by Ann Evans
From under the fall of her loose hair, she gave him a taut, distressed look. “Why not? Because he has a record? Because he got kicked out of school?” Her chin quivered a little, but she stood ramrod-straight.
Nick’s gut tightened in the face of her pain, the rigid anger that seemed to be coming off her in waves. It came back in all its force, that fear that no matter what he said now it wouldn’t be enough, that no matter how much headway he’d made with Tessa over the years, he still hadn’t got the hang of raising a daughter alone.
She continued to stare at him, pale and defiant. He took his time answering her. There were so many word choices he could make, and every one of them might make the situation worse.
“Kyle’s recent trouble has nothing to do with why I can’t hire him,” he said slowly. “We don’t need anyone right now at the lodge.”
“Aunt Addy can’t do much yet. If we have enough help, then why is Kari Churchill still here?”
“That was your grandfather’s arrangement, not mine. And we’re not paying her.” He took a swallow of water.
“You’re just making excuses,” she said with a vehement shake of her head. “Admit it. You don’t like Kyle, and you don’t want him hanging around me. How can you be so up-tight about him? He’s made mistakes, but he’s trying to do better. He’s looking for work, and I practically promised you’d hire him.”
“Then I’m sorry, because now you’ll have to tell him you were mistaken.” The words came out a shade too gruffly and he tried to soften his tone. “You should have checked with me first.”
“Yeah, like I can talk to you about Kyle. Or anything else.”
“If he’s as terrific as you think he is, he’ll forgive you. He didn’t seem all that surprised when I told him no.”
“That’s because he knows how you feel about him.” She slapped the dish towel she’d been twisting in her slim fingers down on the counter and gave him a sour, mutinous look. “This is so totally unfair. Didn’t you ever make a mistake when you were young? I’ll bet you weren’t any damned saint.”
Nick grit his teeth. It didn’t make sense that this child could smell like flowers while looking like such a warrior. His gaze locked with hers, though she hung in there, her mouth set.
“Tessa,” he said as calmly as he could, “you need to stop now. Before you make this worse.”
“You’re making it worse. How can you be this way? Kyle thinks I’m special. He thinks—”
“What do you mean, Kyle thinks you’re special?” Nick asked with a frown.
She looked at him with hard reproach, tears starting to brim. “He likes me. And I like him. It’s no big deal. Don’t look like that.”
But there, damn it, he saw the truth in her eyes again. He stopped being reasonable as he felt the first brush of panic. “You’re right,” he said at last, looking her straight in the eyes. “I don’t want you seeing him.”
She reddened and appeared momentarily flustered, swinging away from him to twist the dials on the stove. Evidently fixing dinner had just become her lowest priority.
“I wish Mom was here,” she said when she turned back. “She’d understand.”
“Well, she’s not,” he said, inhaling a deep, calming breath. “And I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
Her mouth tightened. A blink. Enough to send a single tear streaking down her cheek. She brushed it away. Then she stalked toward the kitchen door.
He watched her go, feeling hopeless and angry, the blood pounding in his chest.
At the door she turned back to look at him. Her eyes were dark, full of bleak fire. “You won’t always be able to tell me what to do.”
KARI HAD OFTEN THOUGHT nothing could compare to living on the beach in Florida. But after exploring the shady trail that meandered around the lip of Lightning Lake, she could see why Sam D’Angelo had sold his parents’ small motel down by the river in Broken Yoke and decided instead to build his lodge on this spot.
As she’d driven up from Denver, the Rockies had seemed unreal, like a backdrop out of some photographer’s portrait studio. She’d been impressed by the overwhelming vastness of it all, fold upon fold of jagged mountains that seemed to go on forever. Their raw strength gave no hint of the secrets they had held since the beginning of time. But now, this close and sheltered within the limitless, pristine beauty of the forest that surrounded Lightning River Lodge, Kari found herself enchanted.
