by Lisa Jackson
And she’d been the cause of Kevin’s death.
This girl—this woman—had broken Nadine’s oldest brother’s heart, and when he’d discovered his love was unreturned, he’d pulled his car into the garage of his apartment, closed the door and let the engine run until he’d died of carbon monoxide poisoning.
Nadine forced a greeting over her tongue. She told herself she couldn’t blame Carlie, but couldn’t fight the rage that burned in her heart. If only Carlie had treated Kevin more kindly, he might still be alive today.
Carlie’s mother, Thelma, the waitress behind the counter, glanced at Nadine, snapped open her order pad and, without a smile, took her order. The pain between the two families had existed for years, and no one was able, or cared, to bridge the gap.
In a thunder of footsteps, five-year-old Adam Brooks, dressed in full cowboy regalia, scurried to the counter. His mother, Heather, and her sister, Rachelle Moore, were laughing, dragging shopping bags and obviously breathless as they walked down the aisle toward the back of the store. While Heather was petite and blond, and just beginning to show her pregnancy, Rachelle was tall and willowy, with long red-brown hair that fell to her waist.
“Rachelle!” Carlie gasped, then sent Heather a friendly glare. “You knew she’d be in town.”
“I wasn’t sure—” Heather hedged.
“Liar.” Rachelle slid onto a stool next to Carlie. “I called her yesterday.” She slid her packages under the counter and eyed the fluorescent menu displayed over the back mirror.
Adam scrambled onto a stool next to his aunt and began ordering a banana split, but Heather spied Nadine. “Just the woman I was looking for,” she said as Rachelle and Carlie caught up on old times. “I need your help.”
“Mine?”
“The studio. It needs all sorts of work and the doctor told me that I had to slow down.” She patted her rounding belly. “So, after Christmas sometime I was hoping that you’d help me clean it up, maybe give it a fresh coat of paint—that sort of thing. If you have the time, of course.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good. And I have a list of people for you—oh, where is it?” Heather dug through a voluminous purse, yanked out her wallet and dug through a compartment. “Here you go. All of these people showed an interest in some of your jewelry. That woman there—” she pointed a fingernail at the third name on the list “—owns a chain of boutiques around the bay area. She has a store near Fisherman’s Wharf, one in Sausalito and a few sprinkled around Santa Rosa and Sonoma, I think. She displays some of my paintings and was very interested in your work. Give her...for that matter, give them all a call.”
Nadine could hardly believe her good luck. She folded the scrap of paper into her purse and said, “Thanks.”
“No trouble,” Heather replied with a smile.
“Let me buy you a cup of coffee, at least.”
“You don’t have to—” Heather glanced along the length of the counter where Rachelle, Carlie and Adam were discussing the merits of marshmallow sauce versus pineapple on a sundae.
“I want to.”
“All right.” Heather eased onto one of the stools, and Nadine wondered how she’d ever been jealous of this woman who seemed to glow in her pregnancy. Her blond hair shimmered in the lights and her eyes sparkled with good humor. Obviously marriage was good for her and Turner Brooks was a good man, a strong man, a passionate man. A man Nadine had come to realize that she’d never really loved.
And what about Hayden? Do you love him?
The thought struck her cold, and she nearly dropped her cup of cocoa, sloshing some of the chocolate onto the counter. Love? Why, the notion was ridiculous! She couldn’t, wouldn’t fall for Hayden.
“Your father says there’s talk at the logging company of trouble with the mill. Rumor has it that Garreth’s son might sell it or scrap it out,” Thelma said to Carlie as she slid a glass boat filled with bananas, ice cream and syrup toward Adam. With glee, he plucked the cherry from a bed of whipped cream and plopped it into his mouth.
“I thought you were going to share,” his aunt Rachelle chided him, and Adam, a smile stretched long on his freckled face, shook his head.
“The mill’s closing?” Carlie asked.
“It’s not for certain yet.”
“But this town will roll up and die,” Heather observed.
Nadine looked at Carlie’s mother. “Maybe it won’t be shut down.”
