“Wow,” said Griffin, who’d spent his time in the kitchen peeling potatoes while the decorating had taken place. “You guys know that Lyle the Pile has already signed on, right? We don’t need to sweet-talk him.”
“Lyle the Pile?” Jake lifted an eyebrow at the nickname. “As in ‘pile of money’? When did that become a thing?”
“See what you miss being in town all the time? It was your evil twin’s idea,” said Kai. He was wearing a gray cashmere sweater that Nicole must have bought for him. On his arm leaned a girl Griffin hadn’t met before. She wore a leg brace and a wide, sunshiny smile, along with an astonishing number of hair clips.
“Griffin and Serena, this is Nicole’s sister, Birdie. My future sister-in-law, right, kid?”
“I usually sit,” she told them proudly, skipping the introduction part of the conversation. Who needed that anyway? Griffin hated small talk, so Birdie’s approach worked for him. “Now I’m trying standing.”
“Nice job,” he said. He’d heard Birdie’s story from Kai—she’d nearly drowned as a child and had sustained brain damage that kept her mostly in a wheelchair, with severe cognitive problems.
“Next I want to fly. Like a Birdie.” She smiled brightly at her own joke.
“If you want to know about flying, Griffin’s the guy to ask,” said Serena, at his elbow. In a rust velvet high-necked dress, worn with lace-up high-heeled boots, she made his mouth water. She probably thought it was a demure, family-friendly outfit. He disagreed. Then again, she’d turn him on while wearing construction paper, so maybe he wasn’t the best judge. “Griffin flies over the ground on his motorcycle.”
“Fast?” Birdie asked.
“Super fast. So fast he wins prizes.”
“I like prizes. I won ‘cleanest room’ once.”
“And only once,” Nicole pointed out, smiling affectionately at her sister from the table, where she was uncorking a bottle of wine. “Who’s ready for a drink?”
While Nicole filled the glasses, Gracie passed them around the room. She was wearing one of her nuttier outfits—something that looked like a tutu and leg warmers.
“Max gets an extra drink because it’s Thanksgiving,” called Nicole. “But no more.”
“Get engaged to my son, now you think you can boss me around?” Max barked. But the edge was gone—maybe long gone, thought Griffin. He looked like a lonely old man who was happy to have his family around him.
Search his heart as he might, Griffin found no anger toward his father. Sure, he’d been MIA when Griffin had needed him most. When he’d been juggling the clash with Coach Nelson and the death of his mother, Max had been so deep in grief and bitterness that he’d been off limits.
No, his beef was with Coach Nelson, no one else. Also—every adult who abused their power over children.
And himself, because he hadn’t spoken up.
He shook himself back to attention. This was Thanksgiving. Not the right time to be brooding over shit from the past.
They all took their glasses into the lounge, where a roaring fire sent flames leaping into the chimney, as if they were trying to escape to play in the snow.
Jake and Isabelle fought over the best armchair, as they’d done since they were little, and ended up each taking an arm.
As always, Griffin felt a tinge of envy as he watched them. They were so similar, and yet so different, and they always, always backed each other up. Physically, they were two variations on a theme, with Jake’s hair on the light side of sandy and Izzy’s on the darker side, and Jake’s eyes were a smoky heather-gray compared to Izzy’s shade of pure emerald. Personality-wise, Jake took things easy, with a sardonic lightheartedness that drew people to him, whereas Isabelle had a fierceness that people either loved or fled from.
Max leaned on his cane and lifted his glass.
“Sending one out to Amanda,” he said gruffly. “I hope you’re romping around heaven barefoot and picking wildflowers for your hair, my sweet wife.”
They all followed suit, clicking their glasses together and murmuring, “to Mom” or “to Amanda.”
After a short sip, it was Kai’s turn to toast. “Here’s to all of you who came back to lend a hand and try to keep this lodge from crumbling into the ground. Griffin, Isabelle, thank you. Jake and Gracie, you were already here so you’ll have to wait for your own toast.” He flashed a smile their way.
