“Yes?” She sounded cheerful again.
He stepped off the rung and moved toward her.
“Is everything…all right?”
Turning to face him, still in the shadows, she said, “Listen, I know I was out of line earlier. I’m sorry for what I said.”
“That’s okay.”
“You can’t control the weather.” They stood no more than a few feet apart, tension electrifying the air between them. Scott didn’t know what to make of it. Part of him wanted to shout that it was time to put aside the hurts of the past and talk honestly. He opened his mouth to say as much but saw her stiffen and knew it was useless. She wouldn’t lower the emotional barricades she’d erected against him. Nor could he forget that there was another man in her life now. A man she visited in Fairbanks at least twice a month.
“Good night,” he said again, unnecessarily. After he’d stacked extra wood by the fireplace, he climbed the ladder to the loft.
He made up his bed, and when he lay down, he could see Chrissie below. She’d piled blankets on the sofa, then turned off the lantern. The only light in the cabin came from the flames dancing in the fireplace, throwing shadows about the room. The wind moaned outside the door. Another time the low whistle might have lulled him to sleep, but not tonight. Not with Chrissie only a few feet below, snuggling on the sofa, warm and sweet.
Closing his eyes, he was beseiged by the memory of her kisses—the taste of her mouth against his, her eager response to him, the need she created in him with a single touch.
“Scott?”
Her soft voice startled him and he opened his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Are you asleep yet?”
“No.”
“Do you mind if I ask you something?”
Anything would be better than this stilted politeness. “Sure, ask away.”
“Do you remember that last summer we were here?”
He almost groaned aloud. “I’m not likely to forget.”
“I wondered…” Her voice broke.
“What did you wonder, Chrissie?” he encouraged.
“I need to know if what Farrah said was true. Back then. Were you engaged to marry her?” She paused, then added, “Was it true?”
He’d been lying on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms. He rolled onto his back and stared blankly at the ceiling. He opened his mouth to tell her, to explain it all away—but he couldn’t. Yes, he had excuses and justifications for that day they’d spent on the lake, when he had, in fact, been engaged to another woman. He could tell Chrissie how he’d finally understood that Hard Luck was his home, that she held his heart. He’d wanted to tell her, but his hands had been tied. It would have been grossly unfair to Farrah, and he owed her that one kindness before he broke off the engagement.
“Your silence is answer enough.”
“I don’t have any excuses, but—”
“There’s always a but, isn’t there?” Her voice had an edge that he’d never heard before.
“Chrissie—”
“No, listen, it’s all right, really. I shouldn’t have asked. I knew, but I needed to hear you say it.”
At that moment he would have given anything for the ability to lie to her. Still, he couldn’t make himself do it. “I didn’t marry her.”
“I noticed,” she said sarcastically. “She dumped you, huh? I don’t blame her. No woman in her right mind would marry a man who—” She choked off the rest, took a moment to compose herself, then continued. “A man doesn’t give a woman an engagement ring and then get involved with a high-school flame. You deserved what you got.”
Scott could hardly keep himself from saying that not marrying Farrah was his decision—and the smartest move he’d ever made. He thanked God that he’d come to his senses in time to save them both untold heartache. They’d fallen conveniently in love, and getting married had seemed the inevitable next step. Farrah was a looker, and they got along fairly well. Not until he’d seen Chrissie again did he realize his mistake.
He’d wanted to tell her the truth about Farrah that summer day. He’d intended to break off the engagement once he returned to Utah and then, as soon as he was free, come back to Hard Luck and plead with Chrissie to marry him. So much for the best-laid plans. The matter of his engagement had blown up in his face when Farrah unexpectedly flew up to see him; she’d arrived with great fanfare and announced to everyone within earshot that she was his fiancée. Scott had seen the look his parents exchanged. His mother had been confused, especially after all the time he’d spent with Chrissie. Sawyer had been angry and they’d argued. Soon afterward, without a word to Chrissie, Scott had left Hard Luck, feeling lower than a snake.
