“Your boots. And maybe your accent. Everyone knows I rented to a Texan.”
“I’m the only Texan in Woodstock?”
“It’s possible.”
“That’s enough to keep me awake nights.”
His landlady scoffed. “I doubt, Mr. Forrest, that much of anything keeps you awake nights.”
Oh, Ms. Cozie. He dropped back down to his chair and planted his feet back up on the porch rail. “Well, I don’t know about that.”
He thought he saw a bit of added color in her cheeks, a surprise. “What about this old guy?” she demanded.
“He warned me about being a gentleman. He doesn’t think much of a single woman renting to a single man. I gather people in town are protective of you?”
“Not necessarily. Some just feel they have a right to know about and comment upon my every move. Did you tell him you were going with me tonight?”
Daniel shrugged. “Just figured I’d rattle his chain.”
“Who I rent this place to is no one’s business but mine, and I’ll tell anyone so who asks. You quit telling lies and stirring up trouble.”
“Like taking the world on by yourself, Ms. Cozie?”
She balled her hands into tight fists at her sides. “If you want to attend the Vanackern dinner this evening, I suggest you speak to the Vanackerns.”
“Should you change your mind about needing an escort,” he said, “you know where to find me. Thanks for the cider.”
She didn’t soften and didn’t say another word, just marched back down off the porch and onto the path that wound down along Hawthorne Brook, kicking small stones as she went, a lot madder going even than she had been coming. A hardcase Yankee, Cozie Hawthorne. She knew damned well he was up to something in her little hometown.
But he didn’t regret his trip to the library. The Hawthornes had been outspoken, up on their moral high horse, and mostly broke since they’d traveled up the Connecticut River and settled in its picturesque upper valley. Their lives, however, hadn’t been easy. There had been deprivation, disease, early deaths, tragedy. Yet, right from the beginning, there had also, he found, been a commitment to the highest ideals of American democracy. That commitment could be seen in the long history of the Vermont Citizen. Never a big moneymaker, the Hawthornes had managed to keep it going until Duncan Hawthorne had been forced to choose between losing his family home and land or losing his family paper. He’d made his choice.
Daniel wondered how Cozie felt about that choice, how her brother did. From what he could gather, Seth Hawthorne didn’t fit in with the rest of his family. He clearly didn’t have his sister’s drive. In his teens and a bit beyond he’d had his share of scrapes with the law: mostly bar brawls and motor vehicle violations of a nature more serious than the odd parking ticket. If he had gotten mixed up with Julia Vanackern and she’d dumped him while Cozie was riding the best-seller lists—well, who knew?
“I sure as hell don’t,” Daniel muttered. He put his jug of cider in the refrigerator. Sneaking around the Woodstock town library wasn’t going to get him the answers he needed.
Neither, he thought, was thinking about how Cozie Hawthorne’s mesmerizing eyes could change from green to blue in the afternoon sun.
The temperature had dropped precipitously by late afternoon, giving Cozie the excuse to curl up under an old quilt on the couch in the back room, with a fire in the cookstove and her notebook computer on her lap. She still wasn’t getting much done. She kept thinking about why Daniel Forrest wanted to go to the Vanackern dinner so badly tonight that he’d stirred up rumors about the two of them. Or did he just enjoy stirring up rumors?
She sighed, disgusted with herself. She was supposed to be writing. Work was her refuge. She was doing what she liked best: brainstorming ideas, just typing whatever popped into her mind, no matter how unusable.
So far she’d typed “autumn foliage.” How original. But she wasn’t feeling witty, pithy, or creative, and it wasn’t just the town talk about her and her new tenant. It was also her, her surroundings. Sitting near the old cast-iron cookstove, she could smell her mother’s baked beans on a cool autumn night, she could hear her father coming in with a load of wood. She could see herself and her brother and sister playing Monopoly, arguing politics, plotting mischief.
She could remember similar chilly autumn nights at her sawmill. Tucked on the hillside above the brook, it had always seemed so snug, enveloping her with a warmth and cheerfulness that must have influenced her work. At home, she was always fighting memories. Maybe it would be different after she’d been here awhile.
