by Stacy Finz
She looked at him skeptically. “How do you know?”
He held his arms out. “Look at this place. I never could’ve imagined something this awesome. Every time I drove by it I thought someone should douse it with gasoline and light a match. But you . . . you saw this!”
“Well, to be honest, Nate saw this—and dollar signs. I pretty much felt the way you did.”
“Show me the rest.”
She guided him through the front parlor. “I know it’s still rough. But can you visualize it?”
“Damn.” He kept turning in place, scoping it out, like she’d performed a miracle.
They made their way to the dining room, where the fireplace and gumwood mantel had been stripped of layers of garish paint.
“This is where we’ll serve the inn’s complimentary breakfast and wine and cheese in the evenings.” She grabbed his arm. “Come see the kitchen.”
She watched Rhys take in the stainless steel countertops and appliances. Colin had managed to save the original cabinets, but not the beveled glass door insets. So Maddy had tracked down antique wavy-glass on the Internet and Colin used it to make his own.
“Wow,” Rhys said. “A cook’s dream.”
“Someday we might do chef’s dinners. But for now, we’re keeping it simple—home-baked muffins, granola, oatmeal, omelets. Heavy hors d’oeuvres in the afternoons.”
Rhys came up behind her so close that Maddy could feel his breath on her hair. “You cook?” he asked.
“No.” She turned around to face him and he boxed her in, putting his hands down on the island countertop on each side of her.
“I guess you had servants to do that for you.” There was no sarcasm in his voice, just curiosity.
“Only a cleaning lady once a week and a gardener every other. Dave rarely made it home in time for dinner, and when he did, we’d go down the street for falafel or Vietnamese food.”
“Why no cook?”
Maddy thought about it. They certainly could afford one. “It’s just not me.”
“And Dave?”
“He could probably go either way. He grew up with a cook, maids—a butler.”
“What about you?”
“Yeah.” Maddy laughed. “Her name was Mom.”
Rhys smiled and tucked a stray strand of hair under her hat.
“Rhys?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you ever been married?”
“Nope,” he said.
“How come?”
He backed away from the counter and lifted his shoulders. “Never met anyone I felt that strongly about.”
“You think you might have commitment issues?”
He let out a half laugh. “Maybe. I haven’t given it a whole lot of thought.”
With the way he grew up—having a father he couldn’t depend on, a nonexistent mother—she wouldn’t be surprised. “What’re you doing for Christmas?”
“Christmas? We just got through Thanksgiving.” He played with the buttons on her coat. “Show me upstairs.” His voice grew husky. “We can christen one of the guest rooms.”
“Is that all you think about?”
“Pretty much.”
She leaned into him. The man was kind of irresistible. Aw, who was she kidding, the man was sex dipped in Valrhona chocolate. “First, tell me about your plans for Christmas.”
“You’re stalling,” he said, and brushed a kiss across her nose. “Nothing. Shep and I don’t do holidays.”
“Oh, Rhys, you have to this year . . . Lina and Sam . . . losing their mom . . . They’ll need their family.”
“Not again, Maddy. You already know where I stand on this.” He looked away for a minute. “What’re you doing for Christmas?”
“My mother wants me to go home to Wisconsin.” They’d finally had a heart-to-heart. Renée Breyer, who’d gotten her daughter through chicken pox, measles, and too many bad haircuts to count, vowed to help Maddy get through her divorce, too. “Dave wants me to meet him in France.”
Rhys went rigid. “So that other woman . . . what’s her name?”
“Gabriella.”
“She’s really out of the picture?”
Maddy shrugged. “He’s ignoring the fact that I filed for divorce and wants to spend more time together.” Like that was going to happen. When Dave had said they needed to turn up the heat, she’d wanted to reach through the phone and rip out his throat. “Of course I’m not going.”
“No?” Rhys moved to the sink on the other side of the kitchen and stared out the window. “The crew’s here. I’ve gotta get back to work.” And he left her standing there.
