He simply nodded, and suddenly they were all asking him questions, slapping him on the back, shaking his hand, and treating him like a real celebrity. Everyone except Emma. Feeling totally blindsided, she quietly set down the expensive guitar, and as Mr. Landers quizzed West about why he’d remained here instead of going to Arizona, Emma slipped back into the house and went upstairs.
All this time, West had been pretending to be someone he wasn’t? Who does that? And why? Even more irritating—and just like the gullible girl Gillian always claimed her to be—Emma had swallowed it whole. Hook, line, and sinker. She’d even gone as far as to imagine the simple sort of life she and West might enjoy together someday. She’d dreamed of something not so very different from her parents’ relationship. Except that, besides the need to work for a living, she and West would have their music to enrich their unpretentious lives. And they would have true love to sustain them.
It had been a pretty picture. But that sweet scene had been blasted to smithereens when Gillian made her startling announcement. Now Emma didn’t know what to think. She felt like the brunt of a bad joke . . . like she’d been tricked . . . humiliated. All she wanted now was to escape.
seventeen
By the time West realized Emma had disappeared—without taking the guitar he’d given her—it was pretty late. He excused himself from his new fan club, saying he was ready to call it a night. He put away the guitars and extinguished the fire, but before going inside for the night, he peered up to the third floor to see that the master suite window was darkened. She must’ve already gone to bed.
Back in his studio, West started to pace. He knew he’d created a big fat mess where Emma was concerned. What a way for her to discover his true identity. To have Gillian announce it like that to everyone—and she’d obviously done her research—poor Emma had probably gotten the wrong idea. Besides feeling deceived, she probably now assumed that Gillian, with the inside track, had to be more involved than West had told her. Somehow, he had to straighten it out.
He picked up his phone but didn’t want to wake her. He considered sending a text, but that was impersonal. He knew it was best to wait until morning. He also knew that his feelings for Emma were far deeper than he’d realized before. Just the thought of hurting her . . . losing her . . . was excruciating. Emma was the one. He felt certain of it. So West did what he did best, he sat down and wrote the lyrics to a new song. A song for Emma. Then, in the wee hours of the morning, he finally went to bed.
West woke up to the sound of someone knocking on his door. Realizing he’d slept late, he hurried to open it—hoping it was Emma. But it was Gillian. He tried not to growl at her.
“Have you seen Emma?” she asked.
He frowned. “Not since last night. Why?”
Gillian bit her lip. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?” He checked the clock to see it was nine. “Maybe she went skiing. The lifts are open—”
“No. All her things are gone. She packed and left.”
“She left? How? When? Did she take the car?”
“No. My dad thinks she might’ve called for a taxi. He heard a vehicle in the driveway early this morning. We thought you might know something.”
“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “She didn’t text you or leave a note or anything?”
“No. And I tried to call, but her phone goes straight to voice mail.”
“Where do you think she went?”
“Probably home.” Gillian sighed. “And it’s most likely my fault.”
West wanted to agree with that, but since she already looked troubled, he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. “Then she’s probably on her way to the airport. That might explain her phone not working. There are dead spots through the mountains.”
“Do you think she could get a flight out of Denver? I mean, it is Christmas Eve. Seems like flights would be booked full.”
“Yeah, but you never know.”
“Well, sorry to bother you about this.” Gillian stepped back.
“No, I’m glad you did. I mean, I’m sad Emma’s gone, but it’s good to know.”
“And . . . I should apologize. I’m sorry for outing you like that last night.”
“Yeah, that was pretty awkward. Hey, before you leave, can you give me Emma’s address?”
“You mean her house address in Tempe?”
“Yeah.” He grabbed his phone. “Where does she live?”
“Why? Are you going to write her a letter?”
“No. I’m going to go there.”
“Seriously?” Gillian blinked. “You’ve got it bad for her, huh?”
“Bad.” He nodded somberly. “What airline did you and your family fly out with—do you think she’ll take it home?”
After getting the information, he thanked her. “I plan to leave ASAP. But if you hear from her, could you shoot me a text?”
“Yeah. And you do the same.” Her brow creased. “I know I wasn’t being a very good friend to her . . . and Emma’s really sweet. She deserves better.”
He nodded. “Yep. She sure does. I’ll let you know if I catch up with her.”
“Well, uh, merry Christmas.”
“Yeah, back at you.” He closed the door, then scrambled to get himself together. Fortunately his bags for Arizona were still packed.
Before he left, he remembered something. Slipping into the back door of the house, he heard voices out in the great room speculating about Emma’s hasty departure. Using the back staircase, he went up to the master suite.
Everything in his room looked just like he’d left it—before his house swap guests had arrived—but he could still feel Emma’s presence there and, unless he imagined it, he even got a whiff of something sweet in the air. He unlocked his closet and, after a brief search, found what he was looking for. He wrapped it in an old blue bandana and slipped it into his jeans pocket. Then, slipping back down unnoticed, he went outside and got into his Jeep.
