Shelli-Ann always acted as if the dogs were great company for one another. And it was true, Jax seemed to have a thing for Ace, always yapping and trying to play whenever they were together. Ace tolerated all of this to a degree. Then, he’d find some quiet place to hide. Ace had become very good at that.
A few times Marshall had tried placing Ace in a kennel. After that, Ace had seemed a lot less reluctant to go to Shelli-Ann’s. It was as if he understood these were his two choices and if he had to pick one, he’d pick the place closest to home.
Ace was a smart dog.
Marshall had found the mutt—he suspected there was some lab and shepherd in the mix—wandering on an old forestry road three summers ago. No collar, thin, his wariness a sign that he’d known abuse at the hand of whatever owner he’d run away from or been abandoned by.
Marshall had offered him a sandwich from his pack and Ace hadn’t been able to resist the lure. They’d been best pals ever since.
Shelli-Ann must have heard his truck, because she had her front door open before he’d even turned off the ignition. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, both of which looked stretched to the max. Shelli-Ann liked tight clothing.
Since the driveway needed shoveling, Marshall parked on the street. Shelli-Ann had managed to clear the sidewalk in front of both of their homes, but he noted her driveway was snowed-in also. He’d take care of both later.
“Hey, Marshall! Did you have a nice Christmas?” As she spoke, Ace poked his head out the door, and she grabbed his collar to restrain him from rushing outside.
“A little too much snow, but other than that, the trip went okay. How was your Christmas?” With his duffel bag in one hand, he shouldered his pack, then jogged through the snow and up her steps.
“Fine. Christmas Eve was with my parents, then we went to Grandma’s for dinner the next night.”
She released Ace to his custody and his dog rushed him, almost tackling him off the stoop. “Hey there, Ace. That’a boy.” He gave Ace a hug, then scratched him under the collar the way he liked.
Jax showed up then, barking excitedly from between his mistress’s legs.
“Stay, Jax! Quiet!” Shelli-Lynn scooped her dog into her arms, then shivered. “It’s cold out here. Come in for a bit.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got some things to take care of.” First on the priority list was shoveling out their driveways. Just what he needed, more playing with snow.
“Grandma gave me leftovers. I could make you a hot turkey sandwich.”
That actually sounded delicious, but Marshall shook his head. “Tempting. But I’d better not.” Shelli-Lynn invited him for meals a lot, but he never felt comfortable when he accepted. He wasn’t sure why, but it was probably because other than being neighbors and loving dogs, they didn’t have much in common.
“Thanks a lot for looking after Ace. I hope he behaved himself.”
“He was a sweetie, as usual. I hardly saw him, except when we went out for walks.”
“Well, thanks again. And let me know when I can return the favor.” He gave Jax a pat. Despite being spoiled, the little dog was awfully cute.
His house felt cold and hollow when he walked inside. The first thing Marshall did was turn the heat off vacation mode. Ace went on his usual sweep of the main floor, something the dog always did when he’d been away for a while. Marshall filled the food and water dishes by the side door, then went to dump his luggage downstairs in the laundry room.
It had been five hours since the turkey dinner at the lodge, and he was hungry, but he decided to get the shoveling done first, even though the last thing he wanted to deal with right now was more snow.
Having accumulated for five days, the snowpack was heavy and his back was aching when he came back inside an hour later. At least the house was warm now. He put a couple frozen pizza pockets into his panini maker and popped open a beer. When the pockets were hot, he slid them onto a plate, then went to watch a little TV and catch up on world news.
Ace jumped up on the sofa next to him, and Marshall rested a hand on his dog’s back.
It ought to feel good to be home. But it didn’t.
He chowed down on the pizza and had almost polished off the beer, when his cell phone rang.
He’d been expecting the call, and he lowered the volume on the TV before pressing talk.
“Hey, Mom. Happy Christmas.”
“You, too, Marshall. How was your trip? I noticed south-western Montana had a lot of snow over the holidays.”
She always kept tabs on the weather where he lived. It was one of their main topics of conversation.
“We sure did.” He told her about being snowbound at the lodge for four days, and how everyone had been so relieved when the storm finally ended on Christmas afternoon. “And how was your Christmas?”
“Quiet, but nice. You know, the usual. Thank you for the gift cards. The girls were really pleased with them.”
“And thanks for the cookies.” He glanced at his kitchen table, where the opened box was still sitting. He should have offered them to Shelli-Lynn when he’d dropped off Ace. They’d be stale by now.
“I wanted to tell you that Wayne has a golf trip planned in Florida this February. Do you think that would be a good time for you to visit?”
“It might work. E-mail me the dates and I’ll check with work.”
“Good.”
The line went silent, the way it usually did after a few minutes on the phone with his mother.
“Well. I won’t keep you. I love you, Marshall.”
“Love you, too, Mom. Good night.”
Marshall shut off the TV and got up from the couch. Phone calls from his mother always left him feeling vaguely depressed.
But he felt worse than usual today, and he knew why. He missed Eliza Bramble and what made it worse was not having any idea when he’d see her again.
