“Not funny, really. Just…well, good luck getting it.”
Elizabeth’s heart shriveled enough to sicken her. “Let me guess: he owns that, too.”
Chapter 10
Henry drew brisk morning air into his lungs while his dress shoes moved over the wet gravel trail. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, but the gray dawn sky alluded to future storms. Fog settled low on the ground, hemlocks and alders appearing Heaven-grown. They came to life with birds, reminding him that nature knew no discouragement. Terror lurked here at night, along with rainfall, yet the birds sang when morning came.
Last night, a different terror had lurked here, one familiar even in its novelty. The forest had adopted the air of a stranger, rather than that of a friend, and though it had been fleeting, it was enough to keep him careful.
When he reached his gate, tapping the numeric password into the panel with mindless speed—he decided he would take his walk to the diner slowly. On some days, he valued his morning walks more than most things. Rain or shine, he walked, taking in the town with a refreshing point of view only sunlight could provide. It looked different during the day, even hopeful. And regardless of so many years in the same place, he never tired of the view. From the time he was a boy, when his father used to bring him and his mother here during the summer, the forest had felt like his own. It was breathtaking and awe-inspiring, and when it came down to it, it was simply home.
But today his steps were heavier, and so was his chest. The woman had stayed through the night, despite her recently repaired vehicle. Was she to blame for the new terror last night, too? He closed the gate and entered the lock code, waiting until it clicked and the light glowed red. When he turned, however, he stopped short. The woman herself walked toward him. She wore a wool jacket over a turtleneck and emerged from the fog like a dream. Or rather, a nightmare. She folded her arms, appearing nervous. The brave Ms. Ashton.
“Mr. Clayton, I was wondering if I may have a word with you,” she said when before him.
He stepped around her and resumed a quickened pace. So much for a slow, cathartic walk. “My time is precious, Ms. Ashton.”
He felt her following. Her voice was softer than the last time they’d spoken, less defensive. “I thought this would be the best time to catch you, and…” He picked up speed. “May I walk with you? It won’t take much time.”
He released a breath. “Assholes like to walk alone.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Clayton,” she said with the release of her own breath. The desperation in her voice made him pause. “I’m sorry about what I said to you before…what I called you.”
He turned, caught off guard. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Sometimes my mouth gets away from me, and I’m…” She met them now. “Well, I’m just sorry.”
“You’re apologizing to me?”
She nodded as though puzzled.
“If this is an attempt to hear my apology, you’re wasting your breath.”
With a sigh, she pressed her lips together. “Trust me, Mr. Clayton, I would never expect an apology from you.”
“Then what is it, Ms. Ashton?”
“A guilty conscience. An attempt to make amends.”
He half-smiled. “Very sincere. But I wasn’t born yesterday. You want something from me. Be up front and—”
“It’s both,” she said, chin high. In her eyes, an almost admirable confidence beamed. “I won’t lie, there is something I need, and I figure I have a better shot if you can see I’m a civil human being. It might make this…less awkward.” Before he could respond with the many words he wanted to spew, her brow softened. “But I am sorry. Not just because I need something, but because I’d like to think I’m a better person than what I showed you a few days ago.”
How heroic. He’s the asshole yet she’s apologizing, making him look like a bigger asshole. He resumed walking, and again she tried keeping up. “A person can’t be sorry for the things they feel.”
“You’re right. And I’m not sorry for the way I feel about you. I can be sorry for verbalizing it though.”
Just briefly, he paused again, shaking his head. Her honesty was surprising and strange. He found it welcoming. “What is it, Ms. Ashton? I have a feeling I won’t get my peaceful walk, so just come out with it.”
“I want to stay.”
He faced her. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He should have seen this coming a mile away. “Stay?”
“Move here, start a life.”
“Your life wasn’t good enough in L.A.?”
“I think we both know it wasn’t.”
Laughter shook his chest, a genuine kind. It seemed to anger her. “Ms. Ashton, you must be delusional if you think I would support this. Have you heard nothing I’ve said from the moment you arrived?”
