by Dawn Atkins
“Maybe, but he’s always backing up.”
“What does that mean?”
“You ever watch a parent teach a kid to swim? He stands a couple feet from the side and coaxes the kid in. ‘Just swim to me. That’s all you have to do.’ The kid thinks, that’s not far, he could almost jump there, so he takes the leap, heart in his throat, terrified, but trusting his father. He dogpaddles like mad and it seems to take forever to get there, so long his lungs nearly burst and he’s scared as hell. Finally his father catches him up into his arms. The kid gasps for air and looks back toward the side of the pool and realizes his dad’s been backing away the whole damn time.”
She chuckled. “So you think there’s no pleasing Marshall? Whatever you do, he’ll want more?”
“Exactly. Fletcher still hasn’t figured that out and keeps trying. But like you said about me, the General is who he is.”
“That’s true of all of us, I guess.”
“What about your grandparents? Did they back up on you or were they easy to live with?”
“They were wonderful. But I knew I had disrupted their lives. I tried my hardest so they never had a reason to regret taking me in.”
He could picture her doing extra chores, tiptoeing in from a date, always smiling, a guest in her own life. “No family is easy, I guess.”
“Funny you should say that. I used to envy you guys. You seemed so normal—two loving parents, two great kids—dinners together every night, all that. I had no dad, a missing mom and I lived with my grandparents.”
“Now you know the sad truth.” He grinned.
“We do the best with what we get.” Sylvie smiled at him, a warrior in the same battle.
He realized she had him dusting off memories for a second look, appreciating things he’d taken for granted and loosening his grip on some old resentments.
He stopped at the edge of the enclosed acreage in view of the White Tanks Mountains and led her over. Dasher raced up and down the wire fence, yipping, trying to get the horses and goats lazing beneath the wooden ramada to race him.
“We’re in escrow now. Before long, we’ll be planting a big sign—Home At Last.” He shaped a billboard with his hands.
“Wow.” Sylvie wrapped an arm around his waist and rested her head against his chest, surveying the fields that used to grow cotton and alfalfa. “I can see it now. Those beautiful homes with all those big windows laid out in neat streets. Kids riding bikes, neighbors talking over the fences, everyone happy and proud.”
“Yeah,” he said, letting the picture she’d drawn take hold inside him. “I’ve been so focused on getting the ducks in a row, I haven’t let it sink in what we’re about to achieve, how really great it will be.”
“It’s important work, Chase.”
“This project is different for me. It’s not just about making money and pleasing my investors or building a reputation, or even proving it can be done. I don’t know….”
“You love it. This one hits your heart.”
“Yeah. That’s right.” His heart had been hit, all right, and not just by Home at Last.
He was falling in love with Sylvie.
Not very smart at all. They were on different paths, devoted to careers in different cities at least for the foreseeable future. Maybe one day, Chase would settle down the way he’d begun to imagine. And maybe it would be in Phoenix.
But by then, Sylvie would have found her Thor and there would be little Thors and Thorettes running around her yard.
That would be Chase’s loss.
He’d just begun to realize how big.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“IS THAT WHAT I THINK it is?” Fletcher nodded at the plastic sack Chase carried.
“It’s our Christmas costumes. Sylvie wants us to make sure they fit. Black Friday’s just a week away, you know.” He pulled out an elf cap and plopped it onto his brother’s head. The bell gave a little jingle and the red feather stuck out crookedly. “Green’s your color.”
“Holy crap,” Fletcher said, looking at himself in the mirror over the bar. “I look ridiculous.” He did.
Chase put his own elf hat on. “Yeah, me, too.”
“I hoped this would fall through.”
“You know Sylvie. Once she gets an idea in her head, it’s tough to argue with her.”
As a matter of fact, she’d managed to convince Chase that keeping the mall had merit. The meeting with PriceLess that afternoon had impressed him. The capital draw would not be as bad as he’d expected. He needed to talk to Fletcher about that now. It wouldn’t be a happy chat.
