by Lisa Jackson
He didn’t respond as he propelled himself back to the lodge.
“Fool,” she muttered, when he’d slammed into the building. “Why do you try?” Because he has the right to know what really happened eight years ago.
Drawing in a deep breath, she walked into the lodge and found Jan in the main lobby, chatting with Rich Johanson.
“. . . then we’ll be back in a couple days,” Jan was saying. Gavin was nowhere in sight. Slowly Melanie let out her breath, and Jan, spying her, waved her over and made hasty introductions.
“Sorry I was late,” Rich apologized. “I got held up in court.”
“No problem,” Melanie said, hearing uneven footsteps approach. She stiffened.
“I took care of Ms. Brooks,” Gavin said.
“Walker,” Melanie corrected. “My name’s Walker now.”
“Again,” he said.
“Yes, again.” She forced a cool smile in Gavin’s direction, though her fists were clenched so tight they ached.
Jan, delighted to find Gavin available, suggested they continue their interview.
He clenched his jaw but didn’t disagree, and they settled into a table in a corner of the main lobby.
“Looks like he’s in a great mood,” Rich observed.
“One of his best,” Melanie remarked.
“With Gavin it’s hard to tell.” Rich shoved his hands through his hair. “Did you get everything you need?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Good. Let’s go outside.” He motioned her into one of the chairs on the deck. “I’ve heard that you’re the best photographer in town.”
Melanie sat with her back to the sun. “You must’ve been talking to my Uncle Bart,” she said, laughing.
Rich waved off her modesty. “I’ve seen your pictures in the paper and looked over the work you did for the Conestoga Hotel. The manager couldn’t say enough good things about you.”
Melanie was pleased. She’d worked long and hard on the brochures for the Conestoga.
“And you did the photographs in the lobby of the hotel, right?”
Melanie nodded.
“Mmm. Look, I talked to several people in town because I need a photographer for the lodge, not only for pamphlets, brochures and posters but also to hang on the walls. We’re reopening the resort with a Gold Rush theme and we’ll need old pictures, blown up and colored brown—you know what I mean?”
“Sepia tones on old tintypes and daguerreotypes,” she said.
“If you say so,” he said a little sheepishly. “I don’t know all the technical terms, but I do know what I want. We’ll need between twenty and thirty for the lobby. Let me show you what I mean.” He opened a side door to the main gathering room in the lodge and held it open while Melanie got to her feet and walked inside.
Jan and Gavin were still seated at the table, and from Gavin’s body language Melanie guessed the interview wasn’t going all that well.
Rich didn’t seem to notice. He pointed to the walls where he wanted to hang the old photos. “Over here,” he said with a sweeping gesture, “I’d like several mining shots and on the far wall, pictures of the mountain.”
Rich rattled on and on. Though she listened to him, she was aware of Gavin talking reluctantly to Jan. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her back, knew he was glowering.
Eventually Rich guided her into the office where she was supposed to have met him two hours before and offered her a cup of coffee. Once they were seated, he said, “Besides the pictures for the lobby, we’ll need photographs for brochures and posters. And we’ll be selling artwork in one of the shops downstairs. We’d like some of your photographs on consignment.” He opened up his palms. “So, if you’re interested, I’d like you to become the photographer for Ridge Resort.”
“Have you talked this over with Gavin?” she asked. Though a part of her would like to take the job and let Gavin rant and rave all he liked, the sensible side of her nature prevented her from jumping into a situation that was bound to spell trouble.
“I don’t have to talk to him,” Rich replied with a grin. “This is my decision.”
“Maybe you should say something to him,” she suggested, gathering her things.
“Look, Ms. Walker, I don’t have much time. We plan to open in two months. I need brochures ASAP.”
He offered her a generous flat fee and a percentage on all the posters sold, plus extra money for extra work. The job at Ridge Lodge, should she take it, would help establish her studio as well as pay off some of the debts she’d incurred since her divorce and give her a little cushion so that she wasn’t quite so dependent on the Tribune. In short, Rich Johanson’s offer was too good to pass up.
