LINUS
A souvenir of my stay.
CHARLIE flips it over. Her gaze lifts to LINUS.
CHARLIE
You’re mailing it to yourself?
LINUS
With a message from you...I hope.
He produces a pen, tosses it down, too. A challenge. CHARLIE retrieves the ballpoint, clasps it a moment, then bends over the postcard. LINUS holds his breath.
When she puts down the pen, the camera focuses on what she’s written. “Glad you were here.” And then, “Goodbye.”
* * *
LINUS FIGURED CHARLIE knew something had changed after the night in her bed. The next morning, when he asked if they could have a quiet dinner alone that evening, he’d read the panic in her eyes a moment before she suggested they go out again instead, this time to another of her favorite hangouts, Blossom.
Laid-back Linus had agreed...though for the first time in his life he was thinking in a careful, not careless way. If at the moment she was more comfortable with him in a public setting, then that’s where he’d take her. Making this declaration was the most serious thing he’d ever contemplated, and he wanted to get it right.
But he’d get it done tonight, he assured himself as he held open the restaurant’s door for Charlie. Now that Steven Parker was no longer between them, Linus didn’t want to waste any more time. He was in love with her and by putting that on the table he’d be one step closer to the future he wanted them to have together.
His fingertips at her back, he followed her inside—and immediately wished for a do-over. Damn. The place was packed. With Charlie’s friends.
There was not going to be any romantic table for two in a corner, he realized, as she moved toward her pack of young women. Though it wasn’t a regular girls’ night, for some reason a couple dozen mountain ladies were socializing with either light beer or some kind of sweet-tini in hand. Platters of bar food were being passed around.
They weren’t so busy with their buddies that they ignored male company, however. A couple of the girls were already flirting with guys watching the game at the bar. One of Charlie’s gal pals that Linus had met the summer before snagged his arm and urged him into a chair at a large round table.
Though his love had been snared by another group, he didn’t refuse her friends’ invitation. This was one of those kinds of events, he surmised, where people constantly rotated position. He’d start out between Amy and Ann, have a chat with Mindy and Melly, and soon enough he’d be sandwiched by Zoe and Zelda. Charlie would end up beside him eventually.
So he ordered a beer for himself, a glass of wine to be delivered to the gilt-haired girl laughing at the other end of the room, and then prepared to wait for his opportunity.
Charlie’s orbit neared him ten minutes later, but she ended up lighting on a chair at the farthest point from him. Even from that distance, though, he enjoyed listening to her. Men made conversation like they were at the bowling alley, sending the heavy ball of their idea onto the polished floor with a spin designed to knock everyone else’s down. Charlie floated her thoughts into the discussion like feathers set in motion by her breath. It wasn’t that they had no weight...they just landed with delicate grace.
Someone called her name and she rose, then passed his chair to greet the newcomer. Linus caught her hand as she went by. Glancing down, she sent him an apologetic smile. “You’re being patient.”
“For the moment,” he said, then instantly regretted the remark, because it sent her on the run from him.
Sighing, he nursed his beer and tried distracting himself by people-watching. More men had arrived and he identified their kind by their luxury shoe wear and expensive taste in beer. The winter’s equivalent of Summer Beaus.
He refused to let the thought leave a bad taste in his mouth. He’d been one of those short-timers and there was nothing wrong with enjoying flirtations and transitory affairs. Still, something about that Summer Beaus scrapbook continued to trouble him. Deciding to soothe himself by seeking out Charlie, he started to rise from his chair when a young woman slipped into the one on his left, virtually pinning him into a corner.
Her drink was pink, her dress was short and she was much too young for him. “Hi,” she said, with a nervous wiggle of one forefinger.
Barely twenty-one, he thought, and new to this scene. After a moment’s hesitation, he settled back in his chair, and turned on the charm. That he was now a one-woman man didn’t mean he was a man who no longer enjoyed the company of women. And this little darling could use a safe guy like himself to see her through what he surmised was a brand-new adult experience.
He held out his hand. “I’m Linus and I’m from L.A.”
She was Grace and a receptionist at the local bank.
They talked about interest rates, the weird stuff people kept in their safe-deposit boxes and her current mission in life: to get the security guard at her branch to laugh. “I’m sure he thinks he’s part of the Swiss Guard,” she confided, leaning close.
Linus thought she was adorable. When another pink drink was slid in front of her, he got a little worried. A guy at the bar had sent it over. Linus gave the other man an assessing glance, taking in his cashmere sweater and deep dimples. Someone as young as Grace could get her heart stomped on by someone so slick.
“Do you have a special guy?” he asked.
She looked flustered, then glanced down at her lap as if she might have stowed a cheat sheet there. “Well...” Bringing her new drink to her mouth, she took in a healthy swallow, then coughed a little. “I...”
“You...?” Linus prompted.
“I kind of have someone, but...” Grace sent him a flirty glance through her lashes.
Damn, Linus thought on a silent groan. I wasn’t fishing for myself. Before he could make that clear, Grace plowed forward.
