Zoey Phillips

by Judith Bowen

  She gently squeezed the child’s arms, probing for injuries, although she was sure Lissy was okay. The stop, while abrupt, had not been that violent and they were both securely strapped into their seat belts. “Anything broken? Anything broken off? Your hand? Your elbow? Tell Dr. Zoey!”

  Lissy giggled through her tears. “That t-tickles.”

  “Okay, let’s put on our thinking caps.” Zoey rummaged around for her handbag, which had fallen, and found the half roll of Lifesavers. The car—and there fore the heater—was still running.

  Well-named candy. “Here. Have one.” She handed the child a piece and popped one into her own mouth.

  “What kind is it?”

  Zoey tucked the remainder of the roll back in her purse. “You tell me.”

  “Mmm.” There were sucking noises. “Cherry!”

  “Guess what mine is,” Zoey said lamely.

  “Orange!”

  “Nope.”

  “Lemon.”

  Zoey rolled her candy around in her mouth, tasting. What flavor was it? Lime? “Guess again.”

  “Tutti-frutti!”

  “Right!” Zoey had no idea what tutti-frutti tasted like, but it sounded okay. “So, what did you do in school today, Lissy? Besides make presents and decorations.”

  “We had a Christmas story about reindeers. We sang songs and—when’s my daddy coming?” Lissy’s voice trembled again.

  “Never mind your dad,” Zoey said briskly. “Let’s see if we can get out of this little predicament by ourselves.” She put the transmission into reverse and cautiously touched the accelerator. The car lurched a few inches, which was promising, then, with a grind of spinning wheels, settled deeper.

  Forget that. She shifted into park, then began to think about carbon monoxide. Wasn’t this how people died on lovers’ lanes—keeping their engines running until they were overcome? Idly, she wondered why Jamie Chinchilla had never used carbon monoxide to kill any of her characters.

  She turned off the ignition, just as a precaution. The interior of the car was quite warm. It wouldn’t be long before someone, Ryan or Cameron, came looking for them. The radio went off, too, with the engine, so Zoey turned the ignition to battery so that they could at least have the radio. Running down the battery was the least of her problems right now.

  The Christmas music was at least lively. She checked the luminous car clock dial—nearly half past two. They should’ve been back at the ranch by now.

  “I’m cold,” came Lissy’s soft complaint from the darkness.

  “Here—” Zoey took off her new Nordic toque. “Put your hands in that.”

  “My feet are cold, too.”

  Zoey reached down and felt Lissy’s feet. Her boots were bulky and fit loosely over her leather shoes. “I’ll tell you what, honey.”

  “What?”

  Zoey fumbled on the seat beside her, looking for her new mitts. “Let’s put these Santa socks over your feet, then stick them back in your boots and that ought to make everything toasty. What do you think?” She tugged her big woolly mitts over the child’s tiny feet, shoes and all, then jammed her feet back into the fleece-lined winter boots. That should do it.

  “How’s that?”

  Lissy giggled and swung her feet. “Good! Hey, you’re funny!”

  Zoey took that as a compliment. “Another candy?”

  “Sure.”

  For a few seconds Zoey contemplated correcting the girl, teaching her to say please and thank you, then discarded the notion. This wasn’t the time or place for a manners lesson.

  “Okay, now how about if we sing a Christmas song? Which ones have you learned?”

  “‘O, Christmas Tree’ and ‘Here Comes Santa Claus Right Down Santa Claus Lane.’”

  Zoey smiled. “Let’s start with the Christmas tree song.”

  By the time lights moved toward them from the direction of the ranch thirty minutes later, Zoey had learned a French verse to “O, Christmas Tree” and knew “Here Comes Santa Claus” by heart.

  A truck stopped on the roadway, about level with Zoey’s window.

  Her door was wrenched open. A grim-faced Cameron stuck his head in, and Zoey was so happy to see him she could have kissed him.

  Almost.

  “What the hell happened?”

  Despite his tone, Zoey found herself grinning in relief. Wasn’t it obvious? “Thank goodness you’re here.”

