by Jenna Mindel
“I see.” Dale owed the mayor a debt of gratitude for making Faith drive. He’d never given a breakdown or accident a single thought. Probably not wise to drive around this desolate area alone. He’d already learned cell coverage was spotty at best.
“Try these.” She tossed a pair of thick boots his way. They were huge lace-up things with felt liners.
Dale slipped off one sleek leather boot and stuck his foot inside. “Yeah, they fit.”
She smiled. “I figured you were closer to Adam’s size than Austin’s. You’ve got big feet.”
He chuckled as he slid his foot back into his own shoe-boot. “So, how’d you end up so small compared to the rest of your family? Did they find you under a fern somewhere?”
She grinned. “That would explain a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Like why I never want to leave this land. Shaw land is part of me, like, in my blood. You know?”
He didn’t, but he nodded anyway as he watched her shrug into her own coat and pull on felt-lined boots that hit her midcalf and had fake fur along the top. He followed her out and climbed into the passenger seat of her little SUV.
The Shaws lived quite a ways out of town. Their driveway alone seemed like miles long. Lush green grass surrounding the house gave way to straw-colored grass that grew tall and spindly against the wire fencing. An immaculate spread of red barns and outbuildings, the property had to be worth a small fortune. Horses sauntered in their pasture, some following after Faith’s SUV within their confined space.
Dale stared out the window as if transfixed by the purple mountains behind rolling hills dotted with evergreens. The clear blue sky held puffy white clouds that looked so huge and close enough to touch.
“It is beautiful land,” he finally said.
“I think so.” Faith nodded. “Different than New York, I imagine.”
He chuckled and focused on Faith’s driving the road ahead. She had a lead foot. “Very different. Although, the city sprawls with the same vastness. New York is huge and it’s a city that never sleeps.”
Faith shook her head. “I wouldn’t like that. I look forward to my eight hours.”
Dale had certainly received his share of sleep overnight and then some. He’d slept hard with none of the trouble that came with travel and hotel rooms.
Finally, Faith pulled into the bank on the corner of Shaw Boulevard and Main. Dale made a call on his cell during the short drive into town. He’d gotten through to his office and left a message on his father’s voice mail that he was headed for the ski resort meeting. He’d give him an update later.
Faith parked, got out and then peeked her head back inside. “Want to come in? There’s a picture of your great-great-grandpa hanging on the wall in there.”
Dale checked his phone. No new messages. “Silas?”
Faith nodded.
“Yes. I’d like to see that.”
Despite the warm morning sunshine, there was a distinct chill in the air. He glanced at those awful boots tossed in the backseat. No way.
They walked toward the glass doors of a building that blended in with the rest. Same storefront look with a simple facade. It didn’t look old. Not like the city hall building he’d seen when he first drove into town. In fact, that place looked more like a bank than this one.
“Hi, Faith.” A man close to his own age and height opened the door for her as he exited the bank. His smile was warm and welcoming. The word easygoing came to mind.
“Pastor Ethan, good morning.” She stopped short and Dale nearly ran into her. Again. “This is Dale Massey—he’s come to represent one of the founding families for homecoming.”
The guy extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Dale shook it. Pastor Ethan looked more like a well-groomed surfer than a minister. He had relaxed casual nailed. Faith could do worse. “Likewise.”
“I’m showing him around,” Faith said with a sheepish smile.
“Great. Yeah, well, have a nice day.” The minister nodded and walked on. No jealousy there.
Dale followed Faith inside. “That’s your boyfriend?”
Faith shook her head and laughed. “No.”
“But your mom said—”
“Just talk. There’s too much talk in this town, especially these days. All I did was bid on his picnic basket and next thing I know, folks were guessing the date.”
“You did what?”
“Bid on his picnic basket, you know, at the fair.”
He was lost.
Faith’s eyes widened with pitiful mirth. “You’ve never been to a small-town fair.”
“No.” Why’d she make it sound as if he’d missed something important?
