Zoey Phillips

by Judith Bowen

  He sat up, releasing her. She sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, but the tears just kept welling up. He turned away while she scrambled for her bottoms and fastened the last button of her pajama top. She was grateful for that.

  “You’re just not very good at reading the signs, are you, Zoey?” he said quietly. He sounded subdued. “Even when they’re written all over the wall. Signs that a man wants you in the worst way or signs that a man doesn’t really give a damn.”

  What was he getting at? Was he rubbing it in? No man wanted her in the worst way.

  “I see.” She saw nothing. She swayed, felt like she was going to fall over, faint.

  “Hey.” He reached out to steady her but she shook off his hand. This was the last man she wanted helping her….

  She closed her eyes, recalling how she’d danced with Ryan the night before—because she’d asked him. Recalling how she’d confessed that she’d been in love with him—and he’d said they’d both been kids. When she’d made it clear that she could love him again, he’d changed the subject, wished her a Merry Christmas. He’d said he wanted to talk to her—maybe to tell her what a fool she was and that it was high time she left him alone. Were these the signs Cameron was talking about?

  No, Ryan was too kind a man to ever say something like that, even if it was true.

  “What am I going to tell Ryan?” Her voice broke.

  “Nothing.” Cameron’s voice was harsh. “Don’t tell him anything. He’s not in the picture. He never has been.”

  She opened her eyes. She knew he was right. One hundred percent right. And she’d been so sure…. She was stupid with men! Absolutely, unforgivably stupid! Always had been. Climbing into the wrong man’s bed and making love with him, believing he was someone else—it was just another in a long line of mistakes. She might as well give up.

  She picked up her fleece coat from where she’d flung it over the back of a chair the night before and put it on.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the apartment.”

  He reached over to the bedside lamp and flicked it on. “At least the power’s back. Your place should be warm enough.”

  “I suppose you’d like me to leave the ranch now that—”

  “No! Don’t leave.” His eyes searched hers. “Stay. There’s no reason to go.”

  There wasn’t? Her eyes filled with tears again. She was a wreck. She said nothing, simply zipped up her coat with a flourish. She started down the hall and five seconds later, he was behind her, the abandoned towel draped around his waist, her quilt over his arm. She found her boots in the middle of the floor in the mudroom, tipped over. She jammed her bare feet into them and zipped them up, wobbling first on one foot, then the other. She didn’t intend to say another word to this man if she could help it.

  “This yours?”

  “Thanks.” She took the quilt from him. Why hadn’t she just curled up on the sofa for the night, like a normal person?

  “See you later,” he said, smiling as he opened the door. But his smile didn’t touch his eyes. His eyes, she realized with shock, looked dead. His eyes were as cold as the grave.

  What was his problem? It seemed to her that she was the injured party here.

  She stumbled out into a white, pristine world. She walked blindly through the fresh snow, the bright morning air, crisp and cold, and heard the ranch house door close sharply, like a gunshot. But it closed only after she’d reached the bottom of the apartment stairs and put her hand on the rail.

  He’d tricked her, he’d made love to her, he despised her—he must!—yet he watched over her, as always. Old habits…

  Zoey began to sob halfway up the stairs.

  She didn’t stop until her stomach told her it was time to eat. That was after noon, three hours later. She blew her nose and washed her face with cold water, then made herself a sardine sandwich on toast, meticulously taking the little innards out of the tiny fish with a toothpick. She loaded up the sandwich with plenty of mayonnaise and pepper. Drained of emotion, she ate without tasting a thing while she slowly read the last chapter of the Chinchilla manuscript. It was something to occupy her mind. Take away the images that kept tumbling through her head—of her and Cameron holding each other, kissing, making love, her smiles in the darkness, so pleased that this was happening.

  How could something that was so perfect turn into such a disaster?

  Because that was the bald truth: it had been perfect. She couldn’t deny it. He’d been loving, tender, passionate, considerate. Oh, vastly more than considerate! She’d been totally and completely with him—a soul mate—every second, with every caress, with every kiss….

  What did that make her? A woman who didn’t know her own mind? Or a woman who, somewhere along the line, had made a big, big mistake….