“I’m asking you to reconsider your hatred of my being here. Please, Mr. Clayton. I just need a place to start over.”
“This town is not the place to start over, not for someone with a shady past. I don’t know what you’re running from, but whatever it is I don’t want it following you here. There’s no room for—”
“I won’t be any trouble. And my past isn’t anything like that. I just want to live somewhere new, somewhere secluded. Somewhere I can…breathe.” She stepped closer and her eyes were so grave he felt stuck in place. “I am running, but it’s something that doesn’t concern you or this town. And aren’t we all running from something?”
He didn’t answer, since her desperation for something he knew so well struck him.
“This place is…” She paused and swallowed deeply, then looked around her with a sort of admiration. “You can call me crazy, and you don’t have to understand, but it speaks to me. There’s something here I can’t explain.” With her face toward the forest, she closed her eyes, feeling whatever it was she couldn’t explain, feeling it in the breeze like he did. The hair framing her face blew away from it, and he’d never seen anything so lovely. Her high cheekbones and rosy lips allured, even in their natural color. “I’ve never known anything like it. It’s beautiful and reminds me of my father, and I just want to be a part of it.”
“What are you running from?” he asked after a dry swallow, blunt but not harsh.
She met his eyes again. “I’ll tell you anything but that.”
“Did you really expect to get what you wanted by coming to me this way? Life doesn’t work like that, Ms. Ashton. It’s not that easy.”
“Says the billionaire to the woman who’s never gotten a single want in her life. And it can be that easy, Mr. Clayton, if people allow it.”
He had nothing to say. He only stared.
“I’ve never asked for anything. Just this.”
“Well, don’t I feel privileged.” He looked away. He was Henry Clayton, after all, and she was supposed to be like everyone else. “You’re oblivious to reality, which tells me you still have much to learn about life. And that naivety is what doesn’t sit well.”
She exhaled as though he’d hurt her—in the same way he had a few days prior. “Naivety?” She stepped closer yet again, and her eyes smoldered with passion. “If there is one thing I know about, it’s life. Trust me, I’ve learned life’s about people like you and then people worse. I’ve learned a sadly high percentage of people think they can get what they want, and they do. I’ve learned those people take it, drain it out of the rest of us until they’re satisfied. I’ve learned that of all things, life is most definitely never fair.”
She remained close, and though she seemed to shrink from a thought he wanted to read, her eyes revealed nothing. “You want to know about me, Mr. Clayton? Fine. I’m someone who watched from across the street at age ten as my mother was killed by a speeding car. I’m someone who watched that death destroy my father, and then watched cancer finish the job. I’m someone who became my father’s caretaker at age twelve, and my brother’s sorry excuse for a parent. I’m someone who went from being a child to an adult overnight. I�
��m someone who adopted my thirteen-year-old brother at age eighteen, when my father finally passed. I know what it’s like to be taken advantage of by someone who isn’t capable of reciprocating your love.
“If you’ve looked into my past, you know my brother was a drug addict. Everything I did in life was for him, and I watched him die with the knowledge that none of it was good enough.”
“Ms. Ashton—”
“No, you wanted to know who I am, so let me finish. I’m someone who’s stared death in the face, felt it in the tip of a gun against my chest. Someone who’s been pushed and pulled in every direction. And yet through it all, I’m someone who hasn’t been able to shed a single tear since the moment my father passed away. That might make me a bad person; in fact, I’m sure it does. And I won’t hide that what I’m running from makes me a far worse one. But I’m not naïve, Mr. Clayton, nor do I know little of life. You have every right to think I’m unworthy to reside in Hemlock Veils—I think it myself. But all I’m asking for is a chance. Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?”
Seconds passed. Never feeling so put in his place in all his life, he simply stared, humbled and humiliated at the same time. But most of all, he felt for her in a way he was against. It was why he couldn’t get close; not to her, not to anyone. The exposure left him uneasy, as much as the vulnerability. He did believe in second chances, especially for someone like Elizabeth Ashton. There was even something beautiful about the way she’d opened herself up to him.
But he was Henry Clayton.
