by Nora Roberts
Noah took one last look, climbed back in his car and started down the switchback the way he’d come.
The trees took over. Became the world.
The detour took him a little more than an hour, but he still arrived at the lodge by three in the afternoon. He traveled up the same bumpy lane, catching glimpses of the stone and wood, the fairy-tale rooflines, the glint of glass that was the lodge.
He was about to tell himself it hadn’t changed, when he spotted a structure nestled in the trees. It mirrored the style and materials of the lodge, but it was much smaller and not nearly as weathered.
The wooden sign over the double doorway read RIVER’S END NATURALIST CENTER. There was a walking path leading to it from the lane and another from the lodge. Wildflowers and ferns appeared to have been allowed to grow as they pleased around it, but his gardener’s eye detected a human hand in the balance.
Olivia’s hand, he thought, and felt a warm and unexpected spurt of pride.
It was undoubtedly man-made, but she had designed it to blend in so well it seemed to have grown there as naturally as the trees.
He parked his car, noted that the lot held a respectable number of vehicles. It was warmer here than it had been at the pull off. Warm enough, he noted, to keep the pansies and purple salvia happy in their long clay troughs near the entrance.
He swung on his backpack, took out his single suitcase and was just locking his car when a dog loped around the side of the lodge and grinned at him.
Noah couldn’t think of another term for the expression. The dog’s tongue lolled, the lips were peeled back and seemed to curve up, and the deep brown eyes danced with unmistakable delight.
“Hey there, fella.”
Obviously seeing this as an invitation, the big yellow lab pranced across the lot, plopped down at Noah’s feet and lifted a paw.
“You the welcoming committee, boy?” Obligingly, Noah shook hands, then cocked his head. “Or should I say girl. Your name wouldn’t happen to be Shirley, would it?”
At the name, the dog let out one cheerful woof, then danced toward the entrance as if to tell Noah to come on, pal, get the lead out.
He was charmed enough to be vaguely disappointed when the dog didn’t follow him inside.
He didn’t see any dramatic changes in the lobby. Noah thought perhaps some of the furnishings had been replaced, and the paint was a soft, toasty yellow. But everything exuded such an aura of welcome and settled comfort that it might have been exactly so for a century.
The check-in was quick, efficient and friendly, and after having assured the clerk he could handle his baggage himself, he carried his bags, a package of information and his key up two squat sets of stairs in the main lobby and down a hallway to the right.
He’d requested a suite out of habit and because he preferred a separate area to set up his work. It was smaller than the rooms he remembered sharing with his parents, but certainly not cramped.
There was a nap-taking sofa, a small but sturdy desk, a table where guides and literature on the area were fanned. The art—running to watercolor prints of local flora—was better than decent, and the phone would support his modem.
He glanced at the view, pleased to have been given the side facing the back so it was untainted by cars. He dropped his suitcase on the chest at the foot of the sleigh bed of varnished golden wood and tossed the lid open. As his contribution to unpacking, he removed his shaving gear and dumped it on the narrow shelf over the white pedestal sink in the adjoining bath.
He considered the shower—he’d been in the car since six A.M;and thought of the beer he might find in the lobby bar. After a mild debate he decided to take the first, then go hunt up the second.
He stripped, letting his clothes lay where they fell, then diddled with the controls of the shower until the water came out fast and hot. The minute he stepped under the spray, he groaned in pleasure.
Right decision, Brady, he thought as he let the water beat on his head. And after the beer, he’d wander around, scope out the place. He wanted to get a feel for the owners, to see if he could judge by how the staff and guests spoke of them which one of the MacBrides would be the best to approach.
He wanted to go over to the Center, find Olivia. Just look at her awhile.
He’d do that in the morning, he thought. After he got his bearings and a good night’s sleep.
He toweled off, tugged on jeans. He gave some consideration to actually putting away the clothes in his bag. He opted instead to just dig out a shirt, when there was a hard rap on the door.
Noah quickly grabbed a shirt and carried it with him to the door.
He recognized her instantly. Later he would wonder why the recognition had been so immediate, and so intense. She’d certainly changed.
Her face was thinner, honed into sharp planes. Her mouth was firmer, still full and unpainted as it had been at nineteen, but it didn’t strike him as innocent any longer.
And that gave him one hard tug of annoyance and regret.
He might have noted it wasn’t smiling in welcome if he hadn’t been dealing with the ridiculous and completely unexpected flash of pleasure.
Her hair had darkened to a color that reminded him of the caramels Mike’s mother had always melted down at Halloween and swirled onto apples. And she’d lopped it off. Lopped off all that gorgeous shiny hair. And yet it suited her better this way. On another woman he supposed the short, straight cut with the fringe of bang would have been called pixyish. But there was nothing fairylike about the woman in the doorway with her tall and leanly athletic build.
She smelled like the woods and carried a stoneware bowl filled with fresh fruit.
He felt the foolish grin break out on his face and could think of nothing to say but: “Hi.”
“Compliments of River’s End Lodge.” She thrust the bowl at him, straight into the gut and with enough force to earn a grunt from him.
“Ah, thanks.”
