Jack put his arm around Kat. “I wish you didn’t put so much stock in what Mom thinks. And she doesn’t think you’re a loser, Rae. She wants the best for you. For both of us. Sometimes she comes off a little opinionated.”
Kat and Rachel looked at each other a moment, then both women rolled their eyes. “Jack, sweetheart,” Kat said, hugging him fiercely. “Your selective blindness to the faults of the people you love is one of the things I adore most about you. But, seriously, Rosaline doesn’t need a gun to draw blood, and not even Armani can stand up to a razor-sharp tongue.”
Rachel stepped into the hallway, certain she’d be able to see her date and her mother near the staircase. “They’re gone,” she exclaimed. “Oh, no. I promised Rufus I’d protect him.” She shoved Mom’s glass at Jack. “If I’m not back in five minutes, call for help,” she said dramatically.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“YOU DON’T LIKE ME
, do you, Mrs. Treadwell?” The elegant woman sighed with affected ennui. “I don’t have strong feelings one way or the other. I do, however, care deeply about my daughter. And I sincerely hope you are smart enough to see how emotionally fragile Rachel is. Her divorce was a bombshell. It wreaked havoc across every plane of her life. She’s slowly picking up the pieces and doesn’t need someone like you to come along and create more debris.”
She delivered the speech as though she’d practiced it more than once—probably the entire length of the drive to the Black Hills from Denver. He refrained from applauding.
“I see. Then, you’ll appreciate the fact that I’m her escort tonight not because she’s madly and passionately attracted to me but because she paid me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“As you should. Rachel wanted to prove something to you, so she offered me money in return for my presence tonight and at your son’s wedding. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
He lowered his voice. “Rachel is one of the most capable and accomplished women I’ve ever met—and you’re right in your unspoken assumption that I’ve known quite a few in my past life. But Rachel is unique. She’s creative, authentic and vividly engaged in her work and the lives of the people she cares about. And, yet, when your name comes up, she represses that side of herself. Have you ever asked yourself why?”
“No, I haven’t. Perhaps you’d like to enlighten me. You have no idea how much stock I put in a psychological profile divined by a reclusive, backwoods artisan in a borrowed Armani suit.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you. It’s my suit.”
He could tell she didn’t believe him. Her attitude baffled him. Unless she was acting this way out of fear.
The two young boys he’d been talking to earlier raced by, accidentally bumping against Rachel’s mother. They tossed out their apologies but kept on running. Rufus took Rosaline’s elbow and ushered her around the corner and out of the traffic flow. The back porch was conveniently empty. It wasn’t as warm as the house, but he didn’t intend to make this a long conversation.
“Mrs. Treadwell, I’m no psychologist, and I don’t actually give a fig what you think about me. But your daughter is special. I haven’t had a good friend in a long time. Rachel not only shook up my business, she made me reengage with people. That’s her gift. Why can’t you see that?”
“I beg to differ with you. She’s a gifted accountant. Top of her class in college. She should be moving up the ladder in her chosen career, not wasting her time in Sentinel Pass.” Her shiny red lips compressed in a moue of utter distaste. “It’s bad enough I’ve lost my son to this joke of a town—a national joke, if you will. I won’t stand idly by and watch my daughter throw away her future as well.”
Anger—such a foreign emotion he almost didn’t recognize it at first—blossomed in his belly. He clenched and unclenched his hands. First, she insulted her children, then his town. He took a step back to give himself breathing room. “Your job of child rearing is done. And, frankly, I think you did a great job. You have two wonderful, likeable children who are successes in their own right. And that’s the point, isn’t it? Once they’re out of your house, it becomes about their lives and their successes.”
“Are you a parent, Mr. Miller? No, of course not. You’re a societal dropout. I hardly think that gives you any right to tell me how to be a parent to my children. Why am I even listening to you? You don’t know my daughter.”
