Plenty—at least this one, this time, Tara thought. There was no way she wanted to impose on this family—or have them impose on her and her space, which right now was feeling pretty cramped. The little girl, Cadie, had taken to skipping in a circle around the three of them.
“I appreciate your offer,” Tara began, intending to explain that she would in fact prefer a hotel room to herself. But seeing Ben’s stricken expression, she paused. He looked, for all the world, just like she’d felt on the plane today.
His fingers went to his shirt, as if to loosen the collar that was already unbuttoned. His face flushed as if he was suddenly hot. He was definitely annoyed, his mouth turned downward and his forehead pinching together between his eyebrows.
What’s his problem? she wondered. It isn’t like I came up and started talking to him. Though she guessed that about now he was thinking he was sorry he’d spoken to her. Is he afraid of being around women? Of me? Or just annoyed? What did I do?
Tara weighed the peaceful night at a hotel against the challenge this man presented. It was odd and oddly upsetting to her that he so obviously wanted her to go away. It’s less than twenty-four hours, she reasoned. And if he is uncomfortable around women, I could be doing him a service if I stick around. She stared at Ben, trying to catch his eye. “Your sister is right. It would be much nicer to stay with your family than at a hotel.”
She could have sworn his jaw dropped. Thought you read me different, didn’t you? she thought smugly, feeling suddenly rejuvenated, energized with the mystery of Lumberjack Ben.
* * *
Ellen maneuvered her minivan into a spot in the parking garage then glanced over at Tara. “I’m so glad you don’t mind stopping. I’ve been promising Cadie for weeks that we’d go see the temple lights one last time.” She unbuckled her seat belt. “Now you’ll be able to enjoy them too. Temple Square is usually at the top of visitors’ must-see list.”
Must see the back of my eyelids soon. Tara reached for the handle of the front passenger door. Ben was already there, holding it open for her.
“Thank you,” she said smoothly, as if she was used to such gentlemanly behavior all the time. Silently she racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d ever dated a guy who’d opened doors for her.
The parking garage was toasty, as was the building above—some sort of conference center—but the air outside hit her like a thousand icicles. It had been that way at the airport too. Tara took a sharp breath and actually felt the cold constricting her lungs. Why would anyone want to live in a place like this? Already numb, she jammed her fingers in the pockets of her Coffeeshop trench coat and walked between Ben and Ellen. Cadie, of course, seemed completely unaffected by the temperature and skipped along beside them.
They passed the Mormon temple, which Tara supposed was a very pretty building—if buildings could be pretty. Ellen chattered on about its history, and Tara gave a cursory nod every minute or so. It was all she could manage in the biting cold. Ben remained silent, and Tara wondered about his body temperature. He wasn’t wearing a coat but seemed plenty warm in that awful flannel, which she was starting to suspect might have its good points.
By the time they entered what Ellen said was the Joseph Smith Memorial Building, Tara’s toes were frozen as solid as the point of the shoes they were in. Ellen led them to a bank of elevators. Tara hesitated.
“Why don’t we take the stairs?” she suggested. “It might help me get my blood circulating again.”
“I’ll race you,” Cadie said, with obvious enthusiasm for Tara’s suggestion.
“Not today,” Ellen said, quashing Tara’s hope. “We’re going all the way to the top. That’s where the restaurant is, and besides, it’s the best view for seeing the lights.”
Half the city must have agreed with her. The waiting crowd swelled, moving forward to cram into the narrow elevator when it arrived.
“I’ll wait down here,” Tara offered. She stepped back, bumping into Ben’s chest.
“You’d have a long wait,” he said, nudging her forward, though he was trying his best to move around her.
Tara felt herself being herded into the tiny space. She turned around just in time to see the top of the doors as they shut. Ben stood in front of her. Tara squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe. I hate elevators. I hate elevators. She opened her eyes and craned her neck, trying to see if they were near the top yet. Not even close. The two lit up briefly then the three, indicating they were passing the third floor. She looked down, trying to relax.