To add to his misery, he couldn’t help wondering if that country music star had been waiting at Bramble House for her to return. Maybe they were having a romantic reunion right this minute.
He felt twisted and torn up inside at the very idea. He knew he ought to put her out of his mind, but instead, like a masochist, he went to his office and sat by the computer. John Urban and Eliza hadn’t been an item for years, but the Internet never forgot, and it didn’t take him long to find a photo of the two of them together, sitting at a table in a restaurant or bar.
John had his arm possessively around Eliza’s slender shoulders. She looked incredibly young and pretty, gazing up at Urban like he was some kind of god. John, however, had his eyes on the camera. He looked sure of himself, happy, a man on top of the world.
The caption under the photo read: John Urban and girlfriend Eliza Bramble, who some say was the muse for his break-out album, The Good in Me.
Marshall looked up the album next, but wasn’t familiar with any of the songs. His taste in music ran to classic rock. So he went to YouTube to sample some of the songs. The title track hit him like a fist to his solar plexus.
She draws out the good in me,
And makes all the world shine…
My God, that was exactly how Eliza made him feel. And there it was, in John Urban’s song. This man who looked like a Greek god, who had a voice as warm and smooth as a shot of whiskey on a winter’s eve, had nailed it. He had really known Eliza.
No wonder she’d fallen in love with him. What an idiot he’d been, even entertaining the possibility that she might feel something for him, plain old Marshall McKenzie.
He couldn’t compete against this guy.
No hope in hell.
*
Marietta looked pretty in the twilight, and Eliza drove slowly down Bramble Lane on her way home. On almost every house, Christmas lights framed roof-lines, spiraled up evergreen trees, outlined front porches.
But none outshone Bramble House. She stopped in front of her family home to admire the beautiful, three-story building, built in the 1880s by her great-great grandpar
ents, Henry and May-Bell Bramble. Henry had been lured from the relatively civilized eastern city of Boston, to the rustic western town at the foot of Copper Mountain, hoping to make his fortune in the mines.
And he’d succeeded, then been smart enough to diversify, investing his money in banks and the railways, businesses that profited long after the mines were stripped of their meagre copper veins.
The longer she stared at the Christmas lights she’d paid to have installed, the more Eliza began to suspect that the house didn’t look as beautiful as she’d thought. Especially when compared to Baker Creek Lodge. It just seemed—overdone.
With hindsight she saw that she’d poured too much into effort, too much glitter and too many lights, into decorating for the holidays this year.
Next year, she’d take a different approach. A little could go a long ways. She’d learned that much.
But what was done, was done. If she hadn’t made Bramble House into such a showpiece, she never would have gone to Baker Creek Lodge for the holidays.
And despite the blizzard, and the resulting deprivations, she was glad that she’d gone. It had been important somehow, though she couldn’t quite say why.
At least, not yet.
The driveway was clear—they paid for the service—and she was able to pull into the garage that was tucked behind the house, at the back of the lot. She felt weary as she climbed out of the driver’s seat and retrieved her luggage from the trunk. She hoped Aunt Mable wasn’t waiting dinner. All she wanted was a long soak in the tub and an early night to bed.
But as she came out of the garage, someone slipped out the back door to meet her.
He was wearing jeans and cowboy boots, and had thrown a shearling jacket over a tight grey T-shirt.
His blond hair gleamed in the faint light from the back porch. He looked lean and fit, his shoulders broad, cheekbones chiseled high, jaw sharp, chin strong.
He was the photo on the album cover of The Good in Me come to life. All he was missing was the guitar and the cowboy hat.
The smile was the same. And so was his voice, that tenor that sounded musical even when he wasn’t singing.
“Welcome home, darlin’. I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”
She supposed she must have dropped her suitcase and purse, because her hands were empty when he swept her up in a hug. He smelt the same. He felt the same. Heat pooled in her core, rendering her pliable, weak-limbed, and a little dizzy.
“Eliza.” He searched for something in her eyes, and then smiled as if he’d finally found it. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”
Just at the moment he bent his head to kiss her, she felt a cold wind at the back of her neck. She stepped back, putting space between them.
He cocked his head. “Eliza?”
She felt a different heat now, this one anger, both at him, and his assumptions, and herself for that initial weakness.
“I thought I made myself clear. I don’t want to see you.”
“And I don’t blame you. I was a real jerk. All I’m asking for is a chance to say I’m sorry.”
“Then why did you try to kiss me?” He’d expected her to fall into his embrace as if nothing had changed. Only when she’d rejected that, had he mentioned anything about apologizing.
“That wasn’t planned. It’s just, when I saw you, all the old feelings came flooding back. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it, too. At least a little.”
She glanced away, too honest to deny it. And hating that he was right.
“Let’s go for a drive. We need to talk.”
“No.” She didn’t want to be trapped in a vehicle with him. She couldn’t trust herself. “Let’s go inside.”
“The house is full of people. But you could come to my room.”
“No. We’ll walk.” The night was clear, and not that cold. It was the safest option.
He helped her stow her luggage out of sight on the back porch, then followed her down the lane that led to the river path. Faint light from the nearby houses gave a golden glow to the chunks of snow-covered ice that had risen up from the river in the cold. Another young couple, out for a romantic stroll, appeared ahead of them, walking arm-in-arm in their direction.
