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

by Jackson, Lisa

“Just ’cause we got caught ripping off a couple of hood ornaments.”

  “Right. Stealing and vandalism all wrapped up together.”

  “The car belonged to Marty’s uncle. The guy’s a jerk.”

  Travis raised a hand. “Good thing he wasn’t enough of a jerk to swear out a complaint against you. Do you realize how lucky you were that he let you pay for the damage and get off without dealing with the police?” Bryan had spent four weekends stacking boxes in Travis’s sporting goods company’s warehouse in order to earn the money to pay off his debt. “Look, call Marty back and invite him to come spend some time over the holiday break, but don’t count on going to Seattle.”

  Bryan wanted to argue; Travis saw all the classic signs, defiant light in his eyes, chin thrust forward belligerently, fists opening then closing over the handholds of his crutches, but he didn’t argue. With a sound of disgust, the boy turned and headed back to his room on the first floor. It was small, originally some kind of servants’ quarters, Travis suspected, but until the remodeling was finished and Bryan could mount the stairs, there was no reason to move him to the second floor.

  Bryan’s door slammed, the noise echoing through the high-ceiling rooms.

  He’ll get over it, Travis told himself. He looked around the big, empty lodge and thought of Ronni’s cozy cabin just down the lane. With a lumpy snowman standing guard and a string of lights on the front porch, the little cottage seemed more like home than this cold, empty behemoth. But all that would change—he’d see to it.

  Walking along the hallway to Bryan’s room, he called loudly, “Come on, Bryan, I’ll buy you dinner, then we can pick out a Christmas tree.”

  No answer. Just the pounding sound of rock music.

  Travis rapped sharply with his knuckles, and pushed open the door. “I said, let’s find ourselves a tree.”

  “Can’t you have one delivered?” Bryan was lying on his makeshift bed, his hands stacked behind his head as he stared through the window to the moonlit night. Some hard rocker was screaming through the speakers of the stereo.

  “I suppose, but we can pick one out.”

  “Oh, sure. Next I suppose you’ll want to pull a Paul Bunyan routine and chop down your own!” He slid his father an ungrateful look. “If only I could remember where I put my ax and blue ox. Get real, Travis.”

  “Lose the attitude.”

  “I don’t have an attitude, I’m just bored.”

  “Well, it’s time to change all that.” Travis snatched a pullover from a wrinkled pile and tossed it onto his son. “Let’s go, Bry. I’ll buy you a pizza and a rootbeer, too, but not one more word about going north for any part of the holidays.”

  “You just don’t know what it’s like,” Bryan grumbled as he struggled into a sitting position and reached for the hooded sweatshirt. “This is a big adventure for you. Throw away the suit and tie, put on flannel shirts and jeans and move to Oregon. Play Dad for a while. Don’t you know that I don’t know anyone here—not one stupid person? How do you think I’m gonna feel walking into that school the day after New Year’s, huh? You know how embarrassing it will be to be introduced to each class—to have the principal or the teachers tell the kids to welcome me, that we all should become fast friends?” He blinked against tears blurring his vision. “It’s gonna be hell, Travis,” he said, swallowing hard. Jerking to his feet, he sniffed loudly. “Good thing I know just who to blame.”

  Chapter Five

  RONNI SLID HER skis into the back of the van and slammed the back doors. She was tired. It had been a long, hard day on the mountain. Strong winds and whiteout conditions had closed down the upper lifts and she’d had to deal with lost skiers and too many injuries. Finally, the storm had abated and the sun had dared to peek through the dark clouds, even as a few final flakes floated to the ground. But the damage had already been done. Rubbing the kinks from her neck and finding her keys in her pocket, Ronni was thankful the day was over. She envisioned a hot cup of tea and a warm bath.

  Then she spied Travis Keegan leaning against the driver’s door of her van, his arms folded over his chest as if standing in the middle of the parking lot of Mount Echo’s base lodge was the most natural thing in the world. Wearing aviator sunglasses, old jeans and a rawhide jacket, he managed a thin replica of a smile when he saw her.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” she quipped, yanking off her cap and shaking out her hair.

