One Frosty Night
Janice Kay Johnson
Unexpected Christmas plans Olivia Bowen would rather avoid this holiday season. Even her satisfaction at improving the family business doesn't make up for the loss of her beloved father and the sudden tension with her mother. Olivia questions how much longer she can live in her hometown. And her decision is further complicated by Ben Hovik.She should keep her distance–he broke her heart years ago. Yet his compassion and their still-sizzling attraction are seductive. Could she be falling for him again? When she spends Christmas with Ben and his teenage son, she wonders if this might be the first of many more….
Unexpected Christmas plans
Olivia Bowen would rather avoid this holiday season. Even her satisfaction at improving the family business doesn’t make up for the loss of her beloved father and the sudden tension with her mother. Olivia questions how much longer she can live in her hometown. And her decision is further complicated by Ben Hovik.
She should keep her distance—he broke her heart years ago. Yet his compassion and their still-sizzling attraction are seductive. Could she be falling for him again? When she spends Christmas with Ben and his teenage son, she wonders if this might be the first of many more….
Ben Hovik. Tall, dark and handsome.
He was also one person in town she went out of her way to avoid.
“Olivia.” The way he said her name seemed like a caress.
Her heart cramped, as if she hadn’t already felt like a walking advertisement for Prilosec. Why did he have to look so damn good?
“I need to get back to work,” she said, desperate to avoid him.
“You don’t look like someone who should be going in to work. Is it your dad? I saw you were with your mom.”
Olivia laughed, a corrosive sound that had his eyebrows climbing. “Dad? Oh, sure. And Mom, who is apparently ready to throw off the old life and begin a new one.” Now, finally, she tried to shuffle sideways to go around him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Really, I need to go—”
“You need to vent,” he said firmly. “I’m here and willing. Plus, I’m discreet.” He looked momentarily rueful. “On my job, you get good at keeping secrets.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_36463a71-ac46-5738-842d-8f83895b3fff),
Ages ago I read about a teenage girl being found dead and how, when she remained unidentified, the folks in a small town decided to consider her theirs. If there was any follow-up to the story, I don’t remember it. I have no idea why this particular snippet of a story stuck with me, but it did. Maybe it was ready-made for me. As I’ve said before, I’m always interested in the aftereffects. You know, those ripples spreading outward from an event that might have seemed momentous, or really trivial, but that set something in motion.
In this case, the discovery of this girl is a catalyst in a small town, where a whole bunch of people start wondering guiltily whether they might know something, or might have done something that played a part in her death. Nothing like the uncomfortable tweak of a conscience, and especially when those same people decide to keep quiet!
You may have noticed that I most often set my stories in small towns. The truth is, I’ve never lived in a city. My parents moved often when I was growing up, but even when my father taught at big-city universities (Mexico City College, San Francisco State University), we always lived in a small town. I love going into Seattle, my closest big town, but have chosen small-town and rural life myself. I like the quiet, and as I was raising kids I also liked the sense of community, knowing other people kept an eye out for my kids, too, just as I did for theirs. When everyone knows everyone, though…well, gossip is, in some ways, an indication people are interested in each other and care, but it can also be destructive.
Ripe ground for a novel about secrets… And all the more ironic when the holiday season is upon these characters and they celebrate goodwill toward all even as they bury their own uneasiness.
Please visit my website at www.janicekayjohnson.com (http://www.janicekayjohnson.com)! I love hearing from readers.
Janice Kay Johnson
One Frosty Night
Janice Kay Johnson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An author of more than eighty books for children and adults, USA TODAY bestselling author JANICE KAY JOHNSON is especially well-known for her Mills & Boon Superromance novels about love and family—about the way generations connect and the power our earliest experiences have on us throughout life. Her 2007 novel Snowbound won a RITA® Award from Romance Writers of America for Best Contemporary Series Romance. A former librarian, Janice raised two daughters in a small rural town north of Seattle, Washington. She loves to read and is an active volunteer and board member for Purrfect Pals, a no-kill cat shelter. Visit her online at www.janicekayjohnson.com (http://www.janicekayjohnson.com).
Contents
Cover (#u46c81ef4-6d40-5cd9-9925-7d145c193b28)
Back Cover Text (#u284ec32b-e20b-5e99-86ed-5fd69b213121)
Introduction (#u089e24de-04bf-5bda-9466-62ff8e38875a)
Dear Reader (#u57be7d1e-d0fc-5187-884c-797640079da8)
Title Page (#u87a0c6cc-8046-5627-b65c-1d5f2547ad41)
About the Author (#u03bc2a0e-7504-504b-9885-61a11af5d045)
PROLOGUE (#uf0ae0ae7-e463-51b4-bbde-7a97f5451a2a)
CHAPTER ONE (#uedf3f7cb-ae60-5432-8043-18db6b416b45)
CHAPTER TWO (#u43702498-0ed6-59ac-b49d-c613af33c624)
CHAPTER THREE (#u24ea161f-5ae0-588d-9513-867f282a1140)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ud26365e5-16db-514c-8fbb-516c8dc20993)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u67f20cba-c027-5573-a95c-80c9c133c8fc)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_654df419-45fe-501a-a476-616f21ffe812)
WHERE WAS THAT damn dog?
Marsha Connelly stomped into the woods, swearing when she noticed the laces on her right boot were straggling and now snow-crusted. Grunting, she bent over far enough to tie and double-knot them. After she straightened, it took her a minute to regain enough breath to bellow again.
“Blarney!” she bellowed. “You come right this minute!” Blarney. She only hoped neighbors thought the blasted dog’s name was Barney. What was wrong with Barney or Riley or Felix? Or even just Dog? But, no, she’d had to let the grandkids name the new puppy back a couple of years ago, when he’d been charming and small enough he couldn’t yet bowl people over in his enthusiasm.
She could see his footprints in the snow; that was one good thing. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have a clue where he’d hightailed it off to. On the other hand, it was aggravating to have snow on the ground in October. October!
“Blarney!”
Marsha wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but she was starting to worry about the dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks dog. And they said golden retrievers were smart! Well, not this one. Still, it wasn’t like him to take off like a rocket and not come back. He was pretty willing to please, on the whole. Just big and energetic and cheerful. She didn’t like to think he might have slipped on icy rocks into the creek or, who knew, not so long ago there’d still been some trappers around here. Imagining the steel jaws crushing his leg made her swear some more.
She had to stop every couple hundred yards to catch her breath. Could be that young doctor was right, saying she needed to get some exercise. Except how could you exercise when you couldn’t breathe? Answer me that, huh?
What with everyone using their woodstoves and inserts, the smell of smoke was sharp in her nostrils. The air was so still today, she had no doubt a gray pall hung over the valley, clinging to the lowland between the mountains rising sharply to each side.
She stopped dead, cocking her head. Had she heard a bark? She called the dog’s name and definitely heard an answer this time. She kept calling, and he kept barking, but he wasn’t getting any closer. So he’d gotten himself stuck somehow.
Mumbling about dumb dogs, she kept right on through the woods, tripping a few times, getting snagged by a sharp blackberry cane disguised by snow in a small clearing. Every so often she called, “Blarney!” and the dog answered.
He didn’t sound as if he was hurt, so maybe he’d just gotten his collar caught on something. Only why had he taken off like that in the first place? And gone so far?
She remembered how restless he’d been during the night, wanting out. He’d stood at the window whining until she’d grabbed the book from her end table and threw it at him. Then the minute she did open the door this morning, he shot out.
At last, she saw his plumy tail waving furiously just the other side of a mature cedar with low, sweeping boughs. Her puzzlement grew as she circled the tree, because he didn’t look to be snagged on anything at all. He had all four feet planted as if he’d grown there like the snowberries and ferns.
“All right, what is it?” Marsha grumbled.
Blarney dipped his head as if to bury his nose in the snow, which she’d seen him do in play, only whatever snow there was here in the woods was thin and crusty.
And then she saw what he guarded, and her mouth dropped open.
It was a woman, curled up as if to sleep and lying on her side, wearing only jeans and athletic shoes and a sweatshirt. No hat, no coat, no gloves or scarf. And she was dead; there was no mistaking that. Her skin was bluish white, her lips and eyelids a deeper blue. Ice rimed those lips and glittered on her eyelashes.
And, oh, dear merciful God, she was a girl, not a woman. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. Slight and immature.
And frozen to death, here in the woods approaching Crescent Creek, which Marsha could hear burbling in the not-too-far distance.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she whispered, tears burning in her eyes. This poor girl hadn’t been here but overnight. Marsha had looked at the outside thermometer before she went to bed, and it had registered thirty-nine degrees. The snow had been slush these past few days, until another cold spell hit during the night. If she’d let Blarney out when he’d asked—
Assailed by guilt, she said roughly, “Good dog, Blarney. You stay while I get help.”
He barked, and stayed where he was when she turned and hurried as fast as her old legs would carry her back the way she’d come.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_fba60358-d888-5a5e-bd73-1e92f1df1cd3)
SNIPPETS OF CONVERSATION from surrounding tables in Guido’s Italian Ristorante came to Olivia Bowen as she waited to find out why her mother had wanted to have lunch with her.
Lunch out, when they’d sat at the breakfast table this morning without exchanging a single word. Dinner last night, too, without anything important being said. And, yes, status quo the day before that. They were living in the same house, and she had been trying to get her mother to talk to her for weeks. Months.
“...can’t believe a film crew was here again.” Arnold Hawkins, his self-important voice unmistakable.
“...don’t understand why the police...” A woman’s voice.
“At least, thanks to this town, she has a respectable resting place.” Claudia Neff, an insurance agent. Also sounding smug.
Olivia was glad the town of Crescent Creek had cared enough to raise the money to bury the still-unidentified girl found dead in the woods. She just wished they’d been motivated by genuine philanthropy rather than the self-conscious awareness that they were acting on a world stage for the first time in their lives. The mystery of the girl who had seemingly appeared from nowhere, died for no apparent reason and been buried by a community of people who had tenderly taken her to their collective hearts was still an internet sensation.
Jane Doe’s death was a watershed for this town, one that made Olivia uneasy more than anything.
Maybe because her father had died only a month later, as if—
There was no as if, she told herself firmly. What possible connection could there be? They all knew Dad’s heart had been damaged by the first attack. It had only been a matter of time. She’d come home to Crescent Creek to take over Dad’s hardware store and lumberyard to give him peace and to spend time with him.
Listening to the receding footsteps of the waitress who had taken their order, Olivia decided she’d been patient enough.
“So, what’s up?” she asked, looking questioningly at her mom.
Marian Bowen’s mouth firmed and her eyes met Olivia’s. “I’ve decided to sell the house.”
Olivia gaped. “Dad hasn’t even been dead two weeks.” Or in the ground for one. They had buried Charles Bowen on the Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend, and today was only Thursday.
“I know what I want to do, Livy. Please don’t argue.”
“But...it’s home.”
Her mother’s face softened. “I know it was. But that doesn’t mean I have to stay in it for the rest of my life.”
“You know it’s too soon to be making decisions that big.”
“I can’t stay there. I won’t.”
The misery that had been balled in Olivia’s chest for three months now—the same three months when she had seen her parents’ marriage failing—intensified into active pain. “Mom, what’s wrong? Please tell me.”
“Nothing’s wrong that you need to know about. I’m a widow now, and I’m ready to downsize. Is that so bad?”
“But...where will you go?”
“I’m considering a house at The Crescent.”
The Crescent was a new and very nice senior citizen housing development. Technically, they were condominiums with the outside maintenance handled by the association. Olivia had been surprised to see anything like that in Crescent Creek, a small town nestled deep in the Cascade Mountain foothills, but the homes seemed to be getting snapped up as fast as they were built. Lloyd Smith, who managed the lumberyard side of the Bowens’ business, had even mentioned that his wife wanted him to take a look at them.
If Mom had suggested the move six months from now, Olivia might have thought it was a good idea. But as it was—the decision had been made purely out of anger, not practicality. Her husband had died before she could leave him, but she was determined to go through with it one way or another.What’s more, it occurred to Olivia that this felt an awful lot like receiving an eviction notice, given that she lived in the family home right now, too.