West wasn’t anxious to spend Christmas in Arizona, but if it allowed him to be with Emma, he would gladly spend Christmas anywhere—the North Pole or Tahiti. All he wanted was to find her again. And wouldn’t his family be thrilled to have him show up unexpectedly—with Emma on his arm? If only he could get a flight out and catch up with her.
Fortunately, the weather was cooperative and the highway traffic, though heavy, wasn’t as bad as the last time he’d made this trip. He got to the airport before noon, and after securing a standby ticket on a late-night flight to Phoenix, he searched the departure board for other flights headed for Arizona. After racing to a gate where the airline Gillian had mentioned was scheduled to take off for Phoenix, he realized he was too late. The plane was already boarded and just backing out. She was probably on it.
Feeling like he was about to embark on a fool’s mission, he turned to leave. Then he noticed a slender girl with sleek black hair slowly walking away. She looked weary and dejected, her shoulders slumped, and her carry-on bag trailing behind her.
“Emma!” he called out. When she turned, he knew it was her. But her expression, after recovering from the shock, was a mixture of dismay and irritation.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Trying to get a flight to Phoenix.” He studied her troubled face. Had he misread her feelings toward him yesterday? Or was she upset over discovering his identity?
“Good luck with that.” She nodded toward the gate. “I had a standby ticket on that flight but turns out they were booked full. Actually, overbooked.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “I got a standby ticket too.”
“So you’re going to spend Christmas with your family at the Landerses’ Scottsdale house?” She pushed her hair behind her shoulders.
“I guess so.” He tried to think of a way to express himself, but he felt tongue-tied.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you from—”
“Emma,” he began slowly. “I didn’t come here because I want to go to Sco
ttsdale to be with my family. I came here because of you.”
She looked up with misty dark eyes. “Why?”
“Because I, uh, I do care about you.” For some reason, he wasn’t ready to declare his full love quite yet. Not like this in the overly crowded airport with curious onlookers milling about.
“You care about me?” She tilted her head to one side. “Then why did you keep me in the dark about who you really are, West? Why did you make me believe you were the caretaker of the house? Why did you trick me?”
“It’s a long story.” He glanced around the busy terminal. “But I’d like a chance to explain . . . and apologize.”
“Well, I’ve got plenty of time. The next standby flight isn’t until this evening.”
“Then why not forget about it?”
“Forget about what?” She looked confused.
“Don’t go home to Arizona, Emma. Come back to Breckenridge with me. Please.”
“No.” She firmly shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
“Please, Emma, I’m begging you to come back. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about who I—”
“But you told Gillian,” she said. “All this time she knew who you were, and I was completely oblivious. Do you know how that made me feel?”
“I can imagine. But you have to understand—I never told Gillian—”
“I guess it explains why Gillian was suddenly over the moon for you. But I can’t believe you let the rest of us go on thinking you—”
“I didn’t mean for it to go like that. And you have to believe me, I never told Gillian anything. She figured that out for herself. I had my suspicions she was onto me, but when I confronted her, she totally denied it.” Just then Emma was nearly knocked over by a fast-walking group of people. West caught her by the hand. “Let’s go somewhere quieter to talk.”
As he led her through the bustling terminal, he realized there was no quiet, private spot. So he led her toward baggage claim, hoping he’d be able to convince her to return to Breckenridge.
“I suspect that neither of us is going to get a standby seat,” he said as they navigated the crowds. “Let’s just go back to Breckenridge before it’s too late and we’re both stuck here for the night.”
“I just want to go home.” Her voice trembled with emotion as they stopped by the escalator. “I want to go home.”
“I know, Emma. I get that. But what if you can’t get a flight? And there’s weather predicted. We could get a big dump of snow by—”
“Will that affect flights?”
“It could.” He reached for her bag. “Come back to Breckenridge, Emma. If you don’t want me around, I promise to hole up in my studio until you and the Landerses go back to Arizona.”
“So the place you called the caretaker’s cottage—that’s really your studio?” she asked. “Just like Gillian said?”
“Well, it was a caretaker’s cottage when I bought the place,” he said. “But I turned it into a music studio.”
“And you told Gillian about that too.”
“No, I swear to you, I never told Gillian anything personal about myself. She figured it out on her own. And I’ve wanted to confess the truth to you, Emma.” He paused to look into her eyes. “I tried to last night—a couple of times—but we got interrupted.”
“But why did you have to trick me in the first place?” she demanded. “Why pretend to be something you’re not, West? It’s like everything I knew about you was a big fat lie.” She had tears in her eyes now.
“If you come back home with me, I will explain everything to you. I promise.”
Emma bit her lip with a creased brow.
“Just trust me, Emma.” He reached for her hand. “You don’t want to spend Christmas here at the airport with a bunch of strangers.”
She sighed. “I guess that’s true.”
“So come on, give me a chance to explain.”
She pursed her lips.
