by Lois Richer
He was a nice man. She’d never really let herself think that before, hadn’t wanted to admit that Ross Van Zandt was different. At the moment he sounded like he cared. He was certainly more determined than other men she’d known, especially Simon, who wouldn’t have cared what she thought.
“Kelly? Talk to me.”
“All right.” She looked at him, held his stare. “How many people in town know the reason you’re here?”
“A few, I suppose.”
“Quite a few by now, I should think.” She pleated and unpleated the nutcracker napkin by her plate. “How many know that I’m Sandra’s daughter?”
“You, Ben and Sandra,” he answered quickly. “I haven’t told anyone else. Ben is away on his honeymoon and I don’t think Sandra’s broadcasting the news.”
“Maybe not yet. But how do you think people will react when they find out?” She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t stand to see the pity in his eyes.
“Does it matter?”
That surprised her.
“Of course it matters.” She did look at him then. “You said you were a student of human nature. Think about it. The gossip will go full force. Everyone will be speculating on every move I make when they find out.”
“So?”
He truly didn’t understand. Kelly took a deep breath and explained. “I think they’ll react just the way you’ve reacted. I think they’ll all wonder why Sandra and I aren’t best buddies, why ungrateful Kelly doesn’t embrace her true mother with the appropriate devotion an illegitimate child should.”
“I’m not—”
“Not what? Sure? I am. To most people, I won’t be me anymore. I won’t be Kelly Young, daughter of Marcus and Carol Young.” Tears welled in her eyes and she could do nothing to stop them rolling down her cheeks. “That’s what it says on their headstones you know. Marcus and Carol, always loved by their daughter, Kelly. Their daughter. Not some stray who stayed with them because she had nowhere else to go. They were my parents. Carol was my mother. She was not a substitute for anyone else, to be pushed out of my heart when the one who gave birth to me came along.”
“Oh, Kelly, I don’t think anyone would expect you to feel that way, least of all Sandra.”
He was appalled by her words, she could tell. But Kelly was beyond caring what Ross thought. She couldn’t keep it inside anymore. She had to say it.
“My mother loved me through my temper tantrums, my bossy phase, my know-it-all era. She was there for me whenever I needed her to be. Every year she accepted my silly homemade Mother’s Day gifts as if they were gold and kept them in a place of pride, just because I made them. She taught me how to pray, how to read my Bible, she taught me what a mother did. Carol Young was, and always will be, my mother.” She glared at him. “Sandra isn’t,” she whispered, and then returned to the counter as the kettle boiled.
Ross remained silent while she made the tea, carried it to the table and poured them each a cup, adding milk to her own. She dished up a plate for him, one for herself, though she suspected neither of them would be able to eat much. That was all right. The queasiness in her stomach hadn’t completely abated anyway.
“It’s interesting that you feel like this,” he said when she thought the silence could stretch no longer.
“Interesting?” Kelly sipped her tea, watched him. “Why?”
“Well, I was comparing my experience with yours. I’ve always known who my mother was. She was lousy at it, but I didn’t know that, until I got a lot older. I thought all mothers were like that. I listen to you now and I wonder why Sandra couldn’t have been my mother. She has so much love to give.”
“Maybe she’ll adopt you.” Kelly managed a smile at her poor joke.
“She already has,” he murmured. “But the hole in her heart is because of you. She’ll understand that you have reservations, Kelly. I’m sure she has a few of her own. But can’t you just push all that worry and speculation back until you meet with her, find out firsthand what she’s thinking?”
“I suppose I’ll have to.” That seemed to settle the issue and after a few awkward moments, they managed to consume some of the chicken potpie she’d made.
“Do you like cooking?” Ross speared the last bit of cucumber from his plate, his eyes on her. “Chocolate cakes, this meal today, those gingersnaps—you must get some pleasure out of creating this great food.”
“I didn’t used to. But when I came back here after college I decided I needed to learn to cook for—” She stopped and gulped. Why had she said that?
“A man?” he guessed.
What was the point of pretending? He’d hear about it from any of the locals if he asked.
“Yes. My fiancé, Simon. We were engaged. Actually we planned to buy this house together.”
“Really.” He glanced around in interest. “I didn’t realize. Could he cook?”
“Simon?” She blinked. “I don’t think so. At least, he never offered. He liked to come over to my place for dinner, but I always prepared it. Why did you ask that?”
“No reason.” He shrugged. “Just seems like most men nowdays at least have the basic knowledge of how to take care of themselves.”
“Simon was devoted to his business.”
“And you, of course.”
“Of course.” But he hadn’t been, not really. Kelly skittered around that truth. “He was good at what he did. Eventually he found himself stifled by Chestnut Grove. He wanted to move on. I didn’t. I like my job as director at Tiny Blessings. He wanted to sample the bright lights of New York. We called the wedding off, I bought the house, renovated and voila.”
“You renovated this place yourself?”
“No, silly. But I did most of the designs, then I hired someone to do the work.” She sipped her tea, added some more milk. “It’s turned out pretty well, I think. Simon didn’t want to make any changes right away. He needed all his cash to pour into his business and remodeling wasn’t a priority with him.”
