"Yes, Amy, I feel like a royal jerk."
"Good. We're making progress."
"Who is your father?"
"I don't know."
"And the twins' dad? Who is he?"
"A rich guy Pam lived with. He didn't want any kids."
"She doesn't have much luck with men."
"What woman does?" She sighed a mournful sigh. "I can't talk about all this. It makes me too sad."
"What should we talk about?"
"Something more interesting. How about
your
family?"
"Not a chance."
"Why not? You've learned all my secrets. You couldn't possibly have any skeletons that are worse than mine."
"You might be surprised."
He thought of the messes that had unraveled the previous year: Lucas discovering he had a son, their father's infidelities and trail of illegitimate children, including Dustin's half-sister, Peanut. Lucas had started discreet investigations to see how many others there might be.
They'd tried to ask their mother about the situation, but it was a tricky conversation. She insisted none of the affairs had happened, even though Peanut was proof that their father had been disgustingly unfaithful.
"Share a juicy tidbit that will shock me," she pressed.
"No."
"I'll never tell a soul."
"Ha! You're a reporter."
"Not anymore. I was fired, remember?"
"But rehired, remember?"
"You were serious? We really get to keep working?"
"Yes, if you promise to be nicer to me. Write about the weather or the roads or the restaurants. Leave Lucas and me out of it."
"You never let me have any fun."
She was peering up at him, her lips pouting, her eyes sparkling with merriment.
She was just so pretty and so wholesome and so…happy. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
When he was around her, he felt better, less angry and alone. He didn't understand why, but maybe he wasn't meant to understand it.
He was heading for LA in the morning. There was no reason to stay, and he'd already delayed beyond any acceptable limit. He and Chad had discussed the necessary issues, and the lawyers could begin processing documents so the sale would move forward.
Dustin would climb into his rental car with Chantal, drive to Denver, then fly on to LA. He'd never have to return to Gold Creek. He'd never see Amy again, and because he was fiddling with excuses not to go immediately, it was imperative that he go as fast as he could.
He would be deadly to a woman like her. He was erratic and undependable, easily bored and quickly aggravated. He didn't know how to be the man she needed, and he wouldn't try, so he couldn't figure out what he was hoping to accomplish by visiting her.
With any other female, and his leaving in the morning, he would have been pushing her to have sex. Instead, he was content to hold her while they chatted about her past and her plans.
He was feeling very nostalgic, very reflective, and she must have noted some of his wistfulness. She laid a palm on his cheek, the gesture intimate and touching in a fashion he hadn't expected.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"For what?"
"For giving me my job back."
"You're welcome."
"And for being different from how I assumed you were."
He fidgeted, as if she'd caught him in an embarrassing lie. "I'm not any different from what you assumed. I'm as ruthless and coldblooded as you accuse me of being."
"I don't think you are. Not anymore. Under all the bluster, you might be okay."
"High praise, indeed."
He chuckled and glanced out the window. It was a cloudy, snowy night, and he couldn't see the stars so there was no use wishing. What would he have asked for anyway?
He had everything a man could ever want: wealth beyond imagining, the best houses and cars and clothes and belongings. He had everything but someone like her, someone kind and trustworthy and loyal, someone who would like him no matter what.
He pulled her to him and kissed her, and she didn't complain. She joined in with a joy and verve that were typical of how she bustled through life.
His hands were everywhere, as if desperate to imprint her shape and size into his memory so he would never forget.
You can come back,
a voice taunted in his head.
This doesn't have to be the last time.
Fleetingly, he was excited by the notion, but as swiftly as it arose, he shoved it away.
He wouldn't return. There was nothing she had that he needed. It was ridiculous to keep postponing his departure simply because he'd been amused by her.
Eventually, he drew away, and he snuggled her to his chest again. They lounged together, their legs entwined, their hearts beating in unison. It was a perfect moment.
Finally, she said, "Are you leaving tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Will you ever be back?"
He took a deep breath, let it out. "No, I won't ever be back."
"So I don't have to waste away, wondering when you'll show up next?"
"You can waste away over me if you want to. I'm extremely vain; I'd like to picture you desolate over the loss of me."
"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of moping."
"I figured you'd say that."
Irritation rippled through him as he realized that he'd love to have her sulk and yearn after he left. It was his conclusion with every woman. He never missed any of them, but they always missed him.
Wasn't that the funniest ending? For once, he was anxious to be missed, and she couldn't care less about him.
"I have to go," he said.
"Chantal must be in a state by now."
He swatted her on the rear. "You
are
jealous."
"Just a little." She grinned up at him. "She's lucky to have you."
"Like a bad rash maybe."
She laughed and slid to the floor. She grabbed his wrist and tugged him to his feet, too.
"Call me sometime," she urged. "Or email me at the paper."
"I won't."
"It wouldn't kill you to keep in touch."
"I know, but there's no point is there?"
"I suppose not." She smiled, almost seeming sad.
The door was so close, but he couldn't walk to it. He was glum and confused and certain he was making all the wrong choices again, but she saved him from himself. She held out his jacket, and he stuffed his arms in the sleeves.
"You don't even have a hat, you silly man."
