by Lisa Jackson
Just like her short-lived marriage.
Blinking rapidly, she turned her attention back to the preacher. “You may kiss the bride.”
Reverend Osgood didn’t have to repeat himself. With a rakish grin, Hayden took Nadine into his arms and kissed her with a passion and love that nearly melted Carlie’s bones.
Only one man had kissed her with the same blinding passion that Hayden so obviously felt for his wife, and that man was standing somewhere near the back of the room, regarding the ritual with jaded eyes.
Holding his bride at arm’s length, Hayden winked at her, then, as the piano player began playing, they walked between the beribboned chairs and mingled with their guests.
“Don’t you just love a wedding?” Heather said on a sigh. Her blond hair was curled away from her face and she wore a shimmery pale blue dress that didn’t hide the fact that she was pregnant again. Dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, she sighed. “It’s so romantic.”
Her husband, Turner, looked at his wife and clucked his tongue. “Women. Emotional.” He grinned irreverently and Heather rolled her eyes.
“Men. Stoic.”
“That’s me,” Turner replied, but he linked her hand with his as their son, Adam, ran toward the tiered cake and punch bowl to take stock of the refreshments.
Jackson laughed as they walked past the den. “Bring back memories?” he whispered to his wife, though Carlie overheard and understood that he was talking about this very room where Jackson and Rachelle had taken refuge, where they’d first spent the night together, where Jackson had been hiding when he’d been hauled into the sheriff’s office for questioning the next morning.
“Great memories,” Rachelle said, blushing slightly. Her hazel eyes twinkled wickedly. “I just wonder why Deputy Zalinski wasn’t invited.”
“You’re trouble, Mrs. Moore,” Jackson said as he guided her away from the crowd.
“Absolutely,” she replied while Carlie, wanting some time alone, wandered toward the stairs where Nadine and Hayden were posing for “spontaneous” snapshots. Velma clicked off a picture as Nadine’s boys, John and Bobby, rushed into the foyer.
Bobby tugged on his mother’s skirt. “Katie Osgood’s trying to sneak some of the champagne,” he said, his eyes wide.
“Is she?” Hayden said. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that.”
“That girl’s a wagonload of trouble,” Velma said, rewinding her film.
John yanked at his bow tie. “Troublemaker,” he snarled at his younger brother.
“It’s true!”
“Yeah, and it’s true that you’re a dweeb!”
“Later, boys,” Nadine said, but Hayden glanced pointedly toward the fountain and a girl of about nine or ten dashed quickly out of the room.
The older boy, John, saw Carlie for the first time. “You’re—”
“John, this is Carlie Surrett,” Nadine said. “We’re really glad you could come.”
“Thank you,” Carlie replied, then shook John’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“She’s a model,” Bobby supplied.
John’s face wrinkled and he glanced up at his mom. “Is she the one who posed for the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated?”
“Don’t I wish,” Carlie said, and John grinned.
“Forgive them,” Nadine said as her sons caught up with a group of other children about their age.
“Nothing to forgive.”
“They’re pretty impressed with your life.”
“If they only knew,” Carlie replied, thinking of the loneliness she’d felt in New York. “Believe me, it’s not as glamorous as it seems.”
Nadine and Hayden were called away and Carlie found herself alone. She wondered where Ben was, decided it didn’t matter and wandered over to the fountain for a glass of champagne. Just a little while longer, she told herself as she sipped from a fluted glass and took a seat on a window ledge near the stairs. Then the ordeal would be over.
* * *
BEN TRIED TO keep his eyes off Carlie. After all, there was no reason to torture himself. If she felt she had to make a statement and show up, who gave a rip?
His father, for one. George had declined giving his daughter away, proclaiming that one time was enough. He’d blamed every member of the Monroe family for stripping him of his life savings. Though Hayden Garreth Monroe III and Thomas Fitzpatrick were solely responsible for the scheme, George still blamed everyone associated with the rich men. Including Nadine’s new husband whom he considered “a spoiled playboy with too much money and too little sense.”