Then again, maybe she’d kick Daniel Forrest out of her sawmill, move back, and let Seth have the house.
“I give up.”
She cleared her computer screen—nowhere near as satisfying as balling up a sheet of paper and shoving it in the fire.
But it was six o’clock and she had a dinner to attend. At least she knew exactly what she would wear. No doubt in her mind, it was an Ingrid Bergman night.
Seth Hawthorne was working on his Land Rover when Daniel turned down the short driveway beside the sagging red farmhouse. He’d walked up from the sawmill. He’d needed air, exercise. It felt good to be out, even in the chilly early evening air.
“Hello,” he said.
Seth looked up. He had a rusted metal toolbox opened at his feet, tools scattered around him. Not an organized worker. His sinewy arms were blackened up to the elbows with grease. “Yeah,” he said, “Cozie mentioned you were looking for me.”
“Just wanted to pay you for the wood. How much do I owe you?”
“Two hundred should cover it.”
Seeing how it was about twice the going rate, Daniel would bet the hell it would. But he fished out his wallet without arguing and handed over two one-hundred-dollar bills.
Seth slid them into his jeans pockets. “Figured you’d pay in cash.”
“Still works.” Daniel gestured with one hand at the wooded hillside behind the farmhouse, the orchard across the road. “You like living way out here?”
“Yep.”
“Ever think of moving?”
“Where to?”
As if there were no other place worth considering besides Vermont. “I don’t know, another part of the country, maybe. What about Texas?”
“Texas is probably an okay place for Texans.” Seth picked up an old rag and started wiping the grease off his hands, one finger at a time. He seemed basically easygoing, a contrast to his older sister’s hard-driving, compulsive nature. “When’re you going back?”
“I might not. Maybe I’ll become a Vermonter.”
For a moment Seth looked as if he might laugh, but he didn’t. “You either are a Vermonter or you’re not. You don’t become one. You know,” he went on, attacking a thick coating of grease on his left thumb, “some people might want to take advantage of Cozie now that her book’s done so well. I’m not saying you’re one of them…”
“But you’re giving me fair warning in case I am,” Daniel said.
“That’s right.”
“I didn’t come here to make trouble for anyone.”
Didn’t he? Why else was he in Vermont if not for trouble? You could hire someone if you’re looking for answers, his grandfather had told him. You don’t have to do this yourself. But he did. He owed J.D., he owed himself.
Seth dropped his rag back on the ground. “Thanks for bringing me my money, but I’d have come and got it. You need a ride back or you going to walk?”
With those green Hawthorne eyes on him, Daniel was convinced Seth knew damned well who he was and why he’d come to Vermont. They were both playing games—and getting nowhere.
“I’ll walk,” Daniel said.
“See you around, then. Help yourself to some apples anytime.”
“Thanks. I might do that.”
Daniel took his time making his way back to Hawthorne Orchard Road, enjoying the play of the fading light on the brightly colored leaves. The temperature was dropping. He
was glad he’d thrown on his leather jacket before leaving the sawmill.
When he reached the end of the dirt road, a little classic Austin-Healey pulled up, and Julia Vanackern rolled down the window and poked her head out. “Hello, there. Beautiful evening, isn’t it?”
It was. Chilly, but pretty.
“I’m heading into town. My parents are putting on their annual fall dinner tonight. Would you like to join us for a drink? We’ll be a little early since I’ve got to play hostess.”
“I’m not exactly dressed for a Vanackern dinner.”
Her eyes sparkled with her smile. “Oh, who cares? This is Vermont. Come on, jump in.”
Despite an initial impulse to turn her down, Daniel walked around the car and climbed into the passenger seat. He had to remember his mission in Vermont. Why had Julia Vanackern really backed out of their helicopter trip? Having a drink with her could prove useful.
She had on a swatch of deep violet that made her look at once sexy and vulnerable, a dangerous combination. Her pale hair glistened, a contrast to her deep rose lips and dramatic charcoal-smudged eyes. She smelled of a light, expensive perfume. Her big adventure in Texas had ended in disaster, but she was in her element now.
