A Season to Celebrate

by Fern Michaels

  Hudson nodded. “Turned out he was well suited to the more intimate details of running the inn’s kitchen.”

  “And the gastropub at the mill was born,” she finished for him.

  “Something like that,” he said, wondering if he was imagining the bit of distance that had entered her tone. Or maybe it was the way she was now sitting a little straighter. More temporary guest than relaxed friend-in-the-making.

  “So . . . what will you do with this place when you move on?”

  Ah , he thought. She thought he was temporary here. Of course, she was a mere visitor as well, but the fact that knowing he might move on had changed her perception of him made him wonder why it mattered to her at all. He was interested in Moira Brogan. And that interest was rapidly growing the more they talked. Perhaps he wasn’t alone in that growing attraction, which was a happy discovery indeed. And yet, maybe she had it right, and it was best to put a bit of distance between them and keep that attraction at bay, given they’d go their separate ways sooner than later.

  Except “maybe” had never been in his vocabulary. And he was a firm believer that things worked out as they were supposed to, but only if you went after what you wanted in the first place. So, she lived in Seattle. He’d lived in a lot of places. Geography was the last thing he’d ever let get in his way before, so he wasn’t about to look at it as an obstacle now.

  “If and when that time comes, I’ll worry about it then,” he said, which was the honest truth.

  “If?” she asked. “Are you looking to put down roots?” She smiled politely. “Or more railroad tracks as the case may be?”

  “I’ve never not been looking, if that’s what you mean. I traveled, explored, roamed, because I could. It’s not like a life mandate or anything.”

  “Never been tempted to stick in one place?”

  “Until I landed in Blue Hollow Falls? No.” He held her gaze, wanting her to know that while he might like to live in the moment, he wasn’t frivolous or irresponsible, either.

  “No one ever tempted you to stick around?”

  He grinned then. “Are you asking if I’m unattached?”

  She didn’t blush or appear embarrassed, and her stock with him continued to rise. He liked a woman who was direct and met life head on. “No,” she said, just as bluntly, and apparently as honestly as he had.

  Careful what you wish for there, mate.

  “I’m just curious about your outlook, that’s all. I’ve . . . made a few impulsive decisions in my life recently, and they didn’t turn out so well.” She said it simply, owning her failures without appearing to be asking for sympathy, or worse, pity. “So, I guess I’m just kind of fascinated that you’ve made such a success of a life spent following your heart, or your gut, or both, most likely.” She let out a dry laugh then, and the self-deprecation was charming. Somehow even more so, considering her outfit, the bedhead, and day-old mascara. “I’m a pretty goal-oriented person. I like to make plans, and stick to those plans. But, I guess I came to a turning point, and for the first time ever, I finally made a few bold, completely unplanned choices. The end result of which was a complete train wreck.” Her smile widened. “You, on the other hand, wander the globe on a whim, and end up making the wrecked train into an amazing home.” She batted her eyelashes, and said, “So, you can understand my curiosity.”

  He laughed and shook his head at the same time. “Maybe we define success differently. Or have different expectations. I live simply; my wants are few. I want to feed people and make them happy. I want them to know just how good food can taste, how comforting a nice warm meal can be.” He grinned. “I guess you can take the orphan out of the mission, but you can’t take the mission out of the boy.”

  “A caretaker,” she said musingly. “It does all make sense when you put it like that.”

  He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. “And you want to right wrongs, seek justice, or at the least, fairness. Does that come from playing mediator at home, in a house full of people?”

  “If you mean in any sort of disturbing way, no. My family is close—”

  “No, I didn’t mean it that way. I know Seth, and have heard many, many stories about the Brogan clan. I know you come from a home filled with love.” He smiled. “But it’s also a very filled home. Or was when you were growing up. That’s all I meant. Some folks are born leaders, meaning bossy. Some are born mediators, some born people pleasers. And some just want things to go right for a person.” His smile widened. “Or wrong, if they so deserve.”