“Ms. Ashton,” he said after a bored sigh. “It’s all very moving, but where would you plan on living?”
“Right here.” She pointed next to them, at the old cottage. It charmed him just as much as it had when he was a child. At first he didn’t connect the dots, since the thought of someone living there was simply unfathomable. Then it clicked.
He released a hot breath as he turned from her and resumed his walk, remembering why she was so infuriating. The sun was higher now, its rays breaking through troublesome clouds and dispersing the fog. “That is not for sale.”
“It is according to the sign,” she argued from behind, again trying to keep up.
“The sign is ancient. I had it on the market years ago. It’s been forgotten, overgrown.”
They rounded the corner, turning onto Clayton Road. “That’s what’s so appealing about it.”
He ground his teeth as he turned, and she ran into him. Gripping her arms, he steadied her, and she craned her neck to meet his eyes. He felt warm and he tried to keep a measure of control in his voice. “Ms. Ashton, stop. This is something you cannot make your own. Give up and move on.”
She appeared only slightly wounded before holding her chin high. “Why? As far as I can see, no one’s lived there for years. And with me in it you wouldn’t notice a difference. I keep to myself, Mr. Clayton. You’d still be neighborless, still feel alone on this—”
“Because it’s not yours!”
Something changed in her eyes. It’s true they became softer, but that certain knowledge returned to them, the same that was so characteristic of Elizabeth Ashton. “It’s special to you,” she said.
He closed his eyes and stepped away, wiping a hand down his face. With a sigh, he continued to walk, where he crossed Henry Street and met the sidewalk. “Please leave me be.”
“Mr. Clayton—”
“It baffles me that such a house would intrigue you.” Really, it didn’t.
“And why is that?” She tried walking next to him, even though he made an obvious attempt to stay ahead of her.
“I’m guessing you haven’t heard of its downside?”
“What, that it sits right in the core of the beast’s habitat?”
He threw a sidelong glance her way, giving up and allowing her to walk beside him. He tried not to like the way it felt.
“Regina told me, of course,” she added, “how terrifying that part of the forest is. And yet…” She paused for effect. “It’s where you live.”
“I live there because my family always has. I’m well protected. I never go out at night.”
“So I hear.”
He paused, Taggart’s office beside him. He was tempted to throw her in the tiny cell they called the jailhouse. “You’re not helping your case, Ms. Ashton. And however you want to take it, I’m doing this only for your protection.”
Her look said she didn’t believe him.
“Moreover,” he went on, “Doctor Ortiz doesn’t need help. As far as I understand, an almost-nursing degree is all you have under your belt, besides housekeeping for a billionaire.” He gave a short laugh. “And I don’t need the help, nor would I ever hire you.”
“Never would I consider it, Mr. Clayton.”
His feet trudged forward again, his head hurting. “Then tell me, just for argument’s sake, what would you plan on doing in a small town with nothing to offer?”
“Is it me with nothing to offer, or the town?” she asked, amusement in her voice.
“Both.”
She took a deep, slightly nervous breath again. He studied her as they walked, taking it in. It almost entertained him. “The old bakery. Jean’s Bakery.”
He stopped short, a thousand tiny pulses of heat leaving his brain and forcing the muscles around his eyes taut. “What about it?”
Her fingers wrung around each other. “I’m assuming that’s special to you, too…”
Briefly dazed, his eyes hardly registered Ms. Ashton or the town square across the street behind her, its fountain streams never ceasing. His vision blurred at thoughts of his mother, of the way she cared for that place. “It’s not for lease,” was all he said, walking ahead with his mind still far away.
“I’ll do whatever it takes, Mr. Clayton. Please let me bring it to life again. If you just let me show you what I can do—”
“I don’t want you to bring it to life again.” He faced her. “Even if it was for lease, you could never afford it. Any of it.”
“I have money.”
He sighed, a battle raging inside. A part of him, however small, wanted to embrace such a change. But the more dominant side wanted to scream with irritation that she wanted the change, and then run in fear. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ashton. But I can’t give you what you want. I won’t.”
