The Way Home: Winter (Mandrake Falls Series Romance Book 3)

by Catherine Lloyd

  The cast whooped and clapped and beamed at each other as they filed offstage to get into costume. The front of house staff opened the doors and swarmed the aisles in preparation for the evening’s performance. Michael peered at her watch. Curtain went up in ninety minutes. She would just have time to grab a hot shower in one of the dressing rooms backstage and change her clothes. She glanced around for Jeremy to ask him about the apartment he mentioned on Monday night. Maybe she could rest there.

  Mrs. Murdoch’s voice reached down to her from on high.

  “I’d like a word with you, Miss Shannon. Follow the stair to your left, won’t you?”

  Michael gulped. The request was not a request at all but a command. The woman was still her supervisor until twelve midnight. She was probably secretly pissed about the furniture.

  “I know you only asked me to offer some acting direction and I took it too far,” said Michael, climbing the stairs to the balcony. “I didn’t mean to take over but the changes I made were for the good of the show. Drastic action was called for this close to opening night—”

  “I quite agree.” Mrs. Murdoch motioned for Michael to sit down. “I’m not reconciled to the direction you took, but at least it was a direction. I want to thank you. You’ve been very generous with your expertise and time and given us far more than I expected from a community service sentence.”

  Michael flushed. “My pleasure. Being in this theater is like going to a really good yoga session. I work hard but I feel grounded and … and...”

  “And?”

  “I feel like myself again.”

  Murdoch laughed. “Well, that makes one of us. I never want to be here except on opening night with a glass of champagne in my hand. I much prefer the business end of things.”

  “Why do you come then? You have a director.”

  Letitia Murdoch threw her a look of rueful disgust. “You’ve seen him. He couldn’t direct a fork to his mouth. He only agreed to do it to impress Jocelyn and she doesn’t know he’s alive. Jeremy Marks is a fine man behind the scenes but directing a group of amateur actors is beyond his scope. I had to be here or the production wouldn’t have got this far. Before I started sitting in, they were running him ragged. He wasn’t getting home until after midnight and they still hadn’t learned the blocking.”

  “What happened to the previous director?”

  “Rosamund landed a teaching job at a private school and wanted the Christmas break to prepare. We couldn’t pay her very much as Artistic Director. There was no one else in town qualified to do the job. Jeremy stepped in because Jocelyn had the lead and he wanted to be near her. It is an unrequited love but at least we got our Christmas production staged. It will probably be our last.”

  “Someone will turn up. Or maybe Rosamund will be able to return as AD once she’s settled into her new job.”

  Mrs. Murdoch sighed and shook her head. “No, it’s too late for this old theater. I had so many plans when I joined the Society. This building is owned by my family, you see.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes. This used to be a professional house. Summer stock companies from New York used to try out their plays here. My father became infatuated with a young actress who was performing here in the summer of 1948. The stupid man bought the theater for her. The affair didn’t last but his love for this building did.” Mrs. Murdoch’s sharp eyes moved over the seats below. “There’s potential here but it would take someone with youth and vision at the helm and that isn’t me. Oh, I enjoy the fundraising and glad-handing but I don’t know the first thing about choosing a season. I’m not sure what I’ll do with the place after this run, but at least the old girl will close on a high note.” She smiled at Michael. “Thanks to you.”

  Michael met Murdoch’s surprisingly warm smile. Close the theater? With its cherubs and gilt paint? “Is that really necessary? I believe this could be a world class stage. It’s possible, even in a small town like Mandrake Falls. The Stratford Festival in Canada does very well. Being in a small town hasn’t hurt that company at all and Mandrake Falls is pretty enough to attract tourists year-round. The ski hills alone would bring in an audience. You could start with the summer season and stage a production at Christmas until the company gained a reputation. Leave it to me. I’ll find a suitable AD for you. Just don’t make any final decisions until I’ve talked to a few people.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that, Miss Shannon. The fact is, I’d like you to take the job. I’m offering you the position of Artistic Director.”