  She’d blink to clear her eyes, then read on.

  At least with the six-foot, eight-inch ex-husband off the island—changes the author had made at Zoey’s insistence—and onto a sailboat that now was a pirate yacht, the book made some kind of sense, unlike her own present and immediate future. Chinchilla’s readers would be happy. The author was delivering the emotionally satisfying ending her vast audience demanded. The bad guys paid, the good guys got the rewards.

  She blew her nose again. Truly, life could be stranger by far than any fiction. Sometimes you just had to live it to believe it.

  HER FIRST INSTINCT, of course, was to leave. Surely that was what Cameron really wanted her to do, no matter what he’d said. Pack her bags and get on the next plane. Put this whole dreadful, humiliating incident out of her mind. Go back East. Or go to her parents’ home in Rosetown for a few days. Have her mother flutter, fuss, bring her tea in bed, make sure her favorite cookies were in the tin with the big Santa face on it. Sugar cookies.

  Zoey stood at the window for a long time that afternoon, gazing out at the wintry landscape. She heard a motor somewhere and wondered if Cameron was clearing the roads, yet again. How many times in a winter would that need to be done?

  Then, she supposed, he’d be going to Stoney Creek to pick up Lissy and bring her home. Maybe the engine sound was Ryan’s vehicle, finally coming back. She hoped not. She didn’t want to face him just yet. Cameron had implied that their entire renewed courtship—hers and Ryan’s—had been no more than a figment of her own overheated imagination. That it had been one-sided all the way.

  Now that she was willing to look at the facts, she knew Cameron was right. He’d said she didn’t recognize the signs when a man wanted her and when a man didn’t give a damn.

  Had Ryan really not given a damn about her? He’d been kind. Wasn’t that all he’d been, really? Of course, he’d tried to spare her feelings. Of course, he hadn’t wanted to come right out and say he wasn’t interested in her, romantically. She felt so embarrassed. How could she ever face him again?

  And what was Cameron talking about? Who wanted her in the worst way? Nobody, that was who. He was talking in riddles. Her record spoke for itself.

  What made her chase down the wrong track after the wrong guy, blindly and wholeheartedly, over and over? It was the sad story of her romantic life.

  Sure, Ryan had kissed her—but he’d kissed Edith Owen, too. And Elizabeth. A smooch on the lips here, a hug there. He was a contact guy. Physical. Always had been. A charmer. She’d always known that. He’d been a flirt in high school, too.

  Girls like her got the wrong idea, that was all. Naive girls. Girls who wanted too much. Girls who wanted to believe, to love…to be loved. To matter to someone, regardless of what they said about how happy they were or what a great life they had somewhere else.

  Much as Zoey’s bruised and frightened heart told her to pack her bags, it was impossible. She had obligations, promises to honor. She’d told Lissy she’d help her build a gingerbread house this week. In three more days the girl was out of school for the holidays. Somebody had to do a few Christmassy things with her, and Marty was away.

  Then ther
e was the wedding cake. And the wedding itself next weekend. She couldn’t leave.

  Besides, wasn’t that what the Phillipses always did when the going got tough—left town? Started over somewhere else? Zoey had sworn she’d never do that. You never really left your troubles behind, anyway, you only thought you did.

  All she could do was face up to this incredibly stupid mistake she’d made with Cameron and put it behind her. He’d said he wouldn’t mention it to anyone. She believed him.

  And why would he? They were both adults. They’d had what was termed a one-night stand. He wouldn’t want anyone to know it had been a mistake, either. A guy had a certain reputation to maintain. He might even have assumed at first that she had come to his bed on purpose. Some men were just arrogant enough to think that women couldn’t wait to get them into bed—

  Sure, and how would you know, Zoey? Supposition, all of it. She stopped that train of thought before it gathered too much speed.

  Zoey put her cold hands—she’d been resting them on the window glass—to her hot cheeks. But there was one fact here. Whatever he might have believed as to the reason she was in his bed, she’d definitely set him straight. That had to hurt.