“Does that mean you intend to sell the business, too?” she asked. The one she’d thrown herself heart and soul into revitalizing?
“I don’t know. I can’t expect you to run it forever.”
“Apparently you have made up your mind.”
“You sound mad.”
“A little taken aback,” she said truthfully. “When do you want me to move out?”
Her mother’s expression changed, showing a hint of shock and some vulnerability. “But...you know it’s going to take time to make decisions about everything we have. I hoped you’d be willing to help.”
This had been a really lousy few months. Mom and Dad suddenly, overnight, refusing to talk to each other. The house seething with everything they wouldn’t say aloud, at least within Olivia’s hearing. Dad’s face, tinted blue. The oxygen tank kept beside the big chair in the den. The slow way he moved, struggling for breath. The shock of Marsha Connelly finding a teenage girl frozen to death in the woods. Dad insisting on going to the funeral despite his fragile health. Mom’s angry absence obvious to anyone paying attention.
And then Olivia waking up in the morning to her mother telling her Dad had died sometime in the night. Mom didn’t know when, because she had been sleeping in the guest bedroom, which meant he’d been alone.
Another funeral, held only eight days later.
Olivia had been hanging on by her fingernails since.
Those same fingernails were biting into her thighs right now. Yes, Mom, I am mad.
“I don’t know what to say.” She sounded a thousand times calmer than she felt. “You’ve hardly spoken to me in weeks. You don’t care about the business. I’m not so sure you care about Dad dying. Now you’re rejecting everything that represents our family and my childhood.” She blew out a breath. “What do you expect me to say? Gee, Mom, that sounds like fun. Let’s dig right in. How about a garage sale? Ooh, I love garage sales.”
Marian Bowen sat so utterly still, she looked like a wax effigy. Only her eyes were alive, with a whole lot more than a hint of shock now. Apparently Olivia had betrayed more of her own pain and anger than she’d realized. In fact, out of the corner of her eyes she could see that other diners had turned to look. And, oh God, the waitress was bearing down on them with a tray holding their entrees. Bad time to jump up and say, “I’m not in the mood for lunch.”
Instead she kept her mouth shut until the waitress had come and gone again, probably wondering why neither woman so much as glanced at her, forget thanking her.
Then she said, “We need to talk about this later,” and reached for her fork. She wasn’t sure she could so much as put a bite in her mouth, but she could pretend.
* * *
BEN HOVIK DIDN’T know what had possessed him to take a long detour by the cemetery.
Until a few weeks ago, he hadn’t given it a thought. Growing up in Crescent Creek, he’d been as oblivious as any child was to the reality of death. Yeah, Grandma Everson was buried there, but he hardly remembered her. However, after the two recent funerals, the cemetery held a grim fascination to him.
He felt good about the first funeral. Not the death, of course, because that still left him stunned. How was it possible that a kid no more than sixteen had been too sick or injured or just plain scared to seek help on a freezing cold night? Why had she wandered so far into the woods, lacking even a coat? Then just lay down and died, like an animal that had lost hope?
And how was it that a girl that age could go missing with, apparently, no one who cared enough to be looking for her? The police had been unable to identify her, despite nationwide interest in her life and death. She was entered in missing persons databases that could be accessed by law enforcement from any agency. A drawing of her face had appeared in newspapers, on Seattle television news and even on the internet. There’d been calls, tips; none led anywhere.
The fact that the community had come together to pay for her burial was the part he did feel good about. It saddened him that she’d become theirs too late, when all they could do for her was give her a headstone, but at least they’d done that much.
Having Charles Bowen die so soon after Jane Doe, that hit hard, too. Ben had gone to his funeral because he’d known Mr. Bowen his whole life and had once loved Olivia Bowen. It had been all he could do to see her grief and not be able to do more than shake her hand at the end of the service and murmur condolences, the same way everyone else was. To see how blindly she looked at him, as if he were a stranger.
That was the moment when he’d given up.
His decision to apply for the job of principal at Crescent Creek High School, a return to his hometown, had awakened the seed of hope that he would see Olivia. That maybe they could reconnect.
The first time he saw her after the gap of years had been like a hard punch to his belly. She was only home on a brief visit that time, but she must have gone into work with her dad, because when Ben walked into the hardware store, Olivia was mixing paint and laughing at something a customer said. And, damn, she was even more beautiful than she’d been when he’d so stupidly broken up with her. At five foot ten, Olivia had gotten her height from her dad. That and her natural grace had made her a star on the girl’s basketball team in their small high school league. She still had the most amazing legs he’d ever seen—long, slim, but strong. And, man, he knew what it felt like to have those legs wrapped around his waist.
Thick, shimmering hair the color of melted caramel was from her mother, as were those hazel eyes, a complex of colors that changed depending on the light or what she was wearing.
He had stood, stupefied, a few feet inside the hardware store, seeing only her. Inevitably, she’d turned and seen him. Her eyes had widened; there had been a flash of something remarkably intense, then...nothing but a pleasant, slightly puzzled smile. “Ben. Goodness. It’s been forever. Do you need some help?”
Whatever that intense something was had kept his hope alive, even though she wasn’t receptive on the few occasions he managed to meet up with her during her visits home. When she had moved in with her parents ten months ago, to take over her dad’s business, he’d thought, Now I have a chance.
But apparently he’d been fooling himself, because she kept treating him like the merest acquaintance, not someone who’d once been a friend, never mind her high school boyfriend and first lover.
His fault, he knew, but still he kept thinking—
Didn’t matter. It was time he quit thinking about Olivia. Unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life alone, maybe he should start noticing other women. Much to his mother’s dismay, he hadn’t so much as gone on a date in the two and a half years since he’d come home to Crescent Creek with his stepson.
I should change that.
He gave a grunt of unhappiness and took one more look at the cemetery in his rearview mirror. A fresh bed of snow covered the graves, new and old. Only the headstones showed. The one he pictured most vividly said, “Jane Doe, Much Mourned,” and gave the date of the girl’s death.
Usually he ate at his desk or in the cafeteria with the kids. The one student he stayed far away from was his stepson. Most students likely knew Carson’s dad was principal, but the two didn’t share a last name, and Ben figured it was just as well not to remind anyone. Today Ben had felt the need to get away. Ever since Marsha Connelly had found the girl dead, he’d felt unsettled. No, that was putting it too mildly. He’d felt a gathering sense of foreboding, as if the one tragedy was a harbinger of worse to come. His worry increased with the second death following so soon, even if it was unrelated. He didn’t like the atmosphere at school. Sure, he’d expect kids to be disturbed about the death of a girl their age, but— This felt like more. Not whispers, he wasn’t hearing those. More like silence, unnatural for hormone-driven teenagers. Especially such sustained silence.
He frowned. Foreboding?
Slowing when he reached downtown, he thought with near amusement, Right. He was dramatizing his own depression. Call a spade a spade.
And then, right in front of him, he saw Olivia and her mother come out of Guido’s, the town’s one Italian restaurant. His foot lifted from the gas. The hesitation was enough to make him miss the light, which allowed him to watch mother and daughter walk side by side for a block without speaking, if he wasn’t mistaken. Both backs were stiff. They stayed a good two feet apart, careful never to so much as brush arms. Then they parted, with Marian Bowen looking both ways and crossing the street to her car, while Olivia continued on toward her father’s hardware store.
No, her mother’s store now, he supposed.
And there was a parking spot a half a block from the store. It was meant— He put on his signal, pulled into it and jumped out, his timing perfect to intercept Olivia.
Well, shit. Maybe he hadn’t given up hope after all.
* * *
HEAD BENT, SHE walked fast. Her eyes burned, and she thought seriously about not going back to work at all. Except...where would she go? Not home, that was for sure.
Home for how much longer?
Oblivious to her surroundings, she smacked right into somebody, who then grabbed her arms and kept her upright when she bounced back. Even before she lifted her head, Olivia knew who it was. Her body knew.
Ben Hovik. Tall, dark and handsome. The lanky boy who had, to her dismay, acquired muscles and matured into a man who would turn any woman’s head.
Except hers, of course. Been there, done that.
He was also the one person in town she went out of her way to avoid.
“Olivia.” His deep, slightly gritty voice was as gentle as it had been at her father’s funeral when he’d taken her hand in his. His expression was kind.
“I...excuse me. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
“You looked upset.”
She smiled weakly. “It hasn’t been the best of days.”
Her feet should be moving, but they weren’t. He stood there looking down at her, apparently in no hurry even though it was the middle of a school day.
Her heart cramped, as if she hadn’t already felt like a walking advertisement for Prilosec. Why did he have to look so damn good?
She had always noticed Ben. Mostly from a distance, until her first day as a freshman at the high school. He’d turned away from his locker and smiled at her, and she’d stumbled, dropped the backpack she’d just unzipped and spilled everything in it on the floor right in front of him. Lunch, pens, new gym clothes and athletic shoes. The rings on her binder had sprung open, compounding the mess. Her finest moment. When he’d helped her pick everything up and asked if she was all right, her crush metamorphosed into something a lot scarier.
The amazing thing was, he seemed to feel the same. He asked her out, she went. They fell in love. Made love. Talked about the future. Only, of course, she still had two years of high school left when he graduated, so he went off to college first, where there were lots of pretty girls his own age. She should have expected it, but she’d been stupidly naive and hadn’t. He’d broken her heart, and, nope, seeing him right at this particular minute in time was not making her feel better.
“I need to get back to work,” she said. Feet still not moving.
His dark eyes were penetrating, and his hands hadn’t left her upper arms. “You don’t look like someone who should be going in to work. Is it about your dad? I saw you were with your mom...”
Olivia laughed, a corrosive sound that had his eyebrows lifting. “Dad? Oh, sure. And Mom, who is apparently ready to throw off the old life and begin a new one.” Now, finally, she tried to shuffle sideways to go around him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Really, I need to go—”
“You need to vent,” he said firmly. “I’m here and willing. Plus, I’m discreet.” He looked momentarily rueful. “On my job, you get good at keeping secrets.”
Somehow she was letting him steer her to his Jeep Cherokee, which was right there at the curb. He must have just gotten out of it.
“Wait.” She tried to put on the brakes. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can talk. We can run through the Burger Barn drive-through and get drinks, then go park.”
The last time they’d parked... Not going there, she decided. They had “parked” a lot during their two years and five months as girlfriend-boyfriend. But the last time was when he’d said the devastating words: “I’ve met someone else.”
“No, I really should—”
“Olivia, you don’t want to go back to work looking the way you do.”
She closed her mouth on her protest. Even if she locked herself in her office, someone was sure to track her down. And she’d have to walk through the store to get to the stairs that led up to the loft where the offices were. She’d be waylaid ten times before she got that far.
Yes, but Ben Hovik...
There were worse people to talk to. Despite everything, she did believe he would keep a confidence. And he knew her parents, so he’d understand her bewilderment.
After a moment, she nodded and got in once he’d opened the door. From habit, she fastened the seat belt as he went around and got in, too.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother backing her Saab out of a curbside slot—which so happened to be right in front of the Home & County Real Estate office. Had she already listed the house?
Olivia’s coal of anger burned hotter.
Ben saw her mother driving away, too, after which his gaze rested thoughtfully on Olivia’s face and her hands clenched on the seat belt. Without saying anything, he put his SUV into gear, signaled and then slowly pulled out, going the opposite direction from her mom.
Neither of them spoke until he stopped in the Burger Barn drive-through. She was suddenly starved. Anger was apparently good for her appetite, when shock hadn’t been.
“I want a cheeseburger and fries. Diet cola.”
His eyebrow quirked, but he ordered for her and added a coffee for himself.
“You’ve already eaten,” she realized.
“At home,” he said.
“Did you have an errand in town?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Nope. On my way back to the high school. Just spotted you and your mother, both of you freely projecting hostility.”
“We weren’t.”
“If it wasn’t hostility, it was a close relation.” He turned his head when the young woman reappeared in the take-out window with bags. He handed over money before Olivia could reach for her wallet, accepted the food and drinks and started driving forward.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
“You’re welcome.”
She asked if he minded if she ate; he said of course not. He took a few turns but, thank heavens, didn’t head for any of the popular parking spots. Instead, he chose a lane that led to a now snow-covered field, turned around and set the emergency brake. He was nice enough to leave the engine running so they still had heat.
