Let There Be Light

by Melissa Storm

  “Who was that you were dancing with when we came in?” Shane asked, looking over her shoulder and back down the path she had just blistered through the room.

  She turned, feeling the chain that tied her to the mystery man break as if it were a physical sensation. When she looked back to the place where she’d left her suitor, he was no longer there.

  Well, whoever he was, that would be the last she needed to worry about him. The night would soon come to a close, and she wanted to spend the rest of it making good memories with the people she loved.

  And that did not—could not ever—include him.

  Scarlett slept in the next morning, choosing to skip church and catch up on rest. Funny that she’d chosen to forgo services on the day she most felt she needed to repent. Her reaction to the charming stranger had been almost animalistic, and thinking of it now, she felt as if she’d done something wrong by agreeing to dance with him.

  No, Scarlett wasn’t one of those crazy folks from that town in Footloose. She absolutely loved to dance, to live her life to the fullest. Only last night she’d felt full in a different way—and it bothered her.

  Perhaps she could call home and talk to her old friend Elise about all this. They had been thick as thieves until Scarlett had declared her intention to leave Texas and pursue greater adventure. Her high school friends never understood her desire for more, nor did they understand how she intended to get by working as a librarian in Alaska.

  But her friend was a youth pastor now and would surely have more experience dealing with hormonal surges like the one that had coursed through Scarlett’s body last night.

  Could she bring herself to admit what she’d felt? Could she even put it into words?

  Hmm… Hopefully she’d have more clarity after a cup of coffee or two. She pulled herself out of bed and made her way into the kitchen, her goldfish pajama pants picking up dust as she walked. How long had it been since she’d last given this place a good sweep?

  Too long, obviously. She mentally added this new task to her lengthening list for the day.

  In the kitchen, she found her favorite vanilla brew coffee and popped a K-Cup into the machine. Next, she fished a croissant from the bread drawer and lathered it with a generous slab of butter.

  Already, she began to feel more human as she left yesterday behind and forged a new path for today.

  It was just an adventure, just a one-time, weird thing, she told herself as she heated a bit of milk in the microwave. Back in her bedroom, her phone jingled with the ringtone she’d set for Liz.

  Calling to get all the gossip now, are you? She smirked at how well she knew her friend and realized that her current conundrum wouldn’t even exist if Liz had gone to the ball with her as planned.

  “Hey,” Scarlett croaked into the phone, using her voice for the first time that day and hating how it sounded.

  “Scar, quick! Turn on the TV!” her friend shouted, and the sound shot straight to Scarlett’s brain, forming an insta-headache.

  “Do you have to be so loud before I’ve had my coffee?” she grumbled, tracing her way back to the living room and searching for the remote.

  “Do you see it yet?”

  “My remote? No.”

  Liz let out an impatient sigh. “This is important, Scar! Just push the button on the TV set.”

  “Fine.” Scarlett walked up to the TV and felt around under the flat screen surface to find the power button. “What chann—?”

  Her question was immediately cut off when the screen flickered to life, only to reveal her mysterious suitor from the night before.

  “Liz! How…?” So many thoughts fought for her attention that all Scarlett could do in that moment was gasp as she watched the familiar face speak unheard words on the local news station.

  “Keep watching. There’s footage of you, too.”

  She frantically felt for the volume buttons. What was he saying? How did Liz know him? And why would there be footage of Scarlett?

  “I would’ve come if I’d known you needed me there to keep you out of trouble,” her friend said gently, then exploded again. “I can’t believe you spent all night flirting with Henry Mitchell, III!”

  At last he had a name, and surprisingly, it was one she already knew. Dread pooled in her stomach, hot and bitter like the coffee that sat losing steam in her kitchen. She wanted to vomit.

  “Mitchell? As in…?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s him! His grandfather is the first, his dad is the second—”

  “And he’s the third,” Scarlett finished, immediately understanding why she’d felt such a severe case of ick upon waking up that day.

