I shrugged. “Smith Rock is a state park in Central Oregon’s high desert region. I think it’s about six hundred acres or so. The rocks there are welded tuff, formed eons ago by compressed volcanic ash. And the Crooked River flows through it. Sunset or sunrise are just mind-boggling in their beauty. I loved hiking there. My dad and I went there for a week the summer I was thirteen and had the best time.”
Tim remained silent for a while. I wondered what thoughts tumbled through his handsome head when he finally looked over at me. “What made you hide from your mom at the bookstore, Carol? What drove you there?”
“Well, I tried hiding at the library or at my friends’ homes, but she found me.” I wanted to be flippant, but he was having no part of it as he continued staring at me, waiting for the truth. Might as well just rip off that Band-Aid and be done with it. “From the time I was a toddler until I left home, my mother had my entire future planned out in minute detail. The problem was she never stopped to ask me what I wanted. Every day after school she’d drag me from one thing to another until I just couldn’t take it anymore. No amount of pleading from me or even my dad putting his foot down would change her mind. But if she couldn’t find me, she couldn’t have her way. Of course, when the bookstore closed and I had to go home, things never went well, but Dad was there to serve as a buffer.”
His hand settled on mine and he gave it a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, Carol. It sounds like you had a miserable childhood.”
“No, not miserable. The time I spent with my dad was amazing. I just wish I’d had more time with him before he passed away.” Grief and regret formed a lump in my throat that I worked to swallow along with another sip of chocolate.
He must have sensed my struggle because the next question brought me back to an even keel. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever tasted?”
“Durian.”
His nose wrinkled. “Oh, man, those are just nasty. A buddy dared me to try one. The smell was enough to knock me out of my boots and it didn’t taste any better.”
I laughed. “When my a… friend cut one open and told me to try it, my eyes started watering from the smell. I took one bite and spit it into the garbage. It was so bad.”
“Agreed,” he said, taking the chocolate from me and emptying the cup then setting it back on the thermos. “What’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten?”
I tossed him a saucy grin. “Anything made by your Aunt Charli. Seriously, she is amazing. I ate at Magdala a few times when I was in Chicago. Because the meals were so delicious, I can’t help but wonder if she was the one who prepared them.”
“If she didn’t, she was probably overseeing the chef that did.”
We’d been outside a while now and the longer we sat, the more the cold seeped into me. In spite of my efforts to fight it off, I shivered.
“Chilly?” Tim asked, but before I could respond, he scooted behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pulled me back against his chest. Suddenly, I felt quite tropical. Heat poured over me, around me, surrounding me in a kind of warmth I’d never known, never dreamed existed. And I really didn’t want it to end.
I relaxed and leaned back with my head nestled against his shoulder. If I turned my head a few inches, it would be so easy to kiss those luscious lips of his.
“Favorite movie?”
Nothing like a string of questions to interrupt any amorous thoughts I might have entertained.
“Angel and the Badman with…”
“John Wayne,” Tim said before I could finish my sentence. “I didn’t peg you for an old westerns fan.”
“Then you have indeed pegged me erroneously, Mr. Burke.” I gave him a haughty look then softened it with a grin. “My dad loved John Wayne and we’d watch those old movies whenever Mom wasn’t around. And before you ask, I love country music, good barbecue, and know the difference between straw and hay.”
“Now I’m impressed,” he said gently, tightening his grip around me. I wasn’t certain if he truly was impressed or just said that, but then again, Tim didn’t seem to have any trouble holding back his thoughts or opinions. “What’s your favorite Christmas song?”
“Does all of them cover the answer?” I asked then giggled when he playfully nuzzled my neck.
“No. Pick one.”
I loved so many songs, but I did have my favorites. “I suppose if I was forced into choosing, I’d go with “Silent Night” or “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”
“Classic and traditional, rather like you.”
I hoped his comment meant he liked that I’m not a typical modern woman. I’m fully aware of the fact I can be a little old-fashioned, but it’s who I am.
“If I’m counting correctly you have two questions remaining.” I snuggled a little closer to him, thrilled by the feeling of resting against him. I couldn’t recall a time I’d felt so safe and cherished.
“Then I better make them count,” he said. His breath, scented with chocolate, blew across my cheek and I battled a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. “What are you afraid of, Carol? What forced you back to Christmas Mountain? From what little I know, you left when you were eighteen, no one heard a peep from you for years, then you showed up last November out of the blue. Something had to happen to make you come back all of the sudden.”
Something had happened, but he didn’t need to know what. The fewer people who knew the reasons for my return, the better. Even if I liked Tim and trusted him, to keep us both safe, some secrets had to remain secret.
“Who says I’m afraid of anything?”
Tim sighed and kissed my cheek. “I don’t know if you realize it, but I’m not nearly as stupid as you might think.”
When I started to protest, he kissed my cheek again. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see you’re always on guard. You jump at the slightest noise, you’ve got martial arts moves that would make a ninja cower in fear, and you never share about yourself, keeping everything intentionally vague. Obviously, you try to disguise the fact you’re a beautiful, desirable woman behind your baggy clothes, fake glasses, and a bun that would do a matronly librarian proud.”
