Let It Snow

by Sherry Lewis

  He made the mistake of looking at her once more before he stepped outside. What he saw in her expression made him hesitate, but he refused to let himself respond to it. He ignored the deep sadness in her eyes, the slight frown on her lips and the way she’d folded her arms and held on to her sweater as if she needed something to support her.

  He closed the door firmly behind him and crossed the snow to the truck. Grinding the engine to life, he reversed and drove away. He forced himself to concentrate on the driving and tried to put Marti out of his mind, tried to forget the pain in her eyes and the sweet taste of her mouth.

  When the headlights from an oncoming vehicle hit his windshield, he pulled as far as he could to the side of the road. Driving slowly, he began to pass the other truck. But when his lights hit the cab and he recognized Gil Johansson as the driver, his hands froze on the wheel and his stomach knotted.

  There could be only one reason for Gil Johansson to be driving this road at this time—he was on his way to see Marti. Nausea welled in Rick’s stomach. Anger churned with it. He knew how greatly Marti feared losing Cameron, how guilty Cameron and Gil made her feel about the divorce, and how much she wanted to run the Lazy M when her father couldn’t do it any longer. Only one person could give her what she wanted most, and Rick wasn’t that person.

  Rick stopped his truck and watched in his rearview mirror as Gil turned off the road onto the Lazy M. There was someone between them, he thought bitterly—someone far more real than the specter of Jocelyn’s memory.

  In spite of everything, Marti was too trusting. Too vulnerable. And that jackal Johansson wouldn’t hesitate to use those traits against her. Already, she believed he held the key to her happiness.

  But Rick hated to see her reconcile with him if she didn’t love him. No, he wouldn’t let that happen. He cared about her too much to sit back silently while Gil played on Marti’s uncertainty.

  He thought about turning the truck around and following Gil to the Lazy M, but confronting Gil in front of her would only make things worse. Marti didn’t need him to erase trouble for her, she needed him to help her see how she could solve her problems on her own. She didn’t need Gil or her father—or even Rick—to take care of her. She needed to believe in herself again. Then she’d be able to take charge of her relationship with Cameron. She’d find the strength to stand up to her father. And, hopefully, she’d believe that Rick was interested in her, not just looking for a substitute for Jocelyn.

  RICK’S IRRITATION hadn’t lessened by the time he reached his own place. He pulled up in front of the house and climbed out of the truck. Wind lifted bits of old snow from the ground and flung them against the truck and into his face. High overhead, it whistled through the trees, accentuating the hush of the night.

  Shivering, Rick readjusted his Broncos cap and started toward the house. He stomped his feet on the welcome mat and put the key into the lock, but before he could open the door Lynette called out from the inky shadows.

  “Rick?”

  He pivoted toward the sound and searched for her. “Yes?”

  She materialized in front of the toolshed. The wind teased her dark hair away from her face, and in the dark she looked more like Jocelyn than ever. “Do you have a minute?”

  He forced away the vivid memory and nodded reluctantly. He didn’t want to talk to Lynette, especially not now. But he couldn’t refuse. He wouldn’t know how to explain. “Sure,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound unwilling. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”

  Lynette climbed the porch and looked at him with Jocelyn’s eyes, and Rick imagined she could see through him as easily as Jocelyn had. Shoving aside that thought, he opened the door and followed her inside. He tugged off his coat and hung it up, then held out a hand for Lynette’s jacket. “What’s up?”

  She handed it to him, but she didn’t speak right away. She walked slowly into the living room and waited for him to join her there. “Ryan and Anne aren’t coming for Christmas.”

  Relief mingled with apprehension inside him. He didn’t want more company, but he hoped neither of them had taken ill. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I called tonight to make sure everything was all set, and Ryan said they’d changed their minds.”

  “At least nothing’s wrong.”

  “Something is wrong. It must be. Why else would he change his mind?”