The lake sat like a shallow bowl amid the trees, a slight breeze ruffling the surface. The water sparkled under a ceramic-blue sky, so bright, it almost hurt her eyes. Was it a trick of the late-afternoon sun that made the light seem to have substance and texture here? Regardless, the view from the overlooks positioned along the trail nearly took her breath away.
She settled in a sun-flecked canopy of ground-reaching branches. The family had placed a couple of hand-hewn log benches among the ponderosa pines so weary hikers could rest and enjoy their surroundings, but she had them to herself for now. Beyond a low, split-rail fence that warned guests to stay away from the edge of the sloping undergrowth, the lake peeked enticingly through a stand of white-barked aspen, already dressed in gold for the season.
It had been this same time of year when her father had made the hike into Elk Creek Canyon. Had he found this kind of beauty in that place? Before that freak snowstorm had changed everything and eventually taken his life?
Her copy of Hours of Ice sat on her lap, and Kari thought again how different it was from her father’s usual recipe for a bestseller.
For one thing, it was very short. Almost a novella, really. Unlike his personal journal, the manuscript had been saved from his gear after the rescue. It had been heavily edited by his long-time publishing house and finally rushed to the bookstores after his death. It had been a miserable failure.
But that wasn’t the only difference from his other books. Something had happened to her father during those last two weeks of his life. Instead of being packed with all the intrigue and action his books were famous for, the story featured a single character, a man also struggling for survival, a man who seemed to be on a journey of self-exploration and discovery.
Kari felt it was the best thing he had ever written. Powerful. Eloquent. She’d read it a dozen times, and each time the character—a man with a wife and young daughter—seemed to be speaking directly to her. As though her father, facing certain death, had wanted her to know how he felt about them in his heart.
To Kari, that book was her father. She couldn’t help believing that, somehow, visiting the place he’d spent his final weeks would help her discover some misty, puzzling truth she could sense but never really capture.
After fingering the worn pages a few moments, Kari closed the book with a snap and set it aside. Whether Nick was able to put her in touch with that tour operator or not, she had to ask Sam D’Angelo for time off after the weekend. If the New Zealand trip really was on hold, there was simply no reason not to make this extra time work for her. She had to get out to Elk Creek Canyon.
But first, she had to get through this evening.
From the back pocket of her shorts, she dug out the menu Renata had handed her. The woman’s handwriting was horrible. Squinting and turning the paper this way and that didn’t help much.
Most of the selections didn’t present a problem, of course. Who couldn’t rattle off strip steak and pork chops? It was the Italian dishes that always gave her fits.
Tonight it looked as though there were going to be two. Taking a deep breath, Kari tried out the first one slowly. “‘Chicken Napo-le-lana All-a Natalie. Chicken breast topped with poscutto—pro-sciutto—’” she corrected, “—and mozzarella cheese, sautéed in white wine, with a sprinkling of fresh tomato.’”
No good. Too much stumbling. Renata had told her the words should roll off the tongue naturally. Easy for her to say, considering she was a native.
“‘Napolean All Natasha,’” she repeated quickly without looking, then frowned. Def
initely not right. Try again. “Napolinni Alla Natalie.”
Worse. Try the other one. Kari looked down at the menu again. Oh, crap.
“‘Pag-lia E Fie-no Papa-lina,’” she recited with precise care. “Hay and straw pasta with ham, peas and mushrooms combined with cream and a touch of tomato sauce.” She closed her eyes, trying to commit the ingredients to memory. “Hay and straw pasta with ham, peas and mushrooms combined with cream and a touch of tomato sauce. Pag-li Feno Papa-something.”
She checked the menu. Darn it! Way off this time.
Frustrated, Kari got up and wandered to the edge of the log railing.
“You can do this, you idiot,” she shouted to the open air. “Pagga Feni Papalini. Pagi-something Feni-Papa. Hay and straw with ham— No! Not hay and straw. Why would anyone want hay and straw to eat? Hay and straw pasta—”
Completely annoyed with herself, Kari crumpled the menu in her fist and shook it toward the trees. “What’s wrong with offering plain old spaghetti and meatballs?” she shouted, the words bouncing back at her even before she’d finished.