I started to pull away from him, but he kept one hand on my waist while he reached out and snagged the thick envelope he’d tossed on the blanket earlier.
He opened it, turned it upside down, and half a dozen magazines fell onto my lap, every single one of them with me on the cover.
“Why don’t you tell me about your years as a super model, Lyra Levy?”
Chapter Ten
As I stared at the magazines Tim dumped in my lap, flashing red lights erupted in my head like a full-fledged warning of impending doom. How had he figured out who I’d been, what I’d been, the last several years?
He moved so he sat across from me, intently watching my face. Icy fingers closed around me, leaving me half frozen. It had far more to do with the absence of his warmth behind me than the frosty December day.
Since he clearly knew the truth, the time for evasive replies and ambiguous answers had passed.
It wasn’t hard to guess where he found the magazines. One was the latest issue of a sports magazine that put out a yearly edition with a model in a swimsuit on the cover. My manager had done a great job keeping my image plastered in magazines and billboards the past year, even though I hadn’t posed for a single shot for almost fourteen months.
“You are Lyra Levy, aren’t you?” Tim asked. He took his phone from an inside coat pocket and pulled up a photo of me sitting on his lap at the bookstore when he was in the Santa suit. I took the phone from him. It was a cute picture, even if I was irritated at Karen for taking them at the time.
“The first time I met you, I was sure I’d seen you before, but not in a generic face in the Christmas Mountain crowd way. Between your fear of strangers, tendency to hide at the store, and the fact you are gorgeous beyond belief when you aren’t dressing like a bag lady, I started wondering if you weren’t hiding something. After we took these photos,
I went home and compared them to these magazines. No doubt remained that you are Lyra Levy. Want to tell me why you’re hiding here?”
I didn’t want to tell him, but I didn’t really feel like I had a choice at this point.
“You’re one of a handful of people who know I’m Lyra. I’d like to keep it that way,” I said, giving him a warning look along with his phone.
“I wouldn’t share that with anyone, Carol. It’s not my story to tell. Not even Nana or Aunt Charli know.”
“Thank you,” I said with relief. “I suppose if you want the whole story, which is what you’ve been digging at this afternoon, I might as well give it to you.”
He grinned and shifted back around so he was once again sitting with his arms wrapped around me. Call me crazy, but it was easier to spill my guts when a hunky, genuinely kind man held me in his arms.
“Guilty as charged,” he said, sounding pleased he’d triumphed in getting the truth out of me. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
“The beginning is with my parents. My mother was not a beauty by any sense of the word, but she was smart and driven. She never talked about it much, but I got the idea in school she didn’t have friends and always felt left out. She blamed it on her looks. I think it had more to do with the fact she was manipulative, shrewd, and ruthless.”
“But your dad sounds like he was such a nice guy. How did they connect?” Tim asked, drawing me a little closer.
I took my phone out of my coat pocket, scrolled through photos and brought up one of my family that was taken the Christmas before Dad died. I held it up so Tim could see the screen. My mother was upset Dad insisted on the photo of us standing in front of the Christmas tree. He and I laughed at something he’d said, but Mom wore a trademark scowl.
“I’ve always thought Mom looked like a female version of David Schwimmer, except not nearly as attractive.”
A laugh burst out of Tim, then he gave me a hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh, but I see what you mean.”
“Mom had mousy brown hair, small brown eyes, the figure of a board, and only smiled when she was trying to impress clients or manipulate someone.” I pointed to my father. “Dad was born with this horrible birthmark on the right side of his face.”
I’d never given a thought to the red discoloration that went from his eyebrow all the way to his chin. He was just my awesome, loving, caring father.
“Most people took one look at him and all they saw was the birthmark. He was very self-conscious about it. I think my mother saw an opportunity because my dad was very handsome, even with the birthmark.”
“I see the resemblance between you and him. You think your mother manipulated him into marrying her?”
“Without a single doubt. She’d never admit that’s what she did, but I know it. Anyway, when I came along, I think Dad worried I’d have a birthmark and I do, just not where anyone can see it.”
“Hmm. A new mystery to unravel,” Tim whispered in my ear.
“Don’t count on it, buster.”
He chuckled and kissed my temple. “Oh, I am, Christmas Carol.”
It took effort to ignore the warmth oozing through me at his teasing, but I continued with my story. “Dad always told me my resemblance to his grandmother was uncanny. She was a scandalous flapper back in the day.”
Tim leaned around so I could see his face. “I could totally see you in a flapper outfit. In fact, didn’t you have on…” He reached for the magazines I’d set aside.
I smacked at his hands then snuggled back against him. “Either stay focused or I’ll stop talking.”
“Please continue, Miss Bossy Britches.”
