Chapter Ten
OUR DRIVE BEGAN ON ASPHALT, BUT ONCE OFF THE SUN Valley road we hit gravel. The private route wound for miles up a dry creek bed between wooded, steeply tilted slopes, crossing rocky little ravines that once carried tributary creeks into the main channel. But these, too, were dry in this extraordinarily hot June. Even in the SUV we bounced and jostled over the deep ruts, which left a dust cloud hanging behind us and made Sam grumble.
“Blasted delivery trucks. Cissy’s got them coming and going every two minutes with something new for the inn.” He swerved around a pothole. “I swear, they tear up the road worse than my construction equipment. I wanted to pave the whole goddamn thing before the wedding but the county’s still processing my goddamn permits. I’ve got half a mind to do it anyway. What do you say, Red, shall we break the law and pave the road?”
“We’ve only got—
ow!
—we’ve only got three days,” I said, grabbing the dashboard to steady myself. It was either that or grab Jack, and the dashboard was safer. I kept sliding toward him, his thigh warm against mine. He smelled, quite pleasantly, of soap. “If they didn’t finish the job on time, we’d have to fly the guests in.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,” said Sam. I knew he was quite the small-plane aficionado, so his next remark didn’t surprise me. “I’m gonna build a little airstrip up there, you know. Once the wedding tents are cleared off, I’ll have the meadow leveled and take a bunch of trees down, then Cissy can have her lampshades brought in by helicopter.”
Sam went on describing his ambitious plans, the dozens of minimansions he would build and sell, each with its own minikingdom of acreage, though none as fine as the White Pine Inn itself. I tried to listen, to break my fevered awareness of Jack’s body, his muscles moving under the thin shirt, the sun gilding his hair.
It didn’t work—real-estate development not being a big interest of mine—so instead I gazed out the windshield and tried to concentrate on the non-Jack scenery.
The scenery was pure Idaho. Unlike the dark and dripping hemlocks of Seattle, the ponderosa pines around us stood bright green and glossy, in calendar-photo contrast to the hard and cloudless blue of the afternoon sky. As we passed one of Sam’s construction sites, a 180-degree vista wheeled before us like a panning shot in a movie, with a view down to the Wood River Valley and out to the high, jagged skyline beyond. There wasn’t a freeway or a shopping mall or a skyscraper in sight, just open country and open sky.
I felt my headache dissolving into the limitless distance.
Oh, Aaron should see this.
Aaron?
Wait a minute, why was I thinking about Aaron Gold when Jack the Knack was mere inches away? Aaron was hundreds of miles away, and besides that, he was irritable and uncommitted and he’d refused to come with me on this trip. How dare he invade my present thoughts while I was reconnecting with my past?
Sam startled me out of these reflections by taking the next hairpin turn at a hair-raising speed. Presumably, since he was still alive, he was a better airplane pilot than he was a driver. He overcorrected and we fishtailed a little, sending a spurt of gravel into the ravine below.
“Careful, there,” said Jack, amused and unflappable. “If I’m not in one piece to say ‘I do’ on Saturday, you’ll have to answer to Tracy.”
Tracy. The bride. Jack’s wife.
The mention of her name was a slosh of cold water on my overheated state.
This is a married man you’re drooling over,
said my better self. Of course, my worse self chimed in
Not yet he isn’t,
but I told her to shut up.
“Aw, shut up,” said Sam. To Jack, not to me. “You’re lucky to be in one piece to begin with. Like I keep telling Danny, anybody who goes jumping out of a perfectly good airplane should have his head examined.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jack answered, but absently. He was staring at the western horizon, where a gunmetal-gray mountain of thunderheads had begun to dwarf the green mountains below. “Here we go again. We’ve had enough lightning strikes for a whole season already, and it looks like more coming. These woods are like kindling.”
Sam chuckled. “You itching for a Pulaski? You should be thinking about your honeymoon. Cissy’s got the cottage all done up.”
