Snowflake Bay

by Donna Kauffman

  At the moment, however, all thoughts of Fiona and the future of the family tree farm fled as he focused his attention on his latest problem: the smiling and waving Annalise.

  “Ben!” she said as he got closer. “Wow, look at this. Quite the operation. I had no idea.”

  He smiled but said nothing. He’d told her all about his family’s business when they’d first started dating, but she’d been far more interested in the business he was building in Rhode Island. If he’d paid closer attention to that, it would have saved him a world of trouble. “What brings you all the way up to Maine?”

  She laughed, but if he wasn’t mistaken—and he wasn’t—there was a trace of nervousness in her now. “Oh, well, Mother knows someone on staff at Architectural Exteriors and managed to snag an early copy of the issue you’re in.” She took a playful swing at his arm. “You didn’t tell me you got the cover. That’s quite the major cap feather, there.”

  “I didn’t know, either,” he said, his smile sincere, even while trying not to be mildly annoyed that she’d spoiled the surprise. “They always keep the holiday cover a surprise until it hits the stands.”

  She formed a sad O with her mouth. “I knew that, but assumed it didn’t apply to the person they actually chose. And I went and spoiled the surprise.” She moved in closer and slipped her arm through his, tipping her head against his arm and looking up at him with those melted-chocolate-brown eyes. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

  How many times had he heard those words? And how many times had he done as requested? Every time but the last one. He gently disentangled her, keeping his expression one of smooth politeness, as if she were more a passing acquaintance than a former girlfriend and lover. One who’d done too many things requiring forgiveness for him to forget. He’d been equally culpable in letting her get away with it for so long, but he took some measure of pride now in the certain knowledge that he never would again. “What brings you here?”

  “You know Mother and Dad have that big charity bash every year between Christmas and New Year’s?”

  He nodded. He knew and recalled the two of them he’d attended with no small amount of dread. He’d been their daughter’s “unfortunate, but surely temporary choice” of an escort, as he’d overheard Antonia Manderville describing him. It hadn’t come as a surprise. He’d been made to feel just that way.

  He’d never told Annalise what he’d overheard, but then the Mandervilles had never made any secret of their disappointment in their daughter’s choice. It wasn’t until after their relationship had ended that he’d come to understand he’d more or less been Annalise’s post-college rebellion lover. Whereas most girls got their rebel on in high school or college, Annalise hadn’t been willing to risk even the slightest hint of it until she had her master’s degree firmly in hand.

  Even then, the phase hadn’t lasted too long. They’d dated exclusively for two years, then strung things along, off and on, for another ten months, despite his discovery that Annalise had had an entirely different definition of “exclusive” than he did. The thing with Annalise was, she wasn’t cold or calculating like her mother. He wouldn’t have been interested in her if that were the case. She truly was a warm, caring, loving person who’d had a way of making him feel like he could hang the moon if he tried. But she’d been raised to be the center of attention of her parents’ entire world, and so it was no surprise, he supposed, that she expected the same exalted spot in her personal relationships. And he’d tried, he had, but he had always seemed to come up short, not giving her quite enough, or doing quite enough, or being quite enough.

  As he later found out, when she wasn’t getting enough attention from him, she kind of sort of found it elsewhere. And not always with her clothes on. She’d never meant any harm by it, and he’d believed her claim that the other guys were meaningless in every way beyond the time it took to get what she needed, like a junkie getting a fix, but that didn’t stop her little adventures from hurting him anyway. He’d tell himself he was being mature, accepting the reality of how life was, glad she was being open and honest with him. So it wasn’t the fairy tale he’d always assumed his parents’ marriage was, but maybe he’d been seeing them through the eyes of a child, not a grown-up. And yet, even so, it didn’t stop him from wanting to be enough for his partner, just in who he was, all by himself.

  When he’d finally called it off for good, she’d almost immediately hopped back on the familial expectation bandwagon and found herself a nice, rich doctor. And all he could think, even now with her not two feet away, smelling sweet, looking beautiful, and smiling at him like he had, in fact, set the moon, was, Better you than me, Dr. Biff, ol’ chap. Better you than me.

  “What about it?” he asked, feeling perversely less annoyed now that he knew he was on solid ground and would remain there, whatever this latest test was she was about to throw at him.

  “Well, you know they pride themselves on the diversity of their guest list, mixing a few politicians in with whoever the celebrity spokesperson for their charity of choice happens to be that season, adding a blend of old business with new business, throw in a few Olympians and maybe a neighbor or two.” She smiled, as if her parents were really nothing more than benevolent elves, serving up Santa’s goodwill every Christmas. And many saw them as just that. Many who’d never had the chance to sit at the private family dinner table with the mister and missus and witness firsthand just how un-elf-like they could be.

  “They don’t just want the movers and shakers,” Annalise was saying. “They always want to have the up-and-comers as well. Dad likes to think he’s on the cutting edge of what’s happening with the local and state economy, and Mother just wants to give the newer entrepreneurs who show promise a leg up, a chance to meet and mingle and network with those in position to help them along their way to success.” Her smile turned a shade deprecating. “Well, and because they both not-so-secretly hope to get them involved in their charitable foundation work early on.”

