Summer Days

by Susan Mallery

  * * *

  RAFE DROVE SLOWLY THROUGH Fool’s Gold, his mother’s car a half block behind his. He hadn’t been in the town in years and he could easily, not to mention happily, go a lifetime without returning again.

  It wasn’t that the town wasn’t attractive—if one was into pretty, small towns and local color. Storefronts were clean, sidewalks wide. Windows advertised sales and festivals. Despite the fact that it was a weekday, plenty of people were out walking around. From a business perspective, Fool’s Gold seemed to be thriving. But for him, this would always be the place he’d been trapped as a kid, taking on more than he could manage.

  Everything was smaller than he remembered. Probably the perspective of being an adult, he told himself. He recognized the park where he’d met his friends on a rare afternoon away from chores and family. The road up to the school was the same, and he saw three boys on bikes riding in that direction.

  He’d had a bike, he recalled. A bike one of the women in town had given to him. He’d been ten or eleven and desperate to be like his friends. But the bike was charity and his pride had battled with practicality.

  He couldn’t complain—the town had been plenty kind. Every August there had been new clothes for school, new shoes and backpacks filled with the necessary supplies. On the holidays, baskets of food had appeared. At Christmas, toys had been left. His lunch at school had been free, something that had humiliated him, even though the cafeteria workers never drew attention to the fact. Once when he was walking home from school, a woman had pulled over, opened her car door and handed him a jacket. Just like that.

  The jacket had been new and thick and warm. In the pockets, he’d found gloves and five dollars. Back then, it was all the money in the world. He’d been grateful and furious at the same time.

  While he’d appreciated the gestures and the care, he’d hated that either had been necessary. Several nights a week, he’d been forced to lie to his mother and say he wasn’t hungry for dinner so his brothers and sister could have enough to eat. He’d gone to bed, determined to ignore the burning emptiness gnawing at him.

  He’d never understood the vicious old man his mother had worked for—a man who had made sure there was plenty for himself, but not enough for a hardworking housekeeper to feed her children. The only bright spot in coming back was that, while the old caretaker’s house still stood, the place where

  the old man had lived was gone.

  None of which was the town’s fault, he told himself. Still, the memories were there. Things he’d tried to forget, to grow past. He was a powerful man, wealthy. He could pick up the phone and be put through to a senator or diplomat. He knew the CEOs of nearly half the Fortune 500 companies. But, driving through Fool’s Gold, he was once again the too-thin kid who’d longed to know what it would be like to feel safe and secure. To have a full belly and toys and a mother who didn’t hide worry behind a loving smile.

  He turned into the courtyard in front of Ronan’s Lodge, the main hotel in town. The Gold Rush Ski Resort was too far out of town to be practical, so the lodge would do.

  Ronan’s Lodge, or as the locals called it, Ronan’s Folly, had been built during the gold rush. The large, three-story building was a testament to fine craftsmanship from a time when detail work was done by hand. As a valet hurried toward his car, Rafe took in the carved double doors that led to the lobby.

  Years ago, when he’d been small, he’d never imagined he would ever be able to stay in a place like this. Now he got out of his car and took the ticket the valet offered, as if he showed up at places like this every day. Which he did—but it never got old.

  He collected the small leather duffel he’d packed and went back to help his mother. May was staring at the hotel and smiling.

  “I remember this place,” she told him, her eyes bright with delight. “It’s so beautiful. Are we really going to stay here?”

  “It’s convenient.”

  “You need a little more romance in your soul.”

  “Now you have a project.”

  She laughed and touched his cheek. “Oh, Rafe, isn’t it wonderful to be back? Driving through town like that, I didn’t know where to look first. Don’t you love everything about this town? I’m sorry we had to leave. We were so happy here.”

  He supposed in some ways they had been, but getting out of Fool’s Gold had been a goal that consumed him. Which wasn’t a conversation he was going to have with his mother, he reminded himself.

  “You can be happy again, once you have your ranch,” he told her, taking her suitcase and escorting her into the hotel.

  The lobby was large and three stories tall. There were carved panels on the wall and a chandelier made of imported Irish crystal. He wasn’t sure where that small fact had come from or why he’d remembered it, but there it was.

  Even as May paused to press both hands to her chest and gaze around in wonder, Rafe walked to the reception desk and gave his last name.

  “There should be two rooms,” he said, knowing his ever-efficient assistant would have handled things.

  “Yes, Mr. Stryker. Of course. We have you and your mother each in a suite on our third floor.” The young woman in a blue suit gave him paperwork to sign, then told him about the restaurant hours and that room service was available around the clock.

  He was more interested in getting a drink. Make that several. After glancing briefly toward the bar, he collected his mother and herded her toward the elevator.

  “I only need a very small room,” she said as they rode to the third floor.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out with Glen and Heidi, and then I won’t be in the hotel at all.”

  He stopped in front of the first door and inserted a key card. “Mom, even when you own the ranch, do you really think you’ll want to live there? You’ll be out in the middle of nowhere.” While his mother was only in her fifties, he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with her being alone on a ranch. “The house is old and I doubt it’s been updated.” He thought about the roof and the fading paint, and felt the beginnings of a headache.