  “Maybe they’d rather spend the holidays alone.” It seemed kinder than suggesting Anne had talked Ryan into staying home. But Rick knew Anne had never been overly fond of Ryan’s eldest sister.

  Lynette scowled at him. “Don’t be silly. Family’s what Christmas is all about.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Maybe you should talk to him. He might be more honest with you.”

  Rick hesitated for an instant before answering. He’d always liked Ryan, and he didn’t want to pressure him. “I don’t think—”

  “Please?” Lynette interrupted. “He’ll tell you what he won’t tell me.”

  “Can’t Tom call him?”

  She rolled her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve already asked him to. He won’t do it. He says that even if Ryan is lying, he has his reasons.”

  Rick agreed silently. “Then, what makes you think he’ll tell me anything?”

  “He’s always liked you.”

  “He’s always liked Tom, too.”

  Her eyes clouded, and she looked as if she might start crying. “You won’t do it?”

  Rick shrugged. “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to call.”

  “You’re the only one who can,” Lynette insisted. “If something is wrong, I want to know. If anything happens to Ryan or Anne, I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself.”

  The familiar sensation of guilt worked its fingers around Rick’s heart. She couldn’t have chosen a better argument to convince him if she’d tried for a hundred years. “All right,” he said softly. “I’ll call.”

  Her expression shifted subtly. She turned away and started toward the kitchen, speaking over her shoulder as she walked. “Good. But don’t tell him I asked you to call or he won’t tell you anything.”

  “All right.” Resigned, he trailed her to the phone and took the receiver from her when she held it toward him, but the exchange brought a sudden, vivid picture into his mind of Jocelyn doing exactly the same thing the night she died. Call him, she’d insisted. Call Daddy and ask him if we can buy the house on Beekman Street, but don’t tell him I’m the one who told you about it or he’ll think I’m trying to manipulate him.

  Rick closed his eyes and tried to force away the sound of her voice, the feel of her hands on his shoulders and the whisper of her breath on his neck while she’d tried to listen to the conversation. He tried to forget the anger, frustration and betrayal that had consumed him during that final argument.

  A chill rushed through him and turned his fingers to stone. As if in a nightmare, he listened to the phone ring. Lynette stood close, just as Jocelyn had, and in spite of his best efforts to forget, he remembered.

  He tried to swallow, but his throat had grown dry. He tried to draw one breath after another, but his heart raced and his lungs labored as if he’d run for miles. His hands grew so clammy the receiver nearly slipped from his grasp, and he could hear Jocelyn’s parting words to him.

  “If you weren’t so selfish, I wouldn’t have to do this,” she’d shouted from the doorway with her suitcase clutched in one hand. “If you cared even a little bit about our marriage, we could work this out. ”

  “Get out,” he’d roared. “Go back to Denver and make yourself happy. I don’t care what you do.”

  “If I leave, I won’t come back,” she’d warned.

  He’d glared at her. “You think I care?” he’d shouted, though he’d cared so deeply he thought the pain would shred his heart. “Well I don’t. I don’t need you. I can make it on my own.”

  Behind him, Lynette made a noise and pulled him ba
ck to the moment. Blinking rapidly, he tried to get her into focus again, but tears stung his eyes as his final words to Jocelyn echoed repeatedly in his ears. I don’t need you. I don’t need you.

  He hadn’t meant it, and he’d regretted the words the second they left his mouth. But anger had kept him from calling them back. Pride had held his feet still when his heart had urged him to go after her. Jocelyn had been dead within twenty minutes, and he’d spent the past two years knowing he could have saved her life if only he hadn’t let foolish pride stand in his way.

  He tried once more to pull himself together, but it was no good. He couldn’t talk to Ryan—not until he could get his emotions under control again. Not until he could lock away his accountability for the death of the man’s sister in a safe place again, just as he’d done for the past two years.

  He replaced the receiver and pushed past Lynette to the door of the kitchen. Without looking at her, he said, “I’ll call him in the morning. Let yourself out.” And without giving her a chance to stop him, he hurried up the stairs to the spare room and shut himself inside.