  It was true that the Mandervilles not only operated, in addition to their vast business holdings, a charitable foundation that gave significant grants to many worthy groups, but also gave from their own deep financial well, too. That they made no secret of their largesse was their choice, of course, and if, as they explained, it helped to shed an even brighter light on whatever causes they were championing that year, then why not have the TV cameras and the journalists in attendance? It was all for the greater good, right?

  And maybe it was. But one thing he’d learned from his time in the Manderville inner circle: he was not cut out to swim with the sharks. He didn’t even want to sit on the sidelines and watch them feed on each other.

  “Annalise, if this is an invitation—”

  She slid her arm back through his and tugged, a bright smile and cheery laugh putting the punctuation mark on the presentation. “Say you’ll come. It would mean a lot to them.” She held his gaze. “And to me.”

  He once again carefully, and politely, disentangled himself. “Thank you and thank them, and I’m sorry you came all this way, but the answer is no.”

  “Ben—”

  He heard that note in her voice, the one that sounded like vulnerability but was really made of steel. Annalise Manderville didn’t like to hear the word no. “I’m sorry you traveled all the way up here, Anna. You could have called and asked, or sent a printed invitation.”

  “I know you, Ben Campbell. You’re too modest. I knew this was something that had to be done in person if I had any chance of persuading you to come. Don’t let our personal history cloud your professional future.”

  She was smiling, as if she hadn’t even heard the no. He frowned now. “What’s this really about?”

  “Surely your family has enough help here,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the field and the employees presently working on cutting, baling, and loading trees for the satellite stands. There were more employees, some full-time, some seasonal, helping to get the two bigger fields ready f
or the families who would come to cut down or dig up their own trees, doing the last-minute grooming, clearing away debris, checking over all the trailers folks used to haul their trees, the wagons used to pull the little ones, the tractors and big stake-body trailer used for the hay ride, along with all the various tools that would be used to take the trees down or dig them up.

  There was enough help, but at the moment, only one person was actually running the show. “It’s not that—”

  “Surely you won’t be here the entire time. Your business—with the magazine coming out, I mean—you plan to be in Rhode Island, taking full advantage of the free publicity, right? Your family wouldn’t expect you to come help on the tree farm with that amazing opportunity in the offing. I mean, timing is everything, surely even they understand that.”

  Even they, he thought. As if his parents were poor peasant farmers who knew nothing of the big world. He was still trying to figure out what the bigger game plan was here, because there was one, of that he was certain. Annalise hadn’t come all the way to the Middle of Nowhere, Maine, because she suddenly had a keen interest in his business getting its due attention. On the heels of that thought came the realization that it honestly didn’t matter why she was there or what her end game was; none of it mattered to him any longer. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I went to Campbell Landscapes. You weren’t there. I asked.” She lifted her hands, smiling up at him. “And here I am.”

  “What did they tell you?” All of his employees had been with him long enough that they knew Annalise. They also all knew she was no longer part of his life. He’d never given them any kind of instructions regarding what kinds of things he’d prefer for them to share or not share with her, but then, he really hadn’t expected it to ever be an issue.

  “Just that you’d come up to help your family during the holidays.”

  He made a mental note to double their holiday bonuses. So she didn’t know about his folks’ relocation—something his employees all knew about—or what the real situation was regarding his taking over the day-today operations of the farm. His father was a wonderful man. A great dad, loving husband, and wonderful employer. But he sucked at delegating the most important stuff. Something Ben had worked really hard not to do in his own business as it grew. So while there was no one but him capable of running the family tree farm at the moment, the same was not true of Campbell Landscapes. “Please send my regards to your parents,” he said, and gently took her elbow, smoothly but purposefully turning her back toward the Land Rover. He noticed the Maine plates and rental sticker. Only Annalise would find a rental agency that had a late-model Land Rover in look-at-me yellow. “You’re going to want to get back to Bangor and catch a flight out before the incoming storm traps you here,” he said, not actually knowing the immediate forecast, but there was always a storm coming this time of year.

  “Ben,” she said, sounding a bit alarmed, and more than a little surprised.

  He discovered he was perfectly fine with both of those things. He thought Annalise could use a little shaking up now and again. Lord knew she’d done enough of the shaking when they’d been together.

  He got her into the driver seat before she could rally. “Next time, just call. Or better yet—” He stopped himself, smiled calmly, and simply said, “Have a safe trip home.” He closed the door, stepped back, lifted his hand in a short wave, then turned and headed back to the baler. He would have whistled if he knew a good tune. Instead, he contented himself with a wide grin.

  He heard the engine start up, then, “Ben!”

  He slowed, dipped his chin, then turned back toward the truck, but didn’t respond.

  “You didn’t used to be so . . . I don’t know. You’re all rugged and outdoorsy up here.”

  He lifted his hands. “The outdoors is in my blood.”