“Merry Christmas,” the guy murmured, tightening his hold on his sweetheart.
“Same to you,” Eliza replied.
She noticed the woman give John a glance, then a second look. As they were passing, the woman whispered. “Did you see him? That was John Urban, I’m sure of it!”
A second later, she ran back, tapped John on the arm. “Could I please have your autograph?” She pulled out an old receipt from her purse, as well as a pen.
John laughed good-naturedly and did as she asked.
“Thanks, man,” the guy said. “We like your music.”
John nodded. “Good to hear. No problem. Have a nice walk.”
“I guess you get a lot of that now,” Eliza said, tucking her hands in her pockets, not only to keep them warm, but also so John wouldn’t try to hold one of them.
“Comes with the territory. And I’m not complaining. You know how much I wanted this. How hard I worked.”
“Yes. And I also know the people you stepped on to make it, since I was one of them.”
He let out a sigh. “I was a fool. I didn’t appreciate you the way I should have. And I’m sorry, Eliza. I truly am.”
He was either sincere or a truly gifted actor. Possibly he was both.
She stopped walking. “Okay. You’ve given me your apology. Can we go back now?”
“But we just started. And I have a lot more I want to say.”
“Really? Because, earlier, you said you just wanted a chance to apologize.”
“You’ve changed, Eliza. You didn’t use to be so hard.”
“Guess who made me this way?” Oh, she shouldn’t have said that. By admitting how much he’d hurt her, she was also letting him know how much she’d cared. But then, he’d known that. And he’d cheated anyway. Then lied about it to her face.
“You’re not the only one who’s changed. I admit the fame went to my head at first. But I’m ready to settle down now. We were so good together. We could be that way again.”
These were words that would have felled her if he’d spoken them earlier. Maybe even just a few months ago. But as she looked into the eyes of the man she’d loved so deeply, she had the weird sensation that she was looking at a handsome photograph in a magazine. She could appreciate his beauty. But it no longer touched her.
She didn’t love him. Not even a little.
And in a flash she understood why.
Marshall McKenzie was a quiet, unassuming man. But man he was, and in the deepest, truest sense of the word.
It was interesting how society placed value on people and their contributions. Everyone loved John now, even strangers stopped him in the street for an autograph or just to shake his hand. But how would John have acted if he’d been snowbound at that lodge? Would he have been calm and capable? Provided leadership when it was needed, yet also been willing to help Betsy in the kitchen? Been patient with the Kellys when they skied into danger, and also kind to a little boy like Kevin?
The world needed people who could write songs about things.
But it also needed people who did the things that songs were written about.
People like Marshall McKenzie.
“I tried to tell you this earlier, but you’re wasting your time. What we had is over. You should pack up and leave in the morning. Or even sooner would be nice.”
John took hold of her shoulders, and came perilously close to shaking her. “No. You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. Take your hands off of me.”
He loosened his grip, but didn’t let her go. “You have to return to Nashville with me. I wrote my best songs when we were together.”
Eliza glared at him. So that’s what this was all about. She should have guessed. Pulling away from him, she started to run toward the blaz
ing lights of Bramble House.
Chapter Twelve
‡
The next morning was chaos. Eliza had managed to sneak quickly into her room the previous evening, avoiding encounters with her sister, brother-in-law and great-aunt Mable.
Now she had to pay the price.
She was up early to prepare breakfast. All the meals for the holiday had been planned weeks ahead of time and organized by date in the kitchen binder. She opened the page to December twenty-seven and saw that blueberry compote, French toast and sausages were on the menu.
According to the guest calendar, updated online and accessed from the kitchen on the same laptop she used for most of her recipes, there would be three couples with them this morning, as well as John Urban.
Eliza updated the record to delete John’s name.
He’d driven off, as she’d hoped, shortly after their argument. From her bedroom window, she’d watched him throw his guitar and suitcase into the back seat of his fancy black truck. She’d felt only relief as he’d disappeared down the road.
She’d just pulled two packages of turkey and apple sausages from the freezer when her sister appeared. Caro was in jeans and a sweatshirt, with her long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“What time did you get home last night?”
“Not that late.”
“Did John whisk you off for a romantic dinner?” Caro grabbed Eliza’s left hand. “Did he ask you to marry him?”
“No and no. We went for a walk. I told him to get lost.”
Caro laughed. “Thank God. I was so afraid he was going to weave his evil spell and ensnare you again. Though, honestly? Having met him in person, I do understand the appeal. I mean, wow. The guy is totally hot.”
“Did he stay here the entire time I was away?”
“When he heard you wouldn’t be back until the evening after Christmas, he hustled back to Nashville on his own private jet. He was back yesterday, a few hours before sunset. He tried to charm great-aunt Mable, but she would have none of it.”
While her sister perched on a stool and watched, Eliza put a large copper frying pan on the burner, then added a quarter inch of water and the sausages. With the lid in place, she left the pan to simmer while she prepared the blueberry compote. “She’s a smart woman, our aunt Mable.”
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