by A. J. Wynter
“I didn’t fit in,” he chuckled.
“You. You didn’t fit in.” Lauren saw the quintessential Nautica model in the man sitting in front of her and didn’t believe a word he was saying.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t know it, but I was a bit of a...” he rubbed his chin. “I guess you could call me a hippie.”
“A hippie,” Lauren grinned. “I thought I smelled patchouli,” she joked.
He looked at her sideways and she saw the glint in his eye that came with a surprised smile.
“I had long hair, I loved going on solo canoe trips. The stuff that the guys in my class were into: girls, cocaine, partying, it didn’t really interest me.”
Lauren squinted her eyes at Baxter. “I’m trying to picture you with long hair, I can’t quite see it.”
Baxter sat up and puffed his chest out. “That’s because I also had a beard.”
“A beard?” Lauren was shocked.
“Yeah. Long before hipsters made them cool.”
“I know the type. The guys whose plaid jackets had never seen sawdust, the kind that didn’t know how to change a tire, let alone operate a chainsaw.” She laughed. “When did you...” she held her hand out and raised it up and down in front of his face and expensive wool jacket.
“Sell out?” he quipped.
“I wasn’t going to say that.” Lauren pressed her lips together in an attempt to suppress her smile. “I was going to go with ‘go to the dark side’.”
“That works too.” There it was. That glint in his eye again.
“Tell me more about your camping.” Her lawyer's brain rationalized that this was a legitimate business question or even a strategy. If Baxter Caldwell had an affinity for the outdoors, she might be able to appeal to his granola roots and get him to modify the plans. Yes, that was the reason she was hooked on every word that came out of his mouth. Not because she wanted to hear his deep voice talk about the beauty of high-altitude lakes, or to picture this gorgeous man chopping wood and lighting a campfire. She was good at lying to herself.
She hadn’t noticed the time slipping away, the background disappearing behind Baxter, the bustling coffee shop noise fading into white noise behind them until they were the only two people in the world, but as soon as someone dropped a plate in the background, she snapped out of it. He was talking about some three-week canoe trip somewhere in Maine.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. She took the last sip of her coffee that had gone cold. “As much as I love hearing about your hand-built lean-to shelters, we need to talk about your development.”
Baxter thinned his lips and looked down into his cup of coffee. “I wish you wouldn’t see me as the enemy.” He looked up and folded his hands on the table.
“Enemy?” Lauren laughed. “I’m not the only one who feels that way. You’re the biggest, baddest guy to roll into this town in years.”
Baxter sighed. “I wish I had known that before I showed up.”
“How could you not?” Lauren asked. “This project is going to destroy the town and the natural wildlife around it.”
“But it’s not.” Baxter leaned onto his elbows. “It’s going to bring so much more tourism here. This will put Chance Rapids on the global scene. This place is going to be dripping with celebrities.”
Lauren crossed her arms, “And what makes you think that the people who live here want to be bumping elbows with Britney Spears.”
Baxter’s eyes shot open wide and he laughed. “Britney Spears?”
“That’s the only celebrity I could think of off the top of my head.” Lauren hadn’t listened to pop music or kept up with trends since, well, since Britney was on the charts. She felt the redness surging to her cheeks.
Baxter smiled and shrugged. “Maybe she’ll film her next video here.”
Lauren studied Baxter’s face. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.
“I’m friends with a few big producers in the industry and they’ve already expressed interest in shooting here.”
He wasn’t joking.
“What about your camping, or your love of the outdoors?” she asked. “That doesn’t seem to fit in with your master plan of jet setting celebrities and penis towers.”
His eyebrows looked like they were going to disappear up into his thick hairline. “Penis towers?”
“Yeah.” She folded her arms. “Someone on your design team is making up for some shortcomings in the pants department.”
“Ha,” Baxter laughed and touched his fingertips to his eyebrows as he shook his head. “You’re probably right.” His shoulders shook as he laughed. He looked to her with tears in his eyes. “You mean the underpants department, right?”
