Memories: A Husband to RememberNew Year's Daddy (Hqn)

by Jackson, Lisa

  “Amen.” Again that note of muted misery.

  As he sipped, he took stock of the house. A tipsy Christmas tree glowed with the colored lights strung through its boughs, and stockings—two of them—hung from the mantel. A fire warmed the grate and Travis, while drinking his wine, looked for signs of a man on the premises. But the coatrack held only two ski jackets—one for a woman of Ronni’s size, the other for a small child. The same was true of the skis mounted near the back door. No oversize male boots warming by the fire, no magazines targeted for men spread on the coffee table, no hunting trophies displayed on the wall or baseball bats or other sporting equipment tucked in any corners, no newspaper lying open to the sports page.

  If there was a Mr. Walsh, he’d definitely made himself scarce.

  Feeling out of place, Travis sat in an old rocker and she settled into a corner of the couch. “So, you’ve lived here, I mean in Cascadia, a long time,” he remarked, remembering her comment about the caretaker’s house.

  “Born and bred here. I’m a native and so’s Amy.”

  “Family nearby?”

  If she thought his questions were too personal, she didn’t show it. “Just my sister, Shelly. She lives closer to town with her husband, Victor, and their two boys. Twins, a couple of years older than Amy. They keep Shelly hopping.” Leaning back, her dark hair falling in restless tangles that tumbled over her shoulder and curled over the swell of her breast, she studied the wine in her glass as if it held the secrets of the universe. “My folks are both gone,” she said sadly as she twirled the stem of her glass between long, ringless fingers. “Dad had a heart attack years ago and didn’t survive. Mom eventually remarried, moved to California and died a few years later. Breast cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I,” she said, growing contemplative. “So am I.”

  “What about Amy’s father?”

  She started, then stared at him as if he’d trespassed on private property. “Hank?” Sighing softly, she glanced up to the mantel where a photograph was mounted. Captured by the camera’s eye, a handsome blond man in a plaid shirt, worn jeans and hiking boots was holding an infant and grinning proudly as he stood backdropped by snow-laden fir trees.

  “He died.” Amy’s voice floated down from her hiding spot on the landing. Clutching a beat-up stuffed animal that might have—considering the yellow-and-black stripes—once been a tiger, she peered through the rails.

  “What are you doing up?” Veronica asked, her voice firm as she cleared her throat and seemed to chase away the melancholy thoughts that had gathered around her at the mention of her husband. But the sight of her child caused her eyes to twinkle and Travis suspected that the imp could get away with murder.

  “He asked about Daddy.”

  “I know,” Ronni said quickly.

  Amy pointed a chubby finger in Travis’s general direction. “Mommy misses Daddy. She cries sometimes—”

  “Amy!” Horrified, Ronni set her glass on the table. “It’s way past your bedtime. Tell Mr. Keegan good-night.” Her cheeks burned bright and she blinked rapidly as she hurried up the stairs. Amy scrambled ahead of her and Travis was left with a half-full glass of wine and an inkling that he’d stepped over an invisible and very private line, one he should never have crossed.

  “I don’t want to sleep!” Amy cried, her voice trailing down the stairs.

  “I know, but it’s time. Settle down, honey.”

  Restless, Travis climbed to his feet. He walked to the tree, lit so brightly and decorated with unique ornaments that were, for the most part, handcrafted. Strings of popcorn and cranberries were woven between the branches, so unlike the trees they’d had in Seattle.

  Sylvia had always called an interior decorating company that had supplied the tree—usually a gargantuan noble fir decorated with a theme and sporting shiny ornaments, metallic bows and glittery tinsel. One year, every decoration had been gold on a white flocked tree; the next year had been red balls and ribbons on snow-dusted bows. But the most memorable had been a flocked blue tree with navy and silver ornaments that had fascinated Bryan when he was about six. He’d played with the ornaments until several broke and then he wasn’t allowed in the living room until Christmas morning, after the annual office staff party where everyone from the company was invited to their house to ooh and aah over the elaborate decor and pick at catered trays of hors d’oeuvres and fill their rented glasses from fountains of champagne.