He owed her an apology, and more. “I know it comes five years too late,” he ventured, “but I am genuinely sorry.”
His words appeared to fall on deaf ears. Then, “Is the apology meant for me or Farrah?” she asked.
“Both.”
“It must’ve given your ego a real thrill to have two women in love with you at the same time.”
He let the comment slide. “I’d settle for just one,” he said quietly.
The fire popped, then briefly flamed, spreading a warm glow arouhnd the room. Scott watched as Chrissie threw aside the blankets and leaped to her feet. “Oh, no, you don’t!”
“Don’t what?” he asked, sitting up. He couldn’t imagine what he’d said that she found so offensive.
“Let’s get something straight. You think you can bring me back to Lake Abbey, stir up a few old memories and then weasel your way back into my life. Well, I’m here to tell you it isn’t going to happen.”
“Chrissie—”
She covered both ears and started to hum Christmas carols. “I’m not listening. I’m not listening. Nothing you say will make one bit of difference.”
If she didn’t look and sound so silly, Scott might have let the moment simply pass. Not now. Climbing down the ladder, he marched over and sat on the sofa next to her.
Gripping her shoulders, Scott looked her directly in the eyes. “Nothing I can say will make any difference?” he questioned. “Then try this one on for size. I love you, Chrissie Harris. I’ve loved you half my life.”
CHAPTER SIX
DUKE PORTER waited until he knew Scott and Chrissie had landed safely on Lake Abbey before he left the Midnight Sons office. As he walked through his front door, taking off his wet jacket, he inhaled deeply. The scent of sage and his favorite chicken dish filled the house. He could hear sounds of laughter from his youngest daughter, Sarah Lynn.
“Are Scott and Chrissie okay?” Tracy asked, carrying a chicken casserole to the dining-room table.
“Yes and no,” Duke told her, helping himself to a black olive.
“Daddy!” Sarah playfully slapped his hand.
“You’re supposed to wait for dinner.”
“Sorry, I forgot,” he said, and winked at his middle daughter who stood a short distance away, a frown of disgust on her face. Shortly after turning fourteen, Leah had, without any warning, completely lost her sense of humor. Almost overnight, his fun-loving outgoing daughter had turned into a morose and sullen teenager. From experience, he knew it was a stage. His oldest daughter, Shannon, had forged a path through the troubled teen years, so he knew what to expect. Or so he liked to believe.
“What do you mean Scott did and didn’t land safely?” Tracy demanded.
“He landed,” Duke explained, “only it wasn’t in Hard Luck.”
“He’s all right, isn’t he?” Leah asked, her brown eyes wide with concern.
His fourteen-year-old had a major crush on Scott O’Halloran. “I presume so. He thought he could beat the storm system coming our way, but he couldn’t. So he decided that, rather than risk it, he’d touch down on Lake Abbey.”
“All alone?”
“Chrissie’s with him.”
Leah slouched in the kitchen chair and pouted.
“Some women have all the luck.”
Tracy returned to the dining room with a pitcher of water and placed it in the center of the table. When she looked up, her eyes connected with Duke’s. “How long will they hole up there?”
“Overnight, I suspect, perhaps longer. Depends on the weather.”
Tracy’s bold smile triggered a responding one from Duke.
“What?” Leah asked, glancing first at her mother and then her father.
“Nothing,” Tracy muttered.
“Never mind,” Duke said.
“Oh, puh-leeze,” Leah groaned, and rolled her eyes. She nudged her younger sister. “Cover your eyes. Mom and Dad are going mushy on us.”
“Shannon! Dinner’s ready.” Tracy called their oldest daughter, a high-school junior, from her room.
Shannon appeared, looking so much like Tracy that even now it took Duke by surprise. When he’d married Tracy, he’d envisioned a houseful of rough-and-rowdy sons; instead, he had three beautiful daughters. Not once, not for a single second, had he been disappointed. His life was full and he deeply loved his wife. In fact, marriage was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
They all sat down together and joined hands for grace. Before the completion of the “amen,” Duke had reached for the serving spoon and leaned toward the casserole. His wife cast him a disapproving glance, which he ignored.