They sat in silence for a while, until she noticed he was amused by the way she was gobbling her French fries. Flushing, she wiped her fingers on a napkin.
“I noticed at the funeral that the two of you weren’t standing near each other,” he said, instead of remarking on her gluttony. “I figured you were both trying to keep your composure and were afraid you’d set each other off. But that wasn’t it, was it?”
She both wanted and didn’t want to talk. Why was Ben the only person who’d noticed something was wrong? Or had other people, but he was the only one with the nerve to be so nosy?
Or the only one who cared enough?
No, she couldn’t believe that. Whatever relationship they’d had was long past. Those words, I’ve met someone else, had been said sixteen years ago. Half a lifetime, for her. They’d hardly spoken since.
If she could just think of him as a high school friend...
“You know what Mom and Dad were like,” she said. “So obviously in love even after all these years.”
Ben nodded. Everyone noticed.
“It’s probably why I’m not married. High expectations, you know?”
He nodded again, but she noted, when she sneaked a peek, that his face was particularly unreadable. Did he think she was slamming him for dumping her?
Ancient history, she told herself impatiently.
“After his first heart attack, Mom was so scared,” Olivia continued. “But three months or so ago, something happened. They practically quit talking. Mom moved into the guest bedroom. Neither of them would tell me what was going on.”
Now Ben looked surprised. “Your parents?”
“It was...weird. I think Mom was the one who was mad. Is mad,” she corrected herself softly. “But what could Dad have done? I mean, he’d hardly left the house since they released him from the hospital. I was running the business, so it wasn’t anything related to that.”
“I can’t imagine.” Ben frowned. “Besides, your mother must have known he was living on borrowed time.”
Olivia stared straight ahead through the windshield. “Even when he died, I could tell she was angry. Grieving, but not the way you’d expect. They’d been married thirty-eight years!” She shifted in the seat to look at Ben. “We buried him four days ago. Four! Do you know why we were having lunch today? So she could announce that she’s putting the house on the market.”
He stared. “Already?”
“That’s what I said! Then she said, ‘I’m a widow now, and I’m ready to downsize. Is that so bad?’ We’ve barely washed the sheets from their bed!”
“Did she move back into their bedroom after he died?”
Olivia shook her head. “I think selling the house is her way of leaving him. Too late for a divorce, but she has to reject him somehow. And apparently, she can’t stand to wait another minute.”
He watched her, expression troubled. “You don’t have any idea what it could have been.”
“No.” She looked away. “He died right after—”
“I know when he died.” One large hand pried the small container of fries out of her hand, and she realized she’d been squeezing it in a fist. Ben set it between the seats. “Maybe attending the funeral got to him.” He hesitated. “It was a cold day. That couldn’t have been good for him.”
“What you really mean is, he looked into that hole in the ground and saw his own mortality.”
“It’s possible,” he said gently.
Olivia’s shoulders sagged. “He was acting...strange. I tried to talk him out of going.”
“Your mother didn’t go.”
She made a face. “They weren’t speaking. How could she?”
“Is she mad at you, too?”
Olivia pondered his question for a minute and finally had to answer truthfully, “I don’t know. She doesn’t like me pushing for answers. But also...I was always kind of Daddy’s girl. A tomboy.” Like he didn’t know that. “More interested in the business than I was in clothes or homemaking.”
From the minute she’d been old enough, she had worked part-time at the hardware store, full-time in the summer all the way through college. It’s why she’d been able to step in comfortably after his heart attack.
As a wounded sixteen-year-old, she hadn’t been able to help wondering if she just wasn’t feminine enough to keep Ben’s attention. In Crescent Creek, his options had been limited, but once he was surrounded by beautiful college girls, the girlfriend he’d left behind would have been cast in new relief. A giraffe—tall, skinny, lacking enough curves. Better with a circular saw than she was with a mascara wand.
Feeling impatient, she told herself it had been too long ago for her to still be wondering.
“So your mother believes you were on his side.” Ben sounded thoughtful now. “Or thinks you’d be sympathetic to him on whatever their issue was.”
“Issue?” she echoed. “That’s a mild way of describing something that would split them, of all people, apart.”
“Maybe they weren’t as solid as they seemed.”
“A few months ago, I’d have laughed at that suggestion. I know my parents.” More softly, she amended, “I thought I knew my parents.”
“You know she’ll talk to you eventually.”
“Do I?” Olivia sighed. “If she was only hurt, I’d agree, but she’s harboring so much anger. And that’s not like Mom.”
This time he didn’t say anything. After all, he didn’t know her parents the way she did.
She turned her head and really looked at him. “You haven’t heard anything, have you? You know... Rumors. If you have, please tell me. Don’t think I’m better off not knowing.”
But he was shaking his dark head long before she finished. “I haven’t, Olivia. Not a word. People are feeling really bad for your mom.”
She went back to staring out at the snowy landscape. “She wants me to help clean the house out. Get it ready to sell. I said, ‘Gee, that sounds like fun. Let’s have a garage sale, why don’t we?’”
Ben gave a rough chuckle. “Bet that went over well.”
“Oh, yeah.” Her mouth curved into a reluctant smile. “So that’s the story. Wow. Now I can’t decide if I’m hungry enough for that cheeseburger after all.”
He laughed again. “Didn’t eat a bite at Guido’s, huh?”
“I poked and stirred.”
“Eat.” The bag rustled when he reached into it, and he even partially unwrapped the burger before handing it to her. “Go on. You’ll feel better.”
Feeling calmer for no good reason, she did. Halfway through the cheeseburger, she felt the need to break the silence.
“What you did for that girl... It was nice.”
His shoulders moved. From his profile, she thought she’d embarrassed him.
“If I hadn’t started that fund, someone else would have.”
“Maybe. I’m not so sure. The thing is, you did it for the right reasons. In Guido’s I heard people talking, and it made me mad. It was all about TV coverage and feeling self-satisfied.”
The skin beside his espresso-dark eyes crinkled. “You were already mad.”
“Well...yeah.”
“Damn, Olivia.” The timbre of his voice had changed. “I’ve missed you.”
“Sure you did.” Appetite gone, she rewrapped the remaining half of the cheeseburger. “I really do need to get back, Ben. Thanks for listening.”
She felt him studying her. Her skin prickled from her acute awareness.
“Okay,” he said, in seeming resignation. He released the emergency brake and put the Jeep into gear. “I am sorry.”
She bent her head in stiff acknowledgment, not daring to ask whether he was sorry about her present turmoil—or because he’d hurt her all those years ago. “Thank you.”
Neither said anything during the short drive back to town. Only when he double-parked in front of the hardware store did she remember the lunch. “You should let me pay—”
Ben’s expression shut her down.
“Thank you,” she said again and hopped out, taking her drink and the leftovers in the sack with her.
“Good seeing you, Olivia,” he murmured, and, once she’d shut the door and retreated to the curb, he drove away without looking back that she could tell.
Her heart slammed in her chest, and she felt a yawning emptiness deep inside.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_28a079e4-d775-51d2-8216-685e28ab599c)
CARSON CALDWELL LEAPED to knock the shot away; then, when the ball soared over his head, he turned to watch it sink through the net. Whish. Really pretty.
I should have stopped it, he told himself furiously. He’d hesitated too long, not starting his jump until the ball was already leaving Bearden’s fingers. Too late, not concentrating.
This isn’t a game.
No, but Coach was watching. If Carson wasn’t careful, he’d find his ass sitting on the bench tomorrow night when Crescent Creek played Arlington High School.
He ran back down the court with the rest of the team, the sound of their feet thundering on the gymnasium floor. A shoulder jostled him hard, knocking him off balance. He flicked a glance at Coach, who paced the sidelines but didn’t see. A lot of this shit had been happening.
Wham. The ball hit Carson in the chest and fell away. Finkel snapped it up and tore back down the court, making an easy layup.
The whistle blew, echoing shrilly off the concrete block walls. “All right,” Coach called. “That’s enough for today. Hit the showers. Caldwell, I want to talk to you.”
Oh, shit, oh, shit.
Momentarily he was surrounded as they all walked over to grab towels and water bottles. There was another hard bump that had him cracking his shin against the bottom step of the bleachers.
“Mouth shut.” For his ears only.
Dylan Zurenko, senior, starting center and all-around asshole. It was another senior, Dex Slagle, who’d jostled him on the court. The two were tight. Carson had been flattered when they had accepted him into their circle.
He knew why they’d decided now he was the weak link. Daddy the principal. Stepdaddy, actually, but what was the dif?
Hearing the receding footsteps, voices and friendly taunts, he mopped his face with the towel, then draped it around his neck and took a long drink of the now lukewarm water.
“Your head isn’t on the court,” Coach McGarvie said from right beside him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, scrubbed the towel over his face again and faced his coach. “I guess it wasn’t today.”
“Hasn’t been since the season started.”
“I scored fourteen Tuesday night.” It had been only the second game of the season. The first game, right before Thanksgiving... Well, he’d mostly been shut out, but he thought he’d partly redeemed himself Tuesday.
“Good assists. You also fell over your own damn feet.”
He felt the flush climb his neck to his face. He had. Right here, in this gymnasium, in front of the entire student body. He had tripped and crashed down. People laughed. Afterward, he’d pretended his laces had come undone.
He couldn’t blame Zurenko for that one. His feet had grown two sizes since April. He was growing, too, but not keeping up with his feet. He wore a twelve now, but was only six foot one. He had dreams of the NBA, which meant he wanted to keep growing, but lately signals seemed to be taking too long to get to his hands and feet.
He stayed stubbornly silent. Like he had a choice.
Coach was about his height, not a big man. He’d played for some Podunk college—Ben said it was actually a fantastic liberal arts school, just not big-time where sports were concerned—and now taught history as well as coaching boys’ basketball. Last year, Carson had liked him. This year, McGarvie was all over his ass.
“Are you going to talk to me?” his coach asked.
He clamped his mouth shut. He couldn’t talk. Not about what was bothering him. It was...too big. And if he did, he’d be in deep shit. “Then I’m starting Guzman,” Coach said flatly. “You’re not concentrating, Carson. You’ve got all the ability in the world, but this season your heart isn’t in it.”
He couldn’t seem to help the surly reply. “I thought you said it was my head.”
McGarvie looked at him as if he was crazy, shook his head and walked away toward the locker room.
Carson went the other direction, past the bleachers, to where he could smack both hands on the porous wall of the gym hard enough to sting.
God. What am I going to do? he begged, with no more idea than he’d had since the morning after what he’d thought was the best night of his life.
Pride had him finally walking to the locker room. If he was lucky, everyone else would have showered and he could be alone while he took his.
* * *
BEN STOLE A glance at his stepson in the passenger seat where Olivia had been earlier. He could still smell her French fries and wondered if Carson could, too.
“Anything you want to talk about?” he said finally.
Carson shook his head, then grimaced. “I’m not starting tomorrow night.”
“What?” Ben hoped he didn’t sound as startled as he was.
“I’ve just been...I don’t know,” the boy mumbled. “Clumsy.”
“You have been growing fast.”
Head down, he shrugged.
“Let’s stop and get a pizza. I’m not in the mood to cook.” He’d almost suggested the Burger Barn, but that would make him think about Olivia, and he didn’t want to right now. Something was going on with Carson, and he needed to find out what it was.
The boy’s head came up. “Uh, sure. Cool.”
Four and a half years since the divorce, and he and his stepson were still feeling their way, or sometimes that’s how it seemed.
Ben waited until they’d been seated at Rosaria’s Pizzeria, agreed on their order and received their drinks. Then he asked casually, “Heard from your mother lately?”
Carson looked surprised. “No. Not since...I don’t know. Like, August?”
Ben had spoken to Melanie briefly that time, so he only nodded. Her life had been a mess, as usual. He refused to own any part of that, but he always worried that she’d succeed anew in sucking her son in. After her initial noble gesture—ceding custody to Ben—she’d tried a few times. Once, the second year, Carson had run away because he was sure she needed him. After he’d been hauled back, he and Ben had done a lot of talking, and Ben thought his stepson was doing well at letting go of an unrealistic sense of responsibility. Nothing in his expression now suggested he’d even been thinking about his mother.