George had watched the ceremony without any trace of emotion. His lips had tightened when he’d noticed Carlie, but he’d held his tongue and only stayed long enough to shake Hayden’s hand and hug his daughter, then had asked his new friend, Ellen Tremont Little, the woman who had sat with him and been the only person to coax a smile from his lips, to take him back to town.
Nadine, for her part, had braved her father’s disapproval and had refused to let anyone spoil her day. She’d gone upstairs for a moment, returned to the landing and, to the surprise of everyone, thrown her bridal bouquet into the group of guests milling around the base of the stairs.
Girls squealed, hands raised, fingers extended, but the airborne nosegay had landed squarely in Carlie’s lap. She’d been sitting on the window seat, staring out the window when the bouquet had soared over the anxious fingers to rest against the blue of her dress. So startled she nearly dropped the flowers, she’d blushed a dozen shades of red.
Fitting, Ben thought, his jaw tightening a little. Hadn’t Carlie always been the center of attention? Even now, at Nadine’s wedding, she’d somehow managed to steal the show. Hell, what a mess. He would have walked up to Carlie and made a comment, but he didn’t want to ruin Nadine’s happiness by causing a scene. So he held his tongue and glowered at the woman who had been on the edge of his thoughts for too many years.
Leaning a shoulder against the archway separating the living room from the foyer, he kept his distance—from Carlie and the dangerous emotions that always surfaced when he thought of her. He snatched a glass of champagne off a silver tray carried by a waiter, then drained the drink in one swallow. Restless, he had to keep moving. He walked into the living room and noticed that the folding chairs had been stacked, the carpet rolled back, and Hayden and Nadine were dancing together for the first time as man and wife. He couldn’t stand it. He needed some air. Turning his back on the bride and groom, he shoved open the front door and strode outside.
Carlie watched him leave and let out her breath. Maybe now she could relax a little. She forced her fingers, wrapped tightly around the stem of the bridal bouquet, to loosen.
From a baby grand piano tucked in a corner of the living room, strains of the “Anniversary Waltz” drifted through the hallways. Nadine and Hayden glided across the soft patina of the old oak floors. The guests, citizens of Gold Creek, dressed in suits or tuxedos and dresses of vibrant silk or simple cotton, talked among themselves, watching the newlyweds, laughing and sipping champagne that flowed endlessly from the fountain.
Hayden and Nadine danced as one. He whispered something in his bride’s ear and Nadine tossed her head and smiled up at him, her green eyes flashing impishly, her red hair reflecting the soft illumination of the tiny lights.
Carlie saw the exchange, noticed Hayden brush Nadine’s forehead with his lips as he guided her around the floor. Other couples joined the newlyweds.
Heather and Turner swept by. They looked like a cowboy and a lady, he in a black Western-cut suit and polished boots, she in quivering pale silk. They swayed around plants decorated with a thousand tiny lights and behind them, even though it was long past the season, the Christmas tree loomed twelve feet to the ceiling.
As the dance floor became more crowded, H
ayden and Nadine disappeared through the French doors. No one but Carlie seemed to notice.
At last she could go home. She’d done her duty. She found her coat in the closet of an upstairs bedroom and, after saying hasty goodbyes to Rachelle and Heather, she started for the door.
“Carlie?” Thomas Fitzpatrick was wending his way through a crowd of guests and making his way toward her. Her muscles tightened, though he posed no threat. A distinguished-looking man with patrician features, silver hair and a clipped mustache, he smiled evenly as he approached her and she told herself that she’d imagined his leers all those years ago.