“Cottage?” I asked. “B.J. told me the honeymoon was in Costa Rica.”
“It is,” said Jack. “A spa for Tracy and after that an ecotour in the rain forest for me. But she’s got a huge fan club down there, and her manager has her doing interviews the minute we touch down. I wanted some peace and quiet first, so we’re staying at White Pine for a few days.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Nice!” said Sam, gunning the engine up a final incline. “Heaven on earth. You can see for yourself, ’cause we’re here.”
B.J. was right: White Pine was spectacular. The threestoried inn, a tiered affair of log and shingle, thrust out from the crest of the ridge like the prow of a ship, its myriad skylights and bay windows glinting in the sun.
The inn’s deep eaves and fancy woodwork suggested a Swiss chalet, but with none of the flimsy alpine kitsch you sometimes see in high-country motels. Here everything was richly substantial, with sure-handed design and gracefully executed details. From the massive fieldstone foundation to the tiny brass latches on the casement windows, Sam Kane bought only the best.
The road continued past a long, narrow parking area— crowded by pine trees and as yet unpaved—and disappeared into the woods. Somewhere farther, I assumed, the road led to the resort’s condominiums and the other private houses still under construction. The construction site we had passed must be almost straight below us, judging by the way the road had doubled back on itself, but it was out of view below the treetops.
We alighted from the SUV. The landscaping around the half-circle drive was still sketchy, but with a million-dollar view of mountains and forests, who misses a few shrubs? As I took in the view, I took in a deep, contented breath. The air up here was almost as hot as in the valley, but the teasing breeze that trailed across my skin bore the clean, exciting scent of sun-warmed pines. Heaven.
“Heaven must smell like this,” I said.
Jack smiled at me, the killer smile, but Sam was already throwing open the front door of his castle.
“Come on in!” he called, and waved an arm proudly. “Ain’t this grand?”
Grandiose was more like it. The main room of the inn was vast, its western wall all windows under the soaring, open-beamed ceiling, with a generous flagstone veranda hanging out over that fabulous view. It was the kind of space that’s called a “great room,” and with good reason.
I glimpsed a gleaming kitchen down a hallway to the right, and on the left a wide staircase led up to a sort of mezzanine level with its own sitting areas among the corridors and doors.
“Sleeps sixty, including the staff, or it will once I hire ’em,” said Sam. “Kitchen could feed an army. It’s not all done yet, of course, but Cissy’s been working on the decorating in the rooms we’re using for the wedding.”
“I can tell.” I made a careful attempt to sound enthusiastic. The furnishings were mostly oak and leather, millionaire cowboy stuff, which suited the building and its rugged location. But overlaid on this masculine foundation were layers upon layers of ruffly pillows and cutesy whatnots and flowery curtains, most of them purple. Lots of purple. “She certainly has...a special touch.”
I was saved from further fibs when Sam’s pocket crackled and squawked. He pulled out a walkie-talkie and barked into it.
“What? No! No, no, no! Dammit, just stop what you’re doing and wait for me.” He switched off and turned to us with a preoccupied frown. “I’ve got a new foreman pouring foundations out there along the ridge, and if he doesn’t straighten out, he won’t be foreman long. Jack, you show Red around the place, would you? I shouldn’t be long.”
Jack barely had time to agree before Sam was out the door and gone in a rooster tail of dust. I listened to his engine fade in the distance, leaving us alone. Alone with Jack Packard in a building full of beds...
But some daydreams don’t hold up in the harsh light of reality.
What exactly were you planning to do?
I asked myself.
Drag him down onto one of Cissy’s purple bedspreads? What on
earth would he think of you then?
“You OK?” Jack touched my arm. “You look a little car-sick.”
“I’m fine.” I moved away and raked a hand through my hair. “Just a bit queasy. Let’s start in the kitchen, shall we? I could use some cold water.”