She slumped, releasing a breath as though it was her last, and defeat finally filled her eyes. He turned away, walking as quickly as he could to the diner.
***
Coffee dripped at a steady pace from the diner’s electric coffeemaker—not the greatest model if you asked Regina. But no one ever had, not until Elizabeth. She’d come in early with Regina, before the sun had even risen, and together they’d plotted. It was mostly Regina’s idea of course, since Elizabeth was hesitant about stealing the diner’s customers, but the idea excited Regina. She’d almost forgotten how much she missed good coffee. Oregon crawled with coffee shops and espresso stands, even a drive-thru on every corner for those too busy to wander inside somewhere. Maybe the gray, wet weather was to blame, driving folks to it like it was necessary for survival. Regina liked to stop at those places whenever she could frequent other cities. Her favorite was the little corner place at the south suburban end of Portland called Joe’s Joe. She wished Hemlock had somewhere like that.
But this morning Elizabeth had proven her talent all right. Coffee-making like that was a creative art only someone in the Pacific Northwest could appreciate, and the fact that a girl from L.A. possessed it made it more fated. Elizabeth was meant for Oregon, and more so, for Hemlock Veils.
Last night, when they’d begun plotting—again, mostly Regina doing the plotting—Elizabeth told her about the small bag of fresh coffee grounds she’d brought with her, ones she’d just ground the morning she’d left L.A. They were from a fancy bean she used to order from Brazil, from some port called Santos—the only ones her old employer, and also Elizabeth, liked. The grounds were coarse, unlike the finely crushed, almost-powder
Regina had been ordering online. Elizabeth’s were the size of the Epsom salts Regina used in her baths sometimes. Elizabeth had been saving it, she’d said. And the way Regina saw it, she’d been saving it for a moment just like this.
Elizabeth was reluctant, maybe even a little snobbish, about using the Hemlock Diner’s drip coffeepot. It wasn’t bad, Elizabeth had said; just not what she was used to. She’d told Regina she’d been using the wrong size grounds for such a machine, and the time it brewed was all wrong. Regina had been using the stuff best made for espresso machines. And that was only part of the problem.
They’d made a batch early that morning, just to test it, and though Regina wasn’t normally a swearing woman except for in her mind, she’d sworn after trying it. Three times she’d sworn, since they were the only words appropriate. It was those fancy Brazilian beans and the coarse grain and the brewing time, and the ratio, too. Apparently, Regina had been putting too much water to coffee. Those four things, and just like that the old Hemlock Diner’s coffeepot went from making the bitterest, dirtiest coffee to producing the nectar of the coffee gods. And Elizabeth said it was usually better, that with the right equipment—and Regina sensed there was some other secret, too—she could get it to absolute perfection. Regina could hardly imagine it, since it seemed perfect as it was.
She’d had to convince Elizabeth it would be good enough for Mr. Clayton, especially in comparison to what he’d been used to. Knowing Mr. Clayton, and Regina knew him well enough, trickery would be the only way to get him to try it. Elizabeth still hadn’t been sure of that when she’d left twenty minutes ago, off to meet Mr. Clayton for a walk—and more nervous than Regina had ever seen her, even after her encounter with the monster—but it was her only shot.
When enough of the second batch, containing the last of Elizabeth’s precious grounds, found its way into the pot—and Regina waited the right amount of time like Elizabeth had taught her—Regina poured it into Mr. Clayton’s favorite mug, which had been warmed (another trick Elizabeth showed her, to keep the coffee fresh and hot). She poured a sip-size amount into her own mug, just to make sure it tasted as exquisite as the first. She blew on it a bit before carefully allowing the liquid to touch her lips. It nearly scorched, the way Regina preferred, and she let a little into her mouth, savoring. And, oh dear Heaven, it was just as good as the first: rich and point (that term, which she’d just learned from Elizabeth that morning, meant the coffee had positive characteristics of flavor, body, and acidity), and even slightly nutty, though she didn’t know how. She swore again, louder than when Elizabeth had been here, since she was alone behind the counter.
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