  Now more than ever, she hoped she would never see this man—this Henry Mitchel, III—again.

  But first she wanted to hear what he had to say and learn why her face was splashed all over the news.

  Somehow Scarlett’s heart managed to flutter at the same time her blood reached its boiling point. So many mixed emotions it was making her sick.

  Liz’s dapple Akita, Samson, broofed in the background, trying to get her attention. “Hush, boy! We’ll take your walk in a minute!”

  Both women watched as the news continued their feature of last night’s ball and, most of all, its most mysterious guest.

  “Did you know?” Liz whispered, so that neither of them would miss what was being said on the news. So far, they hadn’t learned much of anything, just regurgitated facts that everyone already knew about the Mitchell family.

  “That he was related to that horrible man? Of course not!” Scarlett protested, shuddering as she ran through all the awful things Henry’s grandfather had done to the sport, the dogs, the environment, the city.

  Everything he’d touched had turned to a sad, lifeless gray. The hundreds of dogs in his care had been recovered with large welts on their backs, visible ribs sticking out from their sides, and many other signs of both neglect and torture. Although he’d housed over three-hundred dogs, only one handler and a small yard had been dedicated to their care. In his eyes, having the dogs had been profitable, but looking after them properly had not been.

  Henry Mitchell, Sr., had lived his entire life with an eye on profit and fame. And he had gained heaps of both, but at the expense of his soul.

  Regarded as one of the cruelest men in recent memory, he’d been out of the public eye for the last few, refreshing months. And how could his grandson, his own flesh and blood, be any different? Something in Scarlett had known. Oh, if only she had Hermione’s time-turner to erase that night they’d spent in each other’s arms.

  “I thought he was banned from the race and all related events,” Liz murmured.

  “Obviously, that ban did not extend to his family.” Scarlett shuddered again as the footage looped and at last she caught sight of herself staring doe-eyed into that debonair devil’s mismatched eyes.

  “You looked really good last night, even if you didn’t end up going as a sexy Yeti,” Liz said unhelpfully.

  “Shh, I want to hear this!” Scarlett turned up the volume again and waited as the news anchors chatted about the ball. Completely aggravated now, Scarlett wished they would just come to the point and deliver the actual news she needed to hear.

  At last, the honey-skinned senior anchor turned back to the camera and said, “Anchorage is shocked at the news that its wealthiest resident, Henry Mitchell died suddenly last week, only hours before his beloved Iditarod began.”

  Liz groaned. “Why do they always make people seem better in death? Why can’t they just say the man was a monster, and may he rot?”

  “Shh, they’re finally getting to the good part.” The ball was shown on screen again, Scarlett in her deep purple gown held in young Henry’s arms. Disgusting.

  The anchor’s voice carried over the footage. “Here we see Mitchell’s grandson, also known as Henry, at last night’s Miners and Trappers ball, dancing with an unknown fan of the sport.”

  “Unknown, really? How much work would it have ta
ken to get your name—or your permission, for that matter?” Liz groaned, and her dog growled a matching sentiment.

  Scarlett continued to watch and wait for more.

  “It turns out his family wanted a few days’ privacy before bringing the news of Mitchell’s death public, especially considering the unusual circumstances surrounding the bequeathal of his estate.”

  The other anchor—a short, blond-haired man—spoke next. “Well, I’m definitely intrigued. To tell us more about these unusual provisions, we have local reporter, Jan Rivers, on the scene. Jan?”

  “I’m here, Rick,” the reporter answered as a feed of her popped up onto the screen. She stood beside Scarlett’s dance partner in downtown Anchorage. “Standing with me is Henry Mitchell, III, heir apparent to the Mitchell estate. Henry, is it true that you had no idea what your grandfather was planning?”

  Henry shook his head so subtly, his chin barely quavered. “Not a clue,” he said. “We were all surprised when—”

  “What was he planning? Why can’t they just tell us already?” Liz shrieked.