“We have this understanding, you see. While he’s out of the country.”
Linus went still. He stared at the youngster.
“While he’s out of the country, Steven and I have an agreement that I can...you know, date other people.”
“Steven?” Steven?
“Steven Parker.”
What the hell? Linus thought. Just last night the brunette, tonight sweet thing Grace. Before that, Charlie. How many women did Steven Parker the Prick string along at a time?
Grace was fumbling with her purse. Then she had her wallet out and was holding up a photo. “Here he is.”
It was a man wearing swim trunks and holding a surfboard. He had a wild tangle of sun-bleached blond hair.
“He’s in Australia on a surfing trip,” Grace added.
And he looked nothing at all like the soldier in Charlie’s picture.
Head reeling, Linus mumbled an excuse, rose from his chair and struggled to get past her. He was taller than most in the crowd and his gaze sought out bright blond hair. When he found it, he kept his eye on the target and wove his way to her side. She was smiling at something her companion said and when she glanced up at him, her face went blank, all the humor dying.
He grasped her upper arm. “We need to talk.”
“Oh, but—”
“Now,” he said, his fingers tightening on her bicep.
Towing her behind him, he found privacy in the short hall leading to a door marked Employees Only. He turned her to face him, and she stepped instantly back, the wall meeting her shoulder blades.
“There’s nowhere to run,” he said.
She lifted her chin. “I’m not going anyplace.”
He barked a short laugh. “That’s what Steven was all about, right? Your justification for not getting too close. Your reason for never giving too much of yourself. With him hovering in the background, you never had to risk leaving your comfort zone of short-term romance.”
Charlie opened her mouth, but Linus stopped her by putting up a hand. “I only want you to confirm one thing. Steven Parker isn’t real, is he? He was never real.”
She was silent a long moment, then Charlie directed her gaze to somewhere over Linus’s shoulder. “No. No, he was never real.”
“Jesus.” Linus shook his head.
“You see, Steven Parker was...is...” She smoothed her short hair with her hand. “He’s what you might call a prop.”
A prop. Though he’d guessed it already, hearing her say it out loud made Linus feel foolish and used. Angry. Foolish and used and...hurt. You were lying to me while I was falling in love with you! he wanted to shout, but his pride and his ego made him stifle the words. “God, Charlie,” he said, shaking his head. “God. How could you invent—”
“Before you criticize Steven Parker, remember that thanks to him you were comfortable getting to know me.” Temper kindled in Charlie’s blue gaze. “Steven Parker made me unthreatening to your casual bachelor ways because through him I was as no-strings, as free-and-easy as you. Don’t pretend that wasn’t what you liked best.”
Okay, at the beginning that was true. But then what he liked best had become exploring the mountains with Charlie, floating on the lake with Charlie, kissing Charlie. Making love to her. But it had all been pretense on her side. Disgusted with himself and his stupid, stupid heart, he turned from her and walked away.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
POPPY WAS READING Mason a book when Ryan stuck his head in the kitchen. “You have visitors,” he said.
“Me?”
“Unless your sisters are here for Grimm.” At this, the dog got to his feet and shook, his collar making merry noise. “I saw them via the security cam at the docks. They came by boat.”
Puzzled, Poppy set the book aside and looked at her son. “I suppose we’ll have to see what they want.”
Mason was already on his way to the door that led to the terrace and from there to the lake. Grimm trotted behind. She hesitated.
“Want backup?” Ryan asked.
“No.” It was a kind offer and reminded her that he’d gone along on that trip to the cabins a few days before. But she didn’t want him thinking she needed help with anything—including handling her own siblings. If they were here to give her more of their opinions of what should be done about the Walker land, she’d make clear to them she steered her own course.
They met on the lawn halfway between the house and the water. It was another warm day by mountain spring standards and Mason ran circles around his aunts, the dog following behind. A young teen watched the action with dispassionate eyes, slouching in jeans and a black hoodie. This would be Shay’s charge, the girl she was living with and homeschooling. After greeting her sisters, Poppy offered a smile to the youngster. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Mason’s mom, Poppy. And you’re...?”
“Tucson,” the girl said, and looked away, as if bored by even that brief snippet of conversation.
Shay tucked her hair behind her ears. “Actually, it’s London, but she’s trying out different city names for...entertainment purposes.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “Entertainment,” she muttered.
Rebellion, Poppy figured. “Tucson’s nice,” she offered.
“I like it better than Elko,” Shay said. “Clyde didn’t do much for me, either.”
The teen shrugged. “When are we getting out of here?”
Mackenzie stepped in. “Right now. Let’s go, Poppy.”
Suspicious, she stepped back. “Where? And what for?”
“We’re going to Tucson’s house. A neutral location for conversation.”
Poppy narrowed her eyes. “Why does that sound like ‘intervention’?”
Her older sister flicked a glance toward Ryan’s villa. “Are you addicted to something?”
“Certainly not. But I don’t want to—”
“Mason,” Shay said, catching his attention as he ran past. “You want to go for a ride in a boat?”