Daniel found himself imagining Cozie Hawthorne in her unlaced mud shoes and wondering what she would be wearing tonight among the Vanackerns.
Chapter
5
Julia Vanackern found a couple glasses of champagne and a quiet corner in the private dining room of the Woodstock Inn & Resort. According to the many Vermont brochures Daniel had dutifully read, the historic inn that dominated Woodstock common was owned by the Rockefellers. Laurence Rockefeller, grandson of John D., had married the granddaughter of Woodstock native Frederick Billings, the railroad magnate for whom Billings, Montana, was named. The Rockefellers were great benefactors of the town.
Julia had given no indication that she even suspected Daniel was anything but who he said he was. But he suspected Julia Vanackern didn’t let on what she was thinking unless it suited her.
“You can stay for dinner if you like,” she said.
“Thanks, but I’ll just have a drink and be on my way.”
Her full lower lip turned down just a little, but she didn’t try to persuade him to stay. “I suppose this is a different sort of crowd from what you’re used to.”
Not as different as she might want to believe. He smiled. “I’m not used to being around so many Yankees.”
She laughed, flashing her sapphire eyes at him. “I’ve never thought of myself as a Yankee, but some of the folks around here sure are. Of course, I’d never pass for a Texan, either.” She waved to someone across the room. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to run play hostess. Are you sure you won’t stay? How will you get back?”
“I’ll manage.”
“I’m sure you will,” she said in a deliberately sultry voice, and glided off among the gathering guests.
Daniel didn’t rush through the rest of his champagne. He wasn’t much of a champagne drinker. He wondered how many of the guests were locals. Was there any way of differentiating between the part-time residents and the locals?
Then Cozie Hawthorne entered the dining room alone, looking as if she were about to be fed to the lions. Daniel watched her paste on a smile. Her red-gold hair was swept up off her neck, and she had on a cream-colored gown that hugged her slender figure and made her legs seem even longer. In spite of her discomfort, she radiated an ease and elegance that he wouldn’t have expected when he saw her yesterday morning atop the cordwood in the back of her brother’s truck.
Her green eyes zeroed in on him, and any awkwardness vanished—along with the smile. She marched right over without pausing to greet her host and hostess. “Whose arm did you twist to get in here?”
She was trying to get him ruffled, only Daniel didn’t ruffle easily. “Julia Vanackern invited me.”
“Just like that.”
“You sound dubious, Ms. Cozie.” But he motioned to her with his champagne glass. Her cosmetics, he noticed, mostly highlighted her eyes. “Casablanca?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “What?”
“Your dress. Reminds me of Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. The scene where she sees Humphrey Bogart for the first time since Paris and she asks Sam to play ‘As Time Goes By.’ ”
“No one’s ever…” She stopped, disconcerted; color rose in her cheeks. She bit her lower lip. “It’s a copy. Is Casablanca one of your favorite movies?”
“I watch a lot of old movies.”
Julia Vanackern came up between them, smiling brightly, in her hostess mode. “Cozie Hawthorne—it’s been forever. Great to see you.”
“You, too, Julia. How have you been?”
“Oh, not bad, all considered.” She flipped her silken hair off her shoulder. “I’m coming off a hellish trip to Texas, but I’ll tell you about that another time.”
Cozie frowned, not one to miss a trick, but if she had any suspicions, she kept them to herself. “Well, you look terrific, as usual,” she said diplomatically.
“Thanks. What about you; how have you been? You don’t look so bad yourself. Success must agree with you.”
“Thanks.” She nodded toward Daniel. “I see you two have met.”
“Oh, yes. He was up at Seth’s yesterday afternoon while I was picking apples. I’m going to take a stab at apple butter this year.” Her blue eyes leveled on Daniel, the sultriness back. “Do they make apple butter in Texas?”
“Not my area of expertise,” he said.
“Well, I’m still debating whether to do mine on top of the stove or in the oven. You’re the expert, Cozie, what do you do?”