  “Me?” Michael’s hair felt electrified at the roots.

  The opportunity was an amazing one. She’d never get one like it in New York—a chance to build a theater company from the ground up. Michael looked around her, her blood rising as ideas flooded her brain. She could really create something here. Why not?

  Because of Tomorrow Never Comes, that’s why not. She couldn’t do both. She would have to give up being Vickie Webber.

  A direction that Michael would have fought like hell a week ago suddenly seemed like the answer to all her problems. Give up the show! Give up the brutal taping schedule, the lack of creative control, the confining lifestyle. Michael had no idea how trapped she had been by Tomorrow Never Comes until she imagined her life without it. Michael calculated how long it would take her to miss New York and the fame and glamour of starring in a daily soap opera. She waited for the flutter of panic, the anxiety that visited the pit of her stomach whenever her career was threatened.

  Nothing.

  The calm she felt was incredible. Like a meditation, only better because she wasn’t faking it. Her career had been her focus for so many years—could she really let it go so easily? Michael thought of Robert Redford and his success founding the prestigious Sundance Festival. She remembered the conversations with other actresses and their shared fear that their careers would stall at forty. The fear was real—roles dry up, storylines disappear. As AD of a theater company, Michael would be out of the spotlight but she would be working steadily, using her talent and skills to the max. Wasn’t that worth more than toiling convention centers and dinner theaters as a washed-up daytime diva?

  She hesitated. There was something else. If she gave up the show and took over as AD for the theatrical society, she would have to relocate to Mandrake Falls. She wouldn’t have to say good bye to Simon. Or his uncle.

  The muscles in her lower abdomen tightened at the thought of Hudson Grace. He said he loved her but when he said it, they both expected her to be gone by midnight. People say a lot of things they don’t mean in the heat of the moment—including her. How did she really feel about Hudson?

  “Miss Shannon?” Murdoch’s voice jolted Michael back to the present.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I was saying if you need some time to think it over, I’ll give you as much time as you need. But if you are firmly decided against staying in Mandrake Falls then I’ll start proceedings to close the theater after this production. Thank you for your offer to find us an AD but I’m not interested in hiring anyone else. I believe you are the only suitable candidate.”

  Michael gazed at her wide-eyed, trying very hard not to cry. “Why is that?”

  “Because you understand this old theater and you love Mandrake Falls. Believe me, love makes all the difference in any brave new venture. Trust your heart. Let me know your decision tonight and if you want to stay, I can have a contract drawn up tomorrow morning.”

  “You realize if my agent finds out about this, she’s going to have you whacked. Never come between a New York agent and a steady commission.”

  Murdoch laughed. “I have no idea what you just said but I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

  Breaking the news to Barbara Levy wasn’t Michael’s real worry. The intense, pill-popping, axe-throwing agent had nothing on Hudson Grace. With his slate-gray eyes and winking smile, he had possessed her.

  Fear knotted her stomach. What if she was wrong about him?

  W
hat if she made the wrong choice?

  THE PHONE rang shrilly. Hudson jumped, knocking over the table lamp. He swore, righting the lamp as he grabbed the receiver. With any luck the voice on the other end would be a breathy female, warm and willing.

  “This is Barbara Levy Management. I have a conference call for Michael Shannon.”

  One out of three wasn’t bad. The voice was female, but far from warm or willing. “Michael Shannon isn’t here right now.”

  A voice cut into the line abruptly as the call was taken off speaker phone. “Where the hell is she?” a woman’s voice hissed. “I have a roomful of producers here ready to do business.”

  “She’s out. Who is this?”

  “Her agent. Who’s this?”

  “Her former supervisor. She’s been reassigned. She’s putting in her community service hours with Letitia Murdoch for the remainder of her sentence.”

  “Not anymore. The show’s lawyer is working on getting her reassigned to Manhattan so she can come home. What’s left on it anyway—another seven hours give or take? She’ll work in a soup kitchen or something.”