  Moira laughed then. “I don’t know that I ever saw it that way, but you might be on to something there. I definitely wanted life to be fair, even when that wasn’t possible.”

  He caught her gaze and held it again. “So, what were those big, bold decisions?” he asked easily, but quietly, inviting her confidence, rather than demanding it. “Are things really a train wreck? Or more of an unexpected fender bender?”

  “A little of both, I suppose,” she said thoughtfully, but with a brief smile as well. Then she broke his gaze to look down at the napkin she was twisting around her fingers. “Nothing I can’t overcome,” she added, “if that’s what you’re asking.” She looked up again. “But big enough that I have to rethink pretty much my whole life. Or at least what I’m willing to do to get what I want.” She smiled ruefully. “Just as soon as I figure out what that is now.”

  “Irrevocable loss then?”

  “One of them yes. The other, no. Although it might as well be. I could go and try again, I just . . . don’t know if I want to.”

  “Failure does put a hurting on confidence,” he said. “It can feel like rejection, when it might be a host of other things in reality, and you just the unfortunate victim.”

  “That’s just it,” she said. “It used to be that failure, or the threat of it, made me work harder. To prove the people who doubted me wrong, or even to prove to myself that my own doubts were wrong. Failure challenges your confidence, sure, but sometimes you can use that same threat to your confidence as a whole new kind of challenge. Like . . . how can I get back to where I was? Sometimes that feels impossible. When you lose a court case, someone’s life is affected, sometimes—maybe most of the time—permanently. Usually not in a good way. And there is no going back and doing it over. It’s done. And you have to live with that irrevocable outcome and yet somehow regain your confidence to take on someone else’s big, potentially life-altering case. It’s a crushing blow on so many levels when it doesn’t go as you hope, but I knew the first time it happened that if I wanted to be a lawyer, and more importantly, a good one, then I had to find a way to deal with the losses and not let them gut me. You can’t just quit and walk away. And no lawyer wins every trial.”

  “But this isn’t about a lost case.”

  She looked surprised by the insight, but shook her head.

  “And you can’t apply whatever methods you’ve come up with to deal with the court losses, to help in this situation?”

  She didn’t immediately shake her head. She took the compress off her arm and laid it, folded neatly, on the edge of her plate as she seemed to consider the question. “Well, for the job-related issue, I suppose I should.” She looked up from the napkin she’d now twisted into a tiny spiral. “I’m still asking myself if I want to, I suppose.”

  Hudson nodded in understanding, while simultaneously working to swallow his own regret. The job-related issue. That meant the other train wreck in her life was personal. She’d asked if he was unattached, but he hadn’t asked the same of her. Seth had made a point of mentioning she was, but that didn’t mean she’d been single for any length of time.

  “I suppose no amount of coping mechanisms work when it comes to matters of the heart,” he said, not sorry that he’d probed that possible wound. His attraction wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down, so best he knew what he was dealing with sooner than later.

  Her gaze jerked to his, surprise in her clear green eyes.


  He smiled briefly. “You said one was work related, so I assumed.”

  A rueful smile curved her lips. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. She was sharp, funny, beautiful, determined. She should have it all. The career, the love of her life, whatever she wanted. She certainly didn’t seem like a personal train wreck, the type of person who found it impossible to get out of his or her own way.

  “Thanks,” she said. “That’s kind of you to say.”

  “I wouldn’t wish a broken heart on anyone.”

  “Do you have experience with that?” She smiled then, and it was a clear attempt at diverting the topic away from herself. “Globe-trotter that you are, have you left a string of them in your wake?”

  She was clearly teasing, so he took no offense. “I’ve always been honest and upfront about my vagabond ways, as you called them. But hearts can get involved despite the best of intentions.”

  She studied him. “But not yours.”