Thelma regarded Nadine with frosty eyes. “You just watch. Hayden Monroe’s always been a pampered rich boy. Never done anyone any good, including that girl he was gonna marry. First he nearly killed her in a boat wreck, then he broke off the engagement.” She clucked her tongue. “A real charmer, that one.” She plucked a pad from the pocket of her apron and tallied the bill for a couple of men who were sitting at the far end of the counter.
Nadine said goodbye to everyone and thanked Heather again for the list of potential clients. She barely heard the strains of “Silver Bells” as she shoved open the door and walked outside. The cocoa in her stomach seemed to curdle when she thought of Hayden and the power he now had over this town. She’d grown up with the people who worked for him; their children were her own boys’ friends. If Hayden did close down the mill, they might as well close down the town. Even Fitzpatrick Logging would be affected.
If Hayden sold the sawmill to a rival firm, there would be changes and the people of Gold Creek, God bless them, weren’t all that interested in change. A new owner might bring in his own foremen, his own workers, his own office people and computer system. Jobs could be lost to other men and machinery.
It wasn’t hard to see why the citizens of Gold Creek liked things to stay the same. They’d been raised in a timber town as their folks had been. Throughout the generations, logging in northern California had dwindled, but in Gold Creek it was a way of life.
And Hayden Monroe had the power to change it.
* * *
“JUST TAKE YOUR father’s viewpoint into perspective,” Thomas Fitzpatrick said, glancing through the window of Hayden’s house to the lake. He’d spent the afternoon with his wayward nephew, trying to convince the boy to maintain a status quo. Hayden didn’t seem to care what his father wanted nor did he seem all that interested in the fate of Fitzpatrick Logging. In fact, there seemed to be a new bitterness to him, a hardening of his features that Thomas hadn’t seen in his previous meeting. As if Hayden knew something he shouldn’t.
Thomas was sweating. He and Garreth had worked so well together. They’d built a monopoly here in Gold Creek and enjoyed ruling the town’s economy, being Gold Creek’s premier citizens. Well, at least Thomas had. Garreth had been more of a legend—what with living in the city and showing up only a few times a week at best.
Thomas cracked his knuckles as Hayden leaned back in the recliner. “What is it you really want?” Hayden asked, eyeing his uncle so intensely that Thomas, always cool, felt the need to squirm in his chair.
“For the time being, until I can come up with more cash, I want you to stay at the helm of Monroe Sawmill.”
“And keep buying timber from Fitzpatrick Logging?”
“Of course. We have contracts—”
“You have a lot of things, Thomas. You and Dad.” Hayden reached into a drawer and yanked out a stack of yellowed documents that had been forwarded to him, upon request, by Bradworth in San Francisco. He tossed them on the coffee table. “An interest in a soccer team that never got off the ground, a racehorse that couldn’t win and oil leases for dry wells, to name just a few. Diversification—isn’t that what you called it?”
Thomas tented his hands and nodded slightly, managing to hide his annoyance. “We’ve had our share of bad investments.”
“More than your share, I’d say. In fact, it’s my bet that the sawmill and the logging company are the only legitimate, profitable businesses that you’re involved with.”
“I’m just suggesting that you don’t look a gift hor
se in the mouth.”
Hayden’s smile was cold. “Gift horse? I think the mills are more of an albatross than anything else.”
Thomas’s eyes snapped. “You always were too stubborn for your own good. Your father only wanted what was best for you.”
“My father didn’t give a damn for me, and you know it!” Hayden exploded. “I was just another one of his ‘things.’”
Thomas pushed back his chair. “Just don’t do anything foolish.”
“You’ll be one of the first to know it if I do,” Hayden replied. “At the board meeting.”
“What if I come up with an offer before then?”
Hayden’s nostril’s flared slightly. “Bring it to me. Then we’ll talk.”
Thomas left, and Hayden searched the den for a bottle of Scotch or bourbon. He needed a drink. Grabbing a dusty bottle, he poured himself a stiff shot, then, with a growl, dumped the liquor down the bar sink and stared through the window into the coming night. His uncle worried him. The man was slick, oily. For the first time, Hayden wondered about selling out to him and giving him a complete monopoly in town—the owner of the only two industries.