Everyone raised their glasses and clinked once again.
“Here’s to the Rockwell tradition of making a zillion toasts before we can eat a single mouthful of food,” said Jake dryly.
“Hear, hear.” Yet more clinking.
“Let’s not forget the fantastic new women in the house,” said Gracie. “Nicole, Serena and Birdie, thank God you’re here because it was me and Max forever and nothing against you, Dad, but you are a man.”
“To men,” roared Max, raising his glass. “And the women who take pity on them.” Everyone laughed at that and clinked again.
Griffin hadn’t made a toast yet, but something was forming in his mind, something about home being the next best thing to a first place trophy, but all the clinking made his ears ring and he had trouble forming the thought into words.
So Isabelle took a turn. “Here’s to our notorious and mysterious silent investor, the man bailing us out, the one and only Lyle the Pile.”
“To Lyle the Pile!” They all toasted to that, and in the midst of the chorus of voices and chiming of glass, a strange voice could barely be heard, until the noise died down.
“Why am I a ‘pile’?” a stranger asked from the doorway.
Everyone swung around except for Serena, who’d noticed the man as soon as he’d stepped into the room. After so many weeks of checking every new face that crossed her path, the habit was ingrained.
But no matter the circumstances, she would have noticed this man. He was a large man, and stunning, with short-cropped hair and intense dark eyes, not to mention a magnetic energy that seemed to pulse off him. Wide-shouldered and slim-hipped, he wore an extremely expensive looking coat over a black turtleneck. She itched to paint him.
Nicole broke the silence first. “Lyle, thank goodness you made it. I was a little worried about the state of the roads.”
“No problems at all.” He was wearing black leather driving gloves, which he tugged off, revealing hands that looked much more calloused than she would have expected. “The snow stopped, and they did a good job with the sanding.”
He didn’t ask again about the “pile,” which she considered pretty classy of him. She glanced around at the Rockwells. Griffin looked as if he were swallowing his tongue to keep from laughing. Max had stuck a cigar in his mouth, something she’d noticed he did when he didn’t know what else to do. Everyone else was some shade of embarrassed—except for Isabelle.
She looked horrified. “You’re Lyle Guero?”
A funny expression came over his face, something between shy and nervous—surprising for such a confident-looking man. “Hi Isabelle.”
“No. No.” She shook her head. “Your name is Biff.”
“That was a joke. You’re the one who called me Biff. Because I was so un-Biff-like. Are you really surprised that it’s not my actual name?”
“But—“ She seemed to suddenly remember that she was surrounded by family members, who were all watching with fascination. She marched toward him and grabbed his forearm, spinning him around to head for the door. “We need to talk. In private.”
“Be nice to him,” called Gracie. “I didn’t even get to meet him yet!”
“Apparently this is Lyle Guero,” she said over her shoulder from the doorway. “Although you could have fooled me. And actually, he did fool me. Carry on, we’ll be back after I’ve sorted this out.”
Lyle shook his arm out of her grasp. “Can I at least meet the family while I’m still in one piece?”
“No.” She grabbed it again and hauled him toward the door. He offered the rest of them a shrug and a smile rich wi
th wicked amusement.
“If someone could pour me a drink, I’d be forever grateful. Beer, wine, Scotch would be best,” he told them.
And then the two of them were gone.
Everyone else shared a glance of wild speculation.
“Gracie, you’re the smallest,” said Kai. “Go eavesdrop on them.”
Nicole swatted his arm. “Absolutely not. I worked hard to get him to invest in the lodge, and I don’t want anyone scaring him away.”
Griffin turned to Jake. “Did Izzy ever mention anything about a mysterious stranger named … uh, Biff?”
Serena bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. The Rockwell family cracked her up on a regular basis.
“You know I can never disclose anything my twin says, on pain of torture-tickling,” said Jake. “But in this case, there’s nothing to disclose. I’ve never heard anything about Biff or Lyle or anyone remotely like that guy. I hope he doesn’t hold “Lyle the Pile” against us.”
