No Better Man

by Sara Richardson

  The faint sound of dishes clanging downstairs halted her progress. She crept toward the sounds until the hallway opened into a loft. Peering over the banister, she leaned over as far as she dared to catch a glimpse of the dining room, but the massive river-rock fireplace blocked her view. Maybe she should go see if dinner was ready.

  Quiet. She tiptoed across the worn carpet. Almost to the staircase…

  A ring tone blared. Her siren ringtone, with the volume cranked. She dashed back to the darkness of the hallway and tried the first door. It opened.

  Closing it as quietly as possible, she dug out her screaming phone. Her father’s picture lit up the screen.

  “What do you want?” she hissed.

  “Hello to you, too,” he said, sounding wounded. “Forgive me for wanting to check in on my daughter.”

  Mmm hmmm. Right. “You know your daughter is perfectly capable of handling herself.” He rarely called to check on her, even when it came to multi-million-dollar deals. Switching the phone to her other ear, she crept deeper into the room. It looked different from her guest room downstairs. It was more of a suite, with a small kitchen in one corner and a leather sofa set in the other corner. On the opposite wall there was a king-sized bed covered with what looked like a hand-sewn wedding ring quilt. Pine wainscoting adorned the walls.

  “Fine,” her father conceded. “I called to see if you’ve talked to Walker yet.”

  “Not really.” She kept an eye on the door. “I’m having dinner with him tonight.” At least, he’d better be there. Mrs. Walker hadn’t mentioned Bryce on the phone, but she’d said “we,” so hopefully…

  “What about the property?”

  “I’ve walked around.” The lodge held a simple, unique beauty, but she couldn’t deny that it showed its age. “Nothing’s salvageable.” At least, not for an Edward King-style resort.

  “I figured.” A swishing sound echoed in her ear. Wind. He was probably leaving work, jogging down the sidewalk so he could meet his colleagues for their pre-dinner whiskey sours. “We have to move forward, Avery. I heard from the mayor. It sounds like Walker is trying to get a loan.” He half shouted the words, competing with honking horns and the swishing car sounds. “We can’t lose this. You’ll have to work fast.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m on it.” Bryce might’ve thrown her off her game, but she’d get it together and do what she did best. Charm him, negotiate with him, deliver results. Speaking of…

  “I should go.” She rose from the couch. “Can’t be late for dinner.” Mrs. Walker had made it sound more like a family dinner than a business transaction, but she still had to make a good impression.

  “All right, Aves,” Dad said. “Keep me posted.”

  “I’ll send you an e-mail tonight—”

  The line clicked.

  Good-bye to you, too. She slipped the phone into her back pocket and started for the door. Might be time to have another chat with Dad about how to politely end a phone call.

  Crunch. The sound of cracking glass under her boot made her cringe. Oops. She slowly lowered her head, as if that could undo the damage, and saw a beautiful sliver picture frame, now squashed into pieces.

  Damn it. Where did that thing come from? She dropped to her knees and picked it up, scattering shards of glass across the floor.

  In the black and white photograph, a bride laughed, her husband’s lips pressed against her cheek. Though only a profile was visible, she recognized the smile, the dark unruly hair, even though it was much shorter.

  Avery blinked at the picture, seeing her own shocked reflection in the glass, and held it up to read the engraved inscription.

  To Bryce,

  My love, my heart, my best friend. Love you always, Yvonne

  He was married. Bryce Walker was married? She studied the woman in the picture again. Yvonne. A ring of small white daisies crowned her beautiful dark hair, which waved down around her shoulders. Deep brown eyes glistened with the joy of a woman in love. A dimple topped off her friendly smile.

  Avery touched a finger to the inscription. Huh. Still studying the picture, she stood. She’d always been just a tad nosey, and something about it didn’t seem to fit. There were no other pictures of this woman in the halls. And…her head swiveled so she could investigate the area…where had it come from? She hadn’t seen the frame before she stepped on it. Maybe it’d fallen out of the closet next to her. But why would it be hidden in the closet?