  Now it was his turn to look surprised. “No,” he admitted. “Not in the way you mean. But it’s painful no matter which one is hurting, the one who falls, or the one who doesn’t. It’s not something I’d wish on anyone, either.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s foolish really, in my case anyway. It was a holiday romance that was supposed to be a fun, light, flirty diversion while I enjoyed my time in Ireland. We’d both agreed on that. Only, like you said, I couldn’t seem to keep my heart out of it. But neither could he. Or, at least, I thought that was how it was going. It was just so good, you know?” She met his gaze again and he saw the pain in her eyes now. “Who wouldn’t want to do whatever was necessary to make that last forever?”

  “An idiot,” he said, the words out before he could think better of them.

  She let out a little laugh at that, mercifully—for his sake—missing the meaning behind his response. “It would be lovely if that were true, and certainly easier to move on if he’d been some kind of player. It’s funny, because as much as I miss him, that’s not the issue at hand. It’s trusting my own judgment. I mean, he was a great guy. Honest, sincere. He could have taken gross advantage of me had he wanted to, truly broken my heart. I was certainly foolish enough to give him that power. But he was, well, perfect in that way, too. The moment he realized that I was falling and he wasn’t, he broke it off, and in the gentlest, kindest way possible.” She let out a sad laugh. “It almost made it worse, because I couldn’t even hate him for it. But that’s just it. In truth, I have moved on. It was ages ago. What I’m struggling with is . . . move on to what?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t pick a loser. I didn’t fall for someone who treated me poorly. My judgment was fabulous, right? And therein lies the train wreck.”

  “Because poor judgment can be adjusted,” he said. “But when you’ve done all the right things . . . ?”

  “Exactly. Then it’s you, personally, who didn’t measure up,” she said. “What can you take from that? Except you’re somehow not enough and you don’t have the first clue what to work on, how to fix it, what to do to ensure it doesn’t happen again. Because he seemed to really like me. We had a grand time. So why did only one of us fall? What do I do about that?”

  She seemed taken aback by his immediate grin, so he said, “You don’t do anything,” he said. “And that’s good news.”

  She rolled her eyes, but paired it with a wry smile. “Seriously?”

  “Quite seriously.” Impulsively he reached across the small table and took her hands in his. Her gaze flew up, but she didn’t slide her hands free. “Yes, it’s true, you fell, he didn’t. Let me ask you this, though. If he’d fallen and you hadn’t, would you have counseled him to somehow change himself so he’d have a better shot at it next time?”

  “No, of course not, I—” She broke off, and the light dawned. “Oh,” she said, somewhat faintly, looking away, looking inward. “Oh,” she repeated, as the truth of it sank in. She looked back at him. “You’re right. I fell. And he didn’t. Maybe it really is as simple, and as awful, as that.” She looked at him. “I wanted something tangible I could work on, could fix. Goal oriented, remember?” she added, her smile faint, but sincere. “So, you’re saying it’s just a great big crapshoot and there’s no way to safeguard against getting your heart smashed to smithereens.”

  Hudson smiled. “More or less.” They both shared a brief laugh, but he tugged on her hands when she’d have looked away again. “Moira, there are so many reasons why someone doesn’t commit. At the end of it all, though, would you want a man who wasn’t as head over heels for you as you were for him?”

  “Of course not.” She studied his eyes, as if hoping she’d find the answer she was looking for. “The thing is, though, what if I don’t ever find him?”

  “You can’t find what you’re not looking for.”

  “What if it’s just heartbreak and train wrecks? Because I don’t know how long I could do that. I’m not sure I can give endless pieces of my heart away, only to have them handed back to me.”

  “Falling in love is never something to be sorry for. It’s not a failure to love someone, any more than it is to be a failure if they don’t love you in return. Letting yourself be vulnerable, taking that risk, that’s what makes us human.”

  “Says the man who doesn’t stay in one place long enough to really risk anything,” she said, though not unkindly.

  “You gave your heart while on holiday,” he countered, catching her gaze when she lifted it to his. “Time is the least accurate and reliable measure for how long it takes to fall in love. For some people, it can take months, years.” He realized he was running his fingertips over the back of her hand, and slowly lifted them away. “For others, it can happen in the blink of an eye.”