Still, she didn’t completely trust him. She’d seen what his hatred could do—even to his own kin. Hadn’t he tried to blame Jackson Moore, his illegitimate son, for the death of Roy, his favorite child? He’d pitted one of his sons against the other, never recognizing Jackson, then allowing him to take the blame for a murder he didn’t commit. No, Thomas Fitzpatrick was no saint, but only a few people had ever had the nerve to stand up to him and Carlie had been one of those very few.
“Can I have a few minutes of your time?” he asked, touching her arm with the familiarity of a favorite uncle.
“I was just leaving.”
“Please…it will only take a few minutes. It’s about your father.”
Her heart nearly stopped. What was wrong with Dad? Surely Thomas wouldn’t lay him off now, not while he was still recuperating. Dread inching its way into her heart, she followed the richest man in Gold Creek into the kitchen, where there were only a few caterers filling trays.
“I know things are difficult right now for Thelma and Weldon,” Thomas said, his forehead furrowing in worry.
Carlie braced herself against the counter. “It’s hard. Dad doesn’t like being cooped up.”
“Understandable.” Thomas smiled, that cold snakelike smile that chilled Carlie to her bones. “He’s been a valued employee at the company for years.”
Here it comes! Carlie’s fingers curled over the smooth marble edge of the counter.
“This is difficult for me, you understand, and I’m willing to do anything I can to help out, but I can’t leave his job open indefinitely.”
Oh, God.
“I don’t think Weldon would expect that and the man who’s taken over his position temporarily is willing to stay on indefinitely. In fact, he’s insisting that he needs more job security and that’s not an unreasonable request as he has a family to support.”
“Don’t you think you should be discussing this with my father?” she said, unable to hide her irritation. Her parents weren’t rich; they, too, needed the job security Fitzpatrick Logging had always provided. There was no way her mother’s small salary and tips from working at the soda counter at the drugstore would begin to pay their bills.
“I’ll speak to Weldon tomorrow,” Fitzpatrick agreed. He stroked the corner of his mustache with a long finger. “And you have to understand that it’s hard for me to make a decision like this. Your father could retire, of course—”
“But not at full benefits.”
Thomas sighed. He seemed genuinely unhappy. “Unfortunately, no.”
“What’s he supposed to do?” she asked, anger beginning to burn through her blood.
“As soon as he’s well enough, I’ll find him a job—a decent job, mind you—with the company. However, he won’t have the same responsibilities as he did while he was foreman.”
“Or the same salary.”
Thomas lifted the shoulder of his expensive wool suit. “I do have a way to help out.”
She didn’t believe him and she didn’t bother hiding it. “My folks aren’t interested in your charity, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
“Of course not.” He offered her a tentative smile. “The reason I’m bringing this all up to you is that the company annual report is due in a couple of months. We always had the photographs taken by Rory Jaeger.”
Was it her imagination or was Thomas smirking behind his cool blue eyes? She nearly shivered, for she was certain that he already knew every intimate detail of her life.
“I worked for him a long time ago.”
“And, as I understand it, you’ll be working with him again.”
So he did know! Carlie wondered if there was any word of gossip in Gold Creek that Thomas Fitzpatrick didn’t hear. “It looks that way. If things work out.”
“Good. Then I was hoping I could ask you to do the pictures for this year’s report. We’d need shots of the logging camps, the trees that are growing through reforestation, and photographs of the other phases of our business—oil wells and the like.”
“Have you talked to Rory about this?”
“He insisted on throwing the business your way and, in light of your father’s situation, I thought it was a good idea.”
As if he ever did anything noble. She itched to tell him to take his business and shove it, but she was more practical than that. She was in no position to turn away a job. Any job.
“What do you say?”
She hesitated, then looked him squarely in the eye. “I’ll call you once I set up shop.”
“Looking forward to it,” Thomas said amiably as he handed her his business card. His gaze lingered on hers a second longer than was normal and Carlie swallowed hard. Was it her imagination? He placed his hand on her shoulder, as if feeling the texture of her dress. The touch was intimate and Carlie took a step away. “Give my best to your dad.”
