Unexpectedly Hers (Sterling Canyon Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  Wyatt’s body practically recoiled at that thought. Ryder had liked boarding, much to their mother’s chagrin. He’d wanted to be part of this world back then, so why not now? Just because he couldn’t compete didn’t mean he couldn’t still participate in a meaningful way. Perhaps Ryder didn’t believe it yet, but by the end of this film he would—unless Wyatt was totally wrong. His face must’ve reflected the discomfort he felt, because Emma stopped working and looked at him now, her expression suddenly full of empathy.

  “Wyatt, I don’t doubt your intentions where Ryder’s concerned. It’s obvious you love him and only want to help. All I’m suggesting is that perhaps the best way to help him move forward is to let him build a new life that isn’t tied to yours, or to the sport you two shared before his injuries changed his life. I know his accident changed your life, too. But his is altered in ways neither of us can truly comprehend.”

  Now it was Wyatt’s turn to avert his eyes. Emma’s perception of Ryder had shaken Wyatt almost as much as the damned avalanche. No. He knew his brother. They shared a whole life together. He’d bet everything that, deep down, Ryder still wanted to be part of it. Just like with the physical therapy, Wyatt would push his brother to surpass everyone’s expectations. It worked then, and it’d work now.

  He didn’t want to do or say anything more to Emma, nor did he want any more of her analysis. Enough. All he’d wanted from this evening had been a little flirtation and relaxation. Now he felt like he’d run the gauntlet and lost.

  Wyatt stripped his latex gloves off and tossed them in the trash. “It’s been a helluva long day. I need to rest.”

  He didn’t look at her face before turning away and stalking out of the kitchen.

  Chapter Seven

  Emma threw the van into park in front of the care center. The Old English Tudor brick structure, with its cream-colored portico, looked quite charming amid the snow-laden fir trees. Its dining hall and many of the residents’ rooms were located in the rear of the building, affording magnificent, long-range views of the craggy peaks of the San Juan Mountains. All things considered, this eldercare residence had its perks.

  Her mind projected years ahead, to when she might call this place home. Given the state of her life so far—no siblings, nieces or nephews, or children of her own, and no prospects—she might find herself quite alone in her golden years. Alone and patiently waiting each week for a volunteer to keep her company, to ask about her past, to offer to play a hand of cards.

  A touch of despair tickled its way down her spine, which she brushed away like an unwelcome spider.

  Mari’s van pulled in beside Emma, toting Wyatt and the crew. Each time she recalled last night’s conversation with Wyatt—the lies feigning disinterest, the secrets she kept while judging his behavior—she wished she could disappear or fast-forward to the end of the month. Anything at all to avoid seeing him.

  Of course, she’d faced him this morning at breakfast. To his credit, he’d been polite. She suspected he’d wanted to beg off coming to the care center, but once Emma got the go-ahead from the center’s director, Mari had been convinced it would yield documentary gold.

  Mari, however, was the least of Emma’s concerns. Her most immediate problem: she simply detested this version of herself.

  Three days ago, she’d been a normal person. A woman who’d fashioned a quiet, respectable life around a set of values that ensured she wouldn’t hurt herself or anyone else. A rational woman who’d been eagerly anticipating an exciting—if secret—new chapter in her life. Then Wyatt had arrived, and she’d turned into a freak. A wary, judgy freak who kept butting her nose into the Lawson brothers’ business, which she had no right to do. Worse, she’d become a freak who suddenly didn’t feel as certain about all of her beliefs.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, she noticed the cameramen and Mari unloading their equipment, so Emma got out and retrieved the two large platters of rum balls from the back of her van. Wyatt came over to where she was wrestling the van’s back doors while juggling the party trays.

  “Let me take these.” He took the treats from her so she could lock the doors. Like earlier in the morning, his manner remained polite but distant.

  She owed him an apology. At some point today, she’d offer one and then, no matter what, she’d focus on the inn and her writing. Those were her only priorities—the realities of her life. She would not screw it all up by being in some kind of warped, self-destructive thrall to Wyatt flippin’ Lawson.

