by Ann Evans
“Sam.”
“What?”
“You might as well tell me. I won’t be able to sleep until you do. Is it business?”
“No.”
“Tessa?”
He opened his eyes again. “She’ll be all right now that Nick’s on to what’s been bothering her lately.” Tonight Nick had told them about the bus station incident and the heart-to-heart he’d had with the girl. Thank the heavens that Kari Churchill had been there to intervene.
“Nicholas, then?”
“No,” he said sharply. “Although I never thought any son of mine would be such a lunk-headed fool that he can’t see what’s right in front of him.” He scowled at Rosa, then stared up at the ceiling. “Are you going to keep talking all night? ’Cause I’m losing valuable sleep.”
She shook his arm lightly. “Samuel Vincent D’Angelo, look at me and tell me what’s wrong.”
He brought his eyes back to hers. Might as well confess. There would be no sleep for either of them if he didn’t.
“All right,” he said in a no-nonsense tone. “You want to know, I’ll tell you. You know how long it’s been since we’ve had sex in this room? Or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“Of course I do. But—”
“No ‘buts’ about it, Rosie. I’m tired of little pats on the head, and little pecks on the cheek, and darned near nothing else. I may have had a stroke—”
“Two strokes,” she cut in.
He waved away that comment. “Two, or a hundred and two, it makes no difference. It’s not natural for a fifty-eight-year-old man to call it quits in bed. I gave up smoking and drinking and eating food that’s bad for me. I don’t see any reason why I should have to give up making love to my own wife.”
“The doctor said no stress. Peace and quiet.”
“There’ll be enough peace and quiet when I get to the grave. As for stress, I’m suffering plenty having to lie here night after night with you so near and untouchable. This is my home. If it were a ship, I’d be the captain.”
She laughed at him, the little witch. “Unfortunately, you married the admiral.”
“Don’t make light of this, Rosa.” He drove one finger into the mattress, pointing to a spot beside him. “I demand you do your wifely duty.”
She laughed again. “When you put it so charmingly, how can I refuse?” She bent low, brushing her lips against the side of his face, tugging his ear with her teeth. Finally she whispered, “My foolish, foolish Samuel. Don’t you know I love you beyond life itself?”
She pulled back and his gaze moved across her face, feature by feature, fascinated. His heart bucked a little, but he didn’t care.
He pulled back the covers, patting the bed. “Get in next to me.”
“The bed’s too narrow.”
“You managed well enough in the back seat of my parents’ car.”
“I was thinner then.” She smiled reminiscently. “So were you.”
He reached out, running his fingers along the strong, fine line of her jaw. “You are still the most beautiful woman I ever saw,” he said.
“Caro mio.”
He reached up, pleased that his strength was there when he brought his fingers around the back of her neck. Sometimes his body was beyond coaxing or bullying.
“Kiss me, Rosie,” he said, pulling her down.
“Are you sure, Samuel?” There was a little tremor of anxiety in her voice.
He nodded, catching her chin in his fingers so he could meet her eyes. “Don’t torment me any longer. Can’t you see that I would rather live one day as a lion with you than a hundred more as a sheep?”
KARI DIDN’T SEE NICK the next morning at breakfast. She was dying to ask if anyone knew anything about what had happened with Tessa yesterday, but the dining room was busy with guests and there was really no time for a quiet conversation. Besides, she wasn’t sure just how much of his troubles with his daughter he would want to share with the family.
Around midmorning Sam rolled his wheelchair up to her in the kitchen and asked if she would mind driving one of their guests to Glenwood Springs since no one else was available. The chore was a no-brainer, a straight shot down I-70, but by the time Kari returned, it was two o’clock.
She felt at loose ends. Housekeeping duties were over for the day, and Aunt Renata had left tonight’s menu taped to her bedroom door. Kari’s Italian must be getting better because the names of the dishes didn’t present a problem. She’d already checked her cell phone twice and discovered that there had been no call from Eddie Camit or Walt.
Truthfully, she was curious to know how Tessa was, whether she and her father had managed to work things out or if they were still at an impasse. She knew of only one sure way to find out.
She was on her way out the front door of the lodge when her cell phone rang. It was Walt from Wilderness Tours.
He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Miss Churchill, can you come down to my place? I got some information for you.”
“I’m sort of in the middle of something right now. When?”
“How about tomorrow?”
They set a time to meet. “Did you find out anything?” Kari couldn’t resist asking.
“Yes, ma’am, but I’ll warrant this is something you’re gonna want to hear in person. Won’t take too long.”
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
She disconnected, wondering about Walt’s need for mystery. But surprisingly, she realized she could wait to find out. Right now, her main concern was finding out how Tessa had managed.
She made her way down the drive that led to Nick’s cabin. The afternoon was gorgeous. Between the trees she caught glimpses of Lightning Lake, glinting in diamond-cut sunlight. She saw that a couple of guests had taken out the lodge’s canoe and were lazily stroking their way to the opposite shore.