  “Liz, seriously? I need to hear this!” Scarlett tried to turn the volume up, but it had already reached the maximum limit.

  “So, you need to complete that list or you won’t see a dime?” the reporter continued, making Scarlett desperate to know what she’d missed.

  Both friends gasped and the line fell silent. Even Samson’s barking had quieted as they all waited for the big reveal.

  “Not even a penny, Jan,” Henry answered confidently, a Cheshire grin spreading across his undeniably handsome face. Scarlett hated herself for even noticing.

  “Now I’ve heard a lot about these bucket lists, but I’ve never seen one quite as ambitious as your granddad’s.”

  Henry chuckled. “No, of course he wouldn’t make it easy.”

  “I’ve also never heard,” Jan continued, obviously reading from a prompter of sort, “of someone passing a bucket list onto others. I thought the whole point was to finish the list before you kicked the bucket.”

  “Well, Granddad didn’t like to leave things undone. I know he always regretted not having been able to finish a race. Now he’s decided I need to not only finish, but also place.”

  Both brushed straight past the myriad reasons as to why the cruel man had been banned from the sport, again eliciting a string of obscenities from Liz.

  “A harrowing feat even for the most seasoned sledders. But it isn’t just things he never did, is it? He also expects you to relive his greatest hits?”

  “If that was a question,” Henry said, locking eyes with the camera and sending a chill right through Scarlett. “Then the answer is yes.”

  The reporter continued on, making sure to hit all the pre-determined talking points of the interview. “In fact, you completed your first item off the list just yesterday. Can you tell us more about it?”

  Henry stood even taller now and tucked a hand into his coat pocket. “Dance with a stranger the whole night without getting her name. Check and check.”

  “He used you!” Liz shouted.

  Scarlett felt tired more than angry. “Are you really surprised, given who he is?” she mumbled while chewing on a pesky hangnail.

  “That’s not right,” Liz said. “Get angry with me.”

  “Oh, I am. But what can we do?” She spit out the small piece of skin she’d torn from her finger.

  “Don’t dance with handsome strangers, I guess. Because they may turn out to be the devil in disguise.”

  “You said it,” Scarlett agreed. “Lesson learned.”

  They both turned their attention back to the television. “Did you know you were being filmed?” the reporter continued.

  Henry laughed. “Of course, I knew. That’s a provision, too. I need to finish this bucket list and get adequate…” He made air quotes here. “…press coverage to help improve the stock value of Mitchell Enterprises. If I fail at even a single thing, nobody in my family will receive any inheritance.”

  “That seems a bit extreme. Why does this all fall on you?”

  “Because he’s my namesake, and I’m meant to carry on his legacy. Granddad always wanted things to go a certain way. He hated failure, and—”

  “Which is why he beat his dogs into a pulp!” Liz cried.

  Scarlett couldn’t argue here, it was all true—all so painfully true—and she’d let him put his hands on her. Deplorable!

  “So, what happens to the money if you fail, Henry?” the reporter asked on behalf of all of them.

  He nodded first to the reporter, then turned to speak straight into the camera.

  Seeing his unforgettable eyes so close again sent chills straight to Scarlett’s heart. His words then drove a dagger.

  “It doesn’t matter, because I will not fail. It’s not in my blood.”

  Eight days later, Scarlett at last received the news she’d been waiting for. Her best friend, Lauren, had finished her first Iditarod—and with a time of nine days, ten hours, thirty-six minutes, and twenty-two seconds. Although she didn’t place among the top mushers, she was so close that people were already predicting a top ten finish for her in next year’s race.

  Scarlett’s heart swelled with pride. Only the slightest pricks of envy marred her otherwise perfect joy at Lauren’s accomplishment. Since both Lauren and the dogs would all need time to recover from the grueling 1,000-mile trek—and also to catch up with Shane—the two friends made plans to meet up over the weekend.