  As Travis thought about it now, he cringed. The holidays had come and gone but they’d held no soul. Christmas had been a time for spending a lot of money and putting on a show. New Year’s Eve had been a day to hand out bonuses and party long into the night. All that was about to change. This year was going to be different. In the extreme.

  Veronica, blowing her bangs from her eyes, hurried down the stairs. “It’s official. Amy’s down for the night. Exhaustion won over curiosity, thank God.”

  “I should probably get a move on, anyway.” Standing, he reached for his jacket. “I don’t want to leave Bryan alone too long.”

  She didn’t argue, just walked him to the door. “Thanks for the wine,” she said after he’d slid into his boots and zipped his jacket. “It wasn’t necessary.”

  “I know, but, to tell you the truth, I wanted to see you again.”

  “You did? Why?”

  He stared at her a moment and her brown eyes seemed to reach into his and search past his soul. “I wish I knew,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “I wish to God I knew.” He grabbed hold of the doorknob, then hesitated. “Stop by sometime. I’ll give you the grand tour and maybe then we’ll be able to show Amy that the lodge isn’t haunted.”

  She laughed softly. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “Wrong, Veronica,” he said, thrusting open the door. “Haven’t you learned yet that anything’s possible?”

  *

  “Keegan? Travis Keegan?” She shook her head. “You know, that name sounds familiar…but…no, I’ve never heard of him.” Shelly said as she poured another cup of coffee from the pot on Ronni’s counter. This morning they’d shipped out a few late orders that had to be rushed to the nearest express mail company and were taking a break at the kitchen table.

  “He’s not from around here.” Ronni straightened the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers—Christmas elves in honor of the season.

  “Oh.” Shelly eyed her sister skeptically. “You—and a new guy?”

  “Don’t get any ideas. He’s just someone I met and you’ll get to meet him, too. He bought the Johnson place.”

  “Bought it? But I thought you were interested.”

  “I was.”

  “Wasn’t the real estate agent supposed to call you if anyone had a serious offer?”

  “Taffy told me she would, but it’s not like I could have bought it if I’d known anyone was interested. I couldn’t scrape up a down payment if my life depended upon it.”

  “Still, she should have phoned. Taffy LeMar was always a flake. A flirt and a flake. Even in high school. I never liked her much.”

  “She wasn’t obligated to let me know about the house selling, she was just going to call as a favor. Besides, it was probably just a pipe dream, anyway.”

  “I believe in pipe dreams.” Shelly walked to the refrigerator, pulled out a carton of cream and added a thin stream to her cup. “But then, I guess I have to.” Biting her lower lip, she shoved the carton back onto the shelf and closed the fridge door. “I have some news of my own.”

  “Good or bad?” Ronni asked, puzzled by her sister’s change in attitude. Shelly was always so happy-go-lucky, a person who was known to fly by the seat of her pants and somehow make everything turn out right. Now her brown eyes were dark and serious.

  “Depends upon who you ask. Me or Vic.”

  Ronni’s stomach knotted in apprehension. “What?”

  Resting a hip against the counter, Shelly watched the clouds of cream roll in her d
ark brew.

  “Uh-oh. Shelly?”

  Blowing across the top of her cup, Shelly stared at her sister. “I’m pregnant.”

  “What?” Thunderstruck, Ronni nearly dropped her mug. Pregnant? “But—”

  “I know, I know, I don’t need a lecture.” Tears starred Shelly’s lashes and she blinked rapidly. “This couldn’t have come at a worse time with Vic’s being out of work and all, but you know something, Ronni, I’m happy about it. We’ve always wanted another baby and I guess we’re going to have one.” She was smiling despite the tears drizzling from her eyes.

  How in the world were they ever going to make it? Financially strapped as they were, another mouth to feed was the last thing they needed. On the other hand, the thought of a new baby was invigorating and uplifting. Maybe a new member of their family was just what they needed.