As I stood at the polished granite counter, sipping from the glass Jack handed me, I took refuge in Shara Mortimer’s paperwork. The general outline of the wedding was clear enough: an outdoor ceremony, champagne and a grilled supper back at the inn, and dancing under the stars. Very festive, very lavish, and, as I’d expect from Paliere Productions, very efficiently documented.
I put on a businesslike air, nodding gravely and making notes in the margins, until I regained my composure. Jack waited patiently, his arms folded, leaning against the stove. It was a restaurant-style range, double wide, with all the latest bells and whistles. He looked good there.
Though he’d look better naked.
Maybe I should have poured cold water over my head.
Down, girl.
“Right!” I said briskly, wrenching my gaze away from Jack to survey the rest of the kitchen. Strictly speaking, this was the catering manager’s domain, but taking over the Kane/ Packard nuptials at the last minute put me in a tricky position. If I was to command the respect and confidence of my vendors at tomorrow morning’s meeting, I needed to arm myself with the details of the venue.
So I checked on refrigerator and freezer space, extra sinks, power supply, the servers’ access route from kitchen to veranda, all the while scribbling away in the fat spiral notebook I always have at hand. Eddie keeps nagging me about upgrading to something electronic, but I like paper. You would think he’d be the old-fashioned one, at his age, but—
“Eddie!” I said aloud.
Jack tilted his head. “Eddie?”
“My partner back in Seattle.” I fumbled in my tote bag for my cell phone. “I can’t take on a new client without letting him know. I should call B.J., too, and tell her where I am.”
“No cell service up here, not until Sam builds his tower,” said Jack. “That’s why he uses walkie-talkies.”
“Of course.” I put the useless phone away and scribbled another note. “Well, let’s keep going. Do you know where Tracy and the bridesmaids plan to dress?”
“Yeah, the master bedroom. Follow me.”
The master bedroom was directly above the great room and shared the same breathtaking view of the western skyline. I crossed the bedroom—sure enough, the bedspread was strewn with icky pink and purple roses—and looked out the picture window. The drapes were purple, too, tied back with pink cord, and they clashed horribly with the blue sky and green forest scenery.
But I was thinking of photography, not scenery, because the veranda was straight below the window. Along with the classic shots of the bride checking her makeup and arranging her veil, the photographer might want to catch some candids of the proud papa or the nervous groom pacing the veranda. Nice.
A well-worn path led down the slope beneath the veranda into a grove of aspens. The hot spring? I leaned to see, resting my forehead against the window. As I did, I recalled standing in the houseboat looking out at the rain, and then the warmth of Aaron’s arms around me.
The thought of him there in my Seattle home was comforting, and I suddenly felt much steadier. Of course I was attracted to Jack—what female wasn’t?—but I could handle that. And I could handle this wedding, too. Like the man said, that was then, this is now. I was a professional woman, not the infatuated girl I’d been back in the Muffy summer. I squared my shoulders and stepped away from the window.
And right into Jack. He had come up close behind me and now he moved even closer, sliding one swift hand around my waist and the other behind my head, to lift my face to his kiss. It was a warm, confident kiss, and I confess I melted into it. But only for a moment, I swear, and then I pulled away.
“What do you think you’re—”
“You can’t pretend you—”
“Well, well,
well
!”
At the sound of this third voice, Jack and I whipped our heads around to stare. Standing straddle-legged in the bedroom doorway, grinning a big white sharky grin, was Domaso Duarte.
Chapter Eleven
TESTOSTERONE HAS ITS ADVANTAGES. OF THE THREE OF US, I was the innocent party; Jack was guilty of making an uninvited pass, and Domaso had barged into a private encounter. So why was I the one turning scarlet and groping for words?
Jack and Domaso, meanwhile, went straight into bull elk mode, pawing the earth with their metaphorical hooves and tossing their invisible antlers.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Jack took an angry stride forward, his fists clenched, but Domaso stood his ground in the doorway and lifted his formidable chin.
“Hey, man, I work here. I’m looking for Sam.” His dark eyes slid over to me and then returned to Jack. “I don’t have to ask you what
you’re
doing.”