  Her hand moved to open the closet door—just for an innocent peek—but before she could touch it, the door to the room flew open.

  Uh oh… She looked around for a place to stash the picture, but it was too late.

  Bryce strode into the room. First he glared at the broken picture in her hands, then his narrowed, dangerous eyes moved to her face.

  He looked different. Good different. Really good different. Maybe it was the shirt, a faded green cotton Henley that pulled tighter across his chest. Or it could’ve been the way his dark hair glistened with evidence of a shower. Yes indeedy, he looked mighty good, but he definitely did not look happy.

  “Hi!” she squealed, then inwardly winced. With that kind of greeting, he probably expected her to belt out a cheer. Give me a B!

  His tight glare tempted her to go through with it, along with the arm motions and everything, just to see if she could get a smile out of him.

  “What’re you doing?” he asked, eyes flashing with suspicion.

  “I was just on my way down for dinner.” She broke the thick chill that iced the air between them and pasted on her brightest smile. Suddenly, the five-by-seven picture frame felt like it weighed two hundred pounds. She held it out to him. “Um…I accidentally stepped on this.” Lame. She sounded so lame. “I’d be happy to pay for it. Just let me know—”

  “That’s not necessary.” He snatched it away from her and set it on the nearby counter carefully, reverently. Then he turned back to her, his face as hard as stone. “I meant what’re you doing up here?”

  The intensity radiating from his eyes, from his voice, reduced her breaths to gasps, but she tried to hide them behind a smile. “I was…um…looking around your beautiful lodge.” When all else failed, there was always flattery. “The craftsmanship is remarkable.”

  His rigid stance made it clear he didn’t buy the act. “This room is private. You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I’m sorry.” So, so, so sorry. Because now that he stood so close, she could see his left hand, his left ring finger where a gold band should be. Instead, it was bare. He wasn’t married, not anymore. The raw pain in his eyes confirmed it. She gambled with a step closer to him and peered up at his face, which was smooth with a fresh shave. “I’m sorry,” she said again, hoping he knew she meant it. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  A subtle flinch steered his gaze away from hers. “You scared Mom. She heard something. Thought we had another raccoon.”

  Another raccoon? She glanced around the room and tried not to shiver at the thought of critters skittering around the attic right above her head. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.” She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, either. Without thinking, she rested her hand on his arm. “I won’t wander anymore. I promise.”

  He jerked his arm away and bolted out the door. “Dinner’s been on the table for ten minutes.” The words trailed behind him.

  “Sorry about that, too,” she called. “I lost track of time.”

  He didn’t respond, and by the time she’d made it into the hallway, Bryce was gone.

  Chapter Five

  Okay, so she wasn’t exactly winning the man over. Avery’s cheeks flamed as she hurried down the steps in a rare walk of shame. What was the matter with her? She always maintained the highest level of professionalism, the strictest discretion, but so far in her brief encounters with Bryce she’d managed to make herself look both green and duplicitous—getting so flustered, sneaking around his house and discovering things he obviously wanted to keep hidden.

 
The look on his face when he’d seen her holding that picture frame branded her heart with regret. She’d already lost his trust and something told her that wouldn’t be an easy thing to recover.

  On the main level, the lodge opened up into a great room with that epic fireplace towering in the center. Bookshelves lined almost every wall, stuffed with colorful hardbacks of every size. Plush wingback chairs and antique Victorian sofas clustered throughout the room like ancient ladies and gentlemen mingling at a formal affair. Handmade log coffee and end tables accented each group with rustic elegance.

  All along the back wall, gigantic picture windows framed chiseled mountain peaks powdered with snow. Changing aspen leaves blazed a gold path to the tree line. A weary sun hovered low, breathing a pink glow high into the sky.

  Avery paused to admire the view, then looked around for Bryce. He couldn’t have gotten far…

  “Welcome! Welcome!” A woman dashed through a door on the other side of the room. She was short and plump, but moved as gracefully as a ballerina on toe shoes. Her familiar green eyes glistened and her face radiated an openhearted smile. “You must be Avery. I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

  “Yes, hi.” She reached out a hand for the customary shake, but Mrs. Walker stretched her arms wide and gathered her in for a hug.