“I can’t believe she talked you into that campout in the mall.” Fletcher shook his head, amused and puzzled.
The evening after his adventure with Sylvie, Chase had handed Fletcher a shot of Bushmills and a leftover s’more and told him the whole story of Chase and Sylvie, starting with her twenty-first birthday party and ending with the campout.
Fletcher had accepted the news that Sylvie and Chase were together—sort of—with a quiet nod. He’d been touched that Chase had backed off when he learned Fletcher was interested in her. I had no idea you were that honorable, he’d said.
Now he gave Chase a sideways look. “What’s with the goof-ass grin? It’s Sylvie, huh?”
“It might be.” Every day that passed seemed to bring them closer. Chase had the nagging feeling this would not end well, but he didn’t know how to stop seeing Sylvie.
“I hope she knows what she’s doing,” Fletcher said.
“Meaning?” Even though Chase felt the same way, he wanted to see how Fletcher would put it.
“Does she know you’ll be out of here as soon as the mall business is over?”
“She’s okay with it.” So far.
“She knows we’re selling?”
“Hang on. We don’t know we’re selling. In fact, I want you to look this over.” He took the two copies of the PriceLess proposal packet he’d brought for Fletcher and Marshall out of his messenger bag and set them on the bar. “Sylvie ran the numbers from our side, too, and it looks really good.”
“PriceLess? You want to lease to them? A build-out would require major capital and a huge time commitment.”
“Not as bad as you’d think. And their positive revenue impact is remarkable. I’ve seen their data. It would be a major boost in property value.”
“We need to sell, Chase. Your investors turned down the Chandler deal, by the way. The margin was too tight.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I told you I would consider the whole picture, not jump into a decision.”
“Okay, so why is it that the real estate broker can’t get you on the phone?”
“Relax, I’ll call him tomorrow. I’ve been swamped.”
“Swamped with what?” Marshall asked, entering the room. “Good Lord, what are you boys up to?”
“Just mall business,” Chase said. He pulled out the red-and-white fur Santa hat and put it on his father’s head. “Merry Christmas, Santa.”
The General frowned at himself in the mirror. “We’re not really doing this, are we?”
“Yep, next week. Sylvie wants you to be sure the suit fits. She got news coverage, too, like she promised. She’s booked us on the top morning show in the state.”
“God almighty, no,” he grumbled, flipping the pointed end of the hat from one side to the other, studying the effect in the mirror. He was loving this, Chase could tell.
Chase poured three shots of Bushmills, knowing this conversation would be rocky. He pushed the other copy of the PriceLess proposal toward his father.
“What’s this?” The General glared at Chase from beneath his Santa hat.
“It’s a proposal to bring in a PriceLess Warehouse to Starlight Desert. I think it’s worth considering.”
“It would cost far too much and take too much time,” Fletcher said, slapping his copy onto the bar. “These deals collapse halfway through construction all the time and we’d be out a lot of cash.”
“This your idea?” the General asked Chase, bearing down on him, clearly suspicious of his motives.
“Sylvie’s, actually. She’s looking for ways to make the mall more valuable.”
“Sylvie? Oh. Well, that’s admirable.” His eyebrows did a complicated dance of wary surprise.
“Meanwhile, we have strong interest from buyers and McCann Development could use the money,” Fletcher said. “And so could Chase.”
The General turned on Chase. “Is that what this is about? You want to cash out and leave?”
“Believe it or not, I want what’s best for McCann Development,” Chase said, his jaw tight. “Since when?”
Fighting the urge to explode, Chase tossed back his drink and slammed the glass on the counter. “Ask the son you trust. Fletcher, fill him in on Chandler.”
“Dammit, Chase.” Fletcher threw back his whiskey, too, making a face at the burn. “Okay, Dad, here’s the thing. That assemblage in Chandler I bought hasn’t worked out. Selling the mall would give us cash flow to make up for that.”