She cast a nervous glance in Gavin’s direction, noted the hard, immovable line of his jaw and knew he would hit the roof. But it didn’t matter. She needed all the work she could get. “I’d be glad to work for you,” she said, feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction.
Rich grinned and clasped her hand. “Good. I’ll draw up a contract and we can get started as soon as it’s convenient for you.”
“I can work evenings and weekends.”
“Will you have enough time?”
She shot another look in Gavin’s direction. “Don’t worry,” she said, ignoring the tight corners of Gavin’s mouth and the repressed fury that fairly radiated from him, “I’ll make the time.” She scrounged in her wallet, handed him her card and added, “Give me a call as things firm up and we can go from there.”
“Thanks.” Rich stuffed the card in his wallet. “I’ll be seeing you soon then.” They shook hands again before Melanie, refusing to glance at Gavin one last time, gathered her things and headed for the front doors.
As she made her way down the asphalt path, she heard Jan’s quick footsteps behind her. “Hey, Melanie, wait up!”
Melanie turned, watched Jan hurrying to catch her and noticed Gavin, hands braced on the porch rails of the lodge, glaring at her. She couldn’t imagine what he’d think when he found out Rich had hired her. With a satisfied grin, she waved at him before turning her attention to a breathless Jan. “How’d it go?” Melanie asked.
“With Doel?” Jan sighed loudly and whispered, “I think it would be easier to interview a monk who’s taken a vow of silence.”
“Oh?”
Jan glanced over her shoulder, then said softly, “I want details, Melanie, details.”
“About what?”
“You and Doel. I saw the looks he sent you. They were positively sizzling! And when we were up here before, I could’ve sworn there was something going on between you two. What gives?”
“You’re imagining things.”
“And you’re holding out on me. There’s more to it than the fact that you guys went to school together.” She reached her car and unlocked the door. “I mean it, Melanie. I want to know everything.”
“It’s not an interesting story,” Melanie replied, though she knew sooner or later Jan would find out the truth—or part of it.
“Anything about Doel is interesting.”
“Later,” Melanie promised, needing time to sort out just how much she could confide. There was no getting around at least part of the truth. Jan would only discover the information somewhere else, and unfortunately, Taylor’s Crossing was a small town. If Jan set her mind to finding out the truth, it wouldn’t be too hard to dig up someone who would willingly remember. Only a handful of people had known that she and Gavin had been seeing each other—fewer still guessed they’d been lovers—but the townspeople in Taylor’s Crossing had long memories when it came to gossip.
Frowning, Melanie slid into her sunbaked car. She glanced through the dusty windshield to the lodge. Gavin’s eyes were narrowed against the sun, his jaw set in granite. How would she ever begin to explain the depth and complexity of her feelings for him? She’d been only seventeen at the time. No one, including Jan, would believe that her romance had been anything but puppy love.
But
she knew better. As she slid a pair of sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose and drove out of the lot, she wished she could forget that she’d ever loved him.
CHAPTER SIX
“You did what?!” Gavin roared, eyeing his partner as if he’d lost his mind.
“I hired Melanie Walker.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Gavin growled.
“What’ve you got against her?” Rich asked, his brows drawing together.
“I knew her years ago.”
“So?” Sitting at his desk, pen in one hand, Rich stared up at Gavin as if he were the one who had gone mad.
“We dated.”
Rich still wasn’t getting the point. “I don’t understand—”
“While I was gone, she married a guy by the name of Neil Brooks eight years ago.”
“Neil Brooks—the lumber broker?”
“You know him?” Gavin growled, rolling his eyes and tossing his hands out as if in supplication to the heavens. “This just gets better and better.”
“Of course I know him. Brooks Lumber is our major supplier for the renovation.”