"I'm an LA boy, through and through."
"And it's winter in Colorado."
She went to a hook on the wall and retrieved a wool scarf. As if he was a young kid, she wrapped it around his neck and tied it under his chin.
"There." She patted his chest. "You're leaving with something of mine, so if you ever do come back, manners dictate that you stop by to return it."
"You shouldn't count on me."
"I won't." She opened the door. "Stay warm LA boy."
"I will."
"Goodbye."
She rose on tiptoe and initiated a kiss of her own. Then she eased him into the hall and shut the door. He stood, listening, until he heard the lock click.
The first time he'd visited her, he'd fled, feeling as if he'd dodged a bullet. This time, as he trudged down the stairs and out into the cold snowy night, he felt as if he'd lost his last friend.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Can we spend a day or two in Denver?"
"You can if you want. I'm heading straight to LA."
Chantal bit down a caustic retort.
Dustin's brother, Lucas, was in Denver, and Chantal was dying to meet him. The first step toward marriage would be an introduction to his family. Dustin would be a hard catch, and she would have to use every trick in the book to drag him to the altar.
Plus, the Merriweather's main mansion was located in the city, in the neighborhood where the timber barons and mining moguls of the previous century had built monstrosities to their inflated egos.
Dustin had mentioned that his brother was considering selling it to the historical society, and if Lucas was determined to part with it, she and Dustin could buy it after they were wed. Or maybe they could ask Lucas to give it to them as a wedding gift. It could be their base when they came to Colorado in the winter for skiing.
She was vividly imagining the parties they could have, the LA and New York guests they could invite. It would be like an event in a historical novel, where the richest, wittiest, most fascinating intellectuals, artists, and sophisticates traveled to a country house for a lengthy stay.
But she couldn't persuade him to show it to her. Nor could she wrangle an introduction to any family members. She'd been hinting all morning and felt as if she was talking to a deaf person.
She glared up the stairs. A boy had gone to get their suitcases, but he'd never come down. Breakfast was over, their belongings packed, Dustin's rented SUV idling out front, and she couldn't wait to leave.
She was exhausted from the lousy service and from having to deal with idiots who were so backwoods that they didn't understand they should fawn over her.
"I hate this place," she grumbled. "I can't believe this is what passes for a hotel with these people. I don't know how they keep it open."
"It wasn't so bad."
"Are you kidding me?"
He glanced around, checking the refurbished floors, the chandelier hanging over the wide foyer. "I like it. It's quaint. The owners did a good job in recapturing the building's old glory."
"There's no elevator. The hot water ran half the time. Room service never answered."
"They never claimed to be a five-star accommodation."
"I wouldn't even give them
one
star. I'd give them a minus five."
She scowled. He was dressed in his typical jeans and leather jacket, but he had a wool scarf wrapped around his neck. It was some ridiculous homemade, knitted thing.
"Must you wear that scarf?" she snapped.
"Yes, I must."
"Couldn't you stick it in your bag, just till we get in the car?"
He spun on her, his blue eyes blazing. "Is there some reason you're being such a bitch?"
She gasped. He'd asked the question right out loud, not attempting to lower his voice. A housemaid was scurrying by, and when she heard him, she snickered.
"What did you say?" Chantal fumed at him.
"You're being a total bitch, and I got tired of it an hour ago."
She was on the verge of dishing out a tongue-lashing he'd never forget.
After he'd crept out at midnight, she didn't know where he'd gone, and she was hardly in a position to inquire. Whenever he'd returned, he'd kept his door locked so she couldn't traipse in and tantalize him with a bout of morning sex.
He'd left her a message through the switchboard to meet him in the dining room, to be prepared to leave by nine. She'd had to slink down and join him at his table as if she was a business associate, as if they hadn't come up to the mountains for a romantic getaway.
But if she said one wrong word, it would be the end for her.
She forced a smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was being a grouch."
"It's a long drive down the mountain to Denver. I'd rather not have you fussing all the way."
"I won't. I'm just so eager to hit the road. The delay is making me irritable."
He went to the desk to find out about their bellman when the kid thumped down the stairs. Dustin only had one duffel bag, while Chantal had five suitcases. She'd packed for several days of socializing and travel. Not certain where they might wind up, she'd brought both evening and hiking clothes—not that she'd have hiked—and stylish winter gear that would have looked fabulous in Aspen.
His thrift, compared to her ostentation, made her feel as if she'd missed an important clue about him. She was so sure she had him figured out, but obviously, she had much more to learn.
They huddled in the lobby as the bellman loaded their SUV. She was wearing her fur, and she was about to expire from overheating when he came back in and pronounced the car ready.
Dustin tipped him, and she took Dustin's arm and they strolled outside. But the sight that greeted them was so odd she couldn't fully absorb what was happening.
Amy Dane, the annoying mouse from the restaurant, was picketing on the sidewalk. A pair of young girls and an older woman were with her. They were carrying signs and chanting,
Save our town, shut Merriweather down.
A car drove by on the street, and the driver honked and honked in support.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Chantal seethed. "What next?"
Dustin stiffened, his gaze narrowing as if he was trying to bring the scene into sharper focus.