He walked back to the living room to join his wife and daughter. June stiffened at his touch on her elbow and Toni didn’t even look his way.
Wealth didn’t guarantee happiness, Carlie thought, tapping the narrow edge of his card against the counter, grateful her interview with him was over. Thomas Fitzpatrick might be one of the richest men in Gold Creek, but he’d already buried one son, and his second was in the legal battle of his life and his third—his bastard—Jackson Moore, refused to even speak with him. That left Antoinette “Toni” Fitzpatrick, pretty and petite, with dark blond hair and blue eyes and an attitude that wouldn’t quit.
It was rumored that Toni was more trouble than his other children combined.
Yes, Thomas was an unhappy man. Carlie stuffed his card into her purse and walked through the back door.
Outside, the night was still and snow continued to fall. Thousands of tiny lights illuminated the gazebo and boathouse, to reflect in the dark, shimmering waters of the lake. Somewhere overhead an owl hooted softly.
It was peaceful here. Serene. If she let herself she could forget all her problems with her family. With the Powells. With Thomas Fitzpatrick. With Ben. She frowned at the thought of him—handsome and rigid in his military best. A man who saw the world in terms of black and white, wrong or right, good or bad. No in-between for Ben Powell.
She turned, intending to slip through the breezeway when she saw him, standing near the far side of the gazebo, snow collecting on his shoulders and in his hair.
“Just can’t tear yourself away, can you?” he said without bothering to hide his animosity.
“I was about to leave.”
“After your little chat with Fitzpatrick.”
She glanced to the house and the kitchen window where the lights cast squares of light onto the snow. Inside, the caterers were busy refilling trays. Carlie could watch their movements as clearly as if she were in the room. Obviously Ben had seen all of her exchange with Fitzpatrick. “We had business to discuss.”
His lips tightened at the corners. “He’s trouble, Carlie.”
“So you’ve finished insulting me and now you’re giving me warnings?”
He lifted his shoulder, as if he really didn’t give a care, but the rigid set of his jaw said otherwise.
“You know, the same could be said about you,” she pointed out.
> He leaned one hand against a leafless oak sapling, then dusted off the snow that clung tenaciously to the bark. “I just thought you should know.”
“‘Forewarned is forearmed’—isn’t that an old army saying?”
“Take it any way you like,” he said hotly. He moved dangerously close to her. “Besides, what do you care, from the looks of it, you’ve got Thomas Fitzpatrick wrapped around your little finger.”
“I don’t even know him.”
“It won’t be long, Carlie,” Ben predicted harshly. “I saw him with you. He’s on the scent and a man like that usually gets what he wants.”
“You’re crazy.” Thomas Fitzpatrick? Interested in her? The idea was outlandish. Or was it? Her skin crawled.
“Just watch out.”
“You’re serious.”
“Absolutely, and you’d better open your eyes or quit playing that you don’t know what’s going on.”
“He’s a married man and old—”
“—enough to be your father. I know. Big deal. He wants you, Ms. Surrett. So the question is whether you’re going to go for the bait. Fancy house, all those businesses, more money than you can count. What about it, Carlie?”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Tell me that in a couple of weeks. The way I figure it, Fitzpatrick will make another move by then.”
She lifted her hand as if to slap him, but he caught her wrist and his eyes flashed fire. “Don’t even think about it!”
“You bastard.”
His mouth twitched into a sarcastic grin. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He let go of her hand.
Shaken, Carlie decided to have it out with him. Obviously they couldn’t both live in this tiny little town, trying to avoid each other, hoping to steer clear of the other person’s path. Tilting her chin, she eyed him speculatively. “You know, you don’t have to hate me, Ben.” Her words seemed to echo across the lake. “It’s not part of the rules.”
Ben winced and looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing on her face. “I don’t—” He moved back, snapped his mouth closed and glowered angrily, as if he were suddenly mad at the world.