“He sounds like an…unusual fiancé. Any guys I’ve seen who intend on getting married are usually prepared to make their wife and home a priority.”
“He did. But he was self-employed and he had to look to the future. That’s why his business was so important to him. I offered to help him with it but he didn’t like my suggestions. Eventually I figured out that it just wasn’t a meeting of the minds. I guess that’s why we broke up.” They’d broken up because Simon refused to consider her opinion on anything.
“So all of this—” Ross waved a hand around the room “—is your own personal style?”
“Most of it, yes, though I took a few suggestions from the contractors. Is that good or bad?”
“Good. Very good. Your home has a very warm and welcoming feel.”
“Thank you.” She met his glance, felt her heart give a bump and looked down at her plate. “That’s what I was striving for. I guess decorating is a legacy from my mother. I’m not nearly as good at it as she was, but I try. She had this knack of knowing exactly how to make the most of a room. I have to use good old trial and error.”
Her mother had been good at everything, particularly at raising a daughter. Kelly had always wanted to emulate her, to measure up, to be the child Carol Young could be proud of.
“In fact, my parents bought the sofa and chair in the living room as my Christmas gift a couple of years ago. Mom thought the fabric was practical and would wear well. I guess it will. I don’t use that room much. I kind of prefer the den.” Her father’s big clock boomed the hour from the living room. “I didn’t realize it was so late. We’d better get a move on. Would you like anything more?”
He laughed and rubbed his washboard-flat stomach. “No way. I’ll probably roll down the hill as it is.”
“I’m afraid the ski hill people don’t allow rolling,” she murmured, turning her back so he wouldn’t see her grin.
“Then I’m in trouble because that’s about as much as I know about skiing.” He carried the dishes
to the counter, where she began scraping them clean. “Should I wash?”
“I wouldn’t dream of subjecting you to that torture.” She giggled at the relief flooding his face. “We’ll shove them in the dishwasher.”
They worked well together, with Ross seeming to anticipate her next move. It took only minutes to restore the kitchen to its usual state.
“Okay, I’ll just go and change, then we can leave.” She started out of the kitchen but his next words made her pause.
“Do you mind if I look around? I’d like to see what else you’ve done with your house.”
Was he looking for something? Kelly chided herself for the thought. Was that what it was going to be like now, suspicious of everyone and everything? She motioned forward.
“Help yourself. I’ll be down in a minute.”
She found him in the garden room ten minutes later.
“So now you know all my secrets,” she murmured, unsure as to her own feelings, knowing he’d found her special place.
“You added this?”
Kelly nodded. “My mother—” She hesitated, hearing the defensiveness in her own voice. She cleared her throat, then continued. “My mother always said I should have been a farmer because I spent so much time poking in the dirt. I just like puttering around with plants so I had this room added on.”
“It looks like you’ve got the right touch.” His fingers brushed over the rich ruby leaves of the massive poinsettia she’d left on the bench.
“I don’t know about that. This particular plant was supposed to bloom in time for Christmas but here it is the first week in January and it’s just begun. I guess my timing’s off.”
“Does it matter when it flowers?” Ross stared down at her, his dark eyes glowing. “Isn’t it just as beautiful now as it would have been then?”
It was like being locked onto a laser beam when he stared at her like that. Kelly couldn’t look away.
“You have a point there,” she whispered. The silence stretched long and taut between them. There was something going on—she knew it, felt an emotional connection to him that she’d never felt before. It wasn’t just that he was so good-looking. It was that he seemed to understand the things she hadn’t said. Which was a silly thing to think when she considered his words about Sandra. Kelly shook her head to dislodge the feelings she didn’t want to have. “We need to go.”
“Yes. Though it’s hard to leave. With the sun shining, this room is like a little bit of the tropics.” He took one last look at her abundance of plants, then stepped back, allowing her to precede him through the door.
“I need to get my skis.” She moved to the opposite side of the house, toward the door that let to the garage. “They’re probably covered in dust,” she babbled, needing to fill the silence. “I haven’t been skiing in a long—”
Kelly stared at the open door. It had been closed, locked. She remembered checking last night and she certainly hadn’t used it this morning.
“Is something wrong?”
“I thought I’d locked this.”
Something moved in the cavernous space beyond. Kelly looked again, saw nothing. Maybe she’d only thought she’d seen something. Maybe the nightmares from last night had made her prone to hallucinate. Or perhaps it was the accident. Either way, Kelly wasn’t about to explain that she’d just seen something. Ross probably already thought she was a basket case. Why add to that impression when she wasn’t even sure?
“No. Everything’s fine. Just have to get my gear.” She flipped on the overhead light and when she saw nothing heaved a sigh of relief. Her car was still at Vinnie’s, of course, so there was no reason for her to have used the garage, but the tiny lights at the bottom of each automatic door still winked green, signaling that the door opener was still active. She’d forgotten to turn it off. And the side door was unlocked.