Just breathe, she told herself but couldn’t seem to find the air to do so. I need oxygen—fresh air. I need to get out! Turning sideways, she tried to push past Ben to reach the doors.
He glanced at her as she moved up beside him. “You okay?”
“No,” Tara said. The doors were shut tight, and they’d only reached the fifth floor. She’d never make it all the way to the top. Her knees buckled. Ben put his arm around her, grabbing her elbow just in time to keep her from falling.
“Are you sick?”
She barely managed to nod. Sweat broke out along her forehead. Her shaking fingers found the first toggle on her coat and struggled to undo it.
Ben reached between a couple of other passengers and hit the button for the next floor—the seventh. He grasped her shoulders, turning her to him. He took over, unfastening not just the first toggle but the next three. He pulled the coat from her shoulders then pushed her toward the front as the elevator slowed to a stop.
“Excuse us. She’s not feeling well.” Ben pressed the open button repeatedly until the doors finally began to move. He steered Tara into the hall.
“Meet you upstairs,” Ben called over his shoulder to Ellen.
Behind them the elevator shut once more. He followed Tara down the hall to the closest bench. She sat. He dropped her coat beside her then backed up, lingering a few feet away.
“Put your head between your knees. Deep breaths.”
“I know, I know,” she moaned.
“If you know—if you’ve had this happen before—then why did you get on that elevator?” he asked, his tone sharper than she’d heard previously.
“Because I was trying not to make things inconvenient for anyone. And I thought I’d be okay,” she added. “After all, I survived a flight today.”
“That must have been fun,” Ben said.
Tara detected more than a note of sarcasm in his words. “Yeah. It was.” She turned her head sideways, willing her body back to normal so she could glare at him. “You know what? This whole day has been fun. So much fun that I’d love nothing more than to crawl into bed and hope it’s all a nightmare I wake up from tomorrow morning.”
“Then why didn’t you take my offer for a hotel?” He folded his arms across his chest and kept his distance.
She shrugged as she sat up. “I don’t know.” And she really didn’t. What did she care if he had issues with women—with her? It wasn’t like she could fix something like that in one day. And while it did bug her that he didn’t seem at all interested in her—seemed the opposite, in fact—she should have let her pride take the beating instead of the rest of her. The hotel definitely would have been the better choice.
“I suppose it’s too late now?” she dared to ask. “There must be something around here.”
He gave a short laugh. “It’s a little late to change your mind. C’mon. My sister and niece are waiting.” He waved her toward what she hoped was the door leading to the stairs. “Let’s get some food in you, so you don’t almost pass out on me again.” He started walking then hesitated, waiting when she didn’t immediately follow.
She could tell he didn’t want to wait for her—yet he did. It bugged her. A sure sign of a decent guy, she thought, feeling slightly guilty. Earlier, when she’d known he felt uncomfortable, she’d done nothing to help but had instead made it worse. She stood and met his annoyed gaze. Why are you waiting? I know you’d love to ditch me.
“When we were
in the elevator—how did you know . . . Are you claustrophobic?”
“Hardly.” He shook his head then turned around and started walking. “I guess I recognize a panic attack when I see one.”
Tara wanted to know why that was but didn’t have the guts to ask him when he held the door to the stairwell open for her.
Four
There were still a couple of names ahead of Ellen’s on the restaurant’s list, so they waited by the large window facing the temple. Cadie ran back and forth, zigzagging through other onlookers as she covered the length of the window then back again. Tara noticed that Ellen was starting to look worn out. Ben must have noticed too, because he reached down and picked up Cadie the next time she zoomed by, headed down the hall toward the elevators.
“Up here’s the best view of all.” He swung her onto his shoulders as if she weighed next to nothing. The little girl squealed with delight, and Ben moved closer to the window so she truly had the best view.
Ellen let out a tired sigh and smiled at Tara. “Do you have any children?”