  “Do they have soup kitchens in Manhattan?”

  “Look, I have to talk to Michael before six p.m. Where can I reach her?”

  “She’s directing a show at the local theater company. I can give you the number for the box office but this is opening night. I doubt anyone will answer.”

  Michael’s agent swore into the receiver. “What about her cell phone?”

  “She wasn’t allowed one. Judge’s orders. She’ll be back at ten p.m. to pack her things. Her driver is picking her up at midnight to take her back to New York. Can’t this wait until then?”

  “No.” The agent hesitated. “Look, I’m going to have to trust you with this. It’s extremely important she calls me ASAP. This is a Cinderella deal. She has to be in New York, on set by nine tomorrow morning or the deal is off. Tell her the producers have given her the increase she asked for.” The agent’s voice rose excitedly. “Everyone here is buzzing about Michael Shannon. First it was the Toby Dart rescue, and five minutes ago, the footage of her with the kid aired on Entertainment Tonight and the phones haven’t stopped ringing. I have the contracts inked—I just need the star, fresh and ready to work. Have her call me the instant she gets in.”

  Hudson took down the five numbers Barbara Levy could be reached at over the next five hours and hung up the phone. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. That was that. No need to worry about love or commitment or a mother for Simon. The woman he wanted was wanted by too many people to settle for just him and his nephew.

  “Uncle Hudson!”

  Simon’s cry jolted him out of his chair. The phone must have disturbed him. Hudson opened the door to his nephew’s room. “What’s up, buddy?” The aroma in the room gave Simon away.

  “I wetted de bed.” Simon was sitting up in bed his eyes blinking in the near dark. He stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  Hudson smiled wearily. “Yeah, okay. Climb out and I’ll fix it.”

  Simon clambered out of his bed and stood against the wall sucking his thumb and blinking sleep from his eyes. He had fallen asleep in the truck on the way home from daycare and Hudson didn’t have the heart to wake him up.

  He stripped the wet sheets and replaced them with a sleeping bag from Simon’s closet. “Better get out of those wet things, kiddo and let’s see if we can find you something else to wear.”

  Shivering, Simon struggled out of the wet pants while Hudson rummaged through his drawers. A tee-shirt and a clean pair of underwear were all he could find. He thought it was overkill when Michael wanted to buy Simon two pair of pajama’s but now he could see her point. Simon shook his head at the underwear Hudson held out to him. “Kikel given me dis.” He released his thumb long enough to pull a plastic package out from under his bed. Hudson took the package from Simon and pulled out a pair of soft disposable pants. He stared at them. “Why didn’t you show me these before?”

  “Kikel know dis ting,” Simon said, patting the pants solemnly.

  Hudson sighed. Yes, Kikel know dis ting better than he ever would. Squatting down, he helped Simon step into the pants and pull on the clean tee-shirt. With his thumb still stuck in his mouth, Simon rested a pudgy hand on his uncle’s shoulder to steady himself while Hudson dressed him. Hugging the boy to him, he realized there were some things about raising his nephew he would never get exactly right but he had to try. Simon just needed him to try to know he was loved.

  A pair of stubby fingers pried his eyelids open.

  “Simon, Uncle Hudson doesn’t like fingers stuck in his eyes.”

  “I go to Kikel’s house today?”

  Hudson sat on the floor and raked his fingers through his hair. “Buddy, Michael lives far away. We’ve already talked about this.”

  “No, Kikel move her house to me. I go dere.”

  Simon retrieved a damp, crumpled picture from the night table and pushed it at Hudson. It was a drawing of a stick woman dragging her house on a rope to a little stick boy. The drawing was crude but effective; Simon had understood it perfectly. “Where did you get this?”

  “Kikel gived it to me.”

  She must have drawn it for him at daycare. “It’s very nice. Maybe one day we’ll go to Michael’s house for a visit, but you live here with me because you are my boy, okay?”

  “I your boy, wite, Uncle Hudson?”

  “You sure are, buddy. What do you say to pancakes for dinner?”