  May patted his arm. “You’re sweet to worry, Rafe, but I’ll be fine. I’ve wanted to return to the ranch ever since we lost it nearly twenty years ago. I belong there. Seeing it was magical. I want to make it into a home. Everything is going to work out. You’ll see.”

  He didn’t doubt he would win in court. Dante would see to that. But there was a long, dusty road between winning and everything working out. His mother had a way of complicating a situation.

  “I want to go visit Glen in jail,” she announced as he took her suitcase into the suite’s bedroom.

  “Exhibit A,” he murmured, watching the first of the complications manifest.

  “I feel badly that he’s there.” Her warm gaze cooled. “You didn’t have to call the police.”

  “He was breaking the law.”

  “I know and I appreciate that you were also looking out for me, but I think we should find another way.”

  With luck, his room would have a minibar, he thought grimly. Then he wouldn’t even have to go downstairs.

  “Glen is fine.”

  “You don’t know that. I’m going to see him.”

  He recognized stubborn, mostly because he’d inherited it from her. “Give me a half hour to check in with the office and I’ll come get you. We’ll go together.”

  The smile returned. “Thank you.”

  Sure, now that she was getting her way she smiled. He promised to be back in thirty minutes, then escaped to his own room at the end of the hall.

  He used the card key and stepped into the quiet, mother-free space. The room faced the mountains, and the drapes were parted enough for him to see the Sierra Nevada peaks aiming for the heavens.

  He walked into th
e bedroom, tossed his duffel on the king-size bed, then returned to the living room of the suite and removed his tie. Instead of searching for the minibar, he grabbed his cell phone and called his office.

  “Mr. Stryker’s office,” his businesslike assistant answered on the first ring.

  “Hello, Ms. Jennings.”

  “Mr. Stryker. You’re in Fool’s Gold with your mother?”

  “Yes, and it looks like I’m going to be here awhile.”

  “I gathered that when Mr. Jefferson mentioned he would be joining you. It’s a lovely town.”

  Rafe felt his eyebrows rise. Ms. Jennings never mentioned anything personal. He wasn’t sure if the woman was married, a grandmother or living with a rock band.

  “You’ve visited?”

  “Several times. They have wonderful festivals.”

  There was no accounting for taste, he thought. “I’ll have to check them out.”

  “I can send you a schedule. It’s on the city’s website, www.FoolsGoldCA.com.”

  “Uh, not right now, but thanks for the offer. I’m going to need you to rearrange my calendar. Cancel what isn’t important and reschedule everything else.”

  There was a pause when Rafe knew she was taking notes.

  “Not a problem,” she told him. “I’m checking the next two weeks now, and it’s all things I can handle. Except for your meeting with Nina Blanchard.”

  Rafe sank onto the sofa and held in a curse. “I’ll call her myself.”

  “Of course.”

  They finished the rest of their business, then hung up. Rafe returned to the bedroom, quickly changed out of his suit, into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, then shrugged on his leather jacket.

  He couldn’t avoid Nina Blanchard forever, he thought. After all, he was the one who had hired her. But there was no way he could take advantage of her services while he was in Fool’s Gold. She was going to have to wait until he’d solved the problem that was his mother.

  * * *

  AFTER LEAVING FOOL’S GOLD, Rafe had been determined to experience what the world had to offer. He’d gone to Harvard on a scholarship, had toured Europe and made friends with the rich and powerful. But he’d never been to jail before.

  While he was sure they all looked somewhat similar, he had a feeling the Fool’s Gold jail was considered one of the better places to be incarcerated.

  For one thing, instead of industrial colors, the walls were a warm yellow, trimmed in cream. Bright posters advertised the festivals his assistant so adored. Rather than inhaling the scent of cleaning supplies or something less pleasant, Rafe smelled chili and fresh-baked bread. The woman who signed them in to visit Glen was young and friendly, not the grim-faced officer usually found in the movies.

  “We’ve been busy tonight,” Officer Rodriguez said. Her shiny, dark hair was pulled back into a bouncy ponytail.

  Rafe studied the hairstyle. Weren’t ponytails a bad idea in law enforcement? Didn’t they give criminals something to grab on to, thereby giving them physical control of the situation? Or was Fool’s Gold so close to nirvana that they didn’t deal with serious crime here?

  “Glen Simpson is a very popular man.” Officer Rodriquez grinned. “The town’s averages are getting better, but there’s still a shortage for our ladies of a certain age, and Glen’s a charmer.”

  May signed the clipboard. “What averages?”

  “We had a man shortage. The news about that all came out last year, and it was a mess. The media came crawling in, and there was a reality show here and everything.”

  “I think I remember that,” his mother said thoughtfully. “True Love or Fool’s Gold. It went off the air before it was finished.”

  “No one was watching, which is too bad. I thought it was good. Anyway, since word got out about our man shortage, we’ve been getting plenty of them moving in. Which has made my life more interesting.” Her brown eyes sparkled. “But most of them have been younger. So when Glen came, he was considered hot stuff. He’s only been in jail a few hours, and we’ve already had six…” She glanced at the clipboard.