She knew that he was playing with her but couldn’t help but find his naïve wide-eyed act endearing, and discovered that he was one of those guys who could raise just one eyebrow, something she’d never been able to do.
“That’s the one.”
Baxter drained the last of his cold coffee. “Look, Lauren. There are things I’d like to change about the project. That tower is one of them. But I represent a company, one that employs thousands of people that have to feed their families. This plan isn’t perfect, but it’s going to help a lot of people.”
“Just not these people here.” Lauren looked around the room.
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree on that one.”
“What do you mean by that?” Lauren could feel ice seeping into her veins.
“This town needs this. It will help people. Everyone here is just too narrow-minded or short-sighted to see that.”
“Everyone?”
Baxter blinked quickly. “Not the literal everyone.”
“Baxter, against my better judgment, I’m going to offer you one piece of advice.”
“And what’s that?” He was leaning against the back of his chair. His lips stretched tight.
“Spend some time here. Get to know the town, the people.” She softened her voice. “You can’t just fly in on your helicopter and tell everyone here that dropping a development triple the size of the existing town is going to be good for them.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Lauren.”
She could feel her face burning red, but not with a sexual desire for the man. That had been replaced with contempt. He was lighting a fire in her, and not the between the legs kind.
“Go on.” She pushed back in her chair, its legs scratching on the pine floorboards.
“I’ve spent plenty of time here.”
“You have?” He had to be lying. None of the locals that she had spoken to had ever met anyone from Caldwell International. “When?”
“It’s been a few years...” His voice trailed off, “so get off your high horse.”
“High horse?”
“Shit. I didn’t—” Baxter sighed.
Lauren interrupted. “I think it’s time for me to go.” She gathered up her coat in her arms and pulled her messenger bag over her shoulder.
“Either you come back with an updated plan or get ready for the fight of your life against one of the delusional, small-minded, not forward-thinking Rapidians.”
“Wait, Lauren.”
But she’d had enough. “Good day, Mr. Caldwell.” The crowd parted as she made her way to the door, but she stopped as she reached the door. “Shit,” she muttered to herself.
She stomped back to the table and slammed down an envelope in front of him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s for the sweater.”
“That was a gift,” he replied.
“More like a bribe, coming from the likes of you,” she lobbed his own non-pc phrase back at him.
His phone was next to the envelope and as it lit up with an incoming call, the song, Eddie Vedder’s big hit from Into the Wild rang out.
Lauren’s eyes snapped to the phone.
“Is that Into the Wild?”
“It is,” Baxter replied. “Pearl Jam is my favorite. I se
e them in concert every time I can.”
The room started to spin around Lauren. Suddenly, that song transported her back in time. Back to a time when her hands were always pruney from the rubber gloves that her mom made her wear to protect her hands from the cleaning chemicals, to a time when her hair didn’t have strands of gray.
It couldn’t be.
She looked at Baxter, he had taken off his thick black-rimmed glasses, and all of a sudden Lauren saw him with the long wavy hair, with the beard. How could she not have seen it before now?
She held her hands out to steady herself. The floor felt like it was laid over rolling ocean waves. It had to be a coincidence. That man from her history’s name was Brock, not Baxter.
“Are you okay?” Baxter stood up and reached out for Lauren.
She leaned down and placed both of her palms down on the table, but her breath was starting to get away from her. Baxter touched her on the shoulder and a shiver ran through her body in response. He leaned in asking, “Lauren, are you alright?” His smell, the feel of his breath on her earlobe transported her back in time.
It didn’t make sense. The name didn’t match. It couldn’t be him, but every fiber in her being told her that she was wrong – that it was him. He rested his hand on her shoulder and that touch broke her. Her knees gave out and Baxter, the father of her daughter, saved her from smashing her head on the wooden table just before she blacked out.