That picture-book scene made Kari realize that, in some ways, she was going to miss this place after she left. The beauty that took your breath away. The peace. The purity of air so clean that it almost stung your nose to breathe it.
And the people, too. Rose and Sam. Addy with her high spirits and eternal optimism. Tessa, who could always remind you of the best things about being young, even when she was driving you crazy. Even the Zias, who were so different in temperament, but like two halves of the same person.
And Nick—his touch so electric that it could make her flinch. Something in his voice that nearly always caused her heart to quicken. No point in denying that she’d miss him. Miss the possibilities.
She knew that later, when she was in New Zealand or Jamaica or wherever the job took her, the memories she’d gathered here would play in her mind like a slide show she couldn’t control.
His Jeep was in the drive. She jogged up the wide planks that formed the front steps and knocked. She heard movement inside, then the door swung wide so fast that she took a step back. Nick stood there in jeans and a navy polo shirt as dark as his eyes, his hair mussed as though he’d plowed a hand through it a dozen times. He was barefoot.
Darn her heart. It just wouldn’t behave sometimes.
“Hi,” she said, wondering why she suddenly felt a little nervous.
He didn’t look surprised or disappointed to see her. “Well, hello there. Don’t tell me you escaped the Victorian sweatshop?”
“I just thought I’d come down to see how things went yesterday. With you and Tessa, I mean.”
He shrugged. “She talked, I listened. Just like you ordered. All this time trying to figure out what the hell is wrong between us, and you show up and figure her out in a week.” He brought one hand up to give her a mock salute. “Nice work, Dr. Churchill.”
There was something wrong. His flip, overly casual attitude didn’t ring true. Was he irritated with her?
“It wasn’t like that,” she said. “I think she just needed someone different to talk to. Someone outside the family.” She made a show of looking beyond him to the interior
of the cabin. “Is she around? I thought I’d just say hello.”
“Nope. I let her call off school today so Addy and Aunt Sof could take her shopping in Denver. Tessa specifically asked that I not go with them.” He lifted his hands. “So here I am.”
Was Nick feeling vulnerable because Tessa hadn’t wanted him to go? Was that the reason he was like this? “Well…” she said, clearing her throat. “That’s probably a good thing. It shows that you trust her and are willing to relinquish a little control. That’s very important to a teenager.”
“Then fine. I relinquish everything. I’m no damned good at it, anyway.”
She looked at him sharply. “Are you all right?”
“Right as rain.” Then he turned away, leaving her standing there.
She hesitated a moment, then walked inside, closing the door behind her. He wandered through the foyer and Kari followed, feeling unnerved and confused. What was wrong with him?
The foyer opened up into a living room that was chic and yet cozy. Hand-hewn logs for walls, of course, with high, cross-beamed ceilings. There was a huge flagstone fireplace in one corner, and lots of windows that brought in the outdoors. Kari had only a moment or two to absorb these things before her eyes fell on the large coffee table in front of the leather couch.
“Oh.” The sound escaped her before she could call it back.
Two bottles of wine sat there, one of them drained completely, its mate nearly empty, as well. A half-filled goblet sat so close to the edge of the table it was a miracle it hadn’t toppled off.
As though surprised to see that she’d followed him into the room, Nick turned toward her and did a little double take. He picked up the glass. “Wanna drink? Italians always have excellent wine handy for any occasion.” Something he saw in her face—probably surprise—made him frown at her. “What’s the matter? Now what have I done?”
“Nothing. It’s just that I’ve never seen you drink much before.”
He drained his glass in two swallows, then made a satisfied sound. “Stick around. I plan to be stinking drunk before the night is over.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” she asked. She hated that she sounded so prim, but it had honestly never occurred to her that someone as controlled as Nick D’Angelo would ever drink too much. This thing with Tessa must have rattled him more than she’d thought.
“Wise?” he asked, as if he’d never heard that particular word before. “No, but I’m sick of trying to be wise. Too much work.”
“Nick, every parent must occasionally run into stumbling blocks with their kids. You and Tessa—”
“It’s not just Tessa,” he said with a grimace. “It’s everyone. Every thing. Since I came back here, I’ve built my whole life around trying to hold this family together. Trying to make the future safe for them. Trying to keep the business afloat in spite of Dad’s mountain of medical bills and leaky plumbing and ski seasons without enough snow to bring in the tourists.”
“And it’s what you do best. Everyone says so.”
He sank down onto the couch. It made a whooshing sound as air escaped. Resting his elbows on his knees, he ground the palms of his hands against his eyes, then let his fingers dangle between his legs. “Then they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about,” he muttered. “I’m just a mediocre juggler who can’t keep all the balls in the air.”
She came to stand in front of him, feeling the coffee table hard against the back of her legs. She touched his shoulder. “Well, you don’t drop very many.”
He looked up at her. “I’ve dropped a bunch of them lately.”
“You mean Tessa?”
“For one.”
“That happens. No parent—”
“Brandon O’Dell killed himself,” he interrupted in a quiet voice.