  “I think this calls for a celebration!” Ronni said, though she was stunned. Not only was Vic out of work but Shelly was already run ragged. Between working for Ronni and dealing with the twins, Shelly barely had a minute to herself. How could she squeeze in any extra time for an infant?

  “Vic doesn’t think so.” Shelly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing streaks of mascara that were already running down her cheeks. “He—well, he’s in a state.” When she read the horror on her sister’s face, she held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t want me to do anything to jeopardize the pregnancy, but—”

  “But he’s not happy.”

  “And he blames me.”

  “Didn’t a wise man once say that it takes two to tango?”

  Shelly laughed a little and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “He knows that, but he’s just having a little trouble adjusting. He’ll get used to the idea.”

  “He’d better,” Ronni said, her hackles up a bit. She liked Victor, he was a great guy, but he had a tendency to place blame and come up with excuses when things didn’t go exactly as he planned. Though Ronni didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d be as good a father to this new baby as he was to the boys, another child was a burden as well as a joy.

  “Vic’s worried, and, really, I don’t blame him. We don’t have insurance, you know, and if there are any complications, like last time with the twins and the C section…it could be devastating.” Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. “Look, I didn’t mean to bring you down, I just wanted you to know that you’re going to be an aunt again.”

  “And I’m thrilled,” Ronni said from the bottom of her heart. Sliding out of her chair, she crossed the room and hugged her sister fiercely. “There’s nothing so special as a new little person.”

  “I knew you’d feel that way,” Shelly said, her eyes filling with tears once more. A broken little sob escaped her throat. “Oh, look at me, blubbering and going on. You know how emotional pregnant women are.”

  “So when’s the blessed event going to occur?”

  “Middle of July. I suspected that I might be pregnant last month, even took one of those in-home tests, but I didn’t want to say anything until I’d seen the doctor.”

  Ronni was disappointed; while growing up, and even as adults she and Shelly had shared their deepest secrets. “I don’t blame you,” she lied. “And really, you couldn’t have chosen a better time of year to have the baby. No worry about not being able to get to the hospital because of the weather in July.” She squeezed her sister’s shoulders again. “Well, come on. We just have time for me to take you to lunch before I have to pick up Amy.”

  “But we should work.”

  “Nah. The shipping’s done for the day and I can clean up tomorrow. I’m closing down the shop at the beginning of the week anyway and I think we—” she glanced pointedly at her sister’s belly “—all three of us, need a break. Come on, get your jacket. Hamburgers on me.”

  Shelly brightened. “Okay, but just this once. The doctor’s already worried about my weight.”

  Ronni grinned. “Good. Then I get your fries.”

  Shelly took a look at her sister’s slim figure. “You’re disgusting,” she said with a grin.

  “Yeah, but I work hard at it.” Ronni tossed Shelly’s thick jacket to her. “You know, Shell, I think this is the best news I’ve heard in weeks.”

  Ronni wrapped a scarf around her neck as they trudged through the snow to her van. The snowman was still standing, looking a little heavier with a fresh layer of snow dusting his features, and the tracks where she and Amy had rolled the snowballs were covered with white again.

  The old Ford started without a fuss and as they drove passed the turnoff to the old Johnson place—now the Keegan lodge—Ronni bit her lip. She’d envisioned the huge old lodge as a bed-and-breakfast inn that she’d own and manage, and Shelly and Vic could move into the caretaker’s house and out of their small duplex in town.

  Snapping on the radio, she heard the first strains of “White Christmas.” She’d had a lot of silly dreams, she realized, but they’d all changed in the past few days. All because of Travis Keegan.

  *

  “Come on, come on,” Travis growled, glaring at the fax machine and waiting for a report that was supposed to have been transmitted. For the most part, everything was working correctly. He’d had to call an electrician whose crew had worked the better part of a week rewiring the old house, bringing it up to code, making sure that there was enough power to accept the strain of the additional equipment such as the microwave, satellite dish, three televisions, extra telephone lines, computer, modem, fax machine, printer and on and on.