Chapter 11
THE CHOPPER BLADES spun loudly above her head. Her first time in a helicopter had been exciting but now, when it functioned as her mode of transportation to her second job, the novelty had definitely worn off.
Frank, the owner of FKT Heli-ski was a good man, and when Lauren’s mom’s cancer had started to spread, he offered to pay for her treatment. Sharon Bunkman was a proud woman and had refused to take any money from her boss. Lauren was furious and so was Frank. He offered Lauren Sharon’s position at the lodge when she got too sick to work, and Lauren took it. They needed all the extra money they could get.
But that Frank was a tricky bastard and Lauren almost fell over when she got her first paycheck – there were too many zeros - she was the highest-paid cleaning lady in the history of the lodge. She knew exactly what Frank was doing and was thankful. She wasn’t one for charity, but if it was going to save her mom’s life, she would take whatever she could get.
Lauren worked hard for Frank, flying in and staying for days whenever there was a changeover of guests.
Most of the clientele were rich old men from Europe, so when she saw Brock, she was caught off guard. He looked a little older than her twenty years, but it was tough to tell with the tree planter beard. He was there with his dad’s company, a bunch of rich cronies that had rented the entire lodge for a week.
That day, the snow was falling in heavy curtains down around the lodge. The weather conditions had rapidly deteriorated to the point where the choppers couldn’t fly, and Lauren was going to have to stay the night at the lodge. When the scruffy young man invited her to play cards, and listen to music in his room, she had declined, but Frank had overheard and told her to go and have some fun.
She had never meant for a game of rummy and a night of Pearl Jam tunes to change her life, but it had and it did.
She woke up and rolled into the hard body of Brock, the tree planter, and the smell of pine and musk that met her was a smell she would never ever forget.
“Good morning,” he whispered.
“Is it morning?” she replied. The curtains were drawn in his room.
“Almost,” he whispered. “I get up at five every day. This is my morning.”
“Me too,” she smiled.
“You’re so beautiful.” He ran his thumb over her cheek and pulled her in close to kiss her gently on her lips.
She had felt the lodge’s sheets a million times before, but never once against her naked body. The thousand thread count cotton felt like silk against her skin. She ran her hands up and down the fabric while Brock kissed along her jawbone, his beard tickling her neck.
“I think she’s coming to,” a voice said.
As she continued rubbing the sheets, they started to feel rougher under her hands. She giggled as she felt Brock’s breath tickling her ear.
“Lauren.”
She snapped her eyes open. The voice was a man’s, but it wasn’t Brock’s. She winced as her eyes were assaulted by the fluorescent lighting of the hospital room.
“Lauren.” The voice spoke again. She squinted and saw Dr. Dupont’s face slowly come into focus. She felt his hands on her forehead, his thumbs holding her eyes open as he flashed a light into each one of them. “You are in The Chance Rapids hospital. You fainted,” he said.
Tears welled up in her eyes as the pre-dawn light of Brock’s room at the heli-ski lodge disappeared into the burning bright lights of the emergency room. She wanted to close her eyes and go back to her dream. She wanted to go back in time to that night with Brock.
Brock. Shit.
She sat up. “Oh, my god.”
“Relax, Lauren.” Dr. Dupont gently eased Lauren back down onto the flat pillow of the hospital bed. “We are going to keep you for some monitoring.”
“How did I...” she looked around the room.
“How did you what?” Dr. Dupont had slipped a blood pressure cuff on her arm.
“Get here?” she squeezed her eyes tightly. The last thing she remembered was the meeting at the café.
“Ambulance,” the doctor replied. “I’ve already called your sister.” Dr. Dupont was new to the community, and it was no secret that he had a major crush on a certain local realtor.
“I’m fine.” Lauren pulled the heart rate monitor off her finger.
“You probably are,” Doctor Dupont said. “But we need to make sure. And I need someone to watch you for at least twenty-four hours.”
And you’ve got a crush on my sister, Lauren thought to herself.