“Nope,” Tara said, not bothering to mask the horror she felt by such a suggestion. She’d spent plenty of time the past several years wishing she had a steadier boyfriend, or even a husband, but never had she yearned for the kids that sometimes came later. No way. No-how—never did she want to be a mom. Some people just weren’t meant to be parents. Like my own mom. Whose fault it happens to be that I’m stuck relying on strangers in this stupid, freezing city named after a lake with salt in it. If she’d wanted to see her daughter more than the Italian coastline . . .
“Well, kids can wear you out,” Ellen admitted. She turned slightly, glancing up at Cadie, who leaned forward over Ben’s shoulders, her face pressed against the glass as she gazed at the lights. “But they bring a lot of magic to your life as well.” Almost on cue, a little of that magic surfaced.
“Oh, Mommy,” Cadie said in a quiet, sweet voice that didn’t seem to fit her overactive personality. “Isn’t the temple pretty? I can’t wait until I’m bigger to go in.”
Tara watched as mother’s and daughter’s eyes met. Ellen held out her arms, and Cadie leaned forward into them. Ellen held Cadie close, her cheek next to the little girl’s as they spoke in hushed whispers. Tara looked away, afraid of intruding on the private moment. As she turned aside, her eye caught Ben’s. Their gazes locked for a split second, and Tara felt a jolt as she sensed the unspoken communication between them. There was a sudden vulnerability, almost a wounded look, on Ben’s face, and she could tell he, too, felt uncomfortable witnessing the mother-daughter closeness. Tara wondered why.
“I’m going to take Cadie to use the restroom before we eat,” Ellen said. With Cadie’s hand grasped firmly in hers, she passed between Ben and Tara. There was a vacant spot at the window now, and Ben beckoned her to take it before someone else did. Tara moved to stand next to him.
They stood in silence, her eyes taking in the picturesque scene before them. The temple was astonishing by itself—a granite wonder with spires reaching toward heaven—if there was such a place. The dazzling display of Christmas lights on the grounds below only added to its beauty. When snowflakes started drifting from the sky, she couldn’t help but smile. It felt like she’d stepped right into a motion picture.
“What’s so amusing?” Ben asked, misunderstanding her smile.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just so strange to be here, and all that—” Her hand swept an arc, indicating the scenery below. “It’s so perfect—so unreal.”
“That’s about as real as it gets,” Ben said.
Tara turned to him. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “That temple’s the real deal. The worship that goes on there, the truths that are taught . . .” He stopped abruptly as if remembering who he was speaking to.
Tara recalled his earlier, disparaging comment. Big city girl. “I’ve heard about your temples.”
“Oh?” Ben seemed surprised. “Do you know someone who is LDS?”
“LD—what?” Tara frowned.
“Mormon,” Ben clarified. “A member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Yes. I do. Did.” Tara returned her gaze to the lights outside. The snowfall was heavier now. The surreal feeling intensified. “I had a friend in Seattle who was a member of your church.” She glanced at him sideways. “That is, assuming you’re a Mormon.”
He nodded. “You said had. This person isn’t your friend anymore?”
“We haven’t really stayed in touch,” Tara said, feeling the twinge of sadness the admission brought. Perhaps she’d just been a coworker to Jane, an office friend, but Jane had been much more to her. She’d been the voice of reason, her shoulder to cry on during a particularly long string of bad relationships. She was the real deal. “She did what all good Mormons do—got married and started having a bunch of kids.”
A half-grunt came from Ben. Tara glanced over again and saw he had his hands shoved in his pockets and the same, uncomfortable look on his face that she’d seen when he’d been watching Ellen and Cadie together. Too late she realized that what she’d said might have offended him. She tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter, that he’d been brusque enough with her to deserve anything she dished back, but she couldn’t get past the fact that he had been nice to her, had saved her from a miserable night in an airport chair.
“I mean, what most good Mormons do,” she amended, trying to cover her earlier blunder. Before they’d left the airport, she’d noted the absence of a ring on his finger. “I mean, you’re not married, are you?” she said sheepishly.