She was in the room in one long stride that had him backing up automatically. When she slammed the door at her back, he lifted his eyebrows. “Do you come with the fruit? They hardly ever give you complimentary women in California.”
“You have a hell of a nerve, sneaking in here this way.”
Okay, he decided, all right, it wasn’t going to be a friendly reunion. “You’re right, absolutely. I don’t know what I was thinking of, calling ahead for reservations, registering at the desk that way.” He set the bowl down, gingerly rubbed his stomach. “Look, why don’t we take a minute to—”
“I’ll give you a minute.” She rammed a finger into his chest. “I’ll give you a minute, then you can get your butt back to Los Angeles. You have no right coming here this way.”
“Of course I have a right. It’s a goddamn hotel.” He lifted a hand. “And don’t poke at me again, okay?”
“I told you to stay away from me.”
“And I damn well did.” The flash in her eyes was a clear warning that had him narrowing his own. “Don’t hit me again, Liv. I mean it. I’m pretty well fed up with female abuse. Now we can sit down and discuss this like reasonable adults, or we can just stand here and snarl at each other.”
“I don’t have anything to discuss with you. I’m telling you to go away and leave us alone.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Deciding to play it another way, he sat, chose an apple from the bowl and stretched out his legs as he bit in. “I’m not going anywhere, Olivia. You might as well talk to me.”
“I’m entitled to my privacy.”
“Sure you are. That’s the beauty of it. You don’t tell me anything you don’t want to tell me.” He took another bite of the apple, then gestured with it. “We can start with something simple, like what you’ve been doing with yourself the last half dozen years.”
Smug, smirky son of a bitch, she thought and spun away to pace. She hated that he looked the same, so much the same. The sun-streaked, wind-tossed hair, the full, firm mouth, the fascinating plan
es and angles of his face.
“If you were half the man your father is, you’d have some respect for my mother’s memory.”
That edgy little barb winged home and hooked itself bloodily in his heart. Noah studied his apple, turning it around in his hand until he was certain he could speak calmly. “You measured me by my father once before.” He lifted his gaze, and it was hard as granite. “Don’t do it again.”
Olivia jammed her hands in her pockets, shot a withering glance over her shoulder. “You don’t care what I think of you.”
“You don’t know what I care about.”
“Money. They’ll pay you big bucks for this book, won’t they? Then you can bounce around on all the talk shows and spout off about yourself and the valuable insights you dug up on why my father butchered my mother.”
“Don’t you want to know why?” He spoke quietly and watched those wonderful eyes reflect fury, misery, then snap back to fury.
“I know why, and it doesn’t change anything. Go away, Noah. Go back and write about someone else’s tragedy.”
“Liv.” He called out to her as she strode toward the door. “I won’t go away. Not this time.”
She didn’t stop, didn’t look back, but slammed the door smartly enough to have the pictures rattling on the walls. Noah tossed his apple in the air. “Well, that was pleasant,” he muttered, and decided he’d more than earned that beer.
She went down the back stairs, avoiding the lobby and the people who would be milling around. She cut through the kitchen, only shaking her head when her name was called. She needed to get out, get out, get away until she could fight off the hideous pressure in her chest, the vicious roaring in her ears.
She had to force herself not to break out in a run, to try to outrace the panic that licked at her. She moved quickly into the forest, into the deep and the damp. Still, her breath wanted to come in pants, her knees wanted to shake. It wouldn’t be permitted.
When she’d gone far enough, when the chances of anyone hiking down the path were slim, she sat down, there on the forest floor and rocked herself.
It was stupid. She’d been stupid, Olivia admitted as she pressed her forehead to her knees. She’d known he was coming. Jamie had told her he would, told her what he intended to do. Told her that she herself had decided to cooperate with him on the book.
That had generated the first genuine argument between them Olivia could remember.
Already, Noah Brady and his book were causing rifts in her family.
But she’d prepared herself to face him again. To deal with it. She wasn’t the same naive, susceptible girl who’d fallen stupidly in love with him.
She hadn’t expected that rush of feeling when he’d opened the door and smiled at her. So much the way he had six years before. She hadn’t expected her heart to break again, not after she’d spent so much time and effort to heal it.
Temper was better than pain.
Still, she’d handled it—handled him—poorly.
She’d kept her eye out for his reservation. When it had come in, she’d promised herself she would go to his room after he’d checked in, so that she could talk to him, reason with him, in private. She would be calm, explain each one of her objections.
He was Frank Brady’s son, after all. And Frank was one of the few people she trusted absolutely.
She arranged to take the fruit bowl up herself, had worked out exactly what she would say and how she would say it.
Welcome to River’s End again, Noah. It’s nice to see you. Can I come in for a minute?
Reasonable, calm, rational. But as she’d started toward his room the fear had crawled into her and she’d gripped her anger like a weapon to beat it back.
Then he’d opened the door, and smiled at her. Smiled, she thought now as she turned her head to rest her cheek on her updrawn knees, with absolute delight. As if there had never been betrayal, never been deceit.
And he’d looked so pleased and attractive—his hair dark and wet from the shower, his moss-green eyes lit with pleasure—that some ridiculous part of her had wanted to smile back.