  “…make that seven visitors for him.”

  May looked uneasy. “I assure you, I’m not here on any romantic mission. I wanted to make sure Glen, ah, Mr. Simpson, was all right.” She leaned toward the officer and lowered her voice. “My son’s the one who put him in jail.”

  “Way to be supportive, Mom.”

  “We could have worked things out.”

  “Not if you planned to get your money back.”

  May’s expression tightened, a sure sign she was getting her stubborn on. He held up both hands. “You’re right. We’ll check on him. It’s the right thing to do.”

  He resisted glancing at his watch, confident they would be back at the hotel long before the bar closed.

  Officer Rodriguez led them down a long, brightly lit hallway, then through a set of double doors. The delicious smells grew more intense, reminding Rafe he hadn’t had lunch and it was closing in on dinner time.

  “Here we are,” the officer said, pulling open another door and motioning for them to enter. “Glen, you have more visitors.”

  Rafe’s only experience with jail came from what he’d seen on TV and in the movies. So he wasn’t sure where Fool’s Gold stood on the “grim” spectrum. But nothing had prepared him for Glen’s current living conditions.

  The old man lay stretched out in his cell. There was the requisite cot, although this one was covered with a beautiful quilt, and there were at least a dozen pillows propped up on the bed. A brightly colored rug covered most of the floor. Flowers spilled from vases, and TV trays served as tables.

  Just outside the barred front, a large, flat-screen TV sat on a stand. The sound of an action movie spilled into the space. A long shelf to the side of the television served as a kind of buffet. Nearly a dozen covered dishes and Crock-Pots stood waiting to serve. There were pies, cakes and cookies.

  “You!”

  Rafe turned and saw the police chief marching toward him. “Ma’am?”

  “Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me,” she growled, grabbing his arm in a steely grip and dragging him back into the hallway.

  “This is your fault,” she snapped, when they were alone. “Don’t think you’re not in trouble.”

  Police Chief Barns might only come up to his shoulder, but there was something about her stance that warned him she wasn’t going to take any lip.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That man.” She pointed back at the door leading to the jail cells.

  “If he’s a problem,” he began, only to have her glare at him. It was a good glare—better than his assistant’s.

  “Oh, there’s a problem, but it’s not coming from him. It’s those women. Do you know how many have visited here?”

  “Six?” he asked, remembering there had been seven according to Officer Rodriguez, and he assumed his mother was in that count.

  “Six,” the police chief confirmed. “They’re showing up here with their food and blankets. One brought that damn television. Another dragged in a foam mattress cover. We wouldn’t want our detainees to feel uncomfortable while they sleep, would we?”

  “I’m not sure how this is my fault.”

  “You made me arrest him.” She poked him in the chest. “Make it go away, or I swear I’ll make your life a living hell.”

  “We’re going to court in the morning.”

  “Good. The last thing I want is a bunch of civilians treating my jail like a church social. When the judge asks if you mind if Glen is released on his own recognizance, you better say no. You hear me?”

  Rafe thought about pointing out that she was breaking more than a few laws with this conversation. That he had the right to request Glen be held until trial. But where was the
win? Until the situation was resolved, he was stuck in town. His mother wanted to make her home here, on that damned ranch. Having the police chief as an enemy wouldn’t help either of their causes.

  “I’ll have a word with my attorney,” he told her.

  “That’s all I ask.” She drew in a breath, then released it slowly. “I swear, if someone else shows up with a Crock-Pot, there’s going to be blood.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  HEIDI SAT UNEASILY in the courtroom, Glen’s friend Harvey next to her. She’d never been to court before—had never even received a parking ticket. She found herself wanting to fidget or run. The judge, a tall, thin woman draped in black robes, intimidated her more than she wanted to admit. The bailiff was equally authoritarian in her uniform. There was an air of hushed expectation, with excited murmurs from those watching.

  Her gaze slid from where Glen and Trisha Wynn were having a quiet conversation to the other table. Rafe Stryker sat next to an equally powerful-looking man. They were both dressed in navy suits, with white shirts and red ties, but the similarities ended there. Rafe was all dark—dark hair, dark eyes and a dark scowl. He surveyed the room unhappily, as if annoyed he had to be bothered with something as insignificant as this. Although, according to Glen’s lawyer, May Stryker had “bought” the ranch with her son, which meant Rafe was an equal party in the complaint.

  The other man had blond hair and killer blue eyes. He was pretty enough to make even Heidi notice, despite her distraction over the proceedings. When she looked at Rafe, she felt a clenching in the pit of her stomach—something that didn’t happen when she glanced at his lawyer.

  Trisha turned and motioned for Heidi to lean forward.

  “Dante Jefferson,” she whispered, pointing to Rafe’s friend. “I know him by reputation, although I wouldn’t mind getting to know him in other ways.”

  Heidi blinked in surprise. Dante was young enough to be Trisha’s son. Not that she was going to judge, she told herself. Trisha was working the case for free.

  “Is he good?”

  Trisha’s amused expression tightened. “The best. He’s not just Rafe’s lawyer. They’re also business partners. Successful business partners. Between them, they’ve made enough money to rival the GDP of a midsize country.”