“Did I hear someone mention Scott and Chrissie?” Shannon asked.
“He’s stranded with Chrissie up at Lake Abbey,” Leah complained. “Can you imagine getting stuck in a storm with a hunk like that? Why can’t it happen to me?” Still bemoaning her sorry lot in life, she stretched across the table for the plate of biscuits and helped herself to one.
Duke quickly grabbed a biscuit before he got shortchanged; it’d been known to occur. To his surprise, Tracy had turned out to be a excellent cook. He’d had his doubts when he first married her, and with good reason. Once, during their brief courtship, he’d visited her in Seattle and she’d insisted on making dinner. The meal had damn near killed him. But soon after they were married, she’d taken cooking lessons from Mary Hamilton and proved to be an apt pupil.
Duke had to give all due credit: His wife was a marvel. She’d gone into this marriage convinced she could do it all and have it all. She’d claimed she could maintain her career as an attorney and keep up with the ever-increasing demands of being a wife and mother. And for the most part, she had. They’d planned the first two additions to their family. It wasn’t until Sarah Lynn was born that Tracy took a leave of absence from the law firm. With infinite wisdom—and with advancing age—she’d declared that yes, she could have it all, just not at the same time. When Sarah Lynn started kindergarten, Tracy put on her attorney’s suit again. Three years ago Chrissie Harris had joined the law office and was working out well.
Within ten minutes, all three girls had eaten and vanished. Duke and Tracy lingered over the last of their coffee.
“So…Scott and Chrissie are stuck up at Lake Abbey,” Tracy said, bracing her elbows on the table and holding her coffee cup in both hands.
“Stir any memories?” Duke teased.
She smiled. Twenty years earlier Duke and Tracy had been involved in a fairly serious airplane crash. Tracy had been living in Seattle at the time, and she’d flown up to Hard Luck to attend a friend’s wedding. Duke had been scheduled to fly her into Fairbanks for her connecting flight to Seattle. The two of them had clashed from the moment they’d met, a couple of years before. Tracy Santiago was everything Duke disliked in a woman; he found her bossy, independent and headstrong. He’d derived real pleasure from baiting her and soon discovered she could more than hold her own. Tracy had viewed him as an unreasonable male chauvinist pig—one of the few men who truly fit that now-dated expression. Their arguments and dislike of each other had been legendary.
Then the plane had gone down, and Duke was badly hurt. He’d broken his arm and sustained internal injuries. During the long hours before the rescue team arrived, Tracy had shown herself to be both capable and compassionate. While she confidently dealt with the crisis at hand, caring for him and guiding the rescue party to the downed plane, Duke realized he’d done something very foolish. He’d gone and fallen in love with her.
Tracy loved him, too, and had the wisdom to recognize that although they were vastly different, they had everything necessary to make a good life together. Duke had just needed some time and distance to appreciate what Tracy already knew.
He’d claimed, in the days before Tracy, that he wanted a conventional wife. One who’d stay home with the children, bake cookies and do other wifely things. None of that interested Tracy. He’d married her, convinced he’d survive on frozen dinners the rest of his life, but by then he’d loved her too damn much to care. Over the years there’d been some bad meals, but more than enough fabulous ones to maintain the balance. Some of the inedible dinners he’d cooked himself. Tracy wasn’t the only one who’d changed; he’d done his fair share, too.
Twenty years and three daughters later, he was more than willing to admit how right she’d been. Not that their years together had been easy. On plenty of occasions he’d been convinced they’d made a big mistake, but he refused to give up on their marriage. And she felt the same way. What mattered most was the love and the commitment they shared. The fact that they were both hardheaded, stubborn fools had turned out to be an advantage.
“Are you remembering the crash?” Tracy asked.
Duke nodded. “I think it’s poetic justice that Scott and Chrissie are stuck up there together. He loves her.”