  “We sang, Daddy! And Zoey gave me candy out of her purse and I’ve got her mitts on my feet for socks.” Lissy struggled out of her seat, scrambled heavily across Zoey’s lap and fell into the open arms of her father. He buried his face in her neck for a few seconds, his arms tight around her. Zoey looked away, her eyes filling with tears.

  She hadn’t given him the benefit of any kind of doubt. Not with regard to her, or his brother, or even his daughter.

  “Mitts on your feet? Well, then, you can go up to the truck and get in,” he ordered gruffly. “I’m taking you both home. Off you go.” Lissy trudged cheerfully up the slight incline of the ditch, falling once and laughing, toward where the pickup with the snow blade was parked, the engine running, the headlights on.

  Cameron wrenched the door even wider, pushing it against the snow build-up. “You okay? Can you get out all right?”

  Zoey’s legs were cramped and she gladly took the hand Cameron offered to extricate herself from the vehicle.

  She stood shakily. “We went in the ditch,” she explained, feeling a bit foolish.

  “I can see that,” he said, frowning. “It’s icier than hell. You got the keys?”

  “They’re in there. In the ignition.” Zoey felt the tears prickle again at the back of her throat. They hadn’t been in any real danger, she supposed, and yet… She just wanted to get home, warm up and crawl into her nice soft bed and go to sleep. And have a good cry. The cake could wait until tomorrow. She heard the radio go off as Cameron retrieved the keys.

  “Running the battery dead?” He held out the key-case.

  His comment wiped out the good feelings she’d been having toward him. It was the final straw in what had been a very stressful couple of days.

  “Damn you!” she yelled, taking a step forward and grabbing wildly at the keys. She took a swing at his leg with her right foot and missed.

  “Hey! Hold on, what in hell’s the matter—”

  He seized her arm and she tore it away. “Give me those keys! I’ll get this damn car out of the ditch myself and drive it home. Okay? I can manage! A simple thank you for looking after your daughter would’ve been—”

  Her voice broke and he pulled her close. Her face felt hot against the cold of his stiff canvas jacket. She didn’t want to accept any comfort, but she allowed herself to lean against his chest for a second. Why couldn’t this have been Ryan?

  But only for a second. Then she was pulling away, sniffing back the tears that threatened to flood the ditch they were in. “Take your hands off me! Leave me alone—”

  “Sorry.” He held up both hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Honest. I don’t care if you ran the damn battery dead. I’m just glad you’re all right—”

  “Your daughter, you mean!”

  “No, both of you. I never should’ve let you go out by yourself in this weather. It’s my fault.”

  She swayed. She felt weak as a kitten. He put his hands on her shoulders again and she stepped back.

  “No, dammit. It’s my fault. Mine!” She stabbed her cold index finger against her own chest. “I’m not a kid. I don’t need looking after. I can drive. I’m the one who ran us into the ditch. Can’t you even let someone run into a ditch without trying to take credit for it?” She knew she was making no sense.

  He slammed the car door shut. “Let’s go.”

  She wiped her face with the heels of both hands and followed him up the slope of the ditch as he led the way to his truck.

  “I’ll fetch Ryan and he can drive your car back,” he said, staring straight ahead as he t
urned the truck around and drove toward the ranch. Lissy sat in the middle. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay with Lissy until we get back. Or until Marty gets here.”

  How could she say no?

  They returned at about five, and by then Zoey had regained control of her emotions. She’d washed her face, combed her hair and supervised Lissy’s bath. She’d found clean pajamas and a fluffy bathrobe in Lissy’s room. It was already dark, so pajamas seemed perfect. The mittens that had kept the girl’s feet warm were back in the pocket of Zoey’s fleece jacket, along with her new cap.

  With Lissy’s help—a mixed blessing—and a lot of questions from the girl, who seemed to suffer no ill effects from their misadventure, she mixed up a batch of icing. She allowed Lissy to frost the smaller of the two cakes, then sliced off a length along one side of the cakes. Both were quite tasty; the recipe would be fine.