Thoughts and emotions tumbled through my mind, but words continued to fail me.
“Sam’s at the construction site,” said Jack. His teeth were clenched, too. “Couldn’t you see his car isn’t here?”
“Just checking.”
“Well, go check at the site.”
Domaso shrugged and retreated down the stairs, but it was a victorious retreat. Halfway down he called over his shoulder, “You two have fun!”
Jack waited for the front door to slam, then blew out a long breath. “I swear, that guy is always underfoot and he’s always smirking. What is it with him?”
“Never mind
him,
” I said, finding my voice at last. “You’re the one getting married in a few days.”
I’m not sure what I expected from Jack—guilt or defiance or even some attempt to pass the incident off as a joke. I didn’t expect the tone of genuine dismay in his voice.
“I know. I know!” He sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at the carpet with a puzzled frown. “I love Tracy, I really do. My days of catting around are over and that’s
fine
with me. I guess seeing you again got me thinking about that night, and acting like I used to.”
He didn’t say which night. We both knew he didn’t have to.
“That was a long time ago,” I began.
“Doesn’t matter how long ago. I behaved pretty badly, didn’t I?” He lifted his eyes to me, those topaz eyes. “I’m sorry, Carnegie. I should have at least talked to you afterward and made sure you were OK.”
“I was OK. Eventually. But now—”
“Now I’m out of line.”
“Absolutely.” I felt like a hypocrite saying it, but it had to be said. Later on we could laugh off any gossip that Domaso might start, but right now I needed this settled, for my own peace of mind. “I’m sure you didn’t... I mean, I’m sure it was just a momentary impulse....”
“An impulse?” The killer smile had reappeared. He joined me by the window again, keeping his distance and narrowing his eyes against the afternoon sun. “I guess you could call it that, just an impulse to kiss a pretty woman. And we can call it momentary if you want.”
“That’s what I want,” I said firmly, and strode to the door. “And the moment’s over, all right? Let’s finish our tour. How about showing me the meadow?”
What I really wanted, of course, was to jump Jack’s bones right then and there. But I also wanted my self-respect, and the ability to look my latest bride in the eye before I sent her down the aisle.
I felt a bit wistful on the way downstairs, but as we left the inn for the sunshine outside, my heart grew lighter with every step. And the meadow was a mess, which helped ease us back into the prosaic task at hand. Nothing like piles of deer scat to alter the mood.
Not that it wasn’t a lovely spot, a grassy acre or so with three tall ponderosa pines in the center where the ceremony would take place. The cinnamon-colored trunks were as broad as church columns, their green tops as lofty as a steeple. But the narrow skirt of open space surrounding them, which must have been lush and almost level back in May, now lay lumpy and parched.
“Could have sworn this grass used to be green,” said Jack, nudging a dried-out clump of weeds with his toe. “I don’t remember all these holes, either, or the rocks.”
“There’s a landscaping team lined up,” I assured him. “And if we need to, we’ll bring in rolls of carpeting. It never fails, the women know it’s an outdoor ceremony and they still wear stiletto heels.”
“Especially Tracy’s girlfriends from the show.” He chuckled. “I don’t understand how some of them manage to walk. They sure look good, though.”
“It’s nice that you’re getting to know her friends,” I said primly, wondering if he hit on them, too.
“Hell, I was dating one of her friends, that’s how I got to know her.”
“Here in Idaho?” I was confused.
“No, down in Sonoma. I own a little property there that I’m working as a vineyard. Lots of L.A. people come for wine tours in the Napa Valley. I got involved with this one actress, and then she brought some of her friends for a weekend. I was just blown away when I realized that the star on her program was that gawky teenager from way back in Ketchum.”
I bet the actress was blown away when Tracy stole you from
her,
I thought. But all I said was “You own a vineyard?”
“Just a small place. Bought it years ago, so I’m just now getting a decent harvest. Carpeting, huh?”