  Without exactly meeting his gaze, she said, “Ms. Henley, the executive director, said a few of the folks are quite thrilled about being in this documentary. Mrs. Ritter asked for help with her hair. Mr. Tomlin is wearing a bow tie! Normally he’s in sweatpants and a pullover, but I always suspected he’d been quite dapper in his day. He’s a big flirt, that one.”

  Although his head was bowed, Wyatt smiled, which made Emma’s heart flutter like a baby bird testing new wings. She remembered how his cheerful smile had won her attention the first time she’d spotted him in that bar in Aspen. He’d lit the room, and that had filled her with warmth, just as it did right now.

  She supposed some part of her pissy attitude toward him yesterday had stemmed from a perverted resentment that he still didn’t remember her and Aspen—even as she thanked God for that fact.

  It couldn’t go on, this twisted resentment she carried. She’d chosen to be Alexa. To abandon her principles for a night of pleasure. Wyatt had no way of knowing that their night together had haunted and taunted her—tempted her—ever since. Or that, like her father, those sensations whispered dangerous thoughts that made her orderly world feel unfamiliar.

  Wyatt remained clueless that his renewed presence in her life not only reminded her of the pleasure and freedom she’d experienced with him, but made her feel guilty about using those intimate moments as inspiration for a story.

  No, Emma’s scorn should be aimed toward herself. But before she could apologize for last night, Mari approached them.

  Without sparing a polite glance at Emma, she said, “Wyatt, let’s get an establishing shot of you and Ryder out here first. Perhaps Emma can go in ahead of us with Buddy and get things set up, get waivers signed and such. That way we can keep rolling the cameras as we enter the building so we can capture realistic reactions from people when they meet you.”

  “To the extent any of them care about this project, it’s about being on camera, not about me. I bet very few of them even know who I am, so don’t expect a big reaction.”

  “Some might not have heard of you before this morning, but they all know who you are now. That, plus your gorgeous face, guarantees some reaction.” Mari smiled at him, chilling gesture that it was. The dark plum lipstick didn’t help, either.

  Not for the first time, Emma wondered if Mari’s interest in Wyatt was more than professional.

  “Fine.” Wyatt extended the trays toward Emma. “Sorry. See you in a bit.”

  “Good luck.” Knowing a bit about Wyatt’s pride made Emma aware of how much he disliked being Mari’s puppet. Like her, he also hated marketing himself. Empathy prompted a sincere smile, and for the first time in days, the tight knot of worry in her chest unwound enough to allow her to breathe easily.

  She then caught sight of Ryder staring at the care center. Gone were the grim lines usually bracketing his mouth. His typically rigid posture softened into a casual slouch, as if his entire being had relaxed from the relief of not having to worry about Wyatt’s safety today. She suspected his eyes might even be crinkled at the corners.

  If only he could remove his sunglasses, it would help others better decipher his moods. As it stood, his debilitated nonverbal communication skills kept him somewhat alienated. The urge to help him heal pulled at her heart.

  Yanking herself out of her reverie, she caught up to Buddy and went inside.

  Ms. Henley was waiting for them in the antiseptic-smelling lobby, smoothing her sleek, silver hair. A peer of Emma’s mother, Ms. He
nley also had taken to the unfortunate habit of ruining the appearance of her business attire by wearing unattractive orthopedic shoes. Perhaps for Christmas this year, Emma would scour the Internet for better options and buy all of her elder acquaintances prettier footwear.

  Ms. Henley smiled warmly, as she always did whenever volunteers came to entertain the residents. “Emma, are those your rum balls?”

  “Of course. I suppose you’d like to sneak one or two before I take them into the rec room?” Emma set the trays on the information desk and got introductions out of the way. “Buddy, this is Director Henley.” And then to Ms. Henley, she said, “Buddy has the waivers that you and the residents who are interested in participating need to sign. The rest of the crew is still outside taking some pictures and such. Can I take Buddy to the rec room?”

  “Certainly,” Ms. Henley said as she quickly scanned and signed a waiver. “We’ve asked those residents not interested in being in the film to avoid the rec room during the next ninety minutes.”