Sophie thought she recognized the boy sitting at her bar, nursing a Coke, watching the window. But she couldn’t quite place him.
After school, the kids usually went to the Bun Boy for a soda. Or on days like this, hot chocolate. The frosty was famous in Nugget for its cocoa. Donna Thurston liked to brag that she made it just like the Parisians, from fine bittersweet chocolate—“None of that powdered caca.”
For all of Sophie’s background in marketing, Donna knew how to keep a message simple. It was a gift, really.
With the dining room nearly empty—except for the boy and a few after-lunch stragglers—Sophie and Nate huddled in the corner, strategizing on the inn situation. Mariah was out, running errands.
Sophie moved toward the drink dispenser. “Would you like a refill on that?”
The boy looked around, like she might be talking to someone else. But he was the only one sitting there. “Is it free?”
“Yep,” she said, and filled his glass with the soda gun. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No thanks.” He alternated his gaze between the window and the door.
“You waiting for someone?”
“My ride,” he said, and Sophie bent over the counter to find a suitcase sitting next to his stool. Nate followed her gaze to the luggage, and shrugged his shoulders.
A teenager walked in and grabbed the stool next to the boy. “You got the money?”
The boy stood up, dipped into his back pocket, and pulled out a twenty. “Here’s half now. I’ll give you the rest when you get me to Reno International.”
“How do I know you won’t stiff me?”
“How do I know you won’t dump me off somewhere in the middle of the desert after you get all your money? You ever hear of insurance, dude?”
As the two became embroiled in heated negotiations, Sophie grabbed the phone and stepped halfway into the kitchen. If she had to wager a guess the boy was running away and the pimply-faced teen was his driving accomplice. She quickly dialed the phone.
Not long after, the police chief strode in and headed straight to the bar.
“Crap,” the younger boy uttered. He clearly knew who the chief was, even though Rhys Shepard wore plain clothes. Something told Sophie that the chief had instantly recognized the boy, too.
“I’m out of here,” Pimply said, and scrambled for the door.
“Give me back my money, then,” the boy called.
Chief Shepard grabbed the teen by the collar. “You owe him some money?”
The boy practically threw the twenty at the chief and took off like a rocket.
“Hey, Justin.” Rhys homed in on the boy’s luggage and handed him the bill. “Going on a trip?”
Justin lowered his eyes and said, “Back to San Diego. Home!”
“Your dad know?” Rhys took the stool vacated by the teen and called across the bar, “Sophie, could we get another Coke and a cup of coffee, please. Oh, and how ’bout two slices of apple pie.” He nodded a greeting at Nate, who nodded back.
“Coming right up.” She’d finally figured out who the boy was. Clay McCreedy’s oldest.
Rhys turned back to the kid. “Justin?”
“I left him a note.”
“Maybe we should call him and tell him you’ve had a change of heart. What do you say?”
Justin sipped his soda. “Do I have a choice?”
“Nope,” the chief said as Sophie set down their two plates. “Now eat your pie.”
“I hate it here, Uncle Rhys.” Justin’s voice broke, and he hung his head, but not before Sophie saw his eyes grow moist.
“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Rhys said, staring at the rows of liquor bottles behind the bar. “But you’re only fourteen, so you’ve got to stick it out. In the meantime, try to make the best out of it. Forget about Will Becker and get to know your dad.”
He swiveled his stool so he could face Justin, and Sophie heard him say, “He loves you and your brother like crazy, you know? When I was your age I would’ve done just about anything to have a father like yours. Give him a chance, Justin.”
Sophie didn’t know about Justin, but she’d watered up like a Roman fountain. She wanted a child so badly that sometimes her womb ached with it. Yet, she and Mariah were no closer to picking a donor than they had been when they’d first gone to the sperm bank. It was Sophie’s fault, of course. None of the choices, not even the overachievers with their Ivy League degrees and perfect health, felt right. But how could she tell Mariah that?
Nate reached across the bar and slapped her arm. “What’s up with you?”