  That gave Scarlett a few more days of brooding privately over having been used so heinously by a man she hated so thoroughly. Other than delivering the initial news, Liz was of no help. Instead, her oldest Alaskan friend only made her feel worse about the whole thing.

  “How could you have danced with that man? How could you have looked at him like that? How could any part of you liked any part of him?” Liz had pelted her with question after question, and Scarlett didn’t have answers for any of them.

  On the one hand, Scarlett’s Henry wasn’t the actual animal abuser and slipshod businessman. He was the grandson of said man. On the other hand, didn’t family have a way of defining who you were deep down inside? And the Henry she’d met at the ball had been arrogant and cocksure, just like his granddad. Could he possibly be cruel, too?

  Scarlett wondered, but she in no way intended to find out. As far as she was concerned, Henry Mitchell, III was soon to be a distant—and hopefully forgotten—memory.

  Good riddance to him and his asinine bucket list. Scarlett didn’t even know people did that in real life. Yet another part of her once dance partner that felt as if it belonged in the fictional realm instead of in her actual flesh-and-blood world.

  “What are you moping about this time?” The senior librarian, Mrs. Caputo, came over to where Scarlett stood mindlessly scanning books into the system and dropped a fresh stack of new arrivals in front of her with a thud.

  Scarlett sighed and tried to put that night out of her mind… again. Why was it so hard to forget something so unpleasant? Never matter, she had work to do, and a supervisor to please. She forced a grin. “Just catching up on the overnights.”

  “That should have been done already. You’ve been very distracted this past week. Is this because of that race?”

  Mrs. Caputo was the last person Scarlett wanted to tell about the whole Henry Mitchell affair, so she simply agreed to the other woman’s assessment of the situation. “My friend, Lauren… You met her once, actually. She ran this year, and I’ve just been thinking a lot about her.”

  The elderly woman nodded and looked down at Scarlett over the rims of her glasses. Such a stereotype, and one Scarlett loathed. “You’ve always seemed more concerned about those dog sleds than you are at your job.”

  Scarlett shook her head fiercely. Even though she didn’t have much love for this particular coworker, she loved the work they did together. The last thing she needed was a reason to make her unhappy—invented or otherwise. “No, no, it’s not lik
e that at all. I mean, everyone has a hobby, right?”

  The other woman snorted with clear derision. “But your collection is at least three steps beyond ‘hobby.’ Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Scarlett shrugged and took the first book off the stack that Mrs. Caputo had delivered. She did not need this today. She already had enough to feel melancholy over.

  The conversation took a surprise turn when the elder librarian cleared her throat and announced, “I think you should do it. Go hitch up some dogs and run that race.”

  Talk about a loop-de-loop! Mrs. Caputo rarely took interest in Scarlett beyond whether she was performing her job up to par. Why would she suddenly encourage Scarlett to pursue her dream?

  “It’s not that simple,” she objected, hoping it came out kindly. “I’d need a team, practice, lots of practice. We’d have to run every day. It’s a full-time commitment.”

  “It seems to me you’re already committing your mind to it even when you’re supposed to be focusing on other things.” The woman made eyes toward the computer monitor and then shifted them back to Scarlett, who was reddening beneath her elder’s gaze. She hated how much her embarrassment showed due to her pale hair and even paler skin.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better,” she said, hoping it would be enough to get the other woman to leave her alone for the rest of the day.

  “I think you need to quit.” Mrs. Caputo delivered this blow flatly and without feeling.

  “What?” Scarlett spat. She was great at her job, and she loved what she did, too. Why on earth would Mrs. Caputo be trying to fire her now? Did she even have the needed permissions to do so? After all, this was a government job and came with certain protections. Daydreaming could hardly be against the rules.

  Mrs. Caputo picked up a pencil and began to scroll down some kind of list she’d brought with her. She spoke to Scarlett without removing her eyes from the paper. “Well, really more like take a leave of absence.”