So that wasn’t the problem.
He tried another not-so-random sortie. “You mad at Coach McGarvie?”
Hunching his bony shoulders, Carson didn’t want to meet Ben’s eyes. “Not really,” he muttered. “I haven’t been together. That’s not his fault.”
“Anything I can help with?” Ben asked. Years of practice kept his tone easy, not too pushy. Kids this age didn’t respond well to pushy.
Carson sneaked a look at him before his gaze skidded away. “Nah.”
Was that some kind of shame or embarrassment he was seeing? Ben wondered. Hard to tell in the dim lighting.
“You know, I’ll listen anytime you want to talk,” he said.
“Yeah. This is—” He hunched again as much as shrugged. What “this was” remained unsaid.
A girl? Carson was sixteen, a junior in high school. What could be likelier? Ben watched more closely than he let on, though, and he hadn’t seen any particular yearning looks. Not the kind he’d been directing Olivia’s way on the rare occasions when he saw her, he thought ruefully.
He heard himself say, “You must wonder why I don’t date.”
His son looked at him in alarm. Ben worked to keep his amusement from showing. A parental figure planning to talk about sex? What kid wouldn’t be panicked?
“I figured, um...” Carson’s throat worked. “It was, you know, because things were so bad with Mom. And maybe because you have me...”
Ben reflected on what was actually a pretty darned perceptive answer from a teenager. “I guess at first it was because of your mother. And it’s true I wouldn’t want to set a bad example for you.” He’d never been the woman-of-the-week kind of guy anyway, though.
“Grandma was whining the other day. She said she wanted, um, more grandkids.”
Seeing the fleeting expression of pleasure on the boy’s face, Carson gave silent thanks to his mother. Both of his parents, really. They’d accepted Carson without question as family. They openly called him their grandson. Even if Ben married and his wife started popping out the babies, neither of his parents would ever act as if the new, related-by-blood grandkids were any more important than the one he’d already given them. And because of that, he hadn’t regretted for a minute returning to his hometown, even if it meant he had to keep seeing Olivia and face her complete indifference to him.
If she really was indifferent.
No, he was kidding himself. She’d retreated at warp speed today when he tried to get personal.
“Hey, here comes our pizza,” Carson said, recalling Ben to the present.
They’d ordered an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink pizza that would probably have Ben suffering from regrets a few hours from now, but, damn, it smelled good. Carson fell on his first slice like a starving dog. Ben wouldn’t have wanted to risk his fingers trying to take it from him. He grinned crookedly, remembering that age when it seemed he couldn’t ever get full. And Carson, he suspected, might end up several inches taller than Ben.
Mel had never talked much about her son’s father; in later years, Ben came to suspect she didn’t actually know which of many men had fathered him. The fact that she hadn’t put a name on Carson’s birth certificate seemed to corroborate that theory. Whoever the guy was, he had to have been tall and likely a good athlete, too, since Mel had never seemed inclined that way.
Ben had taken only a few bites when Carson reached for his second slice. Unexpectedly, though, he set it on his plate rather than immediately stuffing it in his mouth. “So, how come you don’t date?” he blurted.
Had there been a good reason he’d raised the subject? Ben asked himself. Oh, yeah—to open up the possibility of talking about girls and sex. It suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea.
“Waiting for the right woman, I guess,” he said with complete honesty.
Carson’s eyes were a bright blue, his hair a sandy brown that, like most of the other boys, he wore spiky. Right now, those blue eyes were sharp enough to make Ben feel like squirming. “There aren’t that many single women in Crescent Creek. I mean, your age.”
The last was a little condescending. Middle age wasn’t exactly looming, damn it; Ben was only thirty-five. But what Carson had said was right: most of the really appealing women his age were already married. More so in rural Washington than would have been true in the city, but he didn’t get to the city much anymore.
Ben braced himself for Carson to ask about Olivia, since he did know they’d gone together in high school, but instead his stepson picked up his slice of pizza, then set it down again.
“Don’t you ever, you know, want to have sex?” His voice cracked at the end, and he turned his head quickly, cringing at the possibility that anyone had heard him.
More than you can imagine.
Ben heard himself make a sound he couldn’t quite classify. A groan? Damn, he wanted sex...but not with just anyone. With Olivia. He hadn’t been able to picture anyone else in his bed since he’d set eyes on her again after his return to Crescent Creek. Two years and four months ago, to be precise.
Carson suddenly blushed. “Or, oh, wow, maybe you are and you’re just making sure I don’t know about it.”
“No.” That came out so harshly, Ben had to clear his throat. “I’m not. And, yes, I do. Want to.” Was he blushing? “Unlike a lot of men, I’ve just never been into casual sex.” He hesitated. “I’m not saying that as a parental lecture, but to me, the whole thing is awkward when you’re with a woman you don’t feel much for. Sex with a woman who is essentially a stranger doesn’t hold any appeal to me.”
All the color left Carson’s face. He looked...shocked.
And Ben had no idea why.
For a strange moment, they stared at each other.
Then the sixteen-year-old gave an elaborate shrug and said, “You know that’s totally abnormal, don’t you, Dad?”
Ben let himself relax. Even enjoy the rare reference to him as “Dad” and not “Ben.” “Yeah,” he said, “but then I chose to spend my life working with teenagers, and what’s normal about that?”
They exchanged grins and resumed eating. It wasn’t until considerably later that Ben realized he still didn’t have the slightest idea what was weighing on his kid.
* * *
THE MINUTE OLIVIA opened the front door and smelled dinner cooking, she realized her mother was trying to make amends. Wonderful. What she’d really like was to go straight to her bedroom. Now she had to be nice instead.
In a better mood, she’d have laughed at herself for her sulkiness. As it was... She sighed and went to the kitchen.
Mom even wore an apron as she tore lettuce into a bowl. At the sight of her daughter, she offered an uncertain smile. “I didn’t hear you come in. I hope you didn’t already have dinner.”
“I’m just late. It smells good.”
“Beef stroganoff.”
“I can tell.” She forced a smile. “What can I do?”
“Oh— If you’d like to set the table?”
Olivia did escape upstairs briefly to dump her messenger bag and change into slippers, but then she went back down. Were they actually going to have a real conversation?
Apparently. Olivia had no sooner spooned stroganoff onto her noodles than her mother said, “I’m sorry I took you by surprise today.”
Olivia didn’t know how to respond to that. It’s all right? It wasn’t. Why didn’t you tell me what you were thinking? Now, there was the question.
“Lloyd’s wife wants him to look at those houses, too,” she offered.
“They’re really very nice.” Mom sounded so hopeful.
What could she say except “I’m sure they are”?
Both finished dishing up.
“I didn’t stop to think how you’d feel,” her mother said in a burst. “I mean, that this is your home.”
“You forgot I grew up here?”
“Of course not!” Mom visibly settled herself. “It’s just that it hasn’t been home for you for a long time. Until these past few months, of course.”
“I’ve been home for nearly a year now, Mom.”
Little crinkles formed on her forehead. “But I never dreamed you’d stay. Or were even considering staying.”
“I was focused on keeping things going for you and Dad,” Olivia said honestly. “I...hadn’t gotten so far as to think about what would happen when he was gone.” Unlike Mom, who apparently had been revving her engine waiting.
“Would you consider staying?” her mother asked after a minute.
Would she? Olivia felt a tug both ways, and that surprised her. Newly graduated from college, she’d have laughed at the idea that Dad’s hardware store was the sum total of her ambitions.
“I’ve been...happy at work since I came home,” she said slowly. “Making changes. We’re selling a lot of Christmas gifts.” Thanksgiving weekend, never that big in the past, had been fantastic this year, despite the death of Charles Bowen only days before. “There’s more that could be done to make the business even more successful.”
“But there must be an upper limit.”
“That’s true,” she agreed. “We can’t draw a lot of new customers unless the population increases.” Which they both knew wasn’t happening. “But what we can do is meet the needs of locals so that they don’t feel the need to drive to Miller Falls or even Everett to shop. We can be more competitive for builders, for one thing.”
“How?”
“Initially, lower profit margin. Long-term, we’d be buying in greater bulk. No, we still can’t compete directly with a Home Depot, say, but if we can come close, convenience will trump cost savings for local builders and remodelers.”
Her mother nodded her understanding.
“What I’d really like to do is to continue to expand stock. Go way bigger into clothing.”
That’s where much of the boosted sales had come from; Dad had never carried anything but the most utilitarian of carpenter pants, work gloves and the like. Olivia had added rain gear, parkas, hats, gloves and socks. Flannel shirts for men, cute T-shirts for women and even some clothes for kids. Mostly outdoor and work related but attractive. The last clothing store in Crescent Creek had closed six or eight years ago, and its stock had appealed to the matrons, not younger shoppers or men.
“We’ve got the floor space in the loft to make clothing into a huge sideline. I see a possibility for gift items across the board. Garden art as well as shovels and wheelbarrows, for example. And then expand in every area. We have electrical—why not sell a line of lamps and expand the number of lighting fixtures we carry? Plumbing? More choice of sinks and fixtures plus add some extras, like bath mats and hampers. We can keep our core business but appeal more to women.” She hesitated, the rush of ideas slowing as she broached the opportunity she’d been toying with. “You know that Swenson’s next door is going out of business.”
“Yes, I was sorry to hear that. Mr. Swenson’s in poor health, you know.”
“I do. My first thought was that we could use the floor space for some of my ideas.” She eyed her mother a little nervously. It was supposed to be Dad she’d have to sell on the idea. “My second was that we could buy Swenson’s and integrate it into our business. Appliances are pretty closely related to hardware and home improvement. Maybe we could pare down the stock to the bestselling brands and do both—sell appliances and use some of the floor space for other stock.”
Mom was staring at her, either riveted or shocked. Olivia was a little startled to have heard the energy in her voice and to realize how enthusiastic she was.
So, okay, maybe she had been thinking ahead. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that her mother would very likely want to sell the business once Dad was gone. As in, the minute Dad was gone.
Mom blew out a breath. “Well. I knew you’d made some changes, but I hadn’t realized how many ideas you have. I’ve been...well, a little self-absorbed.”
“Dad hasn’t been gone very long.”
Um...not the most tactful thing to say, when they’d both been trying to be conciliatory.
Without moving a muscle, Marian withdrew. “No, of course not,” she said with obvious reserve. “I suppose my instinct is to tell you to go ahead with your plans within reason. Even if we decide to sell, success should bring a higher price.”
At least she’d said “we.”
“Why don’t you talk to Mr. Swenson so we can get an idea what it would cost to take over his business and lease?” her mother suggested. “After that, we can both think about what’s best.”
“That makes sense,” Olivia agreed. “I can...help you with the house in the meantime.”
Mom lowered her gaze. “Thank you. My goodness, our food is getting cold.”
Prompted, Olivia picked up her fork. It occurred to her that eating together wasn’t something they seemed to do very well anymore.
Several bites later, her mother said, “Did I see you with Ben Hovik today?”
She froze with the stroganoff halfway to her mouth. Mom could only have seen them in the rearview mirror while she was retreating.
“We talked for a minute.”
“Such a handsome man. It’s a shame you let him get away.”
Olivia set down the fork. “Let him get away? He ditched me, Mom.”
Her mother must have seen the gathering anger on her face, because she said hastily, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounds. It’s just that, well, I’ve had the impression he could be interested again.”
“Would you want to open a second act with a man who’d dumped you the first time around?”
Her mother’s mouth trembled, and after a moment she neatly folded her napkin and set it on the table to signify that she was done, although she hadn’t eaten half of what was on her plate. “No,” she murmured. “When you put it that way...no.”
Upside of both losing their appetites? They had leftovers for tomorrow night’s dinner.
* * *
OLIVIA’S HAND HOVERED over the telephone on her desk in the office. She already had the phone book open: Crescent Creek School District appeared in the government pages at the front. All she had to do was dial the number for the high school and ask to speak to the principal.
She wished she could be absolutely sure she wasn’t using what she’d overheard as an excuse to talk to Ben. It was only yesterday she’d indulged in true confessions. What would he think, her calling the very next day?