  Actually, there was another fact—she forced herself to be honest. He’d made love to her beyond her wildest dreams. He’d made her feel like the woman she wanted to be, like the woman she dreamed she was.

  She didn’t want to think about that. Not now, maybe not ever.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MONDAY MORNING, Zoey had left the apartment by nine o’clock. She’d written a handful of Christmas notes and cards, including long ones to Lydia and Charlotte, and wanted to drop them in the mail first thing, plus she wanted to get to the stores in Stoney Creek as soon as they opened and buy Christmas lights. Just outdoor lights. Surely, the Donnelly household had indoor decorations stored somewhere.

  After visiting the hardware store, she stopped by Elizabeth’s to thank her for the party. Everything was back to normal at the Nugent household and Elizabeth was busy making more Christmas cookies.

  “How do you think it went?” Elizabeth asked immediately. Zoey knew exactly what she meant.

  “Oh, okay.” She shrugged, then grinned at her friend. “Actually, Lizzie, I think I’ve been on the wrong track. I got carried away with that first love thing.” She shrugged again. “Ryan and I are just good friends.”

  “That’s all?” Elizabeth looked doubtful, but not concerned.

  “That’s all. I had a lot of fun at the party, though. You’re right, Tom’s a terrific dancer.”

  The conversation veered away from the uncomfortable subject of Ryan. Elizabeth seemed to accept her change of heart. Zoey had known she would. Then Elizabeth insisted she try some of her baking, so she stayed long enough for a cup of tea as well.

  “I bought some Christmas lights to put on the outside of the house. Can you believe they don’t have a single light or decoration?” Zoey said, pulling on her jacket. “What a bunch of Grinches! And it’s almost Christmas.”

  “You ready for the wedding?”

  Zoey nodded. “I’m doing the cake two days before and right now I’m busy with the lights and stuff for Lissy. Marty’s away until the middle of the week. I hope they get a tree for the poor girl. Plus, I told her I’d help her make a gingerbread house. Well, you know, someone’s got to do it.” She glanced at her watch. “Gotta go—thanks for the cookies.”

  She kissed Elizabeth and went out. The sky was vivid and blue, the snow so brilliantly white, it almost hurt her eyes.

  She was glad she’d told Elizabeth. And she was glad she’d never told Mary Ellen and Edith about her attempts to revive that first romance with Ryan Donnelly. At least she didn’t have to drive out there to set them straight. And, of course, she was never telling a single soul exactly why she’d changed her mind…or what she’d done with Cameron.

  These feelings were too new. Too raw, too painful. Not only had she been wrong about Ryan—which Cameron had bluntly pointed out—she was still confused and embarrassed about what had happened when she’d crawled into what she’d thought was Ryan’s bed.

  She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the memories, which poured over her like warm maple syrup.

  Luckily, she hadn’t seen Cameron since. She knew he must be at the ranch house, taking care of his daughter, but she’d stayed indoors all day on Sunday, had written her Christmas cards, and gone to bed early. Today Lissy would be at school. She hadn’t seen Ryan since he’d returned from Prince George, which was just fine, too.

  Since the perfect scenario—not seeing Cameron at all until she left Stoney Creek—was impossible, the next best was only seeing him once or twice, preferably from a distance. Across, say, a snowy pasture. She supposed it was inevitable that she’d run into him; he was, after all, Lissy’s father and Zoey would be spending time with her, not to mention making the wedding cake in Marty’s kitchen. In that case, she could only hope he’d ignore her, the way he always had. Just mind his own business and she’d mind hers.

  She had nothing, absolutely nothing, to say to him.

  WHEN SHE GOT BACK to the ranch, Ryan was waiting for her.

  “Zoey! I wondered where you’d gone,” Ryan said, coming down to the garage parking strip when she was unloading the vehicle. Groceries, lights, presents, wrapping paper, cake ingredients.

  “Looking for me?” she said lightly. The best approach was to act as though nothing had changed, she decided.

  “I’m always looking for you,” he said, grinning. What a flirt! At least they could still tease each other. Be friends. He hadn’t figured out that she’d wanted him as a lover, not a friend, and there was certainly no need to tell him now.