  “Perfect.” Emma lifted the trays and led Buddy deeper into the facility. She expected a handful of folks to be waiting. Much to her surprise, at least thirty had decided to participate. Emma noticed the extra frisson of energy pulsing in the otherwise staid room.

  Mari had been right. Unlike Emma, many people craved the spotlight. No doubt some of them would be talking about this day for months or years to come. A near-weepy kind of gratitude for Wyatt’s offer to come crept up on her and pressed against her heart.

  “Good afternoon, everyone. I must admit, I’m wondering why I don’t inspire this kind of participation on a regular basis. Do you all have something against bingo?” she chuckled as she set the trays out on two tables. “This is Buddy. He’s one of the cameramen, but before the crew can record anything, they need you to sign waivers granting permission to be filmed.”

  Quiet murmuring and head bobbing commenced as Buddy passed around the waivers. Moments later, Wyatt and Ryder entered the room, trailed by Mari and Jim. It took Emma ten seconds to remember that the cameras were rolling, and she’d better be on her best behavior.

  “Everyone, this is Wyatt Lawson, an International World Games and Winter eXtreme Games slopestyle gold medalist.” Emma grimaced. “Yikes, that’s a tongue twister, isn’t it?”

  Some of the elderly clapped to welcome him, and Wyatt waved and nodded. Emma noticed Ryder standing off to the side. “His brother, Ryder Lawson, also a former competitor, is with us as well.”

  Another round of applause welcomed him, earning a rigid bow of his head.

  “Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Mari, the director and producer of Xtreme Transformation. Thank you so much for consenting to participate today. We hope you have a little extra fun with us. Before Emma begins your normal activities, I wondered if any of you might have questions for Wyatt?”

  “Actually,” Wyatt interrupted, “I had a different idea. There’re enough details about my story out there on the Web. I’m happy to answer any questions later, but right now I’d like to turn the tables a bit. I know why I’m here in one of the prettiest ski towns I’ve ever visited, but I’d like to know what brought you here, and what made you stay. And any other interesting things you’d like to share. So who wants to start?”

  Sounds of hearty approval swept through the small crowd. Mari, on the other hand, looked like she’d been force-fed a handful of Sour Patch Kids. Luckily, she wiped her expression clean before it got caught on camera.

  Emma had to hand it to Wyatt. He’d just made her beloved elderly friends’ day by giving them the spotlight. His ego, while healthy, seemed more than willing to make room for others. Selfishly, she wished it weren’t true. It’d be easier to keep her distance from a jerk, after all.

  About two-thirds of the audience raised their hands, including Mrs. Pellman, who tossed Wyatt a very flirtatious smile from her wheelchair.

  “Let’s start with you, beautiful. What’s your name?” Wyatt walked over and took a seat beside her.

  “Oh my, young man. You are handsome!” came her emphatic, if warbled, remark.

  Wyatt laughed and cocked his head, waiting for her to speak. Emma found herself becoming a little breathless, not only in anticipation of what might next tumble from Mrs. Pellman’s mouth, but also from the way Wyatt so naturally made her the center of his attention.

  “My name is Florence Pellman.” She folded her hands neatly on her lap and nodded, like a stern teacher. “I was born in Denver in 1922, and I married my Bernie when I turned eighteen.” She paused and extended a bony finger toward him. “He looked like you.”

  Emma watched Wyatt suppress a look of surprise. Based on old photographs she’d seen, Bernie Pellman had looked nothing like Wyatt except, perhaps, for having wavy, dark hair. Love is blind.

  Mrs. Pellman continued, obviously savoring every second. “But Bernie had to go fight in the war right after we got married, so I went to work at the Denver Ordnance Plant, which made ammunition. It stayed open twenty-four hours a day. We were the only plant in the country that made .30 caliber ammunition.” She fell silent as if to allow the rest of the room time to pay homage to this detail. “My friends and I worked all the time, doing our part for our men. I quit once Bernie came home safely. After all that battle, he wanted peace and quiet, so we left the city and moved here. We had four kids, Bernie Junior, Steven, Robert, and Maureen. I was married for sixty-two years, and now have twelve grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Maureen lives here in town, but my boys all went to college in New York and Boston and stayed on the East Coast, so I don’t see them very often . . . except on the FaceTime.” She shrugged—a “what can you do” kind of gesture.