Her stomach floated, though she had no knowledge of that name. Maybe it was the look in Nick’s eyes. Dark and haunted and devoid of any vitality. “What?” she asked on a small breath of sound. “Who?”
He settled back, letting his head fall against the cushion. He closed his eyes, and she watched his throat work. “God, wine used to make me feel good. Now it just makes me sour and maudlin. Go back to the lodge, Kari. I’m not fit company right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. She took the seat beside him, their knees almost touching. “Tell me what you mean. Who killed themselves?”
He opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at her. “Brandon O’Dell, an old army buddy of mine. His girlfriend called this morning. Told me they’d found his clothes on some beach in California. They’re still looking for the body, but the chances are slim because of the currents…”
“Was there a note?”
“No.”
“Then it could have been an accident.”
“Not likely. I spoke to Bran not long ago. He was drunk, talking crazy. He wanted me to come out to see him. I told him no. Later, I said. I was so damned caught up in my own life—”
She wrapped her fingers around his forearm, squeezing a little because he seemed to be drifting out of her orbit, lost in his own misery. “It’s not your fault, Nick. You couldn’t have known what was going on in your friend’s head.”
“I wish that was true,” he replied. Then he shook his head wildly. “God, I wish it was true. But we went through a lot together. Some of the same demons Bran has struggled with for years have been—”
He broke off and looked away from her, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation and unwilling to elaborate. She remembered what Addy had said about Nick’s reluctance to share his innermost thoughts and knew it was true.
“Have been what?” she pushed.
“I’ve played our conversation over and over again in my head, and I realize now that I should have seen the signs. Hell, even his girlfriend thought this was a possibility. But I told her no. I blew it off. I blew him off. Because I didn’t want to have to deal with one more problem. I think that may have been one of the most selfish moments of my life.”
“Nick, don’t. Don’t take on this burden of guilt.”
“Why not?” he asked with a harsh laugh. “I’m a guy who prides himself on being responsible, aren’t I? Have to take the bad with the good. Swallow it all down.” He frowned. “Now where’s that medicine?”
He tipped forward, groping for the wine bottle.
She placed her hand over his, just enough to still his movements. “Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it won’t help.”
“It will. For a little while.”
“You don’t want to be like this when Tessa comes home.”
“They’re spending the night in Denver. For one of the few times in my life, I can do anything I damned well please.” He shook off her hand and lifted the bottle. “And this,” he said, pouring another glass, “is it.”
She watched him gulp it down, not knowing any way to stop him.
He turned his head to look at her. He gave her a fierce scowl. “Either drink with me or go home. I don’t need an audience.”
She took the glass out of his hand and set it back on the coffee table, far out of reach. “It would serve you right if I did go back to the lodge, but I’m not going.”
“Why?” he asked, giving her a loose, devilish smile. “Because you like being with me?”
“Because if I leave you here in this condition, you’ll probably fall down and crack your head open, and all your brains will fall out—assuming you have any left. One way or the other, I’m sure I’ll get the blame for it.”
He ignored that statement. He was busy staring at one bare foot that he’d brought up against the edge of the coffee table. He wiggled his toes, frowning, as though he’d never seen them before. “I have big feet.”
“Enormous.”
His glance slipped to her, and he lifted one brow rakishly. “You know what they say about a man and the size of his feet, don’t you? Big feet mean…”
“You’ll never be ‘Lord o
f the Dance’?”
Squinting at her dangerously, he shook his finger in her direction. “You are a very cruel woman. I’ve always said that about you.”
“I’m sure you have. And probably a lot more. Now come on, Sasquatch. Can you get up?”
“I could, but why should I?”
“Because you can’t go on like this.”
She’d run out of patience. How was she supposed to function in a world where a tough, sensible operator like Nick D’Angelo could fall apart like a cheap sweater? It was unnerving.
She reached out, pulling him toward her. He didn’t resist, but when she put both hands under his arms to lift him up, it was like trying to move a wall of solid rock.
“Come on, Nick,” she said, groaning. “Stand up.”
He complied, though his grip on her nearly pulled them both over as he swayed. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“To the bedroom.”
“Why, Miss Churchill, are you making an offer I won’t refuse?” He snorted. “God, do you have any idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this?”
She glanced sideways and shook her head at him. “You are really going to hate yourself in the morning.”
“Probably,” he agreed. Then his hands tightened around her. “But right now I want you to kiss me.” His head was tucked into the curve of her neck. He blew a soft breath against her throat, and she was aware of the pungent odor of good wine and the earthy, male scent she’d come to think of as pure Nick. “You know you want to,” he said in a throaty, low tone.
The terrible thing was, whether he was drunk or not, she did want to kiss him. She answered him thickly, her head swimming a bit, as if she’d been the one to drink too much wine. “Later.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“I think it was safer when we were enemies.”
“But not as much fun,” he said, nuzzling her ear.
She pulled away, desperate now to steer him in the direction of the bedroom. If she could just get him to lie down, sleep this off… She realized suddenly that she didn’t have a clue where his bedroom was. When she asked him, he pointed toward the ceiling. Second floor.