Thomas would have more power than ever over people like Nadine.
He felt a pull on his gut and wondered what Nadine was doing.
Hell, why was it he couldn’t stop thinking of her? Whatever his mood—happy, sad, frustrated, elated, worried—he wanted to share it with her. Ever since landing back in this two-bit town and seeing her bending over his bathtub, scrubbing as if her life depended upon it, he’d been fascinated with her.
Leo whined to go outside, and absently Hayden patted the old dog’s head. “I know,” he said, as he snagged his jacket off the hall tree near the front door. Within minutes he and the dog were driving around the curving road that followed the shoreline of the lake. The night was brisk, stars winked high above the canopy of spruce and redwood branches, but Hayden didn’t notice. His concentration was focused on the twin beams of light thrown by his headlights and the single thought that soon he’d be with Nadine again.
* * *
“OKAY, OKAY, WE’LL put up the tree—but just the lights tonight. It’s already late,” Nadine told her boys. Upset over what she’d learned at the counter of the drugstore, she’d started home, passed the Boy Scout sales lot for Christmas trees and, on impulse, stopped and bought a small tree that she’d lashed to the roof of her car.
She was now holding it up for inspection on the back porch. Hershel growled at the tree, but the boys were delighted. “It’s great, Mom,” John told her, “but you could’ve gotten a bigger one. It’s a little on the puny side.”
“Yeah, like Charlie Brown’s,” Bobby chimed in, remembering a rerun of a Christmas special they’d seen.
“It’s not that bad. With a little trimming, a few lights, and tons of ornaments, it’ll be the best tree we’ve ever had,” she insisted. “You’ll see. Come on, Bobby, you help me get it inside, and John, look on the top shelf in the garage for the stand.”
They wrestled the tree into the dusty stand, though the poor little pine listed to one side.
“It looks like it might fall down,” Bobby said.
Nadine, still bent over the stand, shook her head. Pine needles fell into her hair and she had to speak around a protruding branch. “It’ll be fine, once it’s decorated.”
“I don’t know,” John said, holding up his hand parallel to the wall and closing one eye to measure just how badly the tree leaned. “It could tip over.”
“Hogwash. We’ll just turn it so that it slants toward the corner. No one will ever know!” Nadine dusted her hands, eyed her handiwork, and had to admit to herself that the tree bordered on pathetic. “Just think Charlie Brown,” she told herself as she poured water into the tray.
John was testing the lights, seeing which colorful bulbs still glowed after a year in the garage, by plugging the string into a wall socket, when there was a knock on the door. Hershel, searching the kitchen floor for scraps of food, bolted across the room, growling and snarling and nearly knocking over the tree as he raced by.
Bobby jumped onto the couch and peered out the window. “It’s the guy from across the lake!”
“Mr. Monroe?” John asked, and his eyes were suddenly as bright as the string of lights at his feet. “Maybe he wants to take us on a ride in his boat at night! Wouldn’t that be great!”
“Hershel, shush!” Nadine commanded. “And I doubt that he wants to take you two boys out on the lake tonight,” Nadine added, but her heart seemed to take flight as she opened the door and found Hayden on the front porch. He loomed before her, and his musky male scent wafted on the breeze that crept into the room, billowing the curtains and causing the fire to glow brighter for an instant.
“Hey, did you bring your boat?” Bobby asked, jumping up and down on the couch in his excitement.
Hershel barked loudly.
Nadine snapped her fingers in her youngest son’s direction. “Stop that jumping, Bobby, and you—” she whirled on the dog “—Hush! Right now!” She managed a smile for Hayden as she caught Hershel by the collar. “Welcome to my zoo.” She swung the door open a little farther with her free hand, and Hayden stepped inside, only to kick the door closed behind him.
Nadine released the dog, and Hayden whispered to her, “This is the nicest damned zoo I’ve been to in a long time.” His gaze found hers again and held. Her breath seemed to stop and time stretched endlessly. In those few seconds Nadine felt as if her future was wrapped up in this man, as if there were some unspoken bond between them.