Max grunted and gestured at the bottles set out on the bar near the hearth. “Get him drunk, that’s the solution. Someone pour a glass of that Glenlivet. He’d forgive his own murder after a glass of that.”
Gracie stepped over to the bar, but Jake blocked her, arms held wide. “Please, let the professionals do their job.”
She rolled her eyes, but backed off. Jake poured out a double finger of the amber liquid, adding a sprig of decorative holly to the glass. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it’s done.”
He lifted the glass just as Lyle and Isabelle walked back in. Isabelle’s face burned with color, and Lyle—well, Serena wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley. Which he would probably own, considering he was an investment tycoon.
Jake brought Lyle the Scotch. “I’m Jake, Isabelle’s twin brother, and I’d just like you to know that I know exactly how you feel right now, and if we have to disown her we absolute—”
Isabelle jabbed her elbow into her twin’s ribs. “You can all relax. Lyle is still fully committed to the lodge. Our personal history has nothing to do with anything else. Business always comes first. Right, Lyle?”
“I wouldn’t put it exactly like that, but Isabelle is right. I’m investing in Rocky Peak because I believe in what you’re doing here. I’m a wilderness fanatic, as Nicole probably told you. And this place here is a unique piece of history. I did a lot of research before I signed on. To me, the Rockwell legacy is worth preserving.”
His sincerity made them all relax—everyone except Isabelle, who perched stiffly on the arm of the couch. Reclaiming the glass of wine that she’d abandoned, she took a long gulp. “And for the record, there will be absolutely no further discussion of any alleged “personal history” between me and Lyle. That subject is off-limits. Also, it’s irrelevant and ancient history. And non-existent. Just so you all know.”
Knowing the Rockwells as she now did, Serena took a wild guess that Izzy’s history with Lyle might be off limits for discussion, but not for teasing.
Kai stepped forward to shake Lyle’s hand and kick off the introductions. “Kai Rockwell, really glad to meet you.”
Kai introduced them all one by one, and when he reached Serena, she got the shock of her life. “Alison Riggs,” Lyle said, before Kai could say her name. “Of course I know you.”
She was so thrown off stride that she actually stammered for a moment. “Wow. That’s a first. A stranger recognizing me out of nowhere?”
“Well. Not quite nowhere. I know Senator Walker.”
Her face flamed. “Of course you do.”
“Donated the maximum to his opponent. Maybe I should have donated to you as well.”
Giddy with relief, Serena lifted her glass and addressed the entire group.
“Okay, Rockwell family, this guy is a keeper. He has my official stamp of approval.” She turned back to Lyle. “By the way, Alison is my professional name. You can call me Serena.”
Lyle laughed, his expression relaxing for the first time since his arrival. “And you can call me Lyle the Pile.”
26
A cold spell tightened an icy fist around Rocky Peak after Thanksgiving weekend. The high school football team continued to lose. Griffin was on everyone’s shit list, it seemed. Serena ached for him, especially because she knew what it felt like to be a virtual outlaw.
She comforted him as best she could, which meant endless hot nights together in her guesthouse, talking until dawn, sharing secrets and thoughts they’d never told anyone else. It was like working on a painting together, watching it take shape with a magic all its own.
The only thing she didn’t tell him was that she hadn’t stopped poking around the lodge for answers about her father. Gracie pulled her into assisting with the new design for the lodge’s website. She took advantage of that to search for Frank or Francis Riggs in the lodge’s computer records.
Nothing.
Every time Max sat for her, she managed to sneak in a question. Did any salespeople ever make it as far as the lodge? Did Amanda ever invite friends to visit?
Those questions usually led to crazy stories about the lodge’s history. How they used to cut ice from a frozen pond in the winter time. How they’d heat the entire place with wood that took weeks to gather and stockpile in the woodshed.