They walked inside and another man, short and stocky in a gray suit with a bad comb-over from premature hair loss, approached them. He, too, had a wide smile for his compact chaperone. And maybe a little more interest, too. “Morning, Faith.”
Faith smiled in return. “Dale, this is Wilbur Thompson. He manages the bank. Mind if I show him the picture of Silas Massey in the safe-deposit-box room?”
“Certainly. Wait—are you Dale Massey? Of Massey International?” Wilbur turned to him with gleaming eyes.
Dale gave a quick nod. “I am.”
“Nice article in Fortune, by the way. Mr. Massey, are you staying in town? If so, we’d be honored to set up a temporary account for you to use. It’ll only take a few moments.”
“I’m all set.”
Wilbur gave him a shrewd look. “Well, here’s my card if you change your mind.”
“Thanks.” Dale pocketed it. He wouldn’t need it, wouldn’t use it, either.
“That’s my great-great-grandfather.” Faith pointed to the portrait in the lobby. “Ezra Shaw.”
He looked at the stocky man in the picture with a handlebar mustache.
Faith stood next to him. “My middle name is Elaine, after Ezra’s wife.”
Faith Elaine Shaw. He looked at her. She liked to chatter.
Her cheeks colored. “The safe-deposit-box room is this way.”
He followed her across a hardwood floor that creaked. Every person, staff member and customer alike knew Faith and greeted her with warmth. They’d stop and chat, and Faith returned that same warmth with a grin or wave, or a quick caress to a chubby toddler’s cheek. She was the mayor’s daughter, after all, but she didn’t seem a bit affected by that. These were natural actions.
Once they were in the safe-deposit room, Dale pointed out the obvious. “You talked to everyone in this place.”
“Sorry. You said time wasn’t an issue.” She shrugged. “I grew up here. Went to school with these people, and babysat their kids when I was a teenager. Now, take a good look at that picture and tell me what you see.”
Dale looked up at the canvas of a man who looked neither young nor old. His hair looked darker and longer and Silas wore a beard that covered half his face. “A creepy version of me or my father even. Didn’t anyone use a razor back then?”
“He’s not creepy,” Faith defended, and then stared at the canvas with him. “I think he’s kind of handsome.”
Dale stared at her. “You’re crazy.”
She giggled. “Silas was a gold miner and a brave one, at that, so I’ve heard. He and my great-great-grandfather founded this town and opened this bank with their gold. Well, back then, the bank was what is now city hall.” Dale stared at the portrait, only partially hearing what Faith said. This man was his relative. His history. Silas Massey had shrewd eyes that looked out from the canvas with intelligence. He was probably a good businessman. So, what made the guy head east if he had everything going for him right here?
“Why isn’t his portrait out front in the lobby beside Ezra’s?”
Faith shrugged. “I don’t know. Silas has been in here ever since I can remember.”
“Why’d he leave?”
“I don’t know that, either. No one really does. Oh, there were rumors that the two fought ove
r a claim. Who knows? It was a long time ago.”
Dale glanced at the portrait of his great-great-grandfather again. An odd connection to the man resonated even though Dale knew very little about him. Silas might have been a wild gold miner, for all he knew, but he’d laid the groundwork for Massey International, a business Dale’s grandfather started and Julian perfected.
Dale did his best to grow it, but on this trip, it was all about protecting it. Dale didn’t stand for money pits. Purchasing an office space for his brother Eric might end up a giant sinkhole if the place was never used.
Chapter Three
Faith stood in line and tried not to overhear the conversation in front of her between the bank teller and Robin Frazier. Robin had moved to Jasper Gulch over the summer to work on some kind of genealogy project for her thesis.
Faith felt bad for the young woman who’d lost her ATM card in the bank’s machine and faced the firing squad before getting it back.
“I need to reference your driver’s license, Miss Frazier.” The teller, one of Nadine Shaw’s good friends, had a voice that carried. “Okay, now sign here please, exactly as on your card, Robin Elaine Frazier.”