  MARTI STOOD in front of the darkened window where she’d watched Rick drive away. She’d been so certain about everything a few minutes ago, but he’d looked so devastated when he left she wondered now if she’d been wrong.

  No, she told herself firmly, she hadn’t been wrong. He might want her physically, but his heart still belonged to Jocelyn. From everything she’d heard, Jocelyn had been the perfect wife. The perfect companion for Rick. Even if Marti wanted to, she could never hope to compete with that kind of memory. She’d be a fool to try. Besides, she had Cameron to consider. And her promise to give Gil another chance. If she followed her heart, she would lose everything.

  Sighing softly, she turned away from the window and started to draw the blind. But when a truck turned from the access road onto the Lazy M’s driveway, her hand stilled, her breath caught and her heart raced. Rick had come back. Maybe she’d been wrong, after all.

  Dropping the cord, she smoothed her hair and tugged the hem of her sweater over her hips, then hurried to the door. She pulled it open just as the truck drew up in front of the house. Immediately, she recognized Gil’s truck. Her excitement died and everything inside her grew cold.

  She couldn’t face Gil. Not now. Not with these stupid tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks any second. Not with her heart and mind suddenly numb with disappointment.

  Before she could turn away, Gil jumped from the truck and hurried up the steps toward her. He pulled her into a quick embrace and pressed a kiss to her cheek near her mouth. She wanted to withdraw, but she was too numb to resist.

  He jerked one thumb toward the road. “Was that Rick Dennehy I saw driving away just now?”

  She nodded, but she didn’t trust her voice to speak.

  Gil stepped inside the house and shrugged out of his jacket, then looked back at her with eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What in the hell did he want?”

  She shrugged and tried to look casual, but her mind raced to come up with an explanation he would accept.

  Before she could say a word, her father opened the door to his study and peered out at them. “Gil? Is that you?”

  “Yeah.” Gil palmed his hair. “What in the hell was Dennehy doing here?”

  Her father shot a confused look at her. “Dennehy? When?”

  “Just now.” Gil nodded toward the road again. “I just passed him leaving.”

  Henry cocked one eyebrow and his face turned blotchy red. “Dennehy was here, and you didn’t tell me?”

  As always, his temper made Marti feel powerless. Her knees threatened to buckle, but this time she wouldn’t let him see the effect he had on her. She crossed to one of the overstuffed chairs flanking the fireplace and sank into it. “I didn’t see any need to tell you.”

  Gil’s eyes widened. He shot a look at Henry, then glared at her again. “No need? What do you mean by that?”

  Marti flashed him a look of irritation. “I mean, you were busy, and anyway he wanted to talk to me.”

  “He wanted to see you? Why?”

  “We’re friends.”

  Gil snorted in derision. “Friends. I’ll bet he’d like to be more than that. He’s after the rest of your property, Henry.”

  “He doesn’t want the rest of your property,” Marti said. “You know that. He’s fixing his cabins so he can sell them.”

  Henry looked confused. “Then what does he want?”

  “He probably thinks Marti will inherit this place after you die,” Gil mumbled.

  Marti glared at him. “He knows I won’t inherit the Lazy M. I’ve told him.”

  Gil nodded knowingly. “Then the subject has come up between you.”

  Marti started to explain, then changed her mind. She knew this side of Gil only too well. He’d take her words and twist them to fit his own beliefs.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “I can’t believe what you’re insinuating.”

  “I’m not insinuating anything,” Gil snapped. “It’s obvious what he wants—to everyone but you.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I?” Gil closed the distance between them and put one hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She shrugged his hand away and leaned away from him. “Yes,” she said again. “I’m sure.”

  Gil barked a mocking laugh, but he turned his attention to her father. “Don’t worry too much, Henry. Once Marti and I are back together again, Dennehy won’t ever get his hands on the Lazy M. I’ll see to that.”