  Marty, who returned at the same time as Ryan and Cameron, immediately popped a couple of store-bought pizzas into the oven—to Lissy’s delight. While anxious questions were asked and answered, Zoey slipped away to her own apartment.

  It was still snowing lightly as she walked toward the darkened garage. She took small steps and trod carefully, only too aware of how useless high-fashion leather-soled boots were in this climate.

  She trudged up the snowy steps and let herself in. The apartment was warm and dark, and the old fridge hummed comfortingly. She switched on the lamps and made herself a cup of tea, then curled up at one end of the sofa in the little living room. She turned on the radio to an old Bing Crosby Christmas tune, which, naturally, made her cry. Blowing her nose a couple of times, she tried to analyze her emotions, with the help of the strong, sweet tea. The tears kept rolling down her cheeks.

  Okay. First: What in God’s name was she really doing out here? Was this what she wanted—to chase after her high-school love? To prove to Ryan how grown-up she was, what a charming and desirable woman she’d become? Why wasn’t she back in Toronto, being sensible, going to a play or to Handel’s “Messiah,” decorating her apartment for Christmas? Having dinner with friends at a good restaurant?

  But, no, here she was, getting stuck in snowbanks, playing nursemaid to a motherless kid and bawling her eyes out when anyone looked at her sideways. Putting up with Cameron Donnelly’s rudeness. His insinuations. His ill-humor.

  If only Ryan had come to rescue them…

  Never mind that. She had a plan, a good one. And she was sticking to her plan. She intended to give this developing romance with Ryan a hundred and ten percent of her effort. She would simply ignore his brother, who, she’d recently begun to think, was actually working against her. She’d made up her own mind; need his cooperation.

  And if it didn’t work out, the story of her Stoney Creek maybe-yes, maybe-no romance would at least be worth a laugh at next spring’s reunion.

  Tears filled Zoey’s eyes again and she reached for a fresh tissue.

  It was no use trying to make herself feel better. She didn’t want to play this for laughs. She wanted to feel the way she’d once felt about Ryan, in high school. She wanted the passion, the romance and, even more, she wanted what she’d never had back then. Respect.

  If, in the end, she’d given it her very best try and her Stoney Creek romantic experiment came to nothing—as could well happen—her next step would be crystal clear. She’d gracefully concede defeat, go back home where she belonged, pick up her life where she’d left off. No one need ever know.

  Options were all very well, but knowing when to quit was even better.

  THE MORNING OF THE PARTY dawned cold and bright. Zoey had a manicure appointment at one o’clock.

  “Pink? Or Red?” the manicurist asked. “I’ve got a new color here called Hollyberries.”

  “Oh, go for the Hollyberries,” Zoey said. It was Christmas, after all.

  She’d spent the morning working on the manuscript. She’d finally convinced her author that a tall white man would definitely stand out on Tortola, so now the heiress’s ex-husband was cruising the area on a yacht, not on the island at all. Zoey wasn’t sure the murder plot would work. The heiress had been on a sailboat with a crew of seven and half a dozen friends when she’d disappeared. There were too many yachts in this book all of a sudden, and Chinchilla, quite clearly, didn’t know much about sailing.

  Zoey would give it some thought, but not now. After her manicure in Stoney Creek, she planned to come home, shower, do something exciting with her hair, defrag her legs, maybe have a nap—she deserved it after the midnight oil she’d been burning on the book—and then get ready for the party.

  Ryan had offered to take her to the Nugents’ but at half past four, just as she finished wrapping a few small gifts for the children’s party, which started at six, there was a tap on her door.

  “Lissy!” Zoey quickly maneuvered so that the gifts on the table weren’t visible.

  “Here.” The little girl handed her a folded piece of paper.

  “Would you like to come in?” Zoey unfolded the paper, mystified.

  “Nope.” Lissy shook her head. “My dad says I got to get right back and have a bath and get ready. I’m going to a sleepover at Tessa’s!” She was obviously thrilled.

  “That’ll be fun,” Zoey murmured. She read the note. It was from Cameron, handwritten—scrawled, more accurately—informing her that Ryan had been detained in town and would not be back to pick her up, after all, but that she was welcome to go to the party with him and Lissy. They would be leaving at five-thirty sharp.