“If we leave right now, you might even be able to get in a few ski runs before the lifts close today. Christmas Eve skiing . . . it could be fun.”
Her eyes brightened slightly. “Really? People ski on Christmas Eve?”
“You bet.” He patted her back. “Come on, Emma, let’s go home.”
As glad as she’d been to see West—at first—Emma still questioned whether she’d given in too easily. But the idea of spending Christmas Eve in Denver International Airport wasn’t exactly inviting. Especially when she already felt so tired. But as West drove his Jeep out of the airport, Emma was plagued with second thoughts. Had she simply set herself up for more heartache? What about her resolve last night—to simply disappear and be done with him for good. And Gillian as well!
It just made no sense. Why would someone as successful and wealthy as TW Prescott want to waste his time on a lowly substitute teacher with missionary parents? It was different when West, the kind caretaker, had taken an interest in her. That seemed a more level playing field. But TW Prescott, the successful songwriter? Well, that just boggled her mind. Still, she wanted to sort this thing out.
“Okay,” she began slowly. “How about you start telling me why you decided to deceive me like that. Was it just a joke? A game? Like something Gillian might do?”
“Ouch.” He grimaced. “But I suppose I deserve to be compared to Gillian.”
“Yeah. Maybe you guys aren’t such opposites after all.”
“Ouch again.”
She sighed. “Sorry . . . well, sort of. Gillian isn’t all bad. And I’m sure you’re not either. I’m just very, very confused, West.”
“Right. That’s why I want to explain. Let me start at the beginning.” He explained how his mother and stepfather had decided a house swap for Christmas was a good idea. “But I didn’t want to go to Arizona for Christmas.”
“I guess I can’t blame you for that. I wouldn’t trade your place for the Landerses’ house either. Especially at Christmastime. Even so . . .”
“Yeah . . . anyway, I met Gillian that first day and she started grilling me, asking what I was doing—at my own house. I didn’t want to admit that I lived there, so I made up the stupid story about being the caretaker. And in a way, it’s not a total lie. I do take care of my house. I mean, I hire help too. But it’s mostly up to me. That’s how I like it.”
“Okay, I can sort of understand you not wanting Gillian to know who you were. But what was the point in keeping your little charade going? Especially with me? I thought that we . . . well, that we had something more.”
“We did have something more. I hope we still do. Or that we still will after I help you understand.” He told her about other relationships he’d had with women, ones who had been more attracted to his name and bank account than to him.
“Kinda like Gillian.”
“Case in point.” He nodded vigorously.
“And you thought I’d be like that?” She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.
“No, I didn’t. Not at first. But then I thought you’d dropped me for Harris. And then I wasn’t so sure.”
“That was Gillian’s doing.”
“Yes. We figured that out. I wanted to tell you about who I am, Emma. I started to tell you.”
“But you got interrupted.” She did remember a moment or two when he’d seemed about to say something important. “So, okay, I get why you did that at first . . . and how you got stuck in that role. But it doesn’t answer all my questions.”
“Then ask away. I have nothing to hide. I want to be an open book for you.”
She thought hard. “Maybe it’s not questions so much. It’s more like concerns.”
“Well, go ahead and voice them, Emma. I can take it.”
Now she didn’t know what to say. She’d already been so wrong about him . . . believing he was the caretaker . . . What if she’d been wrong to assume his feelings for her were along the same lines as her feelings? Was she a fool to imagine he was interested in a committed relationship? After only knowing
her a few days? Wasn’t that totally ridiculous? In all likelihood, he was simply a rich guy looking for a holiday fling. Have some fun with the Arizona girls then send them packing? No biggie.
“Come on,” he urged. “Tell me your concerns.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
“Well, it matters to me.”
“Okay then.” She took in a deep breath. “Well, you sort of led me to think you were interested in me.”
“I am interested. Haven’t I made that clear?”
“Maybe . . . but for some reason it was easier for me to take your interest more seriously when you were the caretaker.”
“Aha.” He nodded with a knowing expression. “Meaning you could fall for a lowly caretaker, but not for TW Prescott?”
“We live in different worlds, West. I’m a substitute teacher who’s trying to break into music, and you’re—”
“You’re actually a very talented musician, Emma.”
“Of course, you’d say that.”
“No, I mean it. I don’t toss praise around lightly. I mean, sure, you’re not very experienced, but you’ve definitely got talent.”
“Well, thanks . . . I think.”
“So, let me get this clear. You think that because of my success, I wouldn’t be seriously interested in you?”
“Something like that.” Emma sighed. “I guess I’m just generally confused—and incredibly tired. Last night, after it felt like you pulled the rug out from under me, well, I couldn’t sleep at all. I finally got up and packed my bags and cleaned my room—which I’m guessing is actually your room.”
“Yeah.”
“Anyway, I knew I wanted to go home. I stayed up and waited until six to call a taxi. And I’m so exhausted right now, I can’t even think straight.”
The Christmas Swap Page 12