  “Oh!” At first she wasn’t sure what to do—she’d never been hugged by a complete stranger before—but then she inhaled the calming scent of cinnamon and yeast, and returned the embrace. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Walker.” She’d seen so many pictures of the woman’s kind smile she felt like she already knew her. Well, that and Mrs. Walker had one of those familiar faces—plump rosy cheeks, wrinkles that revealed her propensity to enjoy a good laugh. At least she knew they had one thing in common.

  The woman pulled back. “The pleasure is all mine, dear.”

  The words were so genuine that she felt some of her guilt at the scene upstairs fade away. Something told her Mrs. Walker was a lot more forgiving than her son. Avery smiled back at her. “Sorry I’m late. I was exploring your beautiful lodge.”

  “No need to be sorry.” The woman gave her arm a friendly squeeze and led her to the other side of the dining room table. It could have easily seated twenty, but there were only three place settings.

  Three. That was good. That meant Bryce would join them, if she hadn’t driven him away.

  Mrs. Walker wiggled a chair away from the table and gestured for her to sit. “You get comfy, dear. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Don’t worry? Too late for that. Worry had plunged into her stomach like a stone, solid and heavy. She sat down and glanced at the empty setting across from her.

  “Bryce should be back any minute.” Mrs. Walker leaned over and filled her water glass. “He went to check on something upstairs.”

  Uh oh. She looked down and studied the delicate flower pattern on the china, but there was no way she could pretend she hadn’t seen him. The woman was bound to find out, eventually. “Actually…I ran into him up there.”

  Elsie scooted herself into the chair across the table. “Oh. Wonderful. Well, where is he, then?”

  “I don’t know.” She forced herself to meet the woman’s eyes, even though it was as hard as staring at a priest during confession. “I was looking around upstairs, and…” How could she say this without sounding like a criminal? “I ducked into a room to answer my phone.” Now that she’d said it, it sounded innocent enough. It wasn’t like she’d tried to break that frame, like she’d pulled it out of the closet and stomped her heel into it or something. “There was a picture,” she said, scrapping the unnecessary details. “When Bryce saw me looking at it, he took off.”

  “I see.” His mother’s cheerful expression collapsed into a sad, soft smile. “I assume it was a picture of Yvonne, then.”

  “A wedding picture. She’d engraved the frame.”

  Mrs. Walker nodded as if she knew it well. “She gave it to him for their third anniversary.”

  So they’d been married at least three years, but then what? She bit her lip to keep from blurting out the question. Technically, it was none of her business, but she couldn’t erase the memory of Bryce’s wounded look when he’d taken the picture out of her hands.

  The regret made a comeback, this time manifesting as an uncomfortable pressure in her chest. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

  “Of course you didn’t mean to upset him, dear.” Mrs. Walker reached across the table and gave her hand a firm pat. “How could you have known? Don’t feel bad, Avery. He’ll be fine.”

  He sure hadn’t looked fine. “His wife is beautiful.” Yes, the question was a shameless fishing expedition, but that wasn’t as taboo as blurting.

  “Yvonne was killed in an accident,” Elsie murmured, her eyes cast down. “Three years ago. It happened on their third anniversary.”

  His wife was dead.

  The revelation knifed through her in a familiar, searing pain. She’d felt it before; that same mixture of grief and sorrow she’d seen on his face. It had been so deep and cutting that it left an incurable scar. Over time, it might seem to have healed, but then something would rip it back open and the pain would come again, as excruciating as it had been fifteen years ago, the day she’d found Mom’s lifeless body.

  “I’m sorry.” She looked into Mrs. Walker’s eyes so her words wouldn’t be a meaningless cliché, so the woman would know she’d earned the right to say it in a way not many people could. “That must’ve been so hard on all of you.”