  “Do you want to take a note back to your dad?”

  Lissy nodded importantly. “That’s why he sent me. I’m the mail lady. Just like Jack Frost!”

  Zoey thought she was a little wobbly with her fictitious winter characters, but never mind. She leaned against the doorjamb to pen a quick reply: No, I will take my own car. Thank you anyway.

  “You coming with us?” The little girl looked wistful and for a few seconds, Zoey wished she hadn’t been so hasty. But she preferred to retain control, including driving herself home rather than depending on a ride.

  “No, honey. I’m driving. I need to practice, remember?” The little girl giggled and took the refolded paper in her snow-crusted mitten and began to make her way back down the stairs. “Is Marty going to the party, too?” Zoey asked.

  “No, Uncle Ry’s taking her to the airport tonight after the party so she can go to my daddy’s other auntie’s place. They’re twins!”

  Ah. Zoey had forgotten that Marty planned a pre-Christmas trip to visit her sister, Robin, also widowed, who wanted to go on a cruise with her early in the new year. Marty was such a fixture at the Donnelly house that it was easy to forget she had another life, one that didn’t involve running and fetching for her nephews.

  Ryan, as usual, was Mr. Helpful. She was a bit disappointed. He’d probably be leaving the party early if he had to drive Marty all the way to the airport at either Williams Lake or Prince George.

  “Careful!” Zoey called, watching the child until she’d made it safely to the bottom. Lissy waved, then trotted back up the slight hill.

  Zoey stared at the blank windows of the house. Not even a string of lights, and here it was only ten days before Christmas. If she’d had any decorations, she would’ve put them up. What did a string of lights cost? To let a little girl experience the excitement of preparing for Christmas, the anticipation. Zoey closed the door and shivered. She was still in her dressing gown. She’d buy some lights in town next time she was in. She could always give them to the Nugents or leave them at the ranch.

  Zoey’s new dress was slinky purple velvet with an off-center neckline, which left most of her right shoulder bare. She decided to leave her hair loose, and softly draped. It was time for a cut, but that would have to wait until she got back to Toronto.

  She took extra care with her makeup, fastened on the silver Martha Sturdy earrings her sister Tiggy had given her for Christmas the previous year and stepped back to admi
re herself—as much as she could—in the narrow mirror behind the bathroom door.

  She liked what she saw. No more skinny little Phillips kid, although the narrow mirror did make her look nice and thin. Illusions. She struck a cakewalk pose just for the fun of it, flipped up her hair and grinned at her reflection. Even if Ryan had to leave early, she hadn’t felt this good about going to a party in a long, long time.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TO ZOEY’S AMAZEMENT, at quarter past five, just as she was about to leave, Cameron showed up at the door.

  “You coming with us?” he demanded.

  Zoey slung her scarf around her neck. “Didn’t you get my note?”

  “I thought I’d double check.” She’d noticed his quick glance of inspection when she opened the door. Up, down. Up again. She fiddled with her gloves. She was wearing her cape, new black merino, over her sexy dress and she knew she looked good. His glance, no matter how cursory, warmed her. Not that she was looking for compliments from this man. She’d have been pleased if Mr. Furtz, the shoemaker, had noticed. How silly women are, she thought, playing endless dress-up.

  “I’m driving myself,” she said, pulling out her keys. “As a matter of fact, I’m just on my way. I’m supposed to help Elizabeth with the children’s party.”

  She stepped out of the apartment and locked up, conscious of his steady gaze on her back.

  “This is stupid, you know,” he said bluntly. “I’m driving, I’ve got a four-wheel drive, we can go together. There’s plenty of room.”

  “Is there?” This was her chance to ask if the widow was included, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “Sure. Lots of room.”

  “Thanks, but no. I’d rather go alone.”

  Zoey turned and put her foot on the first step. She felt his hand on her elbow and paused. He removed his hand. “Stubborn little witch, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath.

  “Pardon?”

  “You heard me.”

  “The term you’re looking for, I believe, is independent,” she said firmly.