I glowered at him over my shoulder. “As I was saying, Dad always said I took after his grandmother who was reportedly beautiful and feisty. His mom was lovely, too. I think my grandmother and mother hated each other. Anyway, by the time I was three, I had a head full of golden-brown curls, blue eyes, and could sing with the best of them, so my mother started entering me in beauty contests. Then the lessons began: dancing lessons, voice lessons, comportment lessons. She cared far less about my education or what I wanted than trying to live vicariously through me since she was always the homely girl in her class. One day, I had enough and ran off after school before she could pick me up to take me to a voice lesson. I ducked into the bookstore when I saw her driving down the street looking for me and Mr. Abernathy offered me a place of refuge. I’m sure half the people in town knew I hid there after school, but I don’t think anyone ever said a word to Mom. Twice, my dad came into the store to pick me up when it was snowing, and I knew he was fully aware of my hiding spot.”
“I’m glad you had your dad and Mr. Abernathy.”
“Me, too.” If it hadn’t been for them, I’d never have survived my childhood. “Mom still forced me to compete in beauty pageants and take lessons, but not as frequently. My junior year of high school, she entered me in a teen pageant. I won the state title and went on to compete at the national level. I came in second, but I received offers from five modeling agencies to work for them. I didn’t give them much thought although Mom wanted me to pursue them. Then my dad passed away and I needed a means of escape. I just couldn’t take life with my mother any longer. I called the agent who reminded me most of my dad. Jason remembered me, offered me a job, and became my manager. The day after I graduated, I left for New York and cut off all contact with Christmas Mountain and my friends here. I needed a fresh start. After I told my mother I was working in a truck stop, I knew she’d blab to everyone in town how I was a failure. When I moved back, I can’t tell you how many people asked me when I was going to start working at Prancer’s Pancake House. People assume I’ve done nothing but work as a waitress since I left here.”
“Then they’re idiots. How can they look at you and not realize you’re Lyra?”
Tim’s words made me feel better about myself than I had for a while but I shrugged. “People see what they want to see. No one had any idea what I’ve really done these past years and they would never expect bookish Carol Bennett to be a model. And before you ask, the irony that I ended up in a modeling career due to my mother’s interfering influence in my younger years is a sore subject with me.”
He grinned. “How did you go from small-town girl to the red-haired Lyra Levy?”
That was a question I sometimes asked myself when I reflected back over my life the past several years.
“Jason said golden hair and blue eyes were too common. His secretary took me to a swanky salon and had them dye my hair red then I got non-prescription green contacts. I don’t really have anything wrong with my vision.”
“Which I’d like noted that I noticed right away.”
“Point for the cowboy,” I teased. “After the change in hair color, Jason said I needed a new name to go along with the new look. His wife was the one who came up with Lyra and Jason tacked on Levy. Honestly, I liked having a new look, a new identity, that allowed me to be someone entirely different. I went from posing for a few mediocre campaigns, to being in demand for major designers. And through my work, I was able to travel the world, see fabulous places, and have many wonderful experiences.”
“I hear a but in there. What happened?”
As I’d observed when I first met Tim, he was far too perceptive for my own good.
“Two years ago, right before Christmas, a package showed up at my apartment. I’d received gifts from designers I’d worked with as well as friends, so I didn’t think anything about a box arriving. When I opened it, there was a note inside with a dozen dead roses that warned me to quit modeling or I’d be sorry. Jason chalked it up to a prank, but it didn’t stop there. Whenever I was in New York, strange things would happen at photo shoots. I often had that weird sensation you get when you know you’re being watched but can’t see anyone spying on you. Jason was convinced I had a stalker and enlisted the police’s help in catching him. Then accidents started to happen. A light fell and would have hit me if
the makeup artist hadn’t shoved me out of the way. A car almost ran over me as I left a photo shoot. Then someone poisoned my coffee and I had to be rushed to the hospital. That’s when I decided I’d had enough. Once I recovered my strength enough to work, Jason agreed to my plan to disappear without anyone noticing I’d left. He lined up photo shoots with dozens of companies and designers who’d asked about me posing for one of their ad campaigns, magazines, or promotional pieces. The next six weeks were just a blur. In one day alone, I think I was in three different countries, doing photo shoots in each one.”
“Why the brutal schedule?” Tim asked.
I picked up a magazine and glanced at the cover where I was posed on a white sandy beach in Zanzibar. My long red hair was slightly damp, falling in tousled waves around my golden skin while I wore a swimsuit that now made me blush to look at it. I’d changed so much in the last year, into a person I was really beginning to like.
I tossed the magazine back on the stack and looked out at the snow-covered landscape. After all those years of spending my winters in warm climates, I still hadn’t adjusted to the cold, but I wouldn’t trade being in Christmas Mountain for anything. Not even a beach house on a tropical island.
“Jason wanted there to be a stockpile of images of me so it would appear I was still working. Then I ditched the green contacts, had a salon color my hair brown, packed my things, and disappeared. The one place I could think of to escape to was Christmas Mountain. I drove here all the way from New York and on the way, I called Mr. Abernathy. When he mentioned he wished he could find a buyer for his store so he could retire, it seemed like everything was meant to be. While I’m building a place for myself here, an undercover detective who looks enough like me to be my doppelganger pretends to be me when I’m reportedly back in New York. According to the rumors Jason has kept up the last year, I’m in great demand overseas and rarely back on American soil. Blake, that’s the police detective, does a great job of being Lyra.”
Between Christmas and Romance Page 11