  “I was looking for you.”

  She couldn’t help the silly little jump in her pulse when his gaze, hidden though it was, sought hers. “Why?”

  “I think I need your help.” Sunlight refracted against his dark lenses and he scowled as if the admission was difficult. It probably was. Keegan didn’t appear to be the kind of man who asked for assistance. While everyone else was wearing down coats and parkas, ski pants and woolen hats, he stood bareheaded, snow catching in the dark strands of his hair, the arms of his jacket shoved up to his elbows, his big hands bare.

  A horn honked as a four-wheeled pickup roared past. Ronni waved to Tim and his son before turning her attention to Travis and quieting the unsettling feeling that played with her mind whenever he was around. There was something about him that put her on edge, made her restless, though she didn’t know why.

  Because he’s attractive, sexy and a take-charge kind of guy, the first man who’s interested you since Hank. Oh, God. She nudged that wayward thought back into a dark corner of her mind where it belonged.

  “What kind of help?”

  “I need your expertise,” he admitted.

  Laughing, she said, “My expertise? Let me guess—how to tie a four-year-old’s shoelaces?”

  “Nothing quite so complicated,” he drawled and behind his tinted lenses his eyes sparked. “Why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee or a drink while I plead my case?”

  Tilting her head to the side and sizing him up, she decided it wouldn’t hurt. Hadn’t everyone she knew told her it was time to start meeting people again, time to start letting go of the past? “Why not?” She checked her watch. “I have to pick up Amy in about forty-five minutes, but until then, I’m free.” The errands she was going to run before she stopped at Shelly’s to collect her daughter could wait until later.

  Travis Keegan interested her and it had been long, too long probably, since she’d spent any time alone with a man. Maybe Amy was right. Maybe she was lonely. No, she told herself as they walked carefully over the icy ruts of the parking lot and climbed the metal-grate steps to the lodge, she just missed Hank.

  They found an unoccupied booth near the window of the café where they each ordered cups of Irish coffee. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a panorama of white snow, tall evergreen trees and skiers racing down the runs.

  “How long have you been a part of the team?” he asked, motioning to her red jacket with its patch proclaiming her part of the ski patrol.

  “Ever since I was eighteen,” she admitted with a smile. “Years ago.”

  “You must be quite a skier.”

  “My dad had my sister and me up on skis about the time we learned to walk,” she admitted. “He was part of the patrol and a ski instructor part-time, so it was pretty natural that Shelly and I would follow in his footsteps—or ski tracks, I guess.”

  “Shelly—your sister?”

  “Yeah. She still lives in town, too.”

  “You’re close?”

  “Best friends.” Ronni nodded as the waitress brought glass cups filled with coffee and topped with whipped cream. A drizzle of green crème de menthe added a bright spot of color that melted into the cream. “You said something about needing my expertise,” she prodded, expecting him to ask her to teach Bryan the finer points of skiing. She was wrong.

  Travis scowled and took a swig from his mug. “I can’t believe I’m here doing this.”

  “What? Doing what?”

  “Asking you to help me organize the house for Christmas… I realize it might be an imposition, and believe me, if yo
u don’t want to help, I’d understand. And I’d pay you for your time—”

  “What time? What are you talking about?”

  “The tree. Some garlands. A strand or two of lights, I guess.” He leaned closer and took off his sunglasses. “Look, I can’t believe I even care about anything as trivial as Christmas decorations, but after I stopped by your place the other night, I decided that drafty old lodge could use some sprucing up for the holidays. This is Bryan’s first Christmas away from his friends and…well, he’s apart from his mother and laid up and I thought…hell, I don’t know what I thought,” he admitted, looking up at the high cedar ceiling in frustration. “This is all fairly new to me—this single-parenting business and you’re so good with your daughter. I tried to talk Bryan into picking out a tree with me the other night and you would’ve thought I’d asked him to rip off his toenails. Anyway, it didn’t happen, but I think…well, some kind of decoration would help make the place feel more like home.”