“I know she saved me from losing something very important. She helped without ever asking what’s in it for her. The answer is not very damn much. Hopefully enough money to make it worth her while and maybe—just maybe—make you proud of her. But honestly, I don’t know why she bothers. You’re never going to appreciate her.”
She stepped forward as if preparing to slap his face. “How dare you say such a thing? You’re not her boyfriend. You’re nothing.”
“If I were worthy of her, I’d be in line asking Rachel to consider me when she starts dating again. I’m not—worthy, that is—so you can relax. I’m sure a rustic artist with dubious income isn’t up to your standard, but the point is you’re not the one who counts here. Rachel is the only one who gets to pick.” He met her eye-to-eye. “Are we clear on that?”
Rachel found her mother and Rufus in time to eavesdrop on their surprising conversation. She rarely heard Rufus utter more than half a dozen words in the same breath, let alone deliver a diatribe with such stone-cold authority it would have made a dead person sit up and pay attention.
Unfortunately, her mother was very much alive. And no one ever spoke to Rosaline Treadwell that bluntly—not bosses, coworkers, rebellious teens who might have wanted to shake things up and, especially, not Dad.
Rachel held her breath, one hand on the door, fully expecting fireworks. Instead, she heard a meek, resigned voice, say, “Yes, actually.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. Mom?
“It’s my fault about Trevor. Rachel’s ex. I pushed them together even knowing his reputation. The golf world is pretty cloistered. I’d heard rumors that he was a playboy, but I thought Rachel would be able to whip him into shape, if you will. I made her doubt her instincts, which were dead on, and for that I will never forgive myself.”
Wow. She looked around to find Jack, but he was across the room, sprawled on the floor with Kat’s sons. She tried telepathy. Jack. You have to hear this. Rufus did some kind of mind meld on Mom. She’s definitely not herself. Hurry. But he went on playing and laughing, impervious to her call.
“Hi, Rachel,” a cheerful voice called—loud enough to out her to anyone standing beyond the doorway.
“Oh. Hi, Libby. Great party. I hope you don’t mind that I included Rufus without calling first. I meant to, but there’s more to launching a new site than I realized.”
Libby, hostess, book club diva and all-around great person, smiled benevolently. “I’m delighted that you brought Rufus. Who knew he was capable of pulling off such sartorial splendor? William told me Rufus reminded him of a model who used to appear in GQ magazine.”
“Yep. Really something, huh?” Then why do I like the old Rufus better?
“Could I get your help a minute? Santa has arrived,” she said with a wink, “and it seems we’re experiencing a wardrobe malfunction. The last person to wear the suit must have been Rufus’s height because the pant legs are about a foot too long.” She paused in thought. “Or maybe the pants are one size fits all and they simply tuck the extra material into Santa’s shiny black boots, but Eli wanted to wear moccasins, and he’s going to trip and hurt himself if we don’t make some modifications.” She held up a roll of duct tape and grinned. “Gran’s surefire fix-all.”
Rachel hesitated. She needed to check on Rufus and make sure he was still in one piece. What if her mother had only been feigning humility before she went for the kill?
Libby patted her tummy. “I’d do it myself if I could bend over far enough.”
“Sure. Lead the way. We can’
t let Santa wind up in the E.R. this close to Christmas.”
Ten minutes later, after more laughter than she could possibly have expected—Eli was both handsome and charming—Rachel stood, shook out the towel she’d been kneeling on and looked around. “Okay,” she said, smiling as she heard Eli’s booming “Ho, ho, ho.” coming from the living room. “Now, where’s my date?”
Libby, who was leaning against the kitchen counter looking a little winded from running back and forth to keep her guests apprised of Santa’s ETA, gave a small gasp.
“What?” Rachel asked, putting her hand on the other woman’s forearm. “Labor pains?”
Libby shook her head. “No, no. Not that. It’s Rufus. He left a few minutes ago. I thought you knew. He thanked me and said he had to get back to his work. I passed him heading this way. Maybe he saw how busy you were and…”
And he left without saying goodbye. “We have a lot of orders to fill,” she said, trying not to sound as despondent as she felt.