Faith’s attention snagged on the middle name. Same as hers.
“I know it’s you, hon, but I still have to jot down your ID number for documentation.” The teller handed back Robin’s ID and ATM card.
Finally finished, with plastic in hand, Robin turned, looking frazzled.
“Hi, Robin.” Faith stepped forward and whispered, “I couldn’t help but overhear. We’ve got the same name.”
Robin blinked a couple of times and then rubbed the dark mole under her eyebrow. “Same name?”
Faith quickly explained, “My middle name is Elaine, same as yours. Mine comes from my great-great-grandmother.” She pointed at Ezra’s portrait. “His wife.”
“Yes, that’s right. Ezra married Elaine. Pretty common name, though.” Robin still looked a little rattled.
And Faith had overstepped her bounds by admitting that she’d listened to the entire conversation. She didn’t want Robin to think she was nosy and touched the woman’s arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“No worries.” Robin smiled.
“Good.”
“Faith Elaine, you stepping up here or what?” The teller used the same tone in her voice as Faith’s mom when she was in trouble.
“Yes, ma’am.” Faith gave Robin a mock look of fright. “My turn.”
Robin laughed and waved goodbye.
Faith finished her business of a deposit of the last paycheck she’d receive for a while. As a violinist in Bozeman, she wasn’t needed until after Christmas when the regular concert series started up again. Only primary musicians who’d been around a lot longer than Faith played at the upcoming Christmastime ballet.
She glanced behind her. Wilbur bent Dale’s ear and the real estate mogul looked bored to tears until a young blonde bombshell walked right up to both men and smiled.
Faith clenched her teeth. There was no denying the appreciation in Dale’s eyes when he looked at the beautiful Lilibeth Shoemaker.
“Here you go, Faith. And watch out, Lilibeth is checking out your fella.” The teller finished her deposit transaction with a smile.
“He’s not mine, but thanks.” Faith scanned the balance on her receipt and fought the urge to keep walking right out the door. That would be rude. And show her weakness.
She joined the cozy party of three.
Lilibeth gave her a sweet smile. “Why, Faith, I was just asking Mr. Thompson if he needed Christmas help this year and come to find out we have a real live Massey in our midst.”
“Yeah, we do.” Faith gripped her purse strap so tight her fingers curled into a fist around the leather.
Lilibeth placed her hand on Dale’s arm and leaned toward him with a ridiculously brilliant smile. “Are there any more of you?”
“Not here.” He looked amused.
Lilibeth made a pouty face. “Too bad.”
Dale looked at Faith. “Ready?”
“Yep.” She tamped down a heady feeling of triumph when she saw Lilibeth’s mouth drop slightly open. “Bye, and thanks, Wilbur.”
“Of course, of course.” The manager fixed his attention back on the girl. “Now, Lilibeth, what hours can you work?”
As she left the bank with Dale, Faith let loose a soft laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Dale opened the driver’s-side door for her.
“Nothing.” Faith shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
He climbed into the passenger seat. “Something to do with the prom queen in there?”
Not too many men gave Lilibeth the brush-off. Faith couldn’t remember if Lilibeth had ever made it to prom queen, but the girl was furious when she didn’t win the Miss Jasper Gulch beauty pageant. People wondered if she had been the one who stole the time capsule out of revenge. But over the past few months she seemed to have mellowed and had even helped out with the picnic basket auction. Most everyone now believed she was innocent.
Faith cocked her head. “She was trying to flirt with you and you shut her down.”
“A lot of women flirt with me.”
No doubt, but Faith still raised her eyebrows at such a conceited response. “And you don’t flirt back?”
He gave her a silky smile that made her heart beat a notch faster. “Of course I do. But I have rules.”
Faith let loose a snort of laughter. A flirt with a moral code. “What kind of rules could you possibly have?”
He looked genuinely offended. “First, they’ve got to be old enough to know better.”
“Ah, well, that’s sensible. Lilibeth’s only nineteen.” How could he tell? Faith couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.
