Sweet Laurel Falls. RaeAnne ThayneЧитать онлайн книгу.
a room at the Blue Columbine.”
“That’s a really nice place,” Sage said. “My mom’s friend Lucy owns it.”
Good to know. He would have to take a careful look at the basket of muffins that had been left outside his door that morning to make sure nobody had slipped rat poison into it. “The bed was comfortable. That’s usually what matters most to me.”
“You didn’t want to stay up at the Silver Strike?” Maura asked with a sharp smile that seemed at odds with her lovely features. “I’ve never seen the rooms there, but I’ve heard they’re spectacular. Fodor’s gives the place a glowing review.”
His mouth tightened. She really thought she had the right to taunt him about that damn ski resort, after everything? Did she not understand she was on shaky ground here? He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forgive her for keeping Sage from him all these years. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to deal with her prickly mood or veiled taunts about his father’s ski resort.
“I’ll pass. A B and B in town is fine with me for now.”
“For now? How long are you planning to stay in Hope’s Crossing?” she asked bluntly.
Sage sat forward, eyes focused on him with bright intensity as she awaited his answer. He chose his words carefully. “I’m not sure yet. I was thinking about sticking around for a week or two, until after the holidays.”
For all their surface resemblance, the two women had completely disparate reactions. Sage grinned at him with delight, while Maura looked as if Dermot had just fed her a teaspoon full of alum with her tea.
“That’s great. Really great!” Sage enthused. “I was afraid you were leaving today.”
“How can you spare the time?” Maura asked woodenly. “You’re a big-shot architect, just as you always dreamed.”
“It’s a slow time of year for me, which is why I was able to accept the lecture invitation. After the holidays, things will heat up. I’ve got a couple of projects in the region, actually, one in Denver and one in Montana, and a big one overseas in Singapore coming up, but my schedule is a little looser than normal this month.”
Maura stirred her tea, then took a cautious sip before speaking in a polite tone that belied the shadow of dismay he could see in her eyes. “Do you really want to spend that much time in Hope’s Crossing?”
He shrugged. No doubt she was thinking his presence would ruin her whole holiday. He didn’t care. He wasn’t really in the mood to play nice, not after she had kept his daughter from him for nineteen Christmases. “I was thinking maybe Sage and I could take off for a few days to Denver to study some of the architectural styles.”
“Really?” Sage’s eyes lit up as if he had just handed her keys to a brand-new car. “That would be fantastic! I would love it.”
Maura avoided his gaze to look out the window, and he could almost taste her resentment, as thick and bitter as bad coffee. When she finally looked back at the pair of them, she offered up a small, tense smile.
“That would provide a good chance for the two of you to spend some time together. If you do stick around, there are plenty of things to do around here as well. Art galleries, restaurants, hundreds of miles of cross-country ski trails. I’m sure you remember how lovely the canyon can be when it has fresh powder. Of course, that’s what all the skiers love too, and what brings them here in droves.”
It was another caustic dig, another reminder of what had finally forced him to turn his back on Hope’s Crossing—his father’s final, vicious betrayal and the gross misuse of land his mother had intended to leave to him.
Eventually he would probably have to drive up to the ski resort to see for himself how greed had destroyed his mother’s legacy. But not today.
“We should go up for the Christmas Eve candlelight ski,” Sage exclaimed. “We haven’t done that in a few years, have we, Mom? It’s so beautiful to watch all the little flames dancing down the mountainside.”
“That sounds great,” Maura said.
Not to Jack. The last place he wanted to be on Christmas Eve was up at the ski resort. He started to give some polite answer when his attention was caught by someone else coming into the café. He couldn’t see the man’s features from here when he turned away to speak to Dermot, but something inside Jack froze.
He didn’t need to see him clearly to know who was currently trying to push around the restaurant owner, despite the futility of anyone thinking they could intimidate Dermot Caine.
His father.
The biggest son of a bitch who had ever lived.
Dermot cast a quick look in their direction and grabbed Harry’s arm, obviously intent on steering him the opposite way.
“Hold your horses. Let me at least take my coat off, you daft Irish fool.”
Those were the first words he had heard his father speak in nearly two decades. He was taken completely by surprise at the twisted, complex mix of emotions that washed over him like flood waters through a rain-parched arroyo.
At the overloud voice, Maura turned around to follow the sound of the commotion. When she turned around, he didn’t detect any hint of surprise in her expression.
Was his father a regular at the cafe? He must be. He suddenly remembered Maura’s reaction the night before when he had suggested they meet here for breakfast, her initial hesitation and then the too-quick agreement. She must have expected Harry to show up eventually.
This was a damn setup. He should have known.
What happened to her? When they were wild teenagers in love, Maura had been his anchor, the only bright spot in a world that had never been all that great but had completely fallen apart after his mother’s suicide. It was obvious that sweet and loving girl had disappeared twenty years ago.
“Low,” he murmured.
She sipped at her tea again and gave him an innocent look that didn’t fool him for a second. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a liar now too?”
Sage looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to interpret the simmer of tension, but Maura quickly distracted her. “The Christmas Eve ski is always fun. What else would you like to do this year?”
“I always love the wagon rides they have through Snowflake Canyon to look at the lights.”
“We can add that to the schedule,” Maura assured her.
They talked about other traditions, leaving Jack to simmer in his frustration. He had known he would eventually have to see his father. He just hadn’t expected it to be twelve hours after he arrived in town.
Dermot must have remembered the vast rift between him and his father. To Jack’s relief, he had seated Harry in an area of the restaurant that angled away from them, out of sight of their booth. At least he wouldn’t have to come face-to-face with the man. Even so, any culinary anticipation for the cafe’s much-vaunted French toast had turned to ashes in his gut.
A bleached-blond college-age kid with the slouchy dress and manner of a ski bum brought their food over a few moments later, three plates brimming with golden French toast with little crackly pieces of sugar-coated fried dough and sliced almonds on top.
“Hey, Sage, Maura. Stranger Dude. Dermot’s tied up in the kitchen for a while,” he explained. “He asked me to take care of you. So if you need anything else, give me a shout-out.”
“Thanks, Logan.”
“How’s school?” Sage asked.
“Good. I think I made the dean’s list. I had a killer final in statistics, but I think I aced it. You?”
“Pretty good. Not dean’s-list good, but I was