“Nope.” The way he said it told her he felt much the same about that as she did about having children. “Then again,” Ben continued, his face a complete mask, “who’s to say I’m a good Mormon at all?”
* * *
When they’d been seated at their table at the Garden Restaurant and the waiter came, Cadie and Ellen ordered ice cream sundaes for their dinner.
“I promised her,” Ellen said by way of explanation.
“Some mom you turned out to be,” Ben teased before ordering a Philly cheesesteak sandwich for himself and a bowl of chicken noodle soup for Tara, who’d excused herself to make a phone call. Beneath the table, Ellen kicked him.
“Ow,” he said, bending over to rub his shin. “Cadie, your mom used to kick me at dinner all the time when we were growing up.”
“That’s because he wouldn’t ever pass anything,” Ellen said. “It’s a miracle I didn’t starve sitting between you and Dallin.”
“Daddy was there?” Cadie asked, a confused look on her face.
“Some of the time he was,” Ellen said. She smoothed her daughter’s hair. “He and Uncle Benji were best friends.”
Were being the operative word, Ben thought. But Ellen was right. Back in the day before life got complicated, he and Dallin had been inseparable.
Tara returned to their table and handed Ellen’s cell phone back to her. “Thanks for letting me use it. I should have charged mine last night, and of course the charger is in my lost luggage.” She stepped around Ben and took the seat beside him, next to the window.
“Were you able to reach your friends?” Ellen asked. Leaning over, she snatched a sugar packet away from Cadie, who’d already opened two others and dumped them in her water. “No more.”
Cadie frowned but turned her interest to the ketchup and mustard bottles. She took one in each hand and moved them around her corner of the table, pretending they were dolls or something.
“I left a message,” Tara said. “Guess they’re out.”
“Chances are they haven’t made it to Boulder either,” Ben said. “The airport closure has got to be affecting a lot of people.”
“You’re probably right.” Tara looked away, staring out the window again. For a fraction of a second, Ben almost felt sorry for her. He’d heard the doubt—and hurt?—in her voice and guessed there was more to the “meeting friends at a sp
a in Boulder” story than she’d shared. Was it a particular friend she was meeting? A male friend? he wondered.
“I bet the Denver airport reopens in the morning,” Ellen said. “Think of this as a tourist stop on your way.”
Tara nodded but made no move to face them and join the conversation. Ellen flashed Ben a concerned look. He shrugged. How should he know what was wrong with Tara? Beyond the obvious, that is—that she had terrible taste in clothing and adverse reactions to being in tight spaces.
The ice cream sundaes arrived, followed by Ben’s sandwich and Tara’s soup.
They all dug in, eating more than talking now. About halfway through her sundae, Cadie began to wilt. She put her elbow on the table and propped her head in her hand. Ben reached over and stuck his finger in her ice cream then in his mouth.
“Mmm,” he said, grinning at her. “That’s going to melt if you don’t finish it.”
“I don’t want to. I’m tired.” Cadie pushed the glass away and leaned on her mom.
“When it’s bedtime, she goes downhill fast,” Ellen said.
Ben glanced at Tara’s bowl. Only a few noodles and some broth remained. “If you’re ready, I’ll grab our check and we can get going.”
“Sure,” Tara said. “And thanks for dinner. I’ll send you some money for it when I get home.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Ben raised his hand to get their waiter’s attention. Let’s just get you home—to your home that is. Or to Boulder or wherever it is you’re going. Instead of getting more comfortable having her with them, he felt like things were getting progressively more awkward as the evening wore on.
Ben took care of the bill, and they bundled up and headed for the elevators. He looked at Tara skeptically. “I’ll take the stairs with you if you’d like.”
She hesitated as the elevator chimed then opened. Ben noted that it wasn’t very full, and only two other people were waiting to get on. It wouldn’t be nearly as crowded this time.
My Lucky Stars Page 3