She nudged her head at Rhys and in a soft voice that wouldn’t carry, said, “He was good with the boy. That’s all.” And she wiped away the tears staining her cheeks.
“Soph?” Nate asked. “What’s the damn holdup?”
She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
“Biology 101, babe.” Nate could always tease a smile out of her. “You don’t like anyone in The Big Book of Sperm?”
She looked at him, wondering how much she could share without betraying Mariah’s confidence. “Mariah has a few donors in mind, but I’m more on the fence.”
“Why’s that?”
Because I want you. I want Mariah and my baby to have all the characteristics that have made you my best friend for nearly a decade. The kindness you’re forever trying to hide under that rough exterior. The unflagging loyalty you have for family and friends. The moral fiber that sets you apart from the hordes of unscrupulous businesspeople I have met over the years as a marketer.
“I’m uncomfortable with the idea of going with someone I know very little about, someone who may pass along his terrible genes.”
“You want me to do it?”
Agog, Sophie stared at him. “Just like that, you’d do this for us? You don’t even have to think about it?”
“I’ve thought about it,” Nate said in his typical nonchalant manner. “Frankly, I was surprised you and Mariah never asked.”
“It’s a big thing, Nate. Lots of details to be considered, like how much of a role you’d play in the baby’s life, how this would fit into your own plans for a family, and ultimately, can you, without a doubt, say you’d be able to relinquish your child, your own flesh and blood, to another couple to raise?” And even if he could answer all those questions satisfactorily, it was too much to ask of Mariah.
“The three of us just need to sit down and talk about it,” Nate said. “See if we’re on the same page.”
“We’re not.” Sophie closed her eyes. Despite Nate’s offer being the answer to her prayers, she wouldn’t even broach the subject again with Mariah. As much as it broke her heart, it wouldn’t be fair. “We love you too much, Nate, to let the complexity of this tear us apart.”
And ultimately it would.
Chapter 13
“Whaddya doin’, boy?” Shep walked out onto the porch as Rhys unloaded a couple of boxes of motion-sensor lights and low-voltage LED path lanterns from his pickup.
Now that Rhys had Jake he could afford to take a little R&R every now and again. So he was spending his first day off in weeks doing household chores.
The bulldozer guy he’d hired had removed about a half-dozen trees, which Rhys planned to chop up and give to Clay for firewood, and had cleared and leveled a good-size pad near the duplex for the cars. Since there was enough room left for shooting hoops, he’d also purchased a portable backboard system that he needed to assemble. It wouldn’t hurt Sam to practice.
“I’m installing some lighting out here before Lina and Maddy kill themselves in the dark.” He looked up at his father, who wore a T-shirt, a pair of lightweight cargo pants and house slippers. “Pop, go in and change into something warmer. It’s twenty degrees out here.”
Rhys kicked himself for telling Lina to go to town. She liked to walk to the library and he’d figured she could use a break from the old man. But Shep had become a real handful and Lina seemed to be the only one who knew how to manage him. He’d gotten both kids cell phones so they could better coordinate Shep’s care and rides. Between school, Shep’s doctor appointments and errands, he felt like a part-time bus driver. As soon as he got the time, he’d teach Lina how to drive and give her Shep’s truck.
The girl was a quick study, her obsidian eyes always cataloging her surroundings the way Rhys’s did when he was on the job. Sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, she’d watch him. He got the sense that she didn’t approve of the way he treated Shep—thought he was disrespectful. Well, tough. She didn’t know anything about their history. The kid should be going to college anyway, not taking care of an ungrateful poor excuse for a father.
Shep sat on a rocker watching him work. Rhys noticed that he still hadn’t changed his clothes. Fine, he thought. If the old man wants to catch pneumonia, that’s his problem.
“Instead of messing with those lights, you ought to be out with that girl next door,” Shep called down.
“Who? Maddy?”
“You see any other girl next door?”
“What, you two best friends now?” Rhys rolled his eyes. “She’s married.”