  She smiled, then pursed her lips. “So . . . manly-man manly. Not that you weren’t before, but . . .” She let her words trail off, and then let her gaze trail all over him.

  His smile faded and every warning bell he had went off as if there were a five-alarm fire somewhere. And there was. About twenty yards in front of him, behind the steering wheel of a yellow Land Rover. He’d seen Annalise at her most determined. And he never wanted to see that look directed at him again. He knew better than to try to deflect her with words. Instead, he held her gaze, his own just as implacable, his will just as steely as hers. She might remember him as the love-struck and, okay, horny guy who could never say no to her. She was right about one thing. She was looking at a very different man now.

  “We’ll talk again when you get back to Portsmouth,” she said confidently, as if she was quite sure of the eventual outcome. And he knew she thought she was. “December 28,” she called out as she revved the engine. “Save the date.” She rolled forward a few feet, then braked again. “Oh, and it’s black tie. You still have your tux, don’t you?” Her smile was broad, playful, and oh so sure. “Although I admit, now that I’ve seen you like this, you do a lot for denim and fleece-lined plaid, too.” She sent him a wink and a wave; then she was gone in a cloud of dust.

  A low, appreciative whistle sounded behind his back.

  Ben turned to find Kearney, one of his dad’s longtime employees, standing a few feet behind him. He was in his early sixties, medium height, strong as an ox and just as hardworking. “Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Quite the looker.”

  Ben smiled. Kearney had been around long enough that he must have more than a passing idea of just who that had been. “So is a poinsettia. Doesn’t make them any less toxic if you were to take a bite.”

  Kearney chuckled. “Only if you happen to be allergic.”

  Ben slapped him on the shoulder and they both turned back toward the fields. “It took a prolonged exposure, but I’ve discovered that I have a very strong allergy to smart, rich girls who don’t understand the meaning of no.”

  Kearney’s laugh was more of a hoot as he slapped Ben’s shoulder in return. “Boyo, there are some women you just don’t mind having to say yes to.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to go work your wiles on that one, and may the good Lord bless you both with a long and fruitful union.” He tugged on his coat and pulled his gloves more tightly onto his hands. “But, and you can trust me when I say, the emphasis there is going to be on the fruity part. Also? Be real careful where you take that bite.”

  They were both chuckling as Ben’s phone buzzed in his front coat pocket. He pulled off a glove, fished the phone out, and looked at the screen. Only after seeing it wasn’t from his mom or his dad, did he let out the breath he automatically found himself holding these days, even though he knew his dad wasn’t in any imminent health danger. The decline he faced, even if it progressed more rapidly than they hoped, would not be all that swift. He pushed the button and held the phone to his ear, “Hey Logan, what’s up?”

  Kearney motioned to the outbuildings where they stored their tractors and other big equipment, and Ben nodded and mouthed that he’d be down there as soon as he was done. The older man strode off as Ben paused and looked back over the fields, making sure Tommy had indeed gotten Frankie to help him out, pleased to see that the two of them had the trailer almost full. He’d have to remember to team them up in the future.

  “We’ve got a bit of a situation,” Logan said.

  Ben squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his brow with his gloved hand. So either Hannah or Kerry had told Logan about the little meltdown their sister had had at the Rusty Puffin. He doubted very sincerely that Fiona had said a single word about it to anyone. In fact, he was quite certain she wished she hadn’t spoken at all. “Listen, I’m sorry. I’ll make it right. I don’t have a clue in hell how, and if you can help me with that before you put me on my ass, I’ll consider us even for the time you got us in detention and almost kicked out of school for moving Principal Thomason’s VW into the school courtyard.”

  “I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about, but
I’ll be happy to put you on your ass later. And I still make no apologies for the VW and neither should you. Old Thomason needed to get a sense of humor.”

  “Agreed. Not that your little plan worked in that regard, I might remind you. Quite the opposite. So, what’s the situation then?”

  “There was a screw-up with the town clerk on your lot permit. I know you’ve come in twice to get the paperwork done, and we just figured out why it didn’t happen.”

  Ben had been slowly walking toward the maintenance building, but that stopped him. “You mean the paperwork for the lot the Campbells have occupied since before there was a town clerk?”

  He could hear Logan swear under his breath. “Uh, yep. That would be the one.”

  “What kind of screw-up could there possibly be? Everyone who has ever lived in the Cove knows we have that space from the day after Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve.”

  “The kind of screw-up that happens when the mayor lets his daughter’s former college roommate take over the town clerk job for winter break so our actual town clerk can go up to New Brunswick to help her daughter through the last few weeks of a difficult pregnancy. And then the temp assigns the lot you normally use to the council for winter boat storage because their regular lot experienced a sinkhole issue.”

  “So, are you telling me we don’t have any space in the Cove? I mean, it’s not the end of the world to have a new location. I think people will find us. Your town is not that big.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Logan?” Ben stood a little straighter. “Wait, are you really telling me there’s no room at the inn? We only operate three satellite stands and the one in the Cove is our oldest and biggest, the one with the most long-standing and loyal customers. We can’t just—”