  “I bought some lights for the outside of the house,” she said, proud of the evenness of her tone. “Maybe you’d have time to help me put them up? Or find a ladder I could use?”

  “Hey, no problem!” Ryan took a load of bags from the back seat and followed her toward the bottom of the steps. “I know Christmas isn’t a big deal for us, but now that Lissy lives here, Cam ought to make the effort. Marty’s given up on him. He’s a stubborn bastard—you might’ve noticed that already.” He laughed but he seemed preoccupied, alternately thoughtful and wildly pleased with himself as he carried in the bags and boxes. He kept looking at her, studying her, as if trying to see into her thoughts. She found it unsettling. Maybe this had to do with what he’d wanted to talk to her about. Surely he didn’t have romance on his mind, not now!

  After he’d helped her unload the car, he got a ladder and they strung the lights out, joined all the strands together—Zoey had bought enough to decorate all the bushes in front of the house—and plugged them in. The dogs went frantic, barking at the bright multi-colored lights lying in the snow like so many electric fairies. Zoey laughed.

  She picked up a handful of snow and lobbed it at Ryan.

  “Hey!” He ducked, halfway up the ladder with his hands full of lights to decorate the top of the spruce tree that stood close to the kitchen window. She picked up another handful and threw it, this time with more success. It hit him on the back.

  Ryan started down the ladder and Zoey shrieked and started to run. Ryan caught her as she slid in the snow and instead of jumping on her, as he’d done that first snowfall—so very long ago, it seemed—he offered her his hand and hauled her to her feet. Zoey was thankful. She’d pitched the first snowball playfully, purely on impulse, and had no intention whatsoever of flirting.

  “Listen, Zoey,” Ryan said, his eyes warm. “I’ve got something to tell you. Remember what I said at Lizzie’s party? I want you to be the first to know. I haven’t even told Cam.”

  “What’s that, Ryan?” She was—she believed—prepared for anything.

  “You’ll never guess,” he said, clasping both her gloved hands in his. “I’m getting married.” He squeezed her hands so hard it made her eyes water. “Yeah, can you believe it? Mary Ellen’s agreed to marry me and we’re
going to tie the knot next week when Edith and Tom do. It’s going to be a double wedding and—”

  “Married!” Mary Ellen! Despite herself, a tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Oh, honey,” he said, his shining gaze quickly turning to concern. “I didn’t mean to upset you—”

  “Oh, no, Ryan! I’m just—just so happy for you and Mary Ellen,” she said, recovering, reaching up and cupping his face with her snowy mittens. He grimaced, which made her laugh. “I’m so happy for you both,that’s all. Two of my best friends in the whole world, and I had no idea….”

  “Oh, babe!” He pulled her into his arms. “This means a lot to me, it really does. I was worried that, uh, maybe you might’ve had a few leftover feelings for me.” He gave her a sheepish grin.

  “You idiot! That was old s-stuff. High school stuff. We were kids.” She tried hard to laugh, quite unsuccessfully. “It never m-meant anything at all!”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, giving her an extra hug, then stepping back. “I’m so happy. Mary Ellen wants me to go into the bed-and-breakfast business with her. It’s perfect for us—especially if, you know, a baby comes along soon.”

  “Oh, Ryan!” Zoey buried her teary face in Ryan’s jacket again.

  He held her away from him. She’d never seen him look happier. “This is a pretty good life here but, man! Can you imagine the fishing out there on the West Coast? Salmon? Halibut?”

  “What about Cam? The ranch?” She knew Cameron depended on him.

  “Hell, he’s got Gabe and the summer gang for the heavy work and he can always hire a part-time bookkeeper. He doesn’t need me.” His eyes were aglow. She’d never seen him so handsome. “You’re the first person I wanted to tell. I’m gonna tell Cam next, as soon as I see him.”

  “Let’s surprise everybody,” Zoey said, blowing her nose for, she hoped, the last time. “Let’s get the rest of these lights up.”

  Mary Ellen! Deep down, she was pleased for her friend. And faintly relieved, which made no sense to her at all. But, then, very little did right now.