Tracy didn’t immediately agree.
“You don’t think so?” Duke asked.
“I don’t know about Scott,” Tracy said with a thoughtful look, “but I certainly know how Chrissie feels.”
So the two women had talked about Chrissie’s relationship with Scott. It shouldn’t surprise him, seeing that they worked together. “When did Chrissie mention Scott? What did she have to say?” Duke pried.
“Actually she didn’t say a word,” his wife told him, standing. “We don’t generally discuss our personal lives at the office.”
“But you just said…” Duke trailed her into the kitchen. “How do you know about Chrissie’s feelings if she didn’t mention Scott?”
“The way I always know,” Tracy said casually, putting the butter dish back in the refrigerator. “It’s what people don’t say that’s more informative.”
“Girls!” Duke shouted to his three daughters. “Dishes.”
His order was followed by a chorus of protesting groans, all coming from different parts of the house. Duke ignored them, as did his wife.
Tracy retired to the living room and reached for the mystery novel she was currently reading. Normally Duke would turn on the television, but he left it off this evening.
“I hope Scott and Chrissie can work it out,” he said, relaxing in his comfortable chair.
Tracy glanced up. “So do I.”
“Anything interesting on television tonight?”
Tracy continued to read. “There’s a documentary on Discovery I was hoping to catch. Something about frogs.”
“It’s not on too late, is it?”
“Why?” She raised her eyes to meet his.
“I was thinking of making an early night of it.”
Tracy returned to her book. “Any particular reason?”
“Yes.” It was a test of his determination not to laugh. Tracy knew full well what he had in mind. After being married to him all these years, how could she not know?
“You coming to bed early or not?” he asked.
“Oh, I’ll be there,” she said, the corner of her mouth quivering. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
THE CABIN HAD BEEN quiet for more than a hour, and Chrissie was convinced Scott had gone to sleep. His breathing was regular and even. She wished the sound of it would lull her to sleep, as well, but so far it hadn’t. She envied his ability to drift off like this, especially after their h
eated discussion.
Scott had claimed he loved her—and she’d laughed at him. That probably wasn’t the most tactful response, but she couldn’t help herself. He didn’t honestly expect her to believe him, did he?
No man in his right mind treated a woman the way Scott O’Halloran had treated her. They’d both said some things tonight that would’ve been better left unsaid, and then he’d stalked away, climbed into the loft and promptly fallen asleep.
His ability to put their discussion behind him so quickly only went to prove that she was right. Otherwise how could he possibly sleep now? It made no sense. Not when she worried and fretted, rehashing their argument, the anger and resentment churning inside her. If he did love her as he’d said, then he should be upset, too; he should care. Clearly he didn’t.
Their argument, however, was only part of what was keeping Chrissie awake. Hunger contributed its own pangs to her sleepless state. She and Joelle had eaten a late breakfast, but that was almost twelve hours ago. If she read her watch right, it was now 10:00 p.m. She squinted down at her wrist, trying to make out the miniature numbers on her uselessly elegant watch. Maybe it was only nine, she thought; nevertheless, she was famished.
The way she figured, she had two options. She could stay up, seethe with resentment toward Scott and listen to her stomach growl, or she could be angry with Scott and quietly investigate the canned goods in the kitchen.
The second option held more appeal. As silently as possible, she threw aside the quilts and tiptoed toward the kitchen. The latch on the cupboard door was tricky and she couldn’t see to get it open, no matter what she tried. She felt so frustrated she wanted to slam her fist against it.
“You have to be smarter than a bear,” Scott said from behind her.
Chrissie whirled around. “I thought you were asleep!”
“I wasn’t.”
“Oh.” She sighed heavily, wanting to avoid another confrontation with him—although she wouldn’t back down if he started one. Gone was the shy teenage girl he’d jilted and the young college graduate whose heart he’d broken. She was a woman now, and perfectly able to deal with the likes of him.
Born in a Small Town Page 6