  “It was harder than losing Bryce’s dad,” she admitted, carefully unfolding her napkin to dab at the corners of her eyes. “He was so young when his father died, he didn’t know what had happened. But watching Bryce suffer after Yvonne passed…it was the closest thing to hell I can imagine.” A brave smile shone through the storm in her eyes. “He’s always been strong, though. He’s in a much better place now.”

  “He must have loved her very much.” Just like Dad had loved Mom. He’d lost a part of himself the day she died, and he’d never been able to find it again.

  “He did,” Mrs. Walker agreed. “They met in the sixth grade. Dated all through school. After college, marriage was the natural next step, of course. Yvonne was a lovely—”

  Somewhere nearby, a door crashed open. Bryce plowed into the room with the poise of a UFC fighter, scowl and all.

  “There you are.” His mother’s tone somehow balanced reprimand with pure joy. She rose from her chair and started to cart over platters and bowls from a mahogany serving credenza against the wall. The smile had returned to her eyes. “Oh, this is so much fun,” she cooed. “We don’t get much company around here anymore.”

  Not everyone looked like they were having fun. Avery kept a wary eye on Bryce, who hovered in the corner and completely ignored her presence.

  His mom didn’t seem to notice. “I made one of Bryce’s favorite dinners. Apple butter-glazed pork chops with parmesan risotto.” She set down the last dish and swatted the air. “Don’t ask me to share the recipe, though. It’s a family secret.”

  “It looks amazing.” Avery gawked at the bowls and platters now scattered across the center of the table. She couldn’t help it. The smells and the presentation rivaled anything at a five-star restaurant. “Thank you for going to all this trouble, Mrs. Walker.”

  “Elsie. Call me Elsie, dear.” She heaped a huge spoonful of risotto onto Avery’s plate.

  “I’ll take my plate to the office.” Without a glance in her direction, Bryce swiped his plate off the table. “I have work to do.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Elsie dashed over and tugged him back to the table across from Avery. “You’ve been out there for hours. It’s time for a break.”

  He sat in a huff, chin nearly touching his chest, eyes focused on the food while he drummed his fingers against the table as if counting down the minutes he would have to endure her presence.

  Her face heated. Sorry. She was sorry, damn it. Ho
w many times would she have to apologize?

  Elsie picked up a pair of silver tongs and presented her with the largest pork chop on the platter. Then she perched in the chair across from her, next to Bryce, and leaned into her hands, watching, waiting for something.

  Compliments. She was great at giving compliments. Avery picked up her fork and eased in a hearty bite of the risotto. “Mmmm.” Covering her mouth with a hand, she hurried to chew so she could offer the praise Elsie seemed to crave. “I’ve never tasted better.” It was the truth. The sauce was so creamy and rich. Her mouth watered for more.

  Seeming satisfied with the offering, Elsie picked up her own fork. “Glad it’s to your liking, dear. You always hope to get it right, especially when there’s special company.”

  “It’s perfect.” She sawed into the pork chop and took another bite. The meat melted in her mouth, more juicy and seasoned than any dish at Charlie Trotters back in Chicago. Elsie had mastered the tricky art of complementing the natural flavors with sprinkles of rosemary. She inhaled the aroma. Thyme. Sage. Techniques that brought out the absolute best in the meat.

  It appeared she might have the same gift with people. Her smile initiated Avery into her circle. She accepted her, wanted her there, even though she didn’t know her at all.

  This might not be as hard as she’d thought. Smiling as though competing for a crown, she pulled the napkin into her lap and smoothed it over her thighs. Elsie might be her “in” with Bryce. If she could win her over, maybe she could win him over, too. Maybe he’d forgive her for trespassing in his memories. That was the only way she’d ever get him to consider their offer.

  “So Elsie,” she said politely. “Do you live here at the ranch?”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” the woman bubbled. “After Bryce got mar—”

  Her son’s sharp look cut her off.

  “Um,” she glanced down and rearranged her silverware, then seemed to recover enough to smile again. “I wanted to give him some space, so I bought the cutest little Victorian in town. Two bedrooms and two baths, but that’s really more space than I need.”