So she’d attacked. What other choice had she had? she thought now. Instead of persuading him, or intimidating him, into backing away from the book, she was dead sure she’d convinced him to dig in his heels.
She wanted to be left alone. She wanted to protect her world and to be left alone inside it.
Why had Sam Tanner contacted Noah? No. Furious, she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to think about that, about him. She didn’t want to know. She’d put all that away, just as her grandmother had put her memories in the chest in the attic.
It had taken years to accomplish it. Years of secret visits to that attic, of nightmares, years of painful, guilty searches for any snippet of information about her parents.
And once she’d found all there was to find, she’d put it away, focused on the present and the future rather than the past. She found peace of mind, contentment in her work, a direction to her life.
All that was threatened now. Because Sam Tanner was getting out of prison, and Noah Brady was writing a book. Those were facts she couldn’t ignore.
She glanced over as the lab raced down the path. The greeting took the form of a dancing leap and many sloppy kisses that had Olivia’s tension breaking open so that a laugh could pour out.
“I can always count on you, can’t I?” She nuzzled into Shirley’s neck before she rose. “Let’s go home, girl. Let’s just go home and worry about all this later.”
The food was great. Noah gave the MacBrides high marks on the lodge kitchen, particularly after indulging himself in two passes through the breakfast buffet. The service was right up there on a level with the food—warm, friendly, efficient without being obvious.
His bed had been comfortable, and if he’d been in the mood, he could have chosen from a very decent list of in-room movies.
He’d worked instead and now felt he deserved a morning to piddle.
Trouble was, he mused, looking out the window of the dining room at the steady, drumming rain, the weather wasn’t quite as appealing as the rest of the fare.
Then again, the brochures had warned him to expect rainy springs. And he couldn’t say it wasn’t picturesque in its way. A far cry from his own sun-washed California coast, but there was something compelling about the shadowy grays and greens and the liquid wall of rain. It didn’t make him long to strap on his foul-weather gear and take a hike, but it was pleasant to study from inside the cozy warmth of the lodge.
He’d already made use of the health club and had found it expanded and nicely modernized since his last visit. They’d added an indoor pool, and even as he considered a swim he tossed the idea aside. He couldn’t imagine he’d be the only one with the idea and the prospect of families splashing around and hooting at one another just didn’t fit his plans.
He could get a massage, or make use of the lodge library, which he’d wandered into the evening before and found well stocked and welcoming.
Or he could do what he’d come for and start poking around.
He could hunt up Olivia and argue with her again.
The bark of male laughter had him glancing over, then narrowing his eyes in speculation. The man was dressed in a plaid flannel shirt and work trousers. His hair was thick, a Cary Grant silver that caught the overhead lights as he worked the dining room, stopping by tables of those who, like Noah, were lingering over that last cup of coffee.
His brows were defiantly dark, and though Noah couldn’t catch the color of his eyes, he imagined they would be that odd and beautiful golden brown. He had the whipcord build and appearance of impossible fitness of an elderly outdoorsman.
Rob MacBride, Noah thought, and decided that lingering over coffee and rain watching had been the perfect way to spend his morning.
He sat back and waited for his turn.
It didn’t take long for Rob to complete the circuit and pause by Noah’s table with a quick grin. “
Pretty day, isn’t it?”
“For ducks,” Noah said, since it seemed expected. He was rewarded with that deep, barking laugh.
“Rain’s what makes us what we are here. I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”
“Very much. It’s a great place. You’ve made a few changes since I was here last, but you’ve kept the tone.”
“So, you’ve stayed with us before.”
“A long time ago.” Noah held out his hand. “I’m Noah Brady, Mr. MacBride.”
“Welcome back.”
He watched for it, but saw no hint of recognition in Rob’s eyes. “Thanks. I came here with my parents, about twelve years ago. Frank and Celia Brady.”
“We’re always pleased to have the next generation . . .” The recognition came now, and along with it quiet grief. “Frank Brady? Your father?”
“Yes.”
Rob stared out the window at the rain. “That’s a name I haven’t thought of in a long time. A very long time.”
“If you’ll sit down, Mr. MacBride, I’ll tell you why I’m here.”
Rob shifted his gaze back, glanced at Noah’s face. “I guess that’s the thing to do, isn’t it? Hailey?” he called out to the waitress just clearing another station. “Could you get us some coffee over here?”
He sat, laid his long, thin hands on the table. They showed the age, Noah noted; his face didn’t. There was always some part of you, he mused, that was marked with time.
“Your father’s well?”
“Yeah, he’s good. Retired recently, drove my mother crazy for a while, then found something to keep himself busy and out of her hair.”
Rob nodded, grateful Noah had slipped into small talk. He found it kind. “Man doesn’t keep busy, he gets old fast. The lodge, the campground, the people who come and go here, that’s what keeps me young. Got managers and such doing a lot of the day-to-day work now, but I still keep my hand in.”
“It’s a place to be proud of. I’ve felt at home since I walked in the door.” Except for one small incident with your granddaughter, Noah thought, but decided it wouldn’t be politic to mention it.