“Yes!” he said, and without pausing changed course toward the dock. Poppy was obligated to go after him, aware the rest of the group swarmed behind. She made it to the boat before her son had the chance to jump inside.
Resigned but still annoyed, she glanced at Shay. “You have a life jacket on board that will fit him?”
Tucson turned cooperative on this front. Once inside the gleaming powerboat, she fished out a small life vest and helped Mason into it. Then she lifted him aboard and even managed a smile for Grimm, who took that as his own invitation.
In minutes they were reversing away from Ryan’s landing. Poppy saw him standing on the terrace and she lifted her arm in a wave, only to catch Mackenzie staring, a speculative gleam in her eye.
“Well, well, well,” she began.
Poppy shot her a look. “Don’t even start.”
Any response she might have made was whipped away by the wind as Shay accelerated, taking them out of the small bay. The trip was a short one. After rounding a headland, they made their way toward another lakeside estate. Unlike the classic, old-world style of Ryan’s home, this was built on contemporary lines. Two walls were entirely windows and a sleek deck wrapped the place.
“Nice digs,” she told Shay as her younger sister tied up the boat.
“Tucson’s dad’s a big-time builder,” she said, watching as the girl helped Mason up the ramp leading to the house. “I’ve not met the man. I send him emails on her progress. To get the job, his assistant interviewed me via Skype.”
“Ah,” Poppy murmured. “Goes for the personal touch, then.”
Shay’s tone turned dry. “Exactly.”
An absent dad, then, like Denny?
He’d phoned again, and again Poppy had put him off. Her mind was not yet made up on letting him into her son’s life.
Contemplating the situation, she followed their crew to the sunshine-filled deck. Shay brought out a tray with glasses and lemonade. Tucson dragged behind her a laundry basket of plastic preschooler toys that she presented to Mason. He dug in with unreserved enjoyment while Grimm looked on.
“Thank you,” Poppy said to the girl.
She gave another world-weary shrug. “They were left by the people who lived here before.” Then she threw herself onto a chaise lounge and hid behind a pair of black-lensed sunglasses.
Poppy and her sisters settled around a table. When Shay passed her one of the lemonades, she sipped, waiting for her sisters to start. When the silence grew long, she shifted her gaze to them. “Well? Why am I here?”
Shay sent Mac a pointed look, and the eldest Walker sister huffed out a sigh. “We thought we should get you away from that house. From—”
“Discussing him is off-limits.”
Mac frowned. “C’mon. We only have your best interests at heart.”
“If that were the truth, you wouldn’t be fighting me on the cabins.”
Shay squirmed on her seat. “Look—”
“You haven’t even listened to my plans.” Poppy pinned her younger sister with a stare. “By the way, I want you to build a website.”
“That’s a lot of work—”
“If she won’t do it, I will,” Tucson offered, still stretched on the nearby chaise, her expression unreadable behind the glasses. “I’ve won awards.”
“True,” Shay admitted. “But is that really necessary?”
“If I’m going to get rich Los Angelenos to the cabins, yes.”
Mac made a face. “Not our favorite crowd, Poppy.”
“They’re the ones with the money,” she said. “I’m revising my plans because...because I’ve identified a new need.” She’d been mulling over Ryan’s wish for a retreat the past few days. “Rustic chic.”
“Rustic what?” Mac’s eyebrows drew
together. “Chic? Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“This is lovely,” Poppy said, waving her arm around to indicate the luxurious house and the lake view, “but not everyone has access to properties such as this and maybe some would appreciate a place more out of the way.”
“There are bed-and-breakfasts—”
“Too cutesy. No privacy. Lots of people don’t want to chat up the guests from the room next door over breakfast parfaits and egg strata.”
“The inns offer more anonymity,” Shay said.
“The cabins can offer seclusion. Think about it. If I go a little more luxurious—fancier sheets and towels, that kind of thing—it can be a place away from it all, but with it all, except for the intrusion of internet and television.”
She thought of Ryan’s cans of soup, and another idea sparked. “And maybe I can offer a meal service of some sort...nutritious gourmet fare as well as top-shelf liquors and fine wines.” Excitement fluttered in her belly as she gazed off over the lake. “You know, when I was thinking of just clean and quiet, I was thinking too small.”
Mac groaned. “You sound like Dad. And I blame Ryan Hamilton for that. Your brush with celebrity is giving you grandiose ideas.”
“Dad loved that land. He did what he could to make something of it, and I’m doing the same,” Poppy said. “Don’t blame that on Ryan.”
“Still, we think you should leave his house,” Shay said. “He’s bad news.”
Such bad news that he’d never doubted her ability to make something of the cabins. Such bad news that he’d even tried to persuade her siblings to see them her way.
“I recognize that stubborn expression of yours, Poppy,” Mac said, frowning. “You know he’s not like us, right?”
“He eats. He breathes.” He grieves.
“He’s the kind who’ll tromp all over your heart then go on his happy way. Didn’t Denny Howell take care of that lesson?”
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