“Nothing. That’s usually Monday’s specialty.”
Kari swung around, startled to discover Nick D’Angelo planted in the middle of the hiking trail. He leaned on a short shovel and balanced a fairly large, shapeless bag on one shoulder. She couldn’t help it. Her heart gave a few unnecessary beats, he was that darned good-looking.
“I was just practicing tonight’s specialties,” she explained in a casual tone that surprised the heck out of her.
He shifted the bag for a better grip. “So I heard.”
“I thought I was alone out here.”
“You probably are now. Every chipmunk and deer within five miles has to be running for cover.” He picked up the shovel and started to turn away. “I’ll let you get back to your practicing.”
With the exception of that brief conversation at the National Park office, this was the most they’d spoken to one another in days. Kari didn’t have a clue how to handle an actual conversation with this guy, but she suddenly didn’t want to see it end.
“No, wait—” she called out. That tiny, friendly overture couldn’t go to waste. Maybe Nick had decided to be nice. Maybe he’d had a change of heart about her. Anything was possible. He turned back and she asked in an agreeable voice, “Did you need something?”
“No. I’ll come back later.”
“If I’m in your way…”
“You’re not.”
“I’d be happy to help if I can.”
“I don’t need any help.”
Kari’s heart sank. She knew that tone. She recognized that irritable tension on his brow. Something went molten with anger inside her, like lava spilling. Before she could stop herself, she charged up the trail after him. When she swooped around in front of him, he came to a halt. The look on his face was bland and uncompromising.
“You know what I think?” she said, realizing that her tone already sounded as if she’d consigned him to the fires of hell. “I think you may be in charge here, but you’re about the surliest innkeeper I’ve ever met. Norman Bates offered more of a welcome.”
“You’re not a guest.”
He had a point, but in her present mood, she wasn’t willing to see it. “Maybe not, but I’m a person, and I think I deserve to be treated like one.”
His brow rose. “Miss Churchill, the very fact that you’re here, enjoying the hospitality of my family home should be—”
“Hospitality!” she raged at him. “Is that what you call what I’ve enjoyed the past few days? A Victorian sweatshop was probably less demanding than this job. I’ve been up to my elbows in greasy dishwater, hauled linen up two flights of stairs and cleaned tubs until you could eat off them. You couldn’t have a better employee than me, or one who complained less.”
She took a step toward him, her hands on her hips. “And that’s not all. I’ve had my cheeks pinched by your aunts until I don’t have feeling in them anymore. Your mother keeps trying to sell me on the benefits of calamari, even though I’ve told her I hate the stuff.” She held up one hand. “Do you see these paper cuts? I got them licking stamps and folding letters for your father. He doesn’t trust e-mail—even though I’ve explained it to him a dozen times. We spent two hours last night doing a mass mailing to the members of his old army unit. In case you’re wondering, that’s four hundred and sixty-eight guys.”
“Miss Churchill—”
“Don’t take that high-minded tone with me, Mr. D’Angelo. Frankly, I’m sick of your attitude. Yes, I made a mistake. Believe me—I still feel guilty every time I look at Addy’s arms. But I’ve tried to make up for what happened, and your family is big enough to forgive me, so why can’t you? It’s time you took that stick out of your—”
“Miss Churchill—”
“Stop calling me Miss Churchill. You’re only doing it to annoy me.”
“Kari—”
She stopped for a moment, probably because she was out of breath. Certainly not because she’d run out of complaints against this man. “What?”
He let the bag he’d shouldered slide to the ground, then straightened. His head tilted and he raised one eyebrow. “Working for us is like working in a Victorian sweatshop?”
She ducked her head, suddenly feeling very foolish. What possible good could come of lecturing this man? “I was trying to make a point,” she said, unwilling to concede defeat entirely.