This was more like it. We paced out the space, laughing and chatting, while I scribbled notes about questions to ask my vendors in the morning. If the laughter was a little forced, so what? By Saturday night Jack would be a married man, and by Monday I’d be back in Seattle, getting down to business.
Then Jack inquired how B.J. was doing after our raucous night at the Pio, and I recalled my unfinished business for her.
“She’s fine,” I told him. “And she’s especially happy that Matt is getting home in time to come to the wedding with her.”
Jack nodded in satisfaction, knowing that I had delivered his friendly warning. B.J. wouldn’t be asking any more awkward questions about Brian Thiel. I would, of course, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Pari Taichert seemed especially distressed about the accident,” I said. “Were she and Brian particular friends?”
“Not that I heard about,” he said, shrugging. “I think I would have heard, too. The Tyke’s a good buddy. She’s going to stand up for me, you know. You got a problem with that?”
“Of course not! The best man, or woman, should always be someone especially close to the groom. I think she’s the perfect choice.”
We were on our way back to the house by then. I looked around for Sam, but he hadn’t returned. Just as well; in my reaction to Domaso’s sudden appearance, I hadn’t really checked out the house properly.
Back inside, I took a look in the bathrooms—you’d be surprised at how many weddings run out of toilet paper— and at the closets and other storage space. Then in the great room I surveyed the various surfaces where flower arrangements and candlesticks could go.
Candlelight is flattering in more ways than one. There’s the soft quality of the light itself, but also the fact that a dim environment makes your pupils dilate. And dilated pupils send an unconscious signal to the human brain, a signal of emotional warmth, attentiveness, and even sexual arousal. Hence the romance of dining by candlelight.
I love knowing this stuff.
“It’s interesting—” I began, about to relate my bit of candle trivia to Jack. Then I caught myself. This was hardly the time to talk about romance.
“What’s interesting?”
He was standing by the empty fireplace, and a photo on the broad mantelpiece behind him helped me to improvise. It showed Sam and Cissy at a construction site, presumably for the inn, her tiny hands joined to his big ones on a shovel with a big bow on its handle.
“Um, it’s interesting to think about earlier generations’ wedding ceremonies. I’d love to see a picture of Tracy’s parents as bride and groom. Or your parents. Are they coming, by the way?”
He shook his head. “Long gone. The jumpers, that’s my family. There’s a picture of Sam and Cissy’s wedding in that album over there, though. I saw it when they were looking for the groundbreaking picture to frame.”
We sat on a couch with the album before us. Jack turned back the oversized pages, turning back the years, until he came to a set of wavy-edged snapshots. I recognized Sam’s jug ears and gangly frame at once, even with the 1970’s side-burns, but could that sleek little long-haired blonde in the shirtwaist dress really be Cissy?
Jack noticed my surprise. “Kind of different, wasn’t she? I guess it was a quickie wedding, just a justice-of-the-peace sort of thing, on account of Sam’s divorce.”
“From Danny’s mother?”
“Yeah. Sam doesn’t like to talk about his first marriage. Danny, either. He was just a kid at the time, and it hit him hard, everyone talking about this gorgeous little gold digger who got hold of Sam Kane. Danny’s kind of a melancholy guy. Maybe that’s why.”
“Thanks for the tip,” I said. “I’ll keep off the subject. What about aunts and uncles? Any special family members that Tracy wants to acknowledge in the toasts?”
I could have waited to ask Tracy herself, or dug out the information from Shara’s notes, but we had to talk about something while we waited for Sam. And besides, I liked the sound of Jack’s voice, and I didn’t want to get off the couch. So sue me.
“Not really,” he was saying. “Cissy doesn’t seem to have any family, and Sam’s only brother died before Tracy was born. Big hero in the Korean war.”
“Killed in action?”
He shook his head again. “Suicide. Drowned himself in the lake where he used to go fishing. They didn’t call it post-traumatic stress syndrome back then, but I guess that’s what it was.”
“What a shame. Did Danny know his uncle?”
“Oh, more than that. He adored him. Wait, there must be a picture...”