Olivia moaned. Maybe she should call the police department instead... She got as far as starting to close the phone book before stopping and spreading it open again. No. This was really more Ben’s bailiwick. He might even know enough to say, No, the police investigated and there’s no truth to it.
Finally she dialed. When she asked to speak to Mr. Hovik, she had to give her name and was told, “I’ll have to check to see if he’s available right now.”
Not a minute later, he came on. “Olivia? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing like that. I mean, not really...” She rolled her eyes, then started again. “I heard something I thought I ought to pass on, that’s all.”
There was a slight pause. “Concerning?”
“The girl. Well, the night she died.”
“Ah. Hold on a second, will you?” Muffled voices suggested someone else had been in his office. He came back on. “Olivia? Can you take time to have lunch and talk about this?”
Oh, heavens. Had she been hoping—?
Maybe, she thought. Then she remembered that sharp spike of anger she’d felt the day before when she’d said, Would you want to open a second act with a man who’d dumped you the first time around? No—she was doing what she believed was right, that’s all.
“Sure,” she said. “I didn’t bring anything today.”
“I won’t suggest Guido’s.” There was amusement in his voice.
“Please don’t.”
“Not much privacy at the café or the Burger Barn.” He sounded thoughtful.
“No.”
They agreed on pizza. He’d pick her up.
She used the time before he came to study the loft space she was envisioning as an expanded clothing department. She tried to decide how much of a deterrent the long staircase would be. Maybe to some of the older folks. In this vast old building, installing an elevator wasn’t all that feasible, and certainly not in the foreseeable future. They could seed the downstairs, so to speak, with some of the products available upstairs. Tempt shoppers, but also make some appealing items available to people who really couldn’t climb the stairs. Of course, she’d have to hire extra help...
Ben called her mobile phone when he was a couple of blocks away, and she stepped out on the sidewalk just as his Jeep pulled up in front of the hardware store, meaning he didn’t have to find parking. He leaned over to open the door for her. Her heart did some gymnastics at the sight of his lean, handsome face. Thank God he wasn’t smiling. Given her history, she’d probably have fallen off the curb.
She was belting herself in when a horn sounded behind them.
Ben glared into his rearview mirror. “Makes me want to just sit here for about ten minutes,” he muttered but immediately started moving anyway. “Downtown parking is grossly inadequate.”
“You’re telling me?” Olivia was glad for a neutral topic. “I’ve been campaigning for angled parking. I think the street is wide enough, and it would accommodate a few more cars on every block.”
“Plus pleasing anyone who didn’t master parallel parking.”
“Right.” She couldn’t help smiling, even though they both knew he was reminding her of the driving lessons he’d given her. She had been an exceedingly timid parallel parker. Still was; living in downtown Portland, she had rarely driven.
They talked about other possibilities, including a city-owned block not far away that could be converted to parking.
The pizza parlor turned out to be mostly deserted, maybe because the usual lunch hour had passed. The couple of other groups didn’t pay any attention to their arrival. Not until she and Ben were seated in a booth and had ordered did he prompt her. “What did you hear, Olivia?”
“You know how many kids we have working for us.”
He nodded. “I’ve sent a few your father’s way.”
“Right. He said you’d persuaded him to hire Tim Allard.” A senior in high school now, Tim had shaggy hair and a sort of sullen, hulking mien. She’d blinked the first time she saw him, but he’d grown on her.
“He still working out?”
“Lloyd says Tim is his best worker. If Tim is interested, Lloyd would like to hire him full-time once he graduates.”
“Good.” Raising a questioning brow, Ben waited for her to go on.
“Anyway, I was out in the lumberyard yesterday afternoon and overheard a couple of the boys. They didn’t see me in the next row. They were talking about a kegger, how lucky they were that word hadn’t leaked out.” She wished she didn’t feel as if she was betraying a confidence.
His dark eyes were steady on her face. “What makes you think this kegger was that night? It’s been almost six weeks.”
She took a deep breath. “One of them was nervous—I could tell. The other one said, ‘If anybody had talked, the police would have been all over us, and they haven’t been.’ No, a direct quote is, ‘So far we’ve skated.’”
A nerve ticked in his cheek. “Damn,” he said. “I’ve been afraid of something like this.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “Wait. You mean...you knew?”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_3f2fa869-54b8-5997-98ce-6291fb8d7b2b)
“KNEW?” BEN SHOOK his head. “No. I’ve just had an uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right. Too many conversations that fell silent when I was seen approaching. Tension. Maybe—” he had to think it out while he was talking “—a different kind of shock than I’d expect at the announcement of the girl’s death.”
Olivia crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward, her vivid hazel eyes fixed on his face. “What do you mean?”
“I held an assembly.” He waited for her nod. “A lot of the kids—freshmen and sophomores—reacted about how I’d expected. They were ghoulishly fascinated. Most likely thinking, Wow, horror movie awful, and she was, like, our age.”
Olivia smiled at his mimicry, as he’d meant her to do despite the grim subject.
“But the juniors and seniors went really quiet. Not all of them. I saw heads turning, but also a lot of people not looking at anyone else. Definitely shock.” This was the first time he’d put any of this into words. “I didn’t necessarily have the sense they’d all gone on a rampage and were now afraid I knew. But I had to wonder whether a whole lot of them either thought they knew what happened or at least suspected something.”
“You must have asked questions.”
“In a subtle kind of way. Did a lot of eavesdropping, too.”
She made a face. “Like I was doing.”
“Yeah, sometimes I think it’s a shame the architect didn’t add a secret passage that leads behind the lockers.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I could know all.”
He hadn’t heard that small choked laugh in an eon. Or seen the tiny dimple that flickered in one cheek. Mostly because he hadn’t seen a lot of amusement or happiness on her face since she’d been back in town.
Her smile faded, though. “So you haven’t learned anything.”
He lost any vestige of humor, too. “No, and that’s made me even more uneasy. High school kids aren’t good at keeping secrets, not en masse, and not for so long. A girl being sexually molested at home, she’s got it down to a fine art. But when more than one kid knows?” Ben shook his head. “After so many weeks, I’d almost convinced myself I was imagining things.”
“I could be wrong,” she offered. “I mean, it might just have been a party that got wild and didn’t have anything to do with that girl. Maybe at somebody’s house when the parents weren’t home, and damage was done.”
He shrugged acknowledgment. “You’re right. But if it was that bad, wouldn’t you expect the parents to have been bitching?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”
He could tell Olivia didn’t, either. From her quote, it was apparent the boys she’d overheard were scared, not just afraid someone’s dad would be pissed. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened this fall in Crescent Creek—except for the one tragic death—so there had to be some sort of connection there.
Their pizza arrived. Different waitress than he and Carson had had, fortunately. He didn’t tell her he’d eaten here last night with his son. He was glad to have gone with a veggie special today, for a change of pace.
They dropped the subject for a minute, but between bites, he asked about the boys she’d heard talking.
“Maybe you don’t want to tell me who they were.” She looked uncomfortable, and he nodded. “I assume they were juniors or seniors?”
“I think all the kids we employ are. I mean, they have to be sixteen.”
“Right.” He frowned. “Tell me one of them wasn’t Tim.”
Olivia chuckled. “No, Tim doesn’t talk.”
Ben laughed. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I’ll ask Lloyd to keep an ear to the ground, too,” she offered.
Lloyd Smith was roughly the same age her father had been, early sixties. Growing up, Ben hadn’t known him well, but his face was familiar. He had thinning white hair, a deeply creased face and brown eyes framed by crow’s-feet. Days spent lifting heavy sheets of plywood and operating the forklift kept him lean and fit. He seemed like a good guy to Ben.
“He okay with you being in charge?” he asked.
“He seems to be. I half expected a problem, since I’d never worked with him before. He was at the lumber mill, you know, before they closed the doors.”
Ben nodded.
“But he says he’s happy running his side and letting me handle the hardware side. Claims he doesn’t know much about keeping the books, but I’ve found him to be sharp when we sit down to try to figure out directions to go.” She took a couple of bites before her next question showed that her thoughts had reverted to Jane Doe. “Have you talked to the police?”
“Sure.” The Crescent Creek Police Department consisted of the chief and five officers, two of whom weren’t that long out of high school themselves. It was the chief himself who had been to see Ben immediately, the morning Marsha found the girl. “Chief Weigand’s first thought was that the girl had to have friends here in town. Why else would she be here? It was at his prompting that I called the assembly. He spoke to the kids, described her, asked for a call if she sounded familiar to anyone. He borrowed an artist from the sheriff’s department, and they got out a sketch as soon as possible.”
Again, Olivia nodded. Presumably they hadn’t been able to make a dead girl look alive enough to want to flash around a photograph. Especially to kids, he thought, although he worried about the liberties the artist had had to take to give that illusion of life.
“Did he notice the reaction you described?” she asked.
“He didn’t comment. I didn’t, either. How could I, when I don’t know anything?”
And, God—when he’d been excruciatingly aware that Carson had been out the night before. Supposedly spending it at a friend’s house, but who knew? He was one of the students whose reaction to the news had been subtly off. Who had been more withdrawn than usual since. And until Ben knew what role, if any, his son had in the events being kept hushed up...he’d as soon the secret wasn’t sprung open.
Seeing the slight crinkles in Olivia’s high, usually smooth forehead, he was assailed by guilt. She thought they were having an open and honest exchange of information, and really he was holding something in reserve.
But how could he help it? His first loyalty went to Carson. It had to.
“So...what do we do?” she asked.
He was warmed by that “we” even as he shifted on the bench in renewed discomfort because he was holding out on her.
“I don’t know what we can do but keep an ear out.”
That dimple quirked again. “Thumbscrews,” she suggested.
It felt good to laugh again, to let go of the guilt. “Keep some in my desk drawer.”
He was pleased when she asked how he’d ended up in administration instead of teaching, and especially how he’d gotten himself hired as principal when he was younger than most of the teachers at the high school. He hoped it meant she was curious and not just scrabbling for a topic to get them through the rest of the meal.
He told her about going back for his master’s degree even as he taught high school history and government, then making the decision to return full-time for a doctorate in education. “I always liked to be in charge,” he admitted. He opened his mouth to say, I guess you knew that, but he changed his mind when he saw the way her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t have had a chance at a position as principal anywhere but here, not so soon. I gather they weren’t getting many quality applicants, and, well, I was the hometown boy.”
“So that’s why you moved back.”
“Partly,” he said, then shook his head. “Mostly it was for Carson’s sake. You know I have a stepson?”
Her “I’d heard” wasn’t very revealing.
“I thought he needed family.” He shrugged. “This seemed like a good opportunity all around.”
She nodded. He waited for her to ask about Carson—why he was raising a boy who wasn’t his biologically—but she didn’t go there. Either she wasn’t curious, or she didn’t want to admit to being.
So he asked what her plans were, and she told him she really didn’t know.
“I never intended my return to be permanent. When I first came, I thought I was just filling in for Dad.” She sighed. “Then I was so focused on him, I didn’t think much about the future. It was just day to day.”
She looked so sad, Ben wanted to lay his hand over hers, but he didn’t dare.
“And now it isn’t necessarily in your hands.” He’d no sooner heard about Charles Bowen’s death than he’d worried that it meant Olivia would be returning to whatever life she’d temporarily laid aside. That was when it struck him that her mother must now own the store. And Marian had never, as far as he knew, so much as worked part-time to help out. If she could get a good price for the business, why would she want to keep it?
The “if” was a big one, though; in small-town America, “Going Out of Business” signs were more common than transfers of ownership were.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Her smile was small and crooked. “That hit me about the same time she announced she was selling the house. I’ve been having fun running with some ideas—only suddenly, it was bam. Not my store, not my decision.”
“Tough,” he said with a nod.
She told him some stuff she and her mother had talked about—including the fact that they had talked last night. Made up after their lunchtime debacle. He liked all her ideas for the business and was impressed at how well thought out they were. The hardware store had always been solid, and, from all reports, her dad had made a success of the lumberyard, too. Ben couldn’t imagine that Charles had done much to build the business into anything bigger and better in recent years, though, not the way she seemed to do by instinct.
“Was opening the lumberyard your idea?” he asked.