She shrugged. “I’m hardly an expert, but we’ve always done ours in the woodstove oven. Less stirring.”
“We don’t have a woodstove. I guess our regular oven will have to do.” She touched Cozie’s shoulder, smiling graciously. “You two will have to excuse me—I’ve got gobs of folks I’d better say hello to before I’m cut out of the will.”
She winked irreverently and slid off into the crowd, looking totally at ease with herself and her world. But Daniel remembered her reaching for an apple in the Hawthorne orchards, and wondered.
His drink finished, he noticed that the room, with its tasteful early American decor, had filled up with guests. He saw no advantage to sticking around, beyond annoying his landlady. “Enjoy your evening,” he told her, resisting temptation.
“I’ll try,” she said, cool.
He got out of there, fast, before Cozie Hawthorne’s green eyes and Ingrid Bergman dress had him doing and saying—even thinking—things he’d regret. No one tried to stop him as he left the private dining room and headed back to the lobby, where guests had gathered on colonial-style chairs and sofas around a fire roaring in the huge stone fireplace. Fighting an urge to linger, he fled outside, across to Woodstock common. He wished he could dive into the tourist fantasy of a picturesque Vermont village, but the wind was brisk and cold, and he needed to think, process, and get on with his business in Vermont.
Cozie swept a glass of champagne from a passing tray and debated how long she had to stay before she could make a polite, unobtrusive exit. Daniel Forrest’s presence had rattled her more than she would ever admit to anyone else. The man was relentless, and she was determined to find out what he was really doing in Vermont.
She spotted Frances Vanackern making her way toward her. Julia’s mother was a blue-eyed, fair-haired woman who had started life as the daughter of a quarry worker who’d drunk too much and died too young. But she’d developed a regal bearing in her thirty-five years of marriage to Thad Vanackern.
Ever the warm, natural hostess, Frances greeted Cozie. “It’s been a long time; you’re looking well. I understand you’re just back from another book tour.”
Cozie nodded, and they chatted a few minutes, Frances, as always, remembering to ask about the rest of the Hawthorne family. “We invited Ethel, of course, but she couldn�
��t make it. How is she?”
“The same.” Aunt Ethel would never attend a Vanackern dinner, and any excuse would do.
“Ethel will never change. My word, I can remember how she and your father and I would warm our bare feet in cow manure together as children.” She shuddered, smiling at the same time. “I suppose I can’t expect to forget such a thing. How do you like living back home?”
“It was strange at first, but I’m getting used to it.”
“But what a wonderful thing for your mother not to have to worry so much anymore. Have you heard from her?”
“I got a postcard today. She says she’s having a great time.”
“She’s earned it. She’s had a rough few years.”
But Frances Vanackern’s warm blue eyes took on an awkwardness unusual for her. “Cozie…I wanted to speak to you about our annual autumn hike tomorrow. It’s supposed to be beautiful weather. In past years, we’ve always spilled over onto Hawthorne land. Your parents never minded, but I wouldn’t want to impose….”
“It’s no imposition,” Cozie said, meaning it. “You’re welcome to hike on Hawthorne land anytime.” She realized she hadn’t said “my” land.
“Thank you. Please feel free to join us.”
Frances made a point of spotting a familiar face in the crowd, waving and quickly excusing herself. Cozie found herself amidst other guests who asked her about her book, her travels, her various high-profile interviews. Her capacity for small talk, however, had been exhausted by weeks on the road, and her attempts to steer conversation in more substantive directions proved futile. She found herself seizing the first opportunity to duck out early, even before dinner was served. Another week home and she’d be back up to speed, able to deal with the Vanackerns and even a mysterious Texan, on their terms or hers.
It was windy and much colder outside, darker than she’d expected, but she wrapped her mohair shawl tightly around her in a gusting breeze and crossed the street to the common. She wasn’t ready to go home to her empty house just yet. The shadows of the leaves danced eerily in the moonlit grass. She pulled pins from her hair. It came down in thick, droopy locks, and she began to feel herself relax.
Finding You Page 6