“No fucking way,” Gavin whispered harshly as he thought of Melanie’s ex-husband—the man who had, in a few short weeks, stolen Melanie from him. He told himself he couldn’t really blame Brooks. It had been Melanie who had betrayed him. Nonetheless, he loathed anything to do with Neil Brooks. “Find another lumber company.”
“No can do,” Rich said, assuming a totally innocent air. “Brooks Lumber is one of the few firms that’ll service this area.”
“There must be someone else! We’re not in Timbuktu, for crying out loud!”
“Brooks offers the best quality for the lowest price.”
“I don’t give a damn.” This was turning into a nightmare. First Melanie and now Neil. Gavin’s throat felt suddenly dry. He needed a drink. A double. But he didn’t give in to the urge.
“Well, I do. I give a big damn. We don’t have a lot of extra cash to throw around. Besides, we had a deal. I handle this end of the business—you help design the runs, bring in the investors and provide the skiing expertise.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Providing expertise. Don’t use Brooks. He’s as slippery as a rattler and twice as deadly.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“Yes, damn it!” Gavin crashed his fist against the corner of Rich’s desk, sloshing coffee on a few papers.
“Hey, watch it.” Rich, perturbed, grabbed his handkerchief and mopped up the mess. “Look, even if I wanted to change lumber companies—which I don’t—I can’t. It’s too late. We’ve already placed our order. Some of it has already been shipped and paid for. We don’t have much time, Gavin, so whatever particular personal gripe you’ve got with Neil Brooks, you may as well shove it aside. And as for Neil’s wife—or ex-wife or whatever she is—she’s working for us. We both agreed that we’d employ as many local people as we could, remember? It’s just good business sense to keep the locals happy!”
“I didn’t know Melanie was back in town.”
Rich grinned. “You’ve always had an eye for good-looking women, and that one—she’s a knockout.”
Gavin clenched his fist, but this time he did no more than shove it into his pocket. “I’m just not too crazy about some of your choices,” Gavin muttered. He didn’t want Melanie here, couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her every day. He’d told himself he was long over her, but now he wasn’t so sure. There was a moment up on the lift when he could’ve sworn that nothing had changed between them. But, of course, that was pure male ego. Everything had changed. “Was working for the lodge her idea?” he asked.
Rich shook his head. “Nope. In fact, I had to do some hard and fast talking to get her to take the job.”
“You should have consulted with me first.”
“That’s what she said.”
Gavin was surprised. “But you didn’t listen?”
“No, I didn’t. I wanted her. And as for consulting with you, that works both ways.”
Gavin’s jaw began to work, and he crossed to the window and stared out at the cool late summer day. A few workers dotted the hillside, and down the hall, in the lounge, the pounding of hammers jarred the old building.
“There’s something else bothering you,” Rich guessed, shoving back his chair and rounding the desk. Crossing his thick arms over his chest, fingers drumming impatiently, he stared at Gavin and waited.
“We don’t need any adverse publicity,” Gavin said flatly.
“And you think Melanie’s going to give us some?”
Gavin hesitated, but only for a second. He trusted Rich, and they were partners. As his business partner, Rich had the right to know the whole story. He probably should have leveled with Rich before. But then, he’d had no idea he would run into Melanie again. If he had guessed she was back in Taylor’s Crossing, he might have balked at the project.
“Well?” Rich was waiting.
“You know that I grew up here,” Gavin said, seeing Rich’s eyes narrow. “And you know that my father had his problems.”
“So you said.”
Gavin’s muscles tightened as he remembered his youth. “Dad’s an alcoholic,” he said finally, the words still difficult.
“I know.”
“And he spent some time in prison.”
“You said something about it—an accident that was his fault.”
“An accident that killed the driver of the other car,” he said quietly. “A woman, Brenda Walker. Melanie’s mother.”
Rich didn’t move.
“Dad was legally drunk at the time.”
Frowning, Rich said, “I’m sorry.”