  She stared at him in wonder. “You want me to help you organize your house for the holidays?”

  “Something like that.” Shaking his head as if he was disgusted with himself, he lowered his eyes so that his gaze touched hers. In that single heart-stopping moment, she felt a spark, a connection, as if his soul was reaching for hers…but that was silly. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? He rimmed the top of his mug with one finger. “To tell you the truth,” he told her, “I haven’t been much of a father to Bryan. Too many years spent in the office, at meetings, trying to make a bigger profit, expand the company, make more money.” He spewed out the words as if they tasted bad. Another swallow from his mug. “I missed a lot, didn’t spend as much time with Bryan as I should have and I’m now trying to…”

  “Make up for lost time?”

  “So to speak.”

  She stirred the cream into foam that melted into her coffee. “And you think throwing up a few lights and strings of tinsel will change all that?”

  “No,” he admitted with a sound of disgust. “I can’t change the past. That’s the way we lived our lives, like it or not. I made a helluva lot of mistakes, so did my ex-wife, but I’m trying to make it up to Bryan now.”

  “And be a real father rather than an absentee?” she said, unable to keep her tongue from being harsh. She’d seen a lot of men who didn’t have time for their families, who were so concerned about chasing after the dollar or other women that they ignored and neglected their wives and children. Oftentimes, they ended up divorced, with a new, younger wife and no relationship with their kids whatsoever. And then there were men like Hank, a man who would have done anything for his newborn baby. A man who was snatched from life far too young. Bitterness climbed up the back of her throat. “You can’t make up fourteen years in one Christmas.”

  His jaw tightened. “I know that.”

  “And you can’t hire a stranger to come in and expect her to toss some glitter around the house, throw up a Christmas tree and hang a few sprigs of mistletoe in the hopes that the spirit of Christmas will see fit to touch your home.”

  “I’m just trying to get started on the right foot,” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “Look, I was hoping you and Amy would come over and we’d…I don’t know, have a tree-trimming party or whatever you want to call it.”

  “And you would pay me?” she asked, sick inside.

  “Right.”

  It all seemed so callous, so unfeeling, so crass and commercial. So unChristmassy. “No thanks.” She stood, reached into her wallet and found a couple of dollars, which she slapped onto the table.

  “I offended you.” He seemed surprised.

  “Bingo.” She placed both hands flat on the table’s surface and leaned forward so that her nose was close to his. Staring deep into his eyes, she noticed the varying shades of gray and the thick spiky lashes that refused to blink. “Look, Keegan, I know you’re used to the city, to the boardroom, to giving orders and expecting everyone to hop to them. You’re one of those corporate executives who flies around in a private jet, sleeps at the best hotels and thinks that he can buy anything he pleases, including a merry Christmas for his son, but you’re wrong. Christmas, real Christmas, comes from the heart not the pocketbook.

  “Now, whether you want to hear it or not, I’m going to give you some advice,” she continued, holding his stare, feeling the heat radiate from him, sensing the anger that caused his chin to tighten and his nostrils to flare. “Cascadia is a small town, the people are close-knit, they help one another because they want to, not because they feel obligated or because they expect to be paid. That’s why it’s so special here. That’s why I live here and that’s why big-wheels from the city sometimes have trouble fitting in.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Keegan. Thanks for the company.”

  She turned to leave but he caught her wrist in a quick motion. On his feet in an instant, he pulled her body close enough that her breasts nearly brushed his chest. Almost—but not quite. “Look, lady, I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “Well, you did.”

  “I—”

  “Leave it alone, Keegan,” she said, yanking her hand from his. “We’re just neighbors, we don’t have to like each other.” Spinning on her heel, she walked stiff-backed out of the café and sensed him watching her every move.

  *

  “You did what?” Shelly said, dipping her French fry into a pool of catsup in the paper-lined burger basket. They were sitting in a booth at a local hamburger den and an old song from the Righteous Brothers was playing over the sound of the loudspeaker for the drive-up, the rattle of French fry baskets, orders being yelled to the cooks and the scrape of spatulas on the grill.