“I warned you against that property, didn’t I? I saw what was coming, how overdeveloped the technology parks were. And why am I just hearing this now?” The General’s face now matched his hat. “This is unacceptable, irresponsible and—”
“And you’re overreacting,” Fletcher interrupted, anger making his red feather shiver. “Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you earlier. You second-guess every move I make. I thought this was a good project and I stand by my decision. It’s not my fault the market caved when it did.” The jingle bells on Fletcher’s cap rang cheerfully as he jabbed at the bar.
“I’ve been in this business a hell of a lot longer than you. You should value my experience.”
“I’ve got experience of my own, though you’ll never admit it. If I hadn’t jumped on that contractor offer we’d have spent three times the money we have on Copper Creek, but do you acknowledge that? No! You wait to pounce on any screwup you—”
“Hold on,” Chase said, resisting the urge to laugh at the sight of them arguing business in their jingly hats. “Before we get too far afield, here’s what I suggest. Both of you take a look at the PriceLess proposal. I’ll get the details on any viable sales offers from the real estate broker and we’ll make a decision after the Thanksgiving weekend. Black Friday profits will tell us a lot about revenue potential. How does that sound?”
“Like you two are plotting against me,” Marshall growled. “Do what you want, like you always do.” He was speaking to Chase alone and it grated on him. “Go ahead and treat your mother’s dream like your personal piggy bank. She wanted you two to carry on the mall in her name, you know. I’m just glad she’s not here to see how little you care about it.”
He tossed back his drink. “I’m done here.” He stalked off, jingling away, then yanked the Santa hat from his head and brought it back to Chase, before resuming his angry march out of the room.
“That went well,” Chase said, pouring a second drink for himself and his brother.
Fletcher took it with shaking fingers, clearly furious. “What do you mean, the son he trusts? He treats me like I’m some college intern. He thinks you walk on water.”
“Didn’t you notice that when cashing out came up he assumed it was my idea? The General cuts no slack.” He paused. “Sylvie says he has trouble showing that he loves us.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I say he’s a stubborn, sentimental old goat. How’s that?”
“Not far wrong.” Chase couldn’t help grinning.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s hard to take you seriously with that thing on your head.”
Fletcher grabbed the cap and shoved it at Chase’s chest. “You look just as stupid.”
“I know. Believe me.” Chase took off his own hat. “Dad is who he is, Fletch. He’s never going to hug us and tell us he’s proud. We have to read between the lines.”
Fletcher rolled his eyes. “Since when have you gotten so philosophical about the guy?”
Since Sylvie. But Chase just shrugged.
“You know he thinks if you joined McCann Development all our problems would be solved.”
Chase laughed. “He gives me nothing but grief.”
“Yeah? You don’t get the ‘in my day’ or ‘haven’t I taught you anything?’ lectures.”
“He worked out the script on me, remember?”
His brother managed a wan smile. “At least he knows about Chandler now. Though I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Who knows? Maybe dressing up like Santa will give him some Christmas spirit.”
“Let’s hope so,” Fletcher said. “It won’t look good to have Santa and his elves duking it out on morning TV.”
IT WAS MIDMORNING when there was a tap on Sylvie’s office door. She looked up to see Chase standing there, his face split in a grin so big she almost laughed.
She could feel her smile get ridiculously huge, too. He’d stayed home last night to talk with Fletcher and to let her rest up because of the community meeting to be held this afternoon. She’d missed him.
Dasher, who’d been chewing a toy under her desk, ran to Chase, whining to be picked up. Chase obliged.
Resisting the urge to go to him, she said, “What did Fletcher say about PriceLess?”
“He didn’t break out the champagne, but he’ll look it over. No decision either way until after we get the weekend numbers.”
“I guess that’s the best I can hope for.”
“You catch up on your sleep?” Dasher licked Chase’s chin, then yipped at him.
“Not with Dasher having to go outside every twenty minutes. I think he missed you.”