“Well...we talked about it.” She showed some shyness. Didn’t want to imply she was smarter than her father, he suspected. “Hamilton’s went out of business the summer between my junior and senior years in college. So...I guess I might have prodded Dad some.”
Ben nodded. “Your mother was receptive to your ideas?”
“Willing to think about them, anyway.” Olivia made a face. “As she pointed out, the higher the receipts, the better price she’ll get if she does decide to sell.”
Was it possible the business had been in Charles’s name alone, meaning Marian now had to wait for probate to sell it anyway? The house had presumably been in both their names, so she wouldn’t be hampered the same way. Could that be why she’d so generously encouraged Olivia to try to build business? If so, Ben wished she’d been honest with her daughter. Otherwise, Olivia was going to be hurt when probate was complete and her mother brought down the hammer.
Damn, he hoped that wasn’t the case.
“You’d be working for your mom,” he pointed out.
She made a horrible face at him. “I am so trying not to think of it that way.”
He laughed and didn’t argue when she then decided she really needed to get back to work. A glance at his watch startled him; they’d been talking longer than he’d realized.
She was so insistent on splitting the bill, he had to agree. He reminded himself of his philosophy with teenagers: don’t push. Olivia was as wary as any adult-leery sixteen-year-old.
He winced at the thought. Yeah, she had been sixteen when he’d broken up with her. Not a good memory. Leery was probably a good word for what she felt, though, assuming it wasn’t way stronger.
During the short drive, she said suddenly, “Chief Weigand has been really closemouthed about the girl. Everybody talks about her freezing to death, but is that really what happened? Was she injured? Sick? Drunk? Has he said anything to you?”
“I think it’s clear the freezing to death part is accurate, but you’re right. He hasn’t wanted to say what else he knows. I’m actually surprised he’s been able to keep so much information close to his chest.”
Olivia would know what he meant. Small town translated to few secrets and gossip transmitted at a speed faster than light. Which made the mystery all the more shocking—and it all the more improbable that nobody at all knew anything. Nonetheless, Ben didn’t like the idea that any number of people might know little bits of something, puzzle pieces that, if shared, would put together the whole picture. Yes, there was lots of talk about her death, but he’d have expected some of those puzzle pieces to be slotted into place by now. And yet not a one had been.
The girl had to have hitched a ride with someone, for example. And since the highway closed in winter only a few miles past Crescent Creek, that ride had been with someone going to Crescent Creek, not a trucker passing through. If she’d been in good health, not drunk, not injured, she wouldn’t have died out there however cold the night. If she was drunk—she probably hadn’t gotten that way alone. If injured—how?
And, God, he had a sudden thought he should have had earlier. The autopsy would have revealed whether she’d had sex recently before her death. Was there any chance Phil Weigand had some DNA and was waiting patiently for a suspect to emerge to whom he could match it?
No, I’m reaching, he told himself, trying to tamp down that anxiety. There’d been no suggestion of murder. Sure, everyone wanted to know how she’d gotten there and why she hadn’t asked for help, but mostly they wanted to know who she was.
Still—damn, he wished he knew whether Carson had been at that kegger.
Olivia gave no sign of noticing his abstraction. The moment he braked in front of the hardware store, once again double-parking, she reached for the door handle. “I’ll let you know if I hear any more,” she said breezily and hopped out. “Thanks for listening.”
He barely had a chance to say goodbye before she was gone. There was not the slightest suggestion she’d enjoyed talking to him, would welcome a call asking her out.
On his way to pick her up, he’d been worried about what she’d heard but had also felt...hopeful. Having her call the very next day after they’d talked... Now, half a block from the hardware store, he had to sit briefly at one of the town’s four red lights. The hope had leaked out, as if it were air in a balloon she’d punctured.
What he’d been doing was dreaming, without the slightest encouragement.
Would they have made it, if he’d been patient and smart enough to wait for Olivia to grow up? He grunted. No way to know. Water under the bridge.
Besides, her mother might announce tomorrow that she was putting the business up for sale along with the house.
Maybe, Ben admitted, bleakly, for him that might be for the best.
* * *
SUNDAY MORNING, BEN woke to an astonishing silence. Frowning, he focused on the digital clock on the bedside table, groaning as soon as he saw what time it was. He’d overslept. Mom wouldn’t approve if he didn’t appear at church.
Thinking about it, he threw off his covers. Was Carson still asleep? And, damn it, given the hour, why was it so quiet out there?
His suspicion was confirmed the minute he looked out the window. The world was cloaked in white, and the snow was still coming down in lazy, gentle flakes.
Well, the Lord was going to be responsible for skimpy attendance at his houses of worship this Sunday morning.
“Hey!” Carson’s voice came from behind him. “It’s awesome!”
“Well, at least it’s Sunday.”
“Bummer,” his son said. “If this was tomorrow, we could have had a day off.”
“You may still get one off, although it’s not coming down the way it must have during the night.”
A storm had been forecast, but not the eight inches or more that already blanketed the front yard and street.
Now that he listened, he heard a snowplow working in the distance. He’d be able to get around with his four-wheel drive, but not everyone would. He and Carson could have their driveway shoveled in twenty minutes, but folks farther out of town with long driveways...
No surprise, it was Olivia he was thinking about. She and her mother would be trapped this morning. Unless—
“Let’s have breakfast,” he suggested, “then get out and clear our driveway.”
“Do we have to?”
He laughed and clapped Carson on the back. “We have to. But I’m not making you go anywhere if you don’t want to.”
“We don’t have to go to church?” the boy asked hopefully.
“We wouldn’t make it in time if we wanted to.” He had only a small moment of guilt at having implied he didn’t much want to go, either.
As he mixed up pancake batter a few minutes later, Ben decided to wait until they were outside and their muscles warmed up before he suggested performing a good deed. He could pretend it had just occurred to him.
Yep. His kid wouldn’t see right through that.
And...which part of giving up didn’t he get?
As he watched butter sizzle on the griddle, Ben admitted that he wouldn’t be giving up, not until he heard Olivia had left town again, and for good this time.
Worse came to worst, he and Carson could feel virtuous because they had performed a good deed.
* * *
“WHO ON EARTH...?” Olivia’s mother exclaimed, setting down her cup of coffee. The two sat at the breakfast table, where they’d been making lists of supplies they’d need to begin packing.
Olivia’s head came up. She’d heard the voices at the same time. “Maybe kids playing out in the snow?”
“That doesn’t sound like kids to me.”
And the voices should have come from farther away, too. The Bowen house only sat on an acre, but neighbors had at least as much land, and even if the people on either side had grandkids visiting, they wouldn’t be right outside. There was no hill out front good for sledding, much to Olivia’s regret when she was a kid. In fact, the closest hill that offered decent sledding was far enough away, she’d had to wait until one of her parents could drive her—which meant shoveling a very long driveway first.
Leaving pencil and list behind, she reached the front window with her mother close behind. Two men were shoveling their driveway. The voices were theirs, as was the laughter. As she watched in astonishment, one threw a snowball at the other, who dropped his shovel and bent to pack a snowball of his own.
“Oh, my goodness,” Marian murmured. “Isn’t that...?”
Olivia was gaping. “Yes. It’s Ben and his son.”
“They came all the way out here to make sure we could get out of the house.” For just a moment, Mom looked like...well, like Mom, her eyes amused.
Olivia couldn’t think of a single thing to say. A fist seemed to have closed around her heart, which might explain why she was breathless. Say something, she ordered herself.
“I should go out and help.”
“That’s a good idea,” her mother agreed. She chuckled, watching as Carson whopped a gloveful of snow against his father’s neck. “Dress warmly.”
Suddenly energized, Olivia donned boots, parka, scarf and gloves faster than she could remember moving in quite a while. Just as she opened the front door, Marian called from the kitchen, “Invite them in when they’re done. It never seems worth baking just for the two of us, but I’ll make a coffee cake.”
Man and boy stopped wrestling when Olivia stepped gingerly from the porch into snow that had to be nearly a foot deep. Having started shoveling down at the road, they were still quite a ways away. She waved. “I’ll grab my shovel.”
She saw the flash of white teeth as Ben grinned. “Guess we got distracted.”
He looked...amazing. Even bulkier in quilted pants and parka, the color in his cheeks high. The dark shadow on his jaw told her he hadn’t bothered shaving this morning.
Carson might be a stepson, but with his height he could have been Ben’s biologically, too. Their coloring was the greatest contrast. His hair was sandy, not dark like Ben’s, his eyes light-colored...blue, she saw, as the two tramped toward her. His grin was as bright and friendly as his dad’s.
Olivia hadn’t felt butterflies like this in a very long time. Ben hadn’t decided to come shovel her driveway because he felt sorry for the two lone women. There were a lot of single women in town. He might as well have presented her with a bouquet of red roses. Which she’d have sworn she didn’t want him to do, but—
Dismay washed over her. Oh, damn, she was more susceptible than she’d believed. The trouble was, he’d gone from being the sexiest boy in her high school to being...the sexiest man she’d ever seen. No, it was more than that, she knew. The warmth flooding her also had to do with her realization the other night that, despite their past, she did trust him in many ways.
“I was just wishing we had a nearby hill for sledding,” she said, because she had to say something.
“Yeah, cool,” Carson exclaimed. “The one by the high school is perfect.”
He was packing another snowball when Olivia let herself into the garage, but she was aware that Ben was watching her. When she reappeared, his dark eyes were still trained on the doorway. Hoping her blush wasn’t obvious, she narrowed her eyes at Carson. “You weren’t planning to greet me with that, were you?”
“Nah.” He turned and slung it at his father, who dodged just in time and then grabbed the boy in a headlock. They were both laughing by the time Ben let him go.
“This is awesome,” his son said.
“We could go sledding once we finish here,” Ben suggested. “What do you say, Olivia?”
She hadn’t felt even the tiniest spark of pleasure this morning when she’d looked out the window and saw the snowy landscape. All she’d been able to think was that they’d buried her father a week ago today. So it felt really good now to see the wonder in it.
“I say yes. Except first you have to come in and have coffee and a goodie Mom is baking right now.”
Ben laughed, his teeth a brilliant flash of white. “I think we can manage that. We’ll have worked up an appetite.”
Olivia looked at the expanse of pristine snow marked only with their parallel tracks. “Maybe I should start on this end while you take up where you left off.”
“No fun. We’re here now. Might as well work our way back to the road.” Ben yanked off the red fleece hat he’d been wearing. “Your ears will get cold.” He put the hat on Olivia, tugging off one glove so he could smooth her hair beneath it. “There. I’m already warm.”
Had his fingers lingered momentarily? She hoped the color in her cheeks could be explained by the cold. “Thanks.” She turned a smile on the teenager. “I’ve seen you, but I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Olivia.”
“Carson.” He grinned. “Dad said this was our good deed for the day.”
“In lieu of church attendance,” his father said with mock solemnity.
“Rescuing the little women,” she said.
“Right,” the boy agreed.
“Except the little woman isn’t so little,” she pointed out.
“Did I tell you Olivia took our girls’ basketball team to a league championship her senior year?” Ben asked his son. “She was a heck of a center.”
That caused a sting. Suddenly she wasn’t smiling. “How would you know? You were long gone.”
They stared at each other for a moment. “I...actually came to a couple of games. Anyway, Mom kept me up-to-date,” he said.
He’d come to watch her? Probably only because his parents were going to the game anyway and he was home, so why not?
“You were a center?” Carson studied her with open interest. “I guess you are tall for a girl.”
Olivia laughed. “And that’s a compliment, right?”
He really looked like his dad right now. “Right.” He spoiled his solemnity with a big grin. “Who likes little bitty girls anyway?”
Olivia mumbled, “Most men,” at the exact same moment when Ben said something under his breath that might have been, “Not me.”
His kid smirked.
“Work,” Ben reminded them.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_3ae1d007-4665-5f08-83dd-baed903ca680)
THEY DID SHOVEL, working as a team except for the occasional impulse to pack a snowball and chase each other all over the yard. By the time they actually made it to the road, they were all breathing like dragons, red-cheeked and good-humored. Olivia, at least, was feeling the strain in her shoulders and upper arms.
She turned and surveyed their accomplishment as well as the trampled front yard. “If only it weren’t still snowing.”