Either that or Mom said something.
Libby nodded. “So I gathered. He gave you all the credit. Said you were a genius. I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I think he might be sweet on you.”
Rachel smiled at the old-fashioned term. “Sweet on me?”
Libby chuckled. “Sorry. I swear there are times I’m channeling Gran. You never got to meet her, did you?”
Rachel had heard a lot about the elder stateswoman of Sentinel Pass who passed away a few months earlier. “No. But everyone speaks very highly of her.”
Libby’s expressive face turned sad. “I miss her so much, but…we carry on. That’s what we do. She was working part-time at the post office when Rufus first moved to town. She called him a lost soul in search of a place to put down roots. The Black Hills are home to lots of people like that.”
“Like me,” Rachel said softly, more to herself than Libby. She’d felt more at peace in the short time she’d been in the Hills than she ever had in Denver. Odd, she thought. Unless, it was less because of location and more a case of connection to one person.
“Libby, everyone calls you the wisest person around, can I ask you something?”
Libby laughed, her tone positively girlish. “Wise? Me? Who have you been talking to? Char? Don’t believe her, she’s in love. Love makes you silly.”
Rachel didn’t feel silly. She felt the exact opposite. Maybe that answered her question.
“But I’ll happily give anyone advice on any topic—even something I know nothing about. Ask Cooper. He’ll tell you.”
“Tell her what?” her husband asked, slipping behind his wife to wrap his arms around her. “Good save on the Santa suit, Rachel,” he added. “Eli even managed a Lakota dance of thanksgiving. Very cool.”
“Happy to help.”
“I told Rachel you’d agree that I’m rather opinionated.”
Cooper’s trademark blue eyes went wide. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean…is that a trick question?”
Rachel and Libby both laughed at his look of abject horror.
“Hey. It’s not nice to tease people this close to Christmas. But, Rachel, I will say my wife is the most honest person you’ll ever meet. So don’t ask her a question unless you’re prepared to hear the truth.”
He gave his wife a tender hug and kiss on the cheek then winked at Rachel in a friendly, totally Cooper way before heading to the next room. He left the heavy swinging door open for Libby and Rachel to follow.
Libby waited, obviously sensing that Rachel had more to talk about. She decided to leave her questions about Rufus until later. Once Cooper was out of earshot, she asked, “Do you think some people are walking black holes when it comes to relationships?”
Libby looked surprised by the question but she didn’t hesitate to answer. “No. Absolutely not. Circumstance can trip us up, and we don’t know what we need to learn until after we’ve been hit over the head with the lesson. That doesn’t mean we’re never going to get things right. Kat’s a perfect example. She’d given up entirely on men, but look at her now. Have you ever seen anyone as happy as those two?”
Rachel turned and looked across the room. Kat had joined Jack on the floor and the two were laughing as they wrestled for control of the game. A lightness Rachel hadn’t felt for a long time filled her with hope. Impulsively, she hugged Libby. “You’re right. I’m a graduate of the school of hard knocks. Who among us isn’t?”
Libby grinned. “Not Rufus. That’s for sure. Gran called him a wounded bear. She predicted he’d come out of hibernation when the thorn in his paw was healed and not a day before.” She winked. “Seeing him tonight, I’d say he’s on the road to recovery. Wouldn’t you?”
Rachel would, indeed. And she planned to track him down—after she had a word or two with her mother. “Thanks, Libby. I needed that pep talk. Now, one more question. Have you seen my mother?”
Libby glanced over shoulder. “I think she’s out back. We borrowed one of those heaters from the teepee for the smokers in the group. I simply can’t abide the smell.”
Rachel’s eyes opened wide. Her mother had given up the habit when Dad was first diagnosed with cancer. As far as Rachel knew, Rosaline hadn’t smoked since.
“Okay. Thanks. I’m going to take off, too, so I’d better let her know. It was a wonderful party. Thank you so much for inviting me.”