“I think you have. I apologize.”
“I just—” She lifted her head. “What?”
“I apologize for my rudeness the past few days. It’s been a difficult week, but that’s no excuse. I know you’ve been working hard. If I haven’t seen you in action myself, I’m certainly hearing about it from everyone else. My family is very fond of you, and I suppose the least I can do is not make you uncomfortable for the remainder of your stay.”
She was stunned into momentary silence. Then good manners kicked in. “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice.
He shocked her even more by holding out one hand. “Truce?”
She managed a careless shrug as she shook his hand for less than a millisecond, then dropped it. “All right. Sure. Truce.”
There was a short, awkward silence while her shock wore off, and Nick seemed to find sudden interest in the nearby pines. She wondered what he was thinking, but before she could even guess, he surprised her by bringing his gaze back to her. His brows were knit like mating caterpillars.
“What’s wrong with calamari?” he asked.
She laughed lightly in response. It was so completely not what she’d been expecting from him. “It’s squid tentacles, for heaven’s sake. What’s right about it?”
He gave her an odd look that made her heart lurch suddenly sideways. Then he bent to pick up his bag and shovel again.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked quickly.
“Know anything about concrete?”
“It makes good shoes for Mafia enemies.”
He indicated a section of the split-rail fence along the trail, where one of the supporting posts was sagging outward and looked in danger of toppling. “It also helps keep leaning fence posts from falling down.” He gave her a speculative look. “I suppose you could handle holding it upright while I lay some concrete around the base.”
“I’m your girl,” she said, then immediately wished she hadn’t. The words didn’t sound quite right. While he settled the bag back on one shoulder, she moved ahead of him, toward the lazy fence post.
He reached her side and she found herself suddenly nervous. “What do you want me to do? Do you need water from the lake? Are we going to mix it up? I’ve never done that before, but I’m sure I can learn.”
He stopped her babbling by holding up one hand. “Relax. We’re not laying the foundation for a house.” He pointed toward the bag he’d dropped at his feet. “It’s premixed. Welcome to the new age of construction.”
“Oh.”
“Just h
old on to the top of the fence post so it doesn’t fall over while I dig out around the base. All right?”
“No problem.”
Immediately he took the short shovel and began clearing the earth. There were lavender wildflowers clustered around the base of the post. Nick dug them up with ruthless disregard. Kari must have made some small sound of regret, because he stopped and looked up at her.
“What?” he asked.
“Well, they’re just so pretty. It seems a shame to destroy them.”
He bent to retrieve one of the flowers, then extended it to her. The poor thing already looked wilted. She took it and brought it to her nose. There was no smell.
“It’s fleabane,” he said. “People used to crush them up and sprinkle them around dog kennels to keep the fleas away. Should I rescue enough to make a bouquet?”
She wrinkled her nose and tossed the wildflower away. “I’ll hold out for roses.”
He grinned and shook his head at her, then renewed his efforts with the shovel. She noticed how his dark hair gleamed even in this shady clearing. He had nice hands, too. Strong and capable, the kind of hands that saw hard work and yet still managed to look graceful.
“This your first time in Colorado?” Nick asked as he lifted another spadeful of earth.
“Yes.”
“Like it?”
“What I’ve seen of it. This area is very beautiful. The lake. All these massive trees. I saw deer on the trail.”
“We’ll see more of them as the weather turns colder and they come down the mountain.”
“You must love it here.”
“I enjoy the peace and quiet, when I can take advantage of it.” He lifted his gaze and inclined his head toward her two-handed hold on the post. “Can you tilt it back a little?”
She did as he asked, then watched as he withdrew work gloves from beneath the belt of his jeans and slipped them on. Yes, definitely nice hands. He ripped open the bag of wet cement and poured it into the hole he’d made around the post.
“I imagine running the lodge keeps you very busy,” Kari said while he spread the mix around and she made sure the post stayed straight and steady.