“And second.” Dale’s green eyes looked deadly serious. “They must be safe.”
“Safe?” Faith scrunched up her face.
What on earth did he mean by that? What did he have to fear? Maybe Dale wasn’t the heartbreaker type. He seemed too cold to get involved with a woman long enough for that. And too sophisticated, besides. She imagined that Dale Massey didn’t like messy breakups. He struck her as something of a neat freak to boot. No doubt anything messy made him uncomfortable.
He nodded. “Safe.”
“Huh.” Faith started the car.
Did women throw themselves at him because of who he was as heir to the Massey empire? Probably. But he’d flirted with her. Did that mean she was safe? She swallowed hard on that disappointing thought.
No, wait. Safe was good. She should be happy with safe.
She glanced at his finely chiseled face. “Do you need anything before we leave town? More coffee, perhaps? There’s a nice bakery across the street if you’re hungry.”
“No.”
“I have granola bars in my purse. Let me know if you want one.”
He gave her an amused look. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
What—too good for granola bars? Faith pulled out and hung a left onto River Road and then pulled into the corner gas station.
“Here—” Dale handed her his credit card “—have them fill it up. I got this.” Then his phone vibrated and he answered it, already absorbed. “Dale Massey.”
Faith took the card and flipped the inside lever to her gas cap and got out. This was his trip, after all; she’d gladly let him pay for her gas. She didn’t know who he thought they were to pump it.
“Faith!”
She looked up as her friend since grade school, Marie Middleton, exited the minimart with a tall vanilla latte. Her favorite. “What’s up?”
“Had to make a delivery of flowers.”
“Really, who to?”
Marie gave her a look. “You know I can’t tell you. Customer privacy policy.”
“Awww, come on. Who are they from then? At least tell me that.”
Marie looked around and then whispered, “Ellis Cooper.”
Faith laughed.
The guy had run against her father in the last mayoral race. No doubt Ellis sent flowers to impress someone. With all the dignitaries in town for homecoming, the recipient could be anyone, really.
Ellis had championed the bridge fund to get votes, but Faith didn’t buy his sincerity for the project. He’d be the kind of guy who’d want the bridge named after him once it opened. If he’d had the means to fund it, then take the name and the glory. But Cooper Bridge didn’t have the same ring as good old Beaver Creek.
Marie squinted as she bent to look in Faith’s car. “Who’s the suit?”
Faith harnessed the gas nozzle back into the pump and waited for the receipt to print. “Dale Massey from New York.”
“So, he finally showed, huh?”
“Yup.” Faith ripped the paper.
“He’s pretty hot.” Marie grinned. “Where are you two going?”
“Lone Peak. Dad doesn’t want him wandering around the mountains by himself.” Faith lowered her voice. “I mean, just look at him.”
“Hmm. Not hard to do.” Marie wiggled her fingers. “Have fun.”
“Yeah, you, too.”
Not what Faith had meant. Dale had pampered city boy written all over him. She climbed in behind the wheel and handed Dale his plastic along with the receipt.
He took it without looking at her or missing a beat of his phone conversation.
Faith pulled back onto Main Street and headed east out of town and toward the mountains while Dale talked on his phone about attorney fees.
After he’d ended his call, Dale stared out the window. Not exactly a talkative guy.
“Why not take that bridge? Seems like a more direct route.”
Faith sighed. “The Beaver Creek Bridge has been out of commission forever.”
“Why?”
Faith shrugged. “It’s a sore spot with some people. My father included.”
“What happened?”
“My great-aunt died when her car slid off the bridge into the rapids below. Her body was never found.”
“That’s the reason no one uses it?”
Faith gave another soft laugh. “It must sound silly to a big-city guy like you, but Lucy Shaw’s accident was substantial drama in little Jasper Gulch. Rumor had it she didn’t want to marry the man her father had picked out, so maybe she drove off that bridge. Investigating the accident first closed it, but then folks didn’t use it and the bridge fell into disrepair.