She headed through the kitchen, a nervous hum in her chest, but stopped abruptly when the door opened and her mother stepped inside, a not unfamiliar aroma following her.
“Mom,” Rachel exclaimed. “You’re smoking?”
Mom waved away the accusation. “Of course not. I was talking to some gentleman, I can’t remember is name. He was smoking. Not me.”
She’s lying. Rachel didn’t know what to say.
“I might have bummed a drag or two,” her mother confessed, still trying for blasé. “Were you looking for me for a reason? I thought you might have run off with your date.”
Deflection. The same tactic Trevor used when he was in trouble and wanted to keep the focus away from him.
A thought hit her. “Oh, my God. I married my mother.”
Mom hung up her coat. “What are you talking about?”
“You know how they say girls always marry their fathers? Trevor is nothing like Dad. But he is an over-achiever in his chosen field, highly focused, a skilled negotiator—he got me to marry him with an airtight prenup, didn’t he?—and he’s completely self-absorbed. Tell me if that doesn’t sound more like you.”
“I am not self-absorbed,” Mom said, her pique obvious. “You and your brother have always been my main focus, except when I was trying to keep your father alive. Without much help from either of you, I might add.”
That complaint again. “Mom, he was tired of fighting the cancer. The Big C was winning. I gave him permission to rest.”
“To die, you mean. It wasn’t yours to give, Rachel. He was my life, and unlike your husband, I was never unfaithful. So, you can keep your clever psychobabble to yourself. Which, I might add, is the same thing I told your client…excuse me, your hired date.”
Back to Rufus. “I will gladly tell him that when I see him.” She pretended to check her watch. “In twenty minutes or so. I’m going to make sure he got home safely.”
Her mother snickered. “Is that a euphemism for booty call?”
Rachel tried not to look too shocked.
Rosaline picked up a glass that had her lip color on it around the rim. Her hand trembled slightly when she put it to her lips.
“Rufus is a great guy, Mom. He was kind enough to try to help me out tonight, and I really don’t appreciate you pouncing on him like a mama lion taking down a young gazelle.”
Her mother actually seemed pleased by the analogy but her smug smile fell when Rachel said, “So, I guess I have no choice but to drive to his place and offer what little succor I can to make up for your rudeness.” She laid it on a little thick, but Rosaline got the message.
“I’ll c
all him myself in the morning and apologize.”
“A shame he doesn’t have a phone.”
“E-mail, then.”
“You could try, but he’s pretty busy filling Christmas orders. Tons of Christmas order. All from people thrilled to own a Rufus Miller original. Why…there’s a chance he might be rich and famous some day, and aren’t you going to kick yourself for not trying to play matchmaker to a guy who actually has some value?”
She could see she was wasting her breath. Her mother had one way of looking at things—Rosaline Treadwell’s way. And, at the moment, Rachel didn’t care what Rosaline Treadwell thought.
“Enjoy the rest of the party, Mom.” Then she snatched her jacket from a coatrack, found her evening bag where she’d tucked it when she first arrived and exited through the same door her mother had used.
The frosty night made her breath resemble smoke, but when she looked toward the patio, she saw it was empty. No gentleman smoker.
She shook her head and let out a soft laugh. How ironic that her never-let-them-see-you-without-mascara mother was so discombobulated by a man who until a few hours earlier could have passed as Bigfoot’s cousin that she broke any number of self-imposed rules by smoking in public.
Rachel knew her mother wasn’t perfect, but it galled her that Mom could be so quick to judge others when her own flaws were simmering right below her faultless facade.
Rufus was the opposite. His appearance wasn’t designed to impress anybody. But his hulking mountain-man look was every bit as contrived as her mother’s. Who was the real Rufus Miller? Was that even his real name? She doubted it, despite the fact that she’d seen his driver’s license.
She was sick and tired of men who pretended to be one thing but turned out to be something completely different. And she damn well planned to tell him so.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RUFUS PACED HIS LIVING ROOM
Until He Met Rachel Page 13