her grandfather’s rutted, two-lane drive, weaving slowly through the trees, past the resort property, and toward the west end of the lake. Beyond the house, the road continued to an old pasture where Grandpop once kept a small herd of dairy cows. The barn had long since been torn down, but the pasture had grown into a beautiful meadow of wildflowers.