Then it came to her, faintly at first, then grew louder, that Pearl Jam song. The monitor started to beep like crazy and she felt her breaths coming faster and faster.
“Oh, my god,” she whispered.
Doctor Dupont looked to the monitors. “I’ll get you a Xanax.”
“It’s not...” Lauren started, but the doctor had already rushed off.
“Anxiety,” she finished.
Lauren relaxed back down onto the hospital bed. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure up Brock’s face but gripped the sheets in frustration when she couldn’t picture the details of the young tree planter. She squeezed her eyes tightly trying to rid the image of the slick smooth-faced businessman that appeared instead. Baxter’s eyes were crinkled and there were a few hints of gray in his short dark hair, but the eyes. The tree planter’s eyes sparkled just like that of the businessman. The heart rate monitor beeped as Lauren’s beats per minute shot up. She snapped her eyes open as the hospital door clattered open, but it wasn’t the doctor returning. It was Charlotte.
“Lauren,” Charlotte rushed to the bed. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Lauren pushed herself up on the bed. “Get me out of here.”
Charlotte rested her hand on Lauren’s forearm. “Hold on. The doctors told me that you fainted.”
“So?” Lauren shook her sister’s hand from her arm.
“So?” Charlotte’s eyebrows practically shot up into her hairline. “You don’t faint.”
“Maybe it was something I ate,” Lauren murmured. “And Char. I’m fine.” Lauren pulled the heart rate monitor off her finger, but not before Charlotte noticed the 100 bpm.
“The heart rate monitor says otherwise,” Charlotte took the plastic device and clamped it back on her finger.
“Listen,” Lauren snapped. “I’m fine.” She pulled it off again and set it on top of the machines beside her bed. “Dupont just wanted you to come in so he could flirt with you.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I’m sure that’s not the t
ruth.”
Both sisters looked to the door as Dr. Dupont stepped back into the room. The new doctor had caused quite a stir in Chance Rapids when he arrived. The man could’ve stepped off the set of a soap opera, and all of the single women in town had lined up to take the open spots in his roster. He brushed his sandy brown hair back and smiled when he saw Charlotte in the room, redness rising up his neck from the collar of his shirt.
“Dr. Dupont.” Charlotte shook his hand.
“Miss O’Hare. I’m glad you’re here.”
Dr. Dupont picked up the clipboard from the end of Lauren’s bed. “How are you feeling, Lauren?” he asked.
“Great,” Lauren said. She peeled the sheets back. “Can I go now?”
“Hold on a minute,” he said as he shook his head. “Your blood sugar appears to be stable, and all of your vitals are good.”
“What’s the hold-up?” Lauren asked. She was starting to get frustrated and wanted to get the hell out of that hospital.
“It’s our hospital protocol.” He turned to face Charlotte. “She can’t drive. And she’ll need someone to keep an eye on her.”
“Do we need to wake her up throughout the night?” Charlotte asked. It was a valid question, the level of precaution usually relegated to concussion patients.
“If she had head trauma, yes, but the ambulance attendants said that someone caught her before her head hit anything.”
Lauren remembered the coffee shop spinning before she blacked out. “There was someone playing the ukulele,” she tilted her head, trying to remember if there was a band at the coffee shop.
“You’re free to go, Lauren.” Dr. Dupont scribbled some notes on her chart. “Keep up with the electrolytes and try to not work too hard.”
“Good luck,” Charlotte huffed. “She’s the lead counsel in opposition to the Sugar Peaks Mountain Development.”
“That might explain it.” Doctor Dupont rubbed his chin. “Charlotte, you make sure that she takes it easy. Stress can do strange things to the body.”
“I’ll do my best,” Charlotte said. “Thanks, Doctor.”
Doctor Dupont stepped back and his heel caught on the leg of the bed. His arms flailed, but he managed to spin on his heel and catch his balance before he fell to the ground. Lauren looked at Charlotte and shook her head. This man was literally tripping over himself in her sister’s presence.