“I missed him.” Chase lowered his voice. “And you. I missed you, Sylvie.”
“Me, too, Chase.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t sleep.”
“It’s all right.” She’d been annoyed as hell, shivering in her robe outdoors half the night. Keeping Dasher would mean endless hassles. But once she was back in bed, with Dasher curled up on the second pillow, his warm, wheaty puppy breath in her face, she was happy she had him.
When you love something, you find a way.
With Dasher, maybe. How about Chase?
She had no idea. They’d grown so close in the time they’d been sleeping together, sharing feelings, hopes and hurts they’d always kept to themselves.
Chase spoke about his mixed feelings about his father, his regret over leaving Fletcher to deal with the man on his own all these years, about the huge hole their mother’s death had left in his heart and between the three McCann men.
He talked about Home at Last, how much the project meant to him and how badly the failure in Nevada had hurt.
Sylvie told Chase how confused she’d been when Desiree left her with her grandparents and about her grief when they were killed in the car wreck, how afterward the world seemed more undependable than ever.
These were topics she avoided thinking about, but, somehow, in bed with Chase, the words floating in the dark between them, she felt ready to sort out the lessons from the losses.
She didn’t know what to make of her and Chase anymore. They were impossibly close, scarily close. No matter what they’d agreed to in the beginning of their affair, not even a week ago, she knew someone could get hurt. Badly.
“If I’d known you were awake, I’d have been there in a heartbeat,” Chase said. “In fact, I want you right now.”
“Me, too. I want you.” Her pulse pounded in her ears. She could lock her door, clear off her desk and they could make love right in her office. What was wrong with her? She was at work, for God’s sake. Had lust completely clouded her mind?
As if to prevent the rash act she was contemplating, her office door flew open, banging Chase in the back.
It was Cyndi and she looked terrified. “There’s a bomb in the mall. A man called just now. We have one hour, he said, before it goes off.”
“My God!” Sylvi
e said, her brain shifting instantly into emergency mode. “Tell Randolph to implement emergency evacuation procedures.”
“I’m calling 9-1-1,” Chase said, already at the desk phone.
Mary Beth burst in wearing the Emergency Captain billed cap and a whistle she’d been given at the formal fire drill arranged by the fire marshal a year ago. She and Randolph, the other captain, were in charge of ensuring everyone got out of the mall safely. “I hope all the store employees remember their exits.”
As soon as the police dispatcher assured them a bomb squad was on its way, Chase and Sylvie headed downstairs to help however they could. The crowd was noisy and jumpy. Mary Beth wasn’t helping with her frequent blasts from her whistle. Even so, Randolph and his crew managed to herd everyone quickly and efficiently all the way out to the park.
Sirens wailed as emergency vehicles neared and Sylvie’s heart skipped a beat. “What if there really is a bomb?” she asked Chase, who took her hand.
“We’ll handle whatever happens.” He looked so grim she knew he was worried, too.
“Even if it’s just a stunt, our stores lose money every second we’re out here,” she said.
Soon bomb-sniffing dogs had been deployed and there were squad cars and police, some in SWAT gear, everywhere. Officers erected barricades all around the mall and yellow tape shivered in the breeze.
Shoppers, who couldn’t leave until they could get their cars from the parking lot, were joined by neighborhood gawkers. News helicopters hovered overhead and news trucks dotted the area. Chase answered questions from reporters, saying he believed this was a prank call and that safety was the top concern of mall management.
Randolph had called in all the security guards and she spotted several in uniform sprinting across the parking lot to offer their help to the police.
Leo arrived in a noisy truck driven by a young guy, who jumped out, slipped under the yellow tape and ran toward the mall.
“Jesse! Hold up!” Leo yelled. “He thinks he’s going to defuse the bomb himself, I swear,” Leo said to Sylvie, then hurried after his gung-ho nephew, who’d been stopped by a police officer. No wonder Randolph kept urging her to hire the guy.