“Yeah, but it’s not coming down that hard.” Ben groped in his jeans pocket and produced his keys. “Catch,” he told Carson. “Why don’t you move the Cherokee up here?”
“Me?” The boy’s face brightened. “Yeah! Cool.” He trotted toward the SUV.
“Does he have his license yet?” Olivia asked.
“No, but he’s taking driver’s ed this semester. I’ve been letting him practice.” Ben grimaced. “Not so much in the snow, though.”
Olivia suppressed her smile as they both watched Carson give a cheerful wave and hop into the red Jeep Cherokee. “There’s not much he can run into between there and here.” She turned on her heel. “Except the garage doors, I guess. Mom might not appreciate that.”
“Yeah, and us.” Ben’s hand on her arm drew her up the driveway. “Although I have taught him to brake.”
“You were such a stodgy driver for a teenage boy.” Olivia cursed herself the minute the words were out. Reminders of their past were not a good idea.
“That’s a compliment, right?” he said, deliberately echoing her from a minute ago.
She had to laugh.
“He’s doing okay for a kid. In fact, he’s sure he has it all down pat, which means he’s cocky.”
She wondered at the shadow that crossed his face after that. What was he thinking as he watched Carson carefully maneuver the Cherokee up the driveway, braking neatly in front of the garage only a few feet from them?
“He’s on the basketball team, right?” she asked.
“Huh?” He turned his head. “Carson? Yeah. He’s not real happy because he didn’t start Friday night. There’s something going on with the team. I don’t know what.”
“You can’t exactly go berate the coach because your kid didn’t get enough playing time, can you?”
He made a sound in his throat that she recognized as frustration. “No, I have to step carefully. In this case...”
The driver’s side door slammed. Carson ostentatiously stashed the keys in his own pocket. Ben’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t say anything.
“Did your dad tell you he helped me learn to parallel park?” Olivia asked.
“Sort of,” Ben muttered, and she elbowed him.
“I passed the driver’s test, didn’t I?”
“Pure luck.”
Her elbow brought a sharp exhalation this time. “Skill.”
Carson watched them with obvious interest. “You guys, like, hooked up when you were in high school, didn’t you?”
“A very long time ago,” Olivia agreed, not looking at Ben as she led the way onto the front porch. “I got together with a bunch of old high school friends Friday night. Nicki was in town,” she said as an aside to Ben. “It got me thinking. I was sixteen years old when your dad and I broke up, and that was sixteen years ago.”
“You were my age?” The horror in the teenager’s voice made both adults laugh, although Ben’s was more subdued than Olivia’s.
“Well, I was a little older.” Ben’s tone was cautious. “Eighteen.”
“Weird,” his kid pronounced.
They stamped the snow from their boots, stepped inside and took off their parkas, hats and gloves in the entryway, laying them on the tile floor. Leaving boots there, too, they padded in stocking feet to the kitchen. The spicy smell of baking worked like a beacon.
“Mrs. B.” Ben went to her mother and kissed her cheek. “Good to see you under better circumstances.”
Marian’s smile dimmed at the reminder that their last meeting was at the funeral, but she relaxed again when he introduced Carson. She cut generous slabs of a cinnamon-flavored cake, and they sat talking while they ate it and sipped coffee. Perhaps inevitably, Olivia’s mother remarked on how proud she’d been of Ben for starting the initiative to bury that poor girl.
Carson ducked his head. Death, it occurred to Olivia, didn’t often become quite so real to kids.
“It’s so hard to believe no one at the high school recognized her,” Marian said. “Are kids talking about it still?”
Ben’s gaze rested inscrutably on his son’s averted face. “Not as much as I’d have expected. Carson?”
He gave a jerky shrug. “There’s not that much to say. I mean, since no one knew her.”
“I suppose it wasn’t all that different from reading in the newspaper about something like this happening elsewhere in the country.” Marian gave a small laugh. “Or should I say, reading online?”
“Probably.” Ben smiled at her.
“I almost wish people would quit talking about her.” Not until she saw the way the others all stared at her did Olivia realize how vehemently she’d said that.
“What do you mean?” Ben asked.
“Oh...I get the feeling a lot of people don’t care about her at all. They’re too busy congratulating themselves for their generosity to bother imagining her as a real person. Someone scared. Cold.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carson’s body jerk and she wondered about that, but not much. She wasn’t sure she hadn’t shuddered herself. “And then there are the ones who got to see themselves on TV and haven’t gotten over it.”
Creases in Ben’s forehead had deepened. “Don’t you think it’s normal for people to feel good after they’ve done something a little above and beyond?”
“Oh, I suppose.” She knew he was right. The people who didn’t want to talk about the girl at all bothered her just as much, but she knew that was dumb. Not everyone was given to brooding about a tragedy that didn’t directly impact their own lives. A couple of times lately she’d caught herself speculating, though... But that was dumb, too. Just because someone was brusque to the point of being rude when the subject arose didn’t mean a guilty conscience. “Where do you hear people talking?” Ben asked, seeming genuinely curious.
“Mostly in line at Bowen’s.” She rolled her eyes. “I swear sometimes our regulars come in to pick up something they don’t even need just to have a chance to gossip.”
Ben’s expression lightened. “Aren’t women supposed to be the worst gossips?”
She made a face at him. “Don’t believe it.”
“Come on.” He was definitely amused now. “Men are strong and silent. You know that.”
Olivia snorted. Ben laughed, but Mom didn’t. In fact, she looked strained, making Olivia remember the silence that had run so dark and deep between her parents. Maybe this wasn’t the best of topics.
“We were thinking about going sledding,” she announced. “Although now that I can feel my toes again, I’m not so sure.”
“Don’t be a wimp.” Ben smiled at her with warm brown eyes. “It’ll be fun.”
“I’ll probably be the oldest person on the hill.” Oh, she was pathetic, wanting to be talked into going.
“Nope. That’d be me.”
“I don’t suppose you want to come and be the oldest person?” she asked her mother, who shook her head firmly.
“Not a chance.”
New widows probably didn’t appear in public playing in the snow, it occurred belatedly to Olivia. Did grieving daughters?
Dad wouldn’t mind. And the truth was...she’d been mourning him for almost a year already, knowing full well they were losing him.
Which was true of Mom, too, of course, which made it more reasonable for her to have decided already what she wanted to do about the house. Olivia discovered she didn’t feel that forgiving, though.
And I won’t think about it right now.
Instead, she was going to let herself have fun.
“Oh, fine,” she said, getting up to take her dishes to the sink. “Do you know if we still have a sled out in the garage?”
“I think so,” her mother said. “Did your father ever get rid of anything?”
The sharpness in her voice caused a silence that went on a moment too long. Mom must have heard herself, because in a different tone, she said, “Look up on the rafters. That’s where the skis are.”
“Ooh, do I still have cross-country equipment?” Olivia hadn’t even thought to look last year. It had been a mild winter, for one thing, at least when she’d returned to Crescent Creek. And with Dad looking so much worse than she’d expected, and her having to take over the store, frolicking in the snow had been the last thing on her mind. “I don’t know if I still have ski boots.”
“Attic,” her mother said. “I’m sure some of your winter clothes are still there.”
“Oh, lord. I didn’t even think of the attic.” Their eyes met, and they were both thinking the same thing. Packing.
Not today.
Her mother ended up shooing them out after wrapping most of the remainder of the coffee cake for Ben and Carson to take home.
This time Olivia dug out a hat for herself and found dry gloves to replace the ones wet from packing snowballs earlier. Ben followed her into the garage and used a step stool to pull an old-fashioned Radio Flyer sled down. Carson looked thrilled; apparently all he and his dad had was a plastic disc.
“Man, you can steer those.”
“Kinda, sorta,” she said, remembering some spectacular crashes. And a few runs down the hill with her squeezed between Ben’s long legs and his arms encircling her, too.
Ben waggled his hand as he went to the back of the Cherokee. “Keys?”
Carson dug them out of his pocket with obvious reluctance. “I can drive, right?”
“I don’t think so. Risking my life, that’s one thing.” A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “Olivia’s, now, that’s something else.”
“Hey!” his son protested. “It’s not that hard!”
“This actually might be a good chance for him to practice, if you feel brave,” Ben said. “I didn’t let him on the way here because I wasn’t sure if the main roads were plowed. There isn’t much traffic right now, though.”
“I’m good with it,” she said.
Grinning his triumph, Carson circled to the driver’s side. Ben rode up front with him—so he could grab the wheel if he had to, she teased—and Olivia settled in the backseat.
Carson actually did pretty well during the short drive into town. Once he overcorrected during a skid, but he came out of it and nodded when Ben said something quietly.
She had known where they lived, but was just as glad Ben didn’t suggest going in when they stopped at his house. He jumped out, going into the garage through a side door and returning with the bright blue plastic disc. Waiting, she studied the two-story house, modest like most in Crescent Creek, but one of the oldest in town. It was a simple farmhouse style with a porch that ran the full width of the front. The backyard was fenced. When she asked, Carson said he’d wanted to get a dog, but he was allergic so Dad had said no.
“It’s dumb. I mean, I can be around them now,” he was complaining, when Ben got back in.
“Around who?” he asked, fastening his seat belt.
“Dogs.”
“Ah. The animals that sent you into full-blown asthma attacks when you were little. Attacks that meant you had to be hospitalized.”
“I’ve outgrown the asthma,” Carson said sulkily.
“Maybe partly because we don’t have any pets,” his father said mildly.
Carson looked ostentatiously in all his mirrors before backing out onto the as yet unplowed street, then starting sedately forward. Olivia relaxed. If he crashed here in town, no one would die, not with a twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit.
They had to park a couple of blocks from the hill leading up to the high school, new since she and Ben had gone there. Once they’d parked and started stomping through the snow, Carson carrying the plastic disc under his arm and Ben pulling the sled by its rope, they could hear the whoosh of sleds coming down the hill. Excited voices rose.
Ben gazed upward. “You been to the new high school?”
“Not to go in,” Olivia said. “I drove up one day just to see it.” She’d actually been thinking about attending the Friday night home game, until her friend Polly had called to invite her to dinner. Maybe another night.
Ben and Carson called hello to people they knew, introducing Olivia to a few. She was astonished at how many of the adults she recognized—some who’d been recent customers at the store, but more who’d been her schoolmates and now had children.
“Why don’t you try the sled?” she suggested to Carson, who demurred just long enough to be polite before sitting down on it, scooting forward with his heels, then gliding forward. He was really moving by the time he reached the bottom, letting out one delighted whoop.
She insisted Ben go next, accepting the accusation of cowardice and watching as he shot down the hill, spun out of control and crashed into a snowbank.
While she waited for him and Carson, she warmed her hands over a fire someone had started in a burn barrel hauled to the street for that purpose, and she joined the general conversation.
“Olivia!” a familiar voice called, and she turned to see one of the women she’d had dinner with Friday night. Autumn had been a good friend in high school. Unlike the others in their crowd, she’d gotten married right out of high school and now had three kids, the oldest almost a teenager. In fact, two of her kids were currently preparing to launch themselves down the hill on a sled.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” Autumn exclaimed. “I thought you’d still be snowed in.”
“Um...Ben Hovik and his son came and shoveled our driveway. He just went down the hill.”
“I saw him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Friday night, you stayed totally mum about Hovik Stage Two.”
“There’s no stage two,” Olivia said. “We’re just having fun today.”
“Uh-huh. Back in high school, you’d been out with Ben like half a dozen times before you told any of us— Ooh! Sabrina’s here, too.”
Thank goodness for distractions.
Both turned to include another of Olivia’s friends, this one a basketball teammate who had become a nurse and returned to Crescent Creek. Although Autumn and Olivia hadn’t stayed in close touch, Friday night had been all about updating each other. It turned out Sabrina had married a former logger turned builder who’d been several years ahead of them in school and therefore not on their dating radar back then. Her husband, Aaron, was a regular at Bowen’s, so Olivia greeted him with pleasure, too, when he appeared pulling a plastic disc, their two-year-old son riding his shoulders, half strangling his dad and giggling.