  Wyatt nodded in approval. “That’s pretty cool that you worked in the ammunition plant. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like during that war, especially with your husband off in battle.”

  Mrs. Pellman rested her hand on Wyatt’s arm. “A scary time, but also a time of bravery and pride. A lot like your snowboarding, I guess.” Then she winked at Wyatt.

  “You’re a charmer. I can see why Bernie was happily married for so long.” Wyatt patted her hand and stood to give the floor to another resident.

  Within thirty minutes, he’d found a way to engage everyone in the room. Some shouted out a quick bit of humor, others like Mrs. Pellman, took their time to tell a story. Emma had believed she’d known these men and women rather well. She’d spent hours playing games with them, remembering birthdays, reading aloud. Yet she’d never seen them all come alive together in this way, reminiscing and revealing the best parts of themselves. It heartened her in the same way seeing a crocus popping through the dirt after a long winter always did.

  She noticed, too, that while the residents reminisced, Ryder had meandered over to Mr. Hartley, a quiet man with a prosthetic hand. Those two men now conversed in private at a small table, somewhat oblivious to their surroundings.

  Once again, Ryder had taken himself out of his brother’s world and attempted to create something of his own. Emma wished Wyatt could recognize what seemed so obvious to her, then reminded herself to stay out of it.

  “We forgot one person.” Wyatt’s voice had risen above the din of casual conversation. His gaze swung around and landed squarely on Emma. “What do you say, Emma? Care to share your story with the world?”

  Instinctively her hand flew up to shield her face from the camera. “Oh, no. I’ve got no story to tell. Everyone here knows me. I’m the least interesting person in the room.” And the biggest liar.

  “Is that so?” Wyatt turned a skeptical face toward the crowd. “If Emma won’t speak for herself, maybe you all can share some information about her with me. I’ve always believed that the quietest people keep the biggest secrets. So tell me, what’s Emma hiding?”

  “Emma Duffy has nothing to hide! She’s a lovely young lady,” Mr. Tomlin said. “And she bakes like an angel.”

  “High praise.” Wyatt stared at Emma, brow cocked playfully.
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br />   Emma curtsied, hoping her knees didn’t buckle. Good grief, it’s like Wyatt had some kind of ESP or something. Biggest secrets indeed.

  And now she’d made Mr. Tomlin complicit in her deceit simply by not correcting his assumptions. Nothing to hide? Oh, wouldn’t they all be shocked speechless if they got their hands on a copy of Steep and Deep? No doubt they’d blame “that damn William Duffy.”

  “Emma’s good people.” Mrs. Ritter glanced at Mrs. Pellman.

  “Very thoughtful, too,” Mrs. Pellman clucked, then she peered at Wyatt. Emma could tell by the sudden, dreamy look in her old eyes that talking about her Bernie had revived her romantic spirit. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  Oh, no! No, no, no. Emma could not be subjected to matchmaking by her octogenarian friends. My word, what a nightmare. Of course, on the heels of that thought came another involuntary one: This could make a funny scene in my current story. She stifled a snort of laughter and wondered, suddenly and quite stupidly, if she’d missed Wyatt’s answer.

  “No time for a girlfriend.” Wyatt didn’t look anywhere near Emma’s vicinity, she noticed. His statement should both please and relieve her, but it didn’t.

  Andy hadn’t been completely wrong the other day. Emma did want what Avery and Kelsey had with their soon-to-be husbands. Unlike them, however, she’d never been sought after.

  She’d been the sidekick. The girl guys would talk to about the other girls they liked. The one who’d lend her class notes to her crush to borrow or let him cheat off her on a test. Who’d bake him cookies when he was sick—cookies he’d then share with the girl he liked.

  And yet, despite constant romantic frustration as a young teen, she’d remained steadfast in her belief that, one day, her genuine kindness and devotion would be valued. She’d been certain Mr. Right would see past her more ordinary face and body, and then he’d fall to his knees and profess his undying love.