  He’d converted a small first-floor bedroom with a bay window overlooking the lake for his private office, which was linked electronically to the factory and home office just northeast of Seattle. His vice president, Wendall Holmes, was in charge of operations. When Travis had decided to move to Oregon, he and Wendall had worked a deal and now Wendall was buying shares of the sporting goods company. Eventually, if everything worked out over the long haul, he and Travis would be equal partners in TRK, Inc., which was the umbrella corporation for all his businesses.

  For his part, Travis was glad to be this far away from the rat race.

  The fax finally whirred and pages started spewing forth, a memo from Wendall and sales reports, accounting information, employee reviews, everything. Satisfied that the electronic linkup was working properly, Travis began reading through the latest proposal from the advertising firm handling his company’s accounts, the newest marketing strategy to sell more skateboards, snowboards and ski equipment. The new line of apparel called Rough Riders was selling well in the Northwest and as far south as Sacramento. Yes, Wendall was doing a more than respectable job and this setup hundreds of miles away was working.

  He worried a little because just two days ago this room was cold enough for ice to sheet on the inside of the windows. He’d contacted a local contractor who’d helped him with some preliminary remodeling and revamping of the place. Storm windows had been added and a new furnace and duct work was scheduled to be installed at the beginning of next week. A plumber had already given his estimate to replace the ancient pipes and fixtures. Some walls would have to be broken into and it looked as if there was no chance of a simple remodeling job, but maybe that was good. Travis had envisioned Bryan working with him to restore the old lodge. Trouble was, Bryan wasn’t interested. He was still grousing about missing his friends in Seattle and now that he was laid up, the father-and-son bonding would have to wait for other projects.

  At that moment, he heard his son hitching himself across the huge room they’d designated as the living area. A few seconds later, the rubber tips of Bryan’s crutches came into view and he was leaning against the door frame.

  “I called Marty today.”

  “Did you?”

  “So that he would have my new number.”

  “Good idea.” Travis tried not to show any sign of emotion though he didn’t trust Marty Sinclair, a friend of Bryan’s from Seattle. The kid had been in and out of t
rouble for the past six or seven years, his latest stint involving driving under the influence of alcohol with a suspended license. There had been another incident with stolen compact discs and then the trouble with vandalism. Bryan had been in on that one. All these “incidents” and Martin was barely sixteen. He’d only escaped being sent to a juvenile center because his old man had money and a bevy of lawyers at his command. “What did Martin want?”

  “For me to fly up and spend the weekend with him.”

  This was the part he hated. Saying no. It was harder than any kid could ever imagine. “I think you’d better stick around. You’ve got another appointment with the doctor on Monday and sooner or later we’ve got to register you for school.”

  “Yeah at Backwoods High. What do they teach here—whittling, tobacco spitting and log rolling?”

  “Those are just electives,” Travis replied, managing to keep a straight face while consternation crossed his son’s features. Obviously, Bryan was in no mood for jokes.

  “Sure, Dad. Look, I don’t see what going back home would hurt. It’s just a couple of days,” he whined.

  “This is home now. Marty can come and visit.”

  “Here?” Bryan gestured broadly, taking in the entire lodge with its rough cedar walls and sparse furniture.

  “Sure, he could think of it as camping, you know, roughing it.”

  “Travis, get serious!”

  “I am.”

  “This is Nowhere, U.S.A. Marty’s not going to want to come here.”

  “He would if he’s a good friend.”

  “Yeah, and if I were a good friend, I’d go up there.”

  “The answer is no.”

  “You hate all my friends.”

  “No, Bry, not true.” Travis snapped out the lights in the den and walked down the short hall to the living room with its dying fire and tall windows, all of which would be eventually replaced with double panes. Bryan followed after him, his crutches moving jerkily over the old wooden floors. “I like all your friends, including Marty. But I don’t think he’s a very good influence right now,” Travis said.