  Marti glared at him again. “Once we’re back together? Aren’t you taking a lot of things for granted?”

  Gil let out a deep sigh. He sent a frustrated look in her father’s direction, but spoke to her. “Come on, Marti. Why do you keep playing this game with me? You know as well as I do the best thing for Cameron is for us to be together.”

  “I don’t know that.” She willed her hands to stop trembling, but without success.

  “Are you trying to tell me you haven’t seen a difference in him the past few days?” Gil demanded.

  Henry nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve seen a difference. He’s acting like a different boy. A different boy, altogether.”

  “Yes,” Marti admitted. “Because I’ve given him what he wants. But that doesn’t mean it’s good for him. Or for me.”

  “You never have known what was good for you,” Gil insisted. “Why do you think your dad’s so keen to have someone around to take care of you?”

  Marti tightened her fists and met his gaze steadily. “I don’t need someone to take care of me.”

  Her father put a hand on Gil’s shoulder and sent Marti a disappointed smile. “Somebody needs to take over the Lazy M when I’m too old. Carol doesn’t want it, and neither do your brothers. That leaves you. But I can’t leave it to you unless I know you have someone like Gil to help you with it.”

  “Why won’t you let me take over—without Gil?” It was an empty question. She already knew the answer. She could have recited it verbatim as he spoke.

  “Because this place is too much for a woman to handle alone.”

  She stood for a moment, facing both of them and wishing she could think of an argument that would persuade her father how wrong he was. But nothing she’d ever said had made a difference, and he’d grown so much more pigheaded since her mother’s death, she couldn’t imagine being able to get through to him now.

  Bone-deep sadness worked its way through her. She looked around the room at her mother’s things—the furniture, the afghans, the Christmas decorations—and wished that her mother was still alive. Naomi Maddock had always been able to help her husband understand when he was being unreasonable. Marti had never known how she did it, but more than once her mother had managed to persuade her dad to change his mind about something one of the kids wanted. To be fair, Naomi had also helped the kids understand when they were asking too much.

  - Marti could have used her
steadying influence now. Because as far as she could see, the bottom line was, she could do one of two things: marry Gil again or lose Cameron—and the Lazy M—for good. Either way, it didn’t seem like much of a choice.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MARTI PUT the last of the dinner dishes into the cupboard while she watched Gil and Cameron playing cards on the kitchen table. After her encounter with Gil, she’d wanted nothing more than some time alone and maybe a nice, long chat with Cherryl. Instead, she’d had to spend the evening listening to Gil insinuate himself further into her father’s life.

  Worse, she’d had to fix dinner for him again and sit across the table from him while they ate, as if they were still family. Thankfully, they’d managed to get through the meal without discussing Rick again and without any talk of a reconciliation. Even Cameron had been surprisingly non-hostile. Still, it had taken her some time to relax.

  She turned the volume on her portable CD player a little higher, hoping the Christmas music she’d put on earlier would help keep the mood light. Maybe later she’d call Cherryl. She frowned, thinking about how difficult it was to catch up with her friend. Even if Greta was right, and Cherryl was busy with family, the restaurant and the holidays, surely she could have found time to call.

  Gil looked up from his hand and caught her looking at them. He winked slowly and grinned at her as he dropped his cards onto the table. “Two pair, Jacks high.” He turned his grin on Cameron. “Read ’em and weep.”

  Cameron folded his cards. “One more hand.” When he looked at his father, his eyes sparkled and his lips curved into a smile. He swept his gaze over Marti. To her surprise, he didn’t sneer or glare at her. Her reward, she supposed, for making the effort to be pleasant to Gil during dinner.

  She ventured a tiny smile at him. He didn’t respond, but at least he didn’t go out of his way to avoid her gaze.

  Gil shook his head and pushed from the table. “Can’t, son. I’ve got to work in the morning.”

  “Come on,” Cameron pressed. “One more. Give me a chance to win back a few of my matchsticks.”