Shep shrugged his stooped shoulders. “She looks pretty single to me.”
“Well, she’s not,” he said, hoping to put an end to the conversation.
Rhys slanted a ladder up against the side of the duplex that faced the driveway, climbed up, and unscrewed the old rusted light fixture so he could replace it with the new motion sensor. Maddy might be on her way to getting divorced and willing to share a few mind-blowing kisses with him, but she wasn’t over her husband. Not by a long shot. And why should she be? A guy like Dave Wellmont could give Maddy Paris. All Rhys could offer her was a fifth-wheel trailer down by the railroad tracks. He didn’t even own the damn thing.
What did it matter? He wasn’t sticking around, anyway. By this time next year he’d be back in Houston, back at the department where they were holding his job. And hopefully a promotion.
Shep stood up, walked to the edge of the porch and craned his neck so he could get a glimpse of Rhys working. “I tell you that girl’s ripe for the picking.”
Rhys came down, walked to the back of the house to the circuit-breaker box, flipped on the power, and shouted, “Hey, Pop, go inside and turn that light on for me.”
He heard Shep shuffle across the porch, and a few seconds later, the screen door slammed. Rhys waved his hand in front of the new sensor and the light came on. He was moving the ladder to the other side of the duplex to replace the second fixture when Shep came down the stairs.
“You gonna go after her?”
Rhys’s gaze traveled over the old man and he shook his head. “For thirty-six fucking years you’ve done nothing but ignore me, and now, all of sudden, you’re concerned about my love life. Didn’t I tell you to put on something warmer?” He turned his back on Shep and headed for the circuit box again.
By the time Rhys had the second motion-sensor light installed and a bulb screwed in, it had begun to snow. Small wet flakes dusted his hair and stuck to the shoulders of his down jacket. If the snow got any heavier he’d have to report to duty before the accident calls piled up. Rhys came down the ladder and turned the breaker on.
He didn’t see his dad on the porch, so he yelled into the house, “Turn on the other light switch, wouldya?” Rhys waved his hand in fron
t of the newly installed sensor. Nothing happened. “Pop, you turn it on?”
There was no reply, and the fixture still didn’t work. Rhys stomped into the house, flipped the switch himself and peeked into his dad’s room expecting to find Shep napping. But the bed remained neatly made. “Pop?” he called into the kitchen, but no one answered.
He banged on the bathroom door, waited a few seconds and opened it. Empty. “Pop, where the hell are you?”
Rhys dashed out of the duplex, and called some more. He quickly searched the yard, his truck, and the back porch. Maybe Shep had mistaken Maddy’s side of the duplex for theirs. She’d left for work hours ago, but like everyone else in Nugget, she kept her doors unlocked.
“Pop?” He searched from one end of the apartment to the other, calling his father’s name.
He was out of places around the house to look and dark clouds had started to move in. How does someone disappear in less than fifteen minutes?
He heard a car coming down the driveway and looked up to see Maddy’s Subaru.
She pulled up in front of the duplex and rolled down her window. “What you doing out in the snow?”
“Looking for my father,” he said. “He was out here while I was installing motion lights. I thought he went inside the house, but now I can’t find him.”
“I didn’t see him on Donner Road. Want some help looking for him?” Maddy got out of her car.
She wore a white coat, furry boots, and her cheeks were pink from the cold. Rhys couldn’t tear his eyes off of her. The woman was hotter than a twenty-dollar pistol. And if Rhys didn’t watch it he’d get burned.
“He couldn’t have gone far,” he said, glancing up at the sky. “Why don’t we divide and conquer? I’ll search the areas up Donner. You mind taking Grizzly Peak Road? He used to walk that route a lot.”
“Sure. Where are the kids?”
“Lina’s at the library. Sam’s at practice.”
She glanced at the basketball-net set lying near his truck in an unopened box and grinned at him. He followed Maddy up the driveway, waited for her to take the quick jog over to Grizzly Peak before accelerating up Donner Road’s steep grade.