She had a surreal moment, looking around and realizing how many of the people at this casual gathering she knew and even considered to be friends. In all the years since leaving Crescent Creek, she’d been a city dweller who had become accustomed to being surrounded by strangers. She had forgotten what it was like to be part of a whole instead of always standing apart.
A lovely, warm feeling filled her, except as she turned to watch Ben and Carson cresting the hill, she heard Autumn whispering to someone.
“With Ben Hovik, of all people...”
She never had been able to trust Autumn with a secret, Olivia remembered. If she’d confided in her the way she had in Ben the other day, everyone in Autumn’s wide circle of acquaintances would know the Bowen marriage had been faltering even before Charles’s death, and that Olivia and her mother weren’t getting along.
So, you had to take the bad with the good, she reflected. Laughing at the sight of Ben still looking like the Abominable Snowman, she decided that, right this minute, the good was in ascendance.
Others started teasing him, but his gaze was fixed firmly on her.
“Bend your head,” she told him, and when he obliged, she swiped at the snow clinging to his hat. “That,” she told him, “is why I plan to stick to my sled.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got to crash. What’s the fun if you don’t?”
Carson grinned at her, too. “Tall girls aren’t afraid of crashing, are they?”
Man and boy let her go next. She steered herself right down the center of the hill, laughing in exhilaration the whole way, despite watering eyes and a face so cold her nose had gone numb. Oh, she’d missed doing things like this!
Inevitably Ben suggested they take a run together on the sled.
“Why not?” Olivia said recklessly. “Only who gets to steer?”
His face came vividly alive when he laughed. “Let’s review. Which of us is the careful driver?”
“I haven’t had a ticket in—” Oops. Seeing Carson’s shocked expression, she said, “Um, quite a while.”
“Right. I’m steering. Besides—” he gave her another rakish grin “—if you’re in back, you wouldn’t be able to see.”
“I could sit in front and steer.” If she could forget being in Ben Hovik’s arms for the first time in forever. Okay, not really in his arms, but...close enough.
Ben sat down first and waited while she gingerly lowered herself on the sled, hesitated, then gave up and wrapped her arms around his thighs to hold on. Even through his quilted pants, she felt his muscles tighten as if in response. He took a good grip of the rope, Carson gave them a running push and they were off.
The rush of cold air and exhilaration were there this time, too. Hearing the rumble of Ben’s laugh, feeling his rough cheek brush hers as he looked over her shoulder, made her heart do some stupid gymnastics.
The sled had just started to slow when he yanked hard on one side of the rope and steered them straight at a snowbank.
“What are you doing?” she yelled.
Wham. They both went flying, their bodies tangled together.
She ended up sprawled on top of Ben. For just a moment, she went utterly still, looking down at him. Past and present overlaid like transparencies. His face thinner, more boyish, but the laugh, oh so much the same. Crinkles beside those espresso-dark eyes that didn’t used to be there. His mouth, more sensual now. A look on his face, both familiar and...not. The hunger was there, but something else, too.
She had to struggle for resolve but found it. I am not doing this. Remember?
His expression changed as she scrambled to get off him. “Olivia...”
“You did that on purpose,” she snapped.
Ben sat up. “Yeah, I did. Is that so bad?”
“Ugh. Now I’m wet.”
He rose a lot more lithely than she had and began to brush her off. “No, you’re not. The snow is pretty dry.”
And she was behaving badly. It wasn’t like he’d tried to kiss her or anything.
But he was thinking about it.
The part that had her panicked was that she’d been thinking about it, too. And she knew maybe she was being unreasonable. Yes, he’d broken her very young heart, but he’d been very young, too. How many high school romances actually endured?
Autumn and Joe’s had.
But how happy were they? Olivia had no idea, only that they were still together. But neither of them had wanted to leave town for four years of college.
Realizing she was doing nothing but standing there, staring at Ben, Olivia couldn’t help thinking, I could just as well have ended up breaking his heart, once I left for school. That was reality.
So...why did he scare her so much?
“That was fun,” she said, trying to sound natural. “Until you crashed us on purpose, anyway.”
His face relaxed. “For old times’ sake.”
“Last time I let you steer,” she declared.
He chuckled, a deep, slow sound that made her shiver. “You can steer anytime,” he assured her, and it was not riding on the sled she pictured.
Not going there, she reminded herself, but this time she wasn’t convinced.
* * *
OLIVIA WASN’T THE first to arrive at work Monday morning; Lloyd Smith’s Chevy pickup was in its familiar slot. He beat her there almost every morning. She didn’t know what she’d have done without Lloyd. The hardware business, she knew. Lumber, not so much, given that Dad hadn’t added the lumberyard yet when she had worked for him. She’d have been in trouble trying to run that side without Lloyd.
The alley had been plowed, thank goodness, or they’d have both had to take up parking slots on the street. Even so, she slipped and almost fell on her way to the back door.
“Ugh,” she mumbled, unlocking and entering. Snow had been way more appealing yesterday, when it was fresh. And, oh yeah, when she was playing in it with Ben.
Only a few of the lights were on. She turned on the rest as she went, including the Christmas lights strung along the eaves in front and the lights on the tree in the window. She did this even though she was dreading Christmas and would have preferred to skip the decorations this year here at the store as well as at home.
Home.
No, she wouldn’t think about it, not right now.
Finally, she stopped to crank up the thermostat, too. The vast, barnlike building did not hold heat well.
The cluster of offices was in the loft: Lloyd’s, her father’s—at least temporarily hers—and the bookkeeper’s. Olivia smelled coffee even before she reached the top of the staircase. Bless his heart, she needed another cup this morning.
He must have heard her footsteps, because he stood in his doorway waiting for her. His keen eyes searched her face. “No trouble getting into town?”
“Nope. Ben Hovik and his son came out and helped me shovel our driveway yesterday,” she said, keeping her tone casual. “Otherwise, the roads were all plowed.”
“You and your mom holding up okay? Anything new?” he asked gently.
She realized that, one way or the other, she and Lloyd had missed each other the past several days.
“Mom has already decided to sell the house,” she told him. Everyone would know soon. Hard to hide a for-sale sign in the front yard. “I didn’t know what to say. She’s...not herself,” Olivia said slowly, and that was the truth.
Well, part of the truth anyway.
“I’m sorry,” Lloyd said, in that same kind voice, and this time she nodded and did succeed in smiling, if tremulously.
“We’ll get through it.”
“Sure you will.” He cocked his head. “Sounds like Stu’s here.”
“Somebody is,” she teased, despite the darkness of her mood. They had this conversation almost every morning. He was ridiculously good at identifying vehicles sight unseen from the sound of the engines, and Olivia gave him a hard time when he was wrong. This time she frowned, realizing it was a car engine she was hearing. “He hasn’t driven his truck in forever. What’s happened to it? Do you know?”
“All he’ll say is it needs work.”
Stuart Dodd’s pickup had been his pride and joy. A Ford F-250, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of years old.
“Shouldn’t it still be under warranty?”
Lloyd shook his head. “No idea. He’s being real tight-lipped, which makes me think he might have wrecked it and doesn’t want to say.”
She laughed despite herself. “That would be a blow to his pride, wouldn’t it?” Stuart had worked for her father since a beam had fallen on his shoulder on a construction project, leaving him unable to do heavy lifting. His experience made him a godsend working with contractors. Olivia guessed him to be in his mid-forties.
Lloyd chuckled. “Yes, it would.”
She let herself into her office and settled behind her desk with a sigh, cradling the mug of coffee in both hands to warm them.
Most days she was glad to be here. Until she’d had to face the realization that Mom might sell the business, she hadn’t let herself understand how much she was enjoying herself. Before Dad’s first heart attack, she’d worked as an account manager at a major Portland investment firm. Dissatisfied, she’d been thinking about making a change, and she had quit without a second thought when her parents needed her. She could take some time off and help her parents, she had reasoned.
At the time, Olivia had expected to be here three or four months, tops. Now—she had no idea what she wanted to do next. She’d begun to wonder if she wasn’t a small businesswoman at heart.
Something else, too. Thinking about what a tomboy she’d been had sparked a minor revelation. It wasn’t like she’d make career decisions based on what she was required to wear to work every day, but...she wasn’t missing having to wear suits and heels, do something elegant to her hair and put on makeup every morning. Jeans, flannel shirts, comfortable shoes, a ponytail—this felt really natural to her.
It’s me, she thought.
She shook off the reflection, in part because, as Ben had pointed out, any possibility of her staying to run Bowen’s Hardware & Lumberyard wasn’t really hers, but also because brooding wasn’t productive. She wanted to make time for sure today to talk to old Mr. Swenson about his plans for the appliance store. No point in starting to dream if it turned out he had a long-lost nephew planning to move to Crescent Creek to take over his store or already had a buyer.
Olivia spent the morning working the floor, as she frequently did, answering questions and helping people find the screws and bolts they asked for, pick out the best caulking material or identify the washer needed to stop that drip from the kitchen faucet. She loved the old building, with wood floors that creaked and weren’t entirely level, those high ceilings and the cold drafts that came every time someone opened either the front or back entrance doors. Given a spare moment here and there, she considered the layout and eyed stray corners, trying to envision how she could expand the stock without aisles becoming claustrophobic or displays too cluttered.
The cash registers were the old-fashioned kind, although the credit-card machines weren’t. Dad had modernized only as he had to.
“Nobody in Crescent Creek is interested in hurrying,” he liked to say. In general, it was true. Like she’d told Ben, standing in line at the hardware store was as good a place to gossip as any.
This morning, passing by the short line at the front of the store, Olivia heard Bernard Fulton saying, “That damn wife of mine thinks we’re going out to dinner tonight. Why can’t she cook seven nights a week, I ask? She says, God didn’t work seven days a week, either. I say, but this isn’t Sunday—it’s Monday. God liked Sundays, she says, I like Mondays.”
Olivia stifled a laugh. June and Bernard had eaten at the Crescent Café every Monday night for as long as she could remember, and most Fridays, too. So did all their friends. Most of the men had once worked at the lumber mill. Lloyd and his wife would be there, too, just as they’d play bingo at the grange hall every other Saturday and plant their butts in the same pew every Sunday morning at the Grace Lutheran Church. Bernard and June were Presbyterian, if Olivia remembered right. Pete Peterson, currently listening tolerantly to Bernard, was Baptist. If your inclinations were for anything else, you had to drive at least as far as Miller Falls. Not many locals did.
Was this really what she wanted? she asked herself with some incredulity. By the time she’d graduated from high school, the predictability of every day, of everyone she knew, had begun to drive her crazy. She’d yearned for something different. For adventure. For a future different from the one that had been her dream, when it had included Ben.
And now here she was, taking a ridiculous sense of comfort from the very predictability that had once been such an irritant. Not minding gossip, because...oh, because it meant people were genuinely interested in each other’s doings. Intrigued by the mystery of why Stuart wasn’t talking about what was wrong with his Ford F-250, when her eighteen-year-old self would have pretended to be interested while really thinking, Who cares?
Discovering she did care gave her a funny ache beneath the breastbone, one that didn’t want to go away no matter how busy she got.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_d8f71203-29f2-512b-8a8c-beb0a94682df)
AS YET UNNOTICED, Ben leaned one shoulder against the end of the bleachers and watched the boys’ basketball practice.
Even though the weekend had been unexpectedly relaxed where Carson was concerned, he still felt the prickly grab of the burr that was his worry about him.
During the Friday night game, Carson had mostly sat on the bench with his elbows braced on his knees and his head hanging, his eyes downcast. His body language shouted, I don’t want to be here. When he went in, he was a step too slow. Ben could see why McGarvie had benched him. The coach had probably had no choice. Ben had also seen the distance Carson was keeping from the stars of the team. Even when McGarvie called the team into a huddle to talk about strategy, Carson stayed on the outskirts, a careful arm’s length from anyone else.
Something was wrong, above and beyond a rapidly growing boy’s clumsiness.
He packed his observations at the game on top of Olivia’s worries and his own, increasing that sense of foreboding. It might be an overreaction, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. As a result, Ben had spent more time than usual today wandering the halls between classes, listening to snippets of conversation, talking to teachers and asking them to keep an ear to the ground for new rumors, and the only result by the time the last bell rang was that his uneasiness had grown, and he had not a grain of fact to base it on.
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