  “Yes please!” he yelled.

  Hudson lifted the boy like a sausage and carried him to the living room sofa. After he tucked a quilt around him, he went to the kitchen to whip up a short stack. The radio was tuned to round-the-clock Christmas carols thanks to Michael but for once he didn’t mind. Simon liked them. Pancakes with a three-year-old by the lights of the Christmas tree—what was his life coming to?

  They ate though it was too early for dinner, but it was too late for anything else. The room had chilled since the sun went down but Simon was warm enough under the comforter. Given how distracted he was tonight, Hudson questioned the wisdom of making a fire. He knew he could start one without incident. It’s what usually happened after that had him worried. Somehow, his fires always morphed into infernos, requiring fire extinguishers and activating smoke alarms.

  He was chilly enough to risk it. Minutes later, pleased with the small contained blaze crackling on the hearth, Hudson settled in the recliner with a tumbler of scotch for him and a glass of warm milk for Simon. The message from Barbara Levy was stuck to the telephone. He stared at the black scrawl and took a gulp of scotch. Warmth seeped through him and his eyes closed, reliving the night before. He’d made love to her over and over until the break of dawn.

  Suddenly, he missed her with a sharp, nauseating pain that left him breathless.

  Chapter XIII: On the First Day of Christmas

  MICHAEL CLOSED the door behind her, careful not to let it bang and wake Hudson and Simon. She’d spotted them asleep in the recliner from the window. The dying fire flickered over their features. Simon was curled under his arm, halfway under a child-sized comforter. The cabin smelled of woodsmoke, popcorn and pine. Silent Night was playing softly on the radio.

  Michael stood beside the chair and watched them sleep. The resemblance between nephew and uncle was marvelous to see. That he looked like Simon made Michael love him with a deeper feeling than she thought possible. She pulled the comforter up over boy’s shoulders and noticed the empty glass on the table. She sniffed it experimentally. Scotch. Drinking alone. Not a good sign. He was probably still angry about the reporters at Simon’s daycare.

  She wished he’d wake up so they could talk. Michael eyed the lever on the side of the chair thoughtfully. One yank to the upright position and that would wake him. But it would wake Simon too and it was after ten o’clock. The cast party was probably still in full swing. Letitia Murdoch had dropped her off at the cabin to spare tearing Jeremy away fr
om the celebration (and Jocelyn with whom Jeremy didn’t stand a chance but c’est la vie.)

  It had been an enormously successful opening night. Beyond all Michael’s expectations which were quite low if she was honest. Yes, it went well. Amazingly well. Tonight’s performance cemented Murdoch’s confidence in her abilities and made Michael believe she could actually do this thing. Which only made coming to a decision harder.

  She stood in front of the twinkling Christmas tree. The lights caught the tinfoil and danced over her face. She wished she knew where she would be next Christmas. Here? Or in New York? God, how she hated uncertainty! Michael had always had a firm grip on her life until she landed in Mandrake Falls. She’d never experienced so much indecision and confusion as she had in the past seventy hours.

  “What do you want?” she asked herself for the tenth time since Letitia Murdoch made her offer. “Forget Hudson Grace for a minute—what do you want?”

  Unwillingly, she turned to gaze at the man and boy asleep in the chair. In that moment, Michael Shannon knew exactly what she wanted.

  But would she have the courage to ask for it?

  Hudson’s eyes blinked open. He peered at her in the dying firelight and grinned sleepily. “You’re here. I was afraid I was going to fall asleep and miss saying good-bye.”

  “You did fall asleep. You were asleep when I came in.” She kept her voice low so as not to wake Simon.

  “Nah. I was just resting my eyes. How did it go?”

  “Excellent! The cast received a standing ovation. I’ve never been so proud of a group of amateurs in my life. Even Mr. Raquette rose to the challenge and memorized his lines. I don’t know what happened to them but they were on fire tonight.”

  “You’re what happened to them, Miss Shannon. You’re a good director.”