  Chapter Three

  “What makes you think he wasn’t talking about the two of you?”

  “Because he wasn’t. Why would he? We just met.”

  “Why tell me all about it then, if not because you’re wondering, too? I know you.”

  Moira didn’t say anything to that, mostly because Katie was right. She pulled in and parked her car in the lot outside the converted silk mill. The huge waterwheel wasn’t running now as it was wintertime, and the falls tumbling over the boulder-strewn ledge next to the mill appeared to have frozen in motion. Water still trickled through and under the ice, keeping a marginal flow running through Big Stone Creek as it rolled on down the mountainside. With snow-laden banks, and more of the white stuff piled on top of the tumble of rocks and boulders strewn along the creek bed, it was a breathtaking sight. Backed by towering pine trees with their snow-covered branches, it looked like a majestic winter tapestry. Moira could only wonder what Blue Hollow Falls looked like in the spring, with the waterfall cascading over the rocks and the waterwheel churning along.

  “And when you said he lives on a train, you don’t really mean a train, train, because . . . tall, sexy, and an amazing chef, it would just be too much if he lived in a converted train car. But he does, doesn’t he?” Katie MacMillan, Moira’s college chum and Pippa’s sister—the other co-maid of honor—propped her hands under her chin and batted her long eyelashes. “Can I have him if you don’t want him then, can I? That Aussie accent is utterly swoon worthy.”

  “Says the woman with the beautiful Irish accent,” Moira said, rolling her eyes, though affectionately.

  “It’s as sexy to me as it is to you.”

  “I’m not the one calling it that.”

  Katie waved her silent, not buying it. She knew all about Finn and had listened to Moira wax rhapsodic about his beautiful voice. “Hudson Walker looks like a dream and sounds even dreamier. Add to that, when was the last time you met a man who’s actually spent time thinking about life, and love, and could so beautifully sum it all up?” Katie sighed. “You’re a fool if you don’t let him finish seducing you.”

  “Finish? He
cooked me breakfast and wrapped my arm in a towel. While, I remind you, I looked like the creature from the wedding-reception-walk-of-shame lagoon, only without the fun part. He was being kind to the kid sister of a good friend, nothing more.”

  Katie just gave her a look that said she knew what she knew, and Moira wasn’t going to change her mind. “So, him inviting you to the gastropub for lunch today, is that still him being kind?”

  “That’s him wanting my legal advice for his hearing. It was moved back a day, and he wanted to ask me a few more questions.” Moira put her rental car in park and turned off the engine. “Given it’s basically my fault he’s in that predicament, because he was trying to help me get away from that creep Taggert, it’s the least I can do. Seriously, not only was he not flirting with me, much less trying to seduce me, I all but cried all over him about my stupid breakup with Finn. I not only looked like a train wreck, I literally told him I was a train wreck.” She gathered her bag and the small satchel that held her laptop and notepads. “Trust me when I say, he believed me.”

  “He took your hands in his and said time is a—what was it again? I really need to write it down.”

  “‘Time is the least accurate or reliable measure of how long it takes to fall in love,’” Moira quoted.

  Katie batted her lashes again. “You recall every word. I bet he was looking deep into your eyes when he said it, too.”

  Moira shook her head. “You’re incorrigible. I never should have told you.” She opened the door and sucked in a breath as the frigid December air hit her square in the face.

  “You tell me everything, just as I do you.” Katie laid a hand across her brow with dramatic flair, and said, “Our freshman-year bond can never be broken.”

  Moira just shook her head, but she was smiling as they both pulled the hoods of their coats up and hurried from the car to the mill. Katie and Moira had agreed before the wedding to stay in Blue Hollow Falls for a few days after, just to catch up and spend some much-needed girl time together before Katie flew back to Ireland. Moira had seen her best friend the past spring during her trip to Donegal, but it had been three long years prior to that since they’d last seen each other in person, and neither knew when the opportunity would present itself again.