“Come on, you can help us with the Christmas tree,” John said, shattering the moment. “I didn’t want to tell Mom that it was crooked, but it really needs some help.”
Hayden shook his head. “I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
“You didn’t. John’s right. You can help,” Nadine said quickly.
Hayden’s forehead creased. “I don’t think I’m the right one to ask about this sort of thing.”
“Hey, you’re the only candidate who walked through the door,” she joked, but no trace of humor entered his eyes.
“I’ve never put up a tree before.”
“Oh, sure you have. When you were a kid...” Her voice trailed off when she saw the shadows crossing his eyes.
“When I was a kid, my mother hired a decorator to design a tree—actually a look for the house—around a theme, mind you, and I was never allowed to touch the creation.” He eyed the tiny tree standing in the corner. “One year it was a Victorian theme, with huge bows and fake candles and lace, another something very sophisticated and contemporary—that year the tree was flocked pink. One other time it was sprayed gold and hung with red bells. There were strings of red bells all over the house—up the stairs, over the mantel, around the front door, in the foyer. Whatever some artist came up with, that was our look—but it was only skin deep.”
“Oh, come on!” John said, sure that Hayden was pulling his leg. “A pink tree? And you didn’t get to put it up?”
“Well, there’s no time like the present to learn,” Nadine said, despite the tears threatening her eyes. All her life she’d envied Hayden for his easy existence; she’d never really bought the “poor little rich boy” scenario, but now she wished she could ease his pain, tell him that she cared.
For all her family’s lack of money, Christmastime had been a time of celebration. From the tinsel and candles on the mantel, to Sunday services at the church, where her mother would sing a solo in the choir, to cups of cocoa and bowls of popcorn as they decorated the tree with the meager decorations her mother had collected over the years—the same decorations that were probably trimming a tree on an Iowa farm.
Nadine wondered if her mother still made dozens of Christmas cookies and played her piano after dinner on Christmas Eve. She’d probably never know. The packages and cards she received never seemed to tell her much about Donna’s life as a farmer’s wife in the Midwest. A huge lump filled her t
hroat, and she touched Hayden’s fingers with her own.
“It’s never too late to learn how to trim a tree,” she said, driving away her own case of melancholy. “John will help you try to straighten it and Bobby and I will make some popcorn.”
Bobby bounded from the couch and scurried to the kitchen, and John was all business as he explained what was wrong with the tree and how he proposed to keep it from leaning. “...the problem is,” John confided to Hayden, “...Mom’s a woman.”
“I noticed,” Hayden replied dryly.
“Well, women don’t know nothin’ about man things like hatchets and axes and—”
“I heard that, John,” Nadine called from the kitchen. Smiling, she added, “Better be careful what you say or you’ll be chopping all the firewood yourself....” Winking at Bobby, she plugged in the air popper and couldn’t hear the rest of Hayden and John’s discussion about the “weaker sex.” Usually a conversation in that tone sent her temper skyrocketing, but tonight, with Hayden in the house, she decided not to take offense.
Bobby put a Christmas tape in his boom box, and by the time the popcorn, cranberry juice and cocoa were ready, Hayden and John had revived the little tree. Not only did it stand upright, but the first string of lights was winking between the branches. “How does it look?” John asked proudly.
“Like it was done by professionals.”
Hayden shook his head. “Like it was done by amateurs, the way it’s supposed to be.” They ate the popcorn by the fire, discussed the fact that the boys would be on vacation in less than two weeks and laughed as Hershel tried to steal kernels of popcorn out of Bobby’s fingers. “He knows you’re a soft touch,” Hayden told Bobby. “Be careful of that.”
“I’m not!” Bobby said, and to Nadine’s surprise, Hayden grabbed the boy and wrestled him onto the floor. Bobby giggled and ended up on top, “pinning” Hayden until John joined in the fun. They rolled across the carpet, three bodies clinging together as one, laughing and muttering and working up a sweat.