  The restaurant, a hangout for teenagers ever since Ronni and Shelly had been adolescents was about half-full. Their children were in the next booth arguing over how Santa could possibly finish his rounds and slide down everyone in the world’s chimney on Christmas Eve.

  Ronni swirled her straw in her soda. “I guess I told him to get lost. Not in so many words, maybe, but he got the message.”

  “Are you out of your mind? Why?” Shelly snapped up her French fry and munched blissfully.

  “I didn’t like his attitude.”

  Rolling her eyes, Shelly wiped the salt and oil from her fingers on a paper napkin. “The most interesting bachelor to show up in town in years—at least that’s the way Taffy LeMar describes him—and you tell him to get lost? You know, Ronni, sometimes I think you should have your head examined.”

  “So you talked to Taffy?” Ronni said, still disappointed that her friend hadn’t let her know that the old Johnson place was going to be the new Keegan estate. As many times as she reminded herself that there was no way she could have bought the land and the old, rambling lodge on it, she wished she’d had the chance to put some kind of deal together. With what? She’d saved twenty-five thousand dollars from the insurance money when Hank had died, but that money was earmarked for Amy’s education and so far she hadn’t touched a dime of it. Not that it would have helped all that much.

  “Yeah, I talked to Taffy and she was lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree, all atwitter about Keegan, saying he’s tall, dark, handsome and single.” Shelly slid a glance toward her boys, then said, “I reminded Taffy that you were interested in the place and she mumbled something about being sorry but that this guy just swept into the real estate office, told them what he wanted, how much he wanted to spend and within twenty-four hours the deal was done.”

  “That sounds like Keegan,” Ronni said.

  “How would you know?”

  “As I said, it’s the man’s attitude.”

  “Men,” Shelly said, shaking her head as her eyes clouded over. “Sometimes…” Her voice faded off.

  “How’s Vic these days?”

  Shelly sighed and leaned an elbow on the table. “Trying to buck up, I think. He says he’s excited about the baby, but he’s worried. I can tell. He’s started talking about moving to California again. H
is brother would hire him, but what does Vic know about computers?”

  “He could learn,” Ronni suggested. “Vic’s only what—thirty-five?”

  “I know, I know, but he hates to be cooped up. An office job would kill him.” She frowned, then heard the boys’ voices begin to rise. “Kurt, Kent, hold it down,” she ordered.

  “But he stole one of my chicken nuggets,” Kurt complained.

  “Don’t you each have your own?”

  The thought of Shelly moving away was depressing, but Ronni would never show it. She and Shelly had been best friends all their lives except for a period in high school when they’d pretended not to know each other. Now they saw each other every day and Amy thought of the twins more as brothers than cousins. Shelly had been Ronni’s strongest support when Hank had been killed and the thought that she might be moving away was devastating.

  “Has it really come to that—to leaving?” Ronni asked.

  Shelly’s eyes were dark with worry. “I hope not,” she said, “but Vic needs to find work, permanent work, to make him feel good again.” As quickly as the concern had crossed her features, she chased it away with a smile. “I tell him not to worry—things always have a way of working out, but you know Victor. If he didn’t have something to fret about, he wouldn’t be happy.”

  Ronni laughed, because that much was true. Ever since Ronni had known him, Victor Pederson had been a guy who stewed about the future, while the wife he’d chosen barely looked past the end of the week.

  “You know, Shelly, if things are bad, I’ve got mon-ey—”

  “Amy’s inheritance? Forget it. We’ve been over this before, Ronni.” She picked up the tray. “Now, forget about me for a second and think about your new neighbor. The way I see it, the man just asked for a favor. He needs help decorating for Christmas, so he offered to pay you. Is that such a crime?” She turned her head and shot out of her chair. “Kurt, stop it! Now.” Kurt had his brother in some kind of headlock and Kent was screaming. “I think it’s time we took off,” Shelly said as the boys, red faced and hurling insults, squared off. “I’ll call you later. Come on, boys, let’s go. Now!” She grabbed each one by a tight, grimy little fist and shepherded them out of the restaurant.