“So am I, and so was Dad—when he sobered up enough to understand what had happened. He came away with only a few scrapes and bruises, but Melanie’s mother’s car was forced off the road and down a steep embankment.” Gavin relived the nightmare as if it had happened just yesterday. He’d been twelve at the time when the policemen had knocked on the door, the blue and red lights of their cars casting colored shadows on the sides of the trailer that he and his father had called home. He’d thought for certain his father was dead but had been relieved when he’d found out Jim Doel had survived.
However, that night had been just the tip of the iceberg, the start of a life of living with an aunt and uncle who hadn’t given a damn about him.
Through it all, Gavin had escaped by testing himself. From the time he could handle a paper route, he’d spent every dime on the thrill of sliding downhill on skis. He’d landed odd jobs—eventually at Ridge Resort itself—and fed his unending appetite for the heart-pounding excitement of racing headlong down a steep mountain at breakneck speed.
In all the years since the night his father had been taken to jail, Gavin’s only distraction from the sport he loved had been Melanie.
The only daughter of the woman his father had killed.
Rich asked, “And you think Melanie still holds a grudge?”
“I don’t know,” Gavin answered. “I thought I knew her, but I didn’t. Ten years after the accident, against her father’s better judgment, Melanie and I dated for a while.” Gavin’s gut wrenched at the vivid memories. “But then I had the opportunity to train for the Olympics.”
“So you left her.”
“I guess that’s the way she saw it. I asked her to wait . . .” Gavin’s lips twisted at his own naiveté.
“But she didn’t.”
Gavin felt again the glacial sting of her rejection. His nostrils flared slightly. “Adam Walker—Melanie’s father—never approved of me or my old man. And while I was gone, Melanie married Neil Brooks. My guess is that her old man finally convinced her she’d be better off with the son of a wealthy lumber broker than a ski bum whose father was a drunk.”
“And now?”
Gavin looked up sharply. “And now what?”
“Melanie and you?”
Gavin let out a short, u
gly laugh. “There is no Melanie and me.” His insides turned frigid. “There really never was.”
Rich let out a sigh. “You should’ve told me this earlier, you know.”
“Didn’t see a reason. As far as I knew she was still living the good life up in Seattle.”
“She’s already agreed to the job, you know,” Rich said, rubbing his temple. “I don’t see how we can get out of this without causing a lot of hard feelings. I didn’t sign a contract, but if it gets out that we’re not good on our word—”
“Don’t worry about it. Keep Melanie Walker,” Gavin decided suddenly. He could find ways to avoid her. The lodge was large; the resort covered thousands of acres. Besides, he’d be too busy to run into her often. “Just as long as she does the job,” he muttered, and added silently, and doesn’t get in my way.
* * *
Jan wouldn’t let up. She’d camped out at Melanie’s desk when they returned from the resort and wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I saw the way he looked at you. You can’t convince me there’s nothing going on between you and Gavin,” she said, checking her reflection in her compact mirror and touching up her lipstick.
“I haven’t seen him in years.” Melanie walked into the darkroom and picked up the enlarged photograph of Uncle Bart and his prize colt, Big Money. She slipped the black-and-white photo into an envelope and, returning to her desk, pretended she wasn’t really interested in Jan’s observations about Gavin.
Sighing in exasperation, Jan tossed her hands into the air. “Okay, okay, I believe that you haven’t seen him,” she said, ignoring Melanie’s efforts at nonchalance. “But what happened all those years ago? The looks he sent you today were hot—I mean, scorching, burning, torrid, you name it!”
Tucking the envelope into her purse, Melanie chuckled. “You’re overdramatizing.”
“I’m a reporter. I don’t go in for melodrama. Just the facts. And the fact is he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”
“You’re exaggerating, then.” Melanie walked to the coffeepot and poured two cups.
“Am not! Now, what gives?”
Melanie handed Jan one of the cups, took a sip herself and grimaced at the bitter taste. She opened a small packet of sugar and poured it into her cup. “Well, I guess you’re going to find out sooner or later, but this is just between you and me.”