She locked that, then walked over to the kill switch that blocked power to the overhead doors and flicked it off. Now no one could possibly get in unless the switch was turned on. To do that they’d have to get inside. She lifted her skis down from the rack and carried them toward the house, where Ross immediately lifted them from her arms.
Kelly grabbed her ski boots and poles from a nearby shelf, then closed and locked the connecting door from the garage to the house. When she turned she saw Ross watching her.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes. Just wanted to turn off the garage doors. No point in having them on since my car’s in the shop. Shall we go?”
“Sure.” He followed her to the front door. “This is all your gear?”
“It’s bright so I should take my goggles, and I need my jacket of course, but yes. Other than those items, I’m ready.” He took her boots and poles while Kelly pulled her ski suit out of the closet. She tugged on the jacket but folded the ski pants over one arm. “I’ll put these on when we get there. My gloves are in my pocket and my goggles—yes, here they are.” She took them from the shelf and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll rent you some skis at the hill.” She locked the front door, tested it and felt a rush of relief when it stayed firmly closed.
“Thanks a lot. You realize I’m probably courting suicide by going along with this,” Ross muttered as he attached her skis and poles to his roof rack.
“Hardly suicide. Anyway, I think you’re putting me on.” Kelly pointed. “Why do you have a roof rack if you don’t ski?”
“Came with the car when I bought it in Richmond. Seems a lot of people around this area ski. I guess my day has come.” He held the door, waited for her to get in.
But Kelly’s attention was on something else, someone else. A figure dressed in black scurried out of the hedge at the side of her property and after a quick glance at them hurried down the street in the opposite direction.
“Look. Who is that?”
“Who is what? Where?” Ross turned to look at her, followed her pointing finger down the street. “What do you mean?”
Kelly knew he saw nothing. The figure was gone.
Or maybe it had never been there.
Chapter Five
Although he was grateful for Kelly’s obvious preoccupation, Ross couldn’t help noticing the furtive glances she kept tossing over her shoulder as she slid alongside him down the bunny hill. What was she looking for?
He’d been at this long enough to know he was no good, so Ross deliberately flopped on his rear, wincing at the pain that came from having already hit that area about a gazillion times. Why had he ever thought snow was soft?
“Had enough?” Kelly bent over, reaching out to help him up.
“Yes. More than enough. I need a break. Hot chocolate would be nice.” He brushed away her hand. “Don’t help me. I’ll end up pulling you over just like last time.”
“And the time before that!” She giggled, her laugh a musical treat in the clear sharp air. “But I don’t mind.”
She didn’t seem to. In fact she looked as if she were enjoying herself. He couldn’t help but stare at her. Her ski outfit was a soft baby pink that showed off her gorgeous hair to advantage. Her brown eyes twinkled with fun, worry-free now, but he’d seen shadows flicker through off and on all afternoon.
“It strikes me as odd that you ski,” he mumbled, struggling to his feet with the grace of an elephant.
“Me? Why? It’s really not that hard. My mother started me when I was five.”
“That might explain it.” He concentrated on getting to the ski lodge without mishap and without taking another header down the hill. Talk about embarrassment.
“Explain what?” Kelly grabbed his pole and tugged on it, directing him out of the line of traffic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Finally they were there. Ross grabbed on to the railing like a lifeline and heaved a sigh of thanksgiving that he’d survived without mangling his body.
“You’re usually so reserved,” he puffed, struggling to get his feet free of the long narrow skis, which he pers
onally felt should be called lethal weapons. “I wouldn’t have guessed you to be a person who takes chances. From what I’ve seen, you consider most things before you act. Yet here you are, not in the least afraid to hurl yourself down the side of a mountain going the speed of light.”
“Ross,” she remonstrated, her smile huge as she watched him move awkwardly in the clompy boots, “technically, I don’t think you could call this a mountain. And skiing is not generally considered a suicide sport.”
“Until now,” he muttered.
“It just takes a certain balance, persistence and skill. Anyone can learn to do it. But you’re right. I’m not the type to take unnecessary risks. I like life too much.” She pointed to an empty space in the crowded lounge. “Anyway, I’d hardly call what I’ve been doing on that hill hurling myself down a mountain.”
He collapsed onto a nearby bench without answering.
“I’ll get us a couple of drinks, okay?”
“My entire body thanks you.” He shifted his leg, groaned. “I’d do the gallant thing and offer to get you a drink but I don’t think I can walk that far without falling down. I never thought of myself as particularly clumsy but this sure brings it out in me.”
“You just need practice. Oh, look, there’s Lindsay Morrow. I didn’t think she’d be here with the party at her place afterward. But then of course she has servants to look after those things.” Kelly hurried toward the food counter, her walk in the stiff boots almost normal.
“Practice, she says. As if I’m ever doing this again!”
“Talking to yourself is the first sign of a very serious disorder.” Detective Zach Fletcher flopped down beside him, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “I’m a little surprised to see you sitting again, Van Zandt.”
“What do you mean?” Ross finally got one boot undone and dragged his foot out, groaning at the sensation of having one ankle free. He glared at the detective. “I just got in here.”
“Yes, but from what I’ve seen, you’ve been sitting down most of the afternoon.”