There were several pictures, of a sweet, small-featured boy and a tall, broad-shouldered young man who looked a little like Sam and a lot like a vintage movie star.
In one picture, Roy Kane held a pair of fishing poles while little Danny hoisted a string of trout. In another, uncle and nephew were bundled in scarves and mittens, their cheeks rosy and their dark clothes starred with white blotches from a vigorous snowball fight. The affection on their faces made them seem like father and son.
“Tracy remembers Danny talking about this wonderful uncle that she’d never met,” said Jack. “How Roy would tell him stories about Korea, and let him play with his dog tags. Real hero worship. Then the suicide and the divorce happened right around the same time.”
“He must have been devastated.”
“I guess so. I heard all this from Tracy, you understand. Danny never talks about it himself.” Jack tipped his wrist to check his watch. “Sam might be a while yet. Probably still reaming out that foreman. Want to go look at the hot spring?”
“Good idea,” I said, coming back to the workaday present. “Not to borrow trouble, but there’s always a liability issue when you serve alcohol near open water.”
I was right about the flagstone path that I’d seen from the bedroom. Jack led me along it, past clusters of pine trees and stretches of heavy brush. As we crossed a little meadow, thick with tall grasses and spangled with bachelor’s buttons, he paused and scowled.
“Dammit, Sam told me he’d get all this cut back.”
“But why? It’s so pretty.”
“Fire,” said Jack. “Everybody wants to build up high where there’s a view, but that puts you uphill of the fuel supply, and fire moves faster uphill. I’ll talk to him about it. Come on, we’re close.”
The hot spring wasn’t at all what I expected. Knowing Sam’s taste for the grand effect, I had pictured a cement construction built around the water source, and maybe even a small bathhouse. Instead we came to a series of natural pools and cascades, stair-stepped down the slope among the boulders and trees. The slender, white-barked aspens made a shivering green roof above us, and cast kaleidoscopic shade over the smooth stone faces and the milky, faintly bubbling water.
“This is charming!”
“Sam’s going to dam it later on,” said Jack. “He’s got plans for a poolside bar and everything. Completely illegal, interfering with a natural watercourse up here, but he’ll probably get away with it.”
“That’s too bad. It’s so nice just as it is.”
I perched on a boulder and slipped off my sandals to dip my toes in the largest pool. It was roughly oval, not too deep, and big enough to hold three or four partygoers, or maybe six intimate friends. Very intimate.
The water was barely hotter than the air this afternoon, but by nightfall it would feel delicious. Jack leaned against an aspen trunk, watching me. He leaned very well, and the dappled sunlight glinted on his hair.
If Domaso hadn’t interrupted
us... No. Absolutely not.
Just to drive the point home, I stood up and made myself ask, “So where’s the honeymoon cottage?”
“Farther down this path. To get there by car, you curve around past the garage for about a quarter mile, but on foot it’s only a hundred yards or so from here. Want to see it?”
His expression was bland, but I caught a sly glint in his eyes. “Come on, it will just take a minute. It’s a pretty little place.”
Suddenly, and finally, the light dawned. Jack’s apology might have been sincere, but it was also a ploy. He was playing me like a trout, paying out a little more line, subtly reeling it in again, until he had me where he wanted me—like, in a bed. Three days before his wedding! Caution: Jack the Knack at Work.
“Thanks,” I said coldly, “but I think I hear Sam coming back.”
“Suit yourself,” he said innocently, and led the way back up the path.
The sun struck hard after the shade of the trees. We ascended in silence, keeping our thoughts to ourselves, until the father of the bride called down to us from the veranda railing.
“You two been soaking?”
“Too hot,” Jack called back up. “Are you minus a foreman?”
But the foreman, as we learned on the drive down the mountain, would keep his job for the time being. We also learned about the exact stage of construction each new unit had reached, the vagaries of the county’s permitting process, and the general dunderheadedness of any and all petty officials who came between Sam Kane and his vision of empire.