She loved those stories, but the lack of any clues about her father drove her nuts. What was she doing here if it was a dead end?
Hiding out.
She’d never been one to hide. Facing things head-on was always better, in her experience.
Shortly after Thanksgiving, the Depot got robbed—a shocking event in a town the size of Rocky Peak. The only witness was a kid who’d been walking his dog past the store. As a volunteer firefighter, Jake knew all about the case, and he asked Serena if she would mind putting her police sketch skills to work.
She sat with the boy for an hour or so, teasing out details from his sketchy memory of the robbery. When she presented the sketch to Jake and the local detective on the case, their jaws dropped. “Unbelievable. I know this guy.”
Jake nodded. “Timmy Upgraff. He’s been banned from the Last Chance since March.”
“Nice job. Thank you, Ms. Riggs. Mind if I let the Sheriff and other local police departments know you’re around? A knack like yours, that’s gold.”
“Sure thing, officer. As long as I’m in town, I’m happy to help out.”
Honestly, it felt great to give something back to Rocky Peak, even something as simple as a sketch.
She and Jake left the tiny police building. “Looks like you have a new job,” Jake said. “I’m never getting my bartender back, am I?”
She laughed. “Move the Last Chance to San Francisco and I’d be happy to work for you again.”
His expression shifted. “You’re really going back?”
“I think the drama has faded away. There hasn’t been a single hint of anything suspicious since those early days. Maybe you and Griffin scared all the trolls back to their bridges.”
“But I thought you were growing to like it here.” She heard the unspoken question in his voice. What about Griffin?
She didn’t know the answer to that.
“Rocky Peak is so beautiful, of course I love it. But my career is based in San Fran. How am I supposed to find rich people to paint here in this little dip in the highway?”
“You could move on from painting rich people, and paint whatever the hell you want.”
“Oh stop. Creative freedom? What are you, drunk?”
She hurried to her car before he could make any more arguments for staying. It was out of the question. Her entire life was based in San Francisco. Staying here would jeopardize her independence, her career, her lifestyle. She didn’t even know how to ski, for Pete’s sake!
Although Isabelle had volunteered to teach her.
And she and Gracie were working on a project to bring art classes to the lodge in the spring.
And Nicole had asked her for help in designing a wedd
ing invitation for her and Kai.
And Griffin…Griffin was everything. He was perfection.
She started her car and drove through the rugged little outpost to the turnoff to Rocky Peak. Brand new snow tires had appeared on her car, and all the Rockwells pretended they knew nothing about it—including Griffin.
But obviously it was Griffin, because he was constantly looking out for her—when he wasn’t rocking a tool belt and ripping out old Sheetrock alongside the construction crew. She noticed that he wore ear protection as he worked, big headphones that blocked out most noise. Maybe it was easier for him to hide inside those headphones and not have to deal with adjusting to his new reality.
Which he still hadn’t shared with his family.
When the lodge came into view, it took her breath away, as it did every time she saw it. It sat in a glistening snowfield now, with a fresh pillow of snow piled on top. The main building, with its peaked chalet architecture, had a gingerbread house feel to it, as if Hansel and Gretel might be knocking on the door. To the left loomed the tall garage that housed the fire engine and other firefighting and rescue gear.
Right now its wide garage door stood open and the engine—she identified its color as chartreuse, though they would probably call it yellow or green—shone in the pale winter sun. A group of men surveyed it, checking its tires, examining various hoses and other mechanical parts she couldn’t name. One of those men was Griffin.
He glanced up and their eyes met. His smile, private and knowing, evoking images of what they’d done last night in bed—and the shower—and the floor, come to think of it—sent a shock right through her body. Joy swept through her like a literal wave of heat, and she realized that this was something entirely new and different, something she’d never experienced before.
This was love.
Not a crush, not an infatuation, not just lust, and not a phase. This was true love, passion and affection, respect and admiration, all wound up in one emotional neutron bomb.
The Rogue Page 18