Kara walked Hans to the front door. "Say hello to Mrs. Grubner for me," Kara said. "I can't wait to hear her sing at the centennial. You two must have been really something. Your music, her voice."
"A perfect duet for forty-eight years now."
"Forty-eight years? What's your secret?"
"Apple strudel," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"Gillian hates to cook, but I love apple strudel."
"I don't understand."
"Some day you will." He tipped his hat. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Delaney."
"Good afternoon." Kara leaned against the door as Hans walked down the front steps of the old Victorian, along the cobblestone path that bordered the green lawn and the carefully tended vegetable and herb garden. She had spent the past six months refurbishing the Gatehouse and revitalizing the gardens, investing every cent of the small inheritance she had received from her mother. She was now ready to turn the Gatehouse into a profitable inn that combined the warmth of home and the seclusion of a romantic getaway along with the amenities of a five-star hotel.
She just hoped she could pull it off. As Kara closed the front door, she admitted to herself that romance and realism rarely went together, except perhaps in the Grubners' case. Forty-eight years of marriage. She couldn't even imagine such a thing.
Her own marriage had lasted ten years, a lifetime by some standards, but not by her own. She had wanted to live the happily-ever-after life. Unfortunately her husband, Michael, had not cooperated. They had separated a year ago, and six months after that separation Kara had returned to the place of her birth, determined to make a home for herself and her daughter, Angel, in the small town, away from the pressures of the city, away from the lying smiles of her ex-husband.
Kara walked down the hall, taking pride in the shine of the hardwood floors, the scent of freshly picked flowers, the proud gleam of the grandfather clock that chimed out the hours with relentless predictability. Looking around, she knew she could count on this house, on the things she had surrounded herself with. She could be happy here.
Kara passed by the living room, the formal dining room where she served breakfast in the morning and dinner in the evening, the alcove where she set up cocktails at dusk, and the carefully carved staircase that wound up to the second and third floors, a pattern of diamonds and hearts decorating the railing.
At the back of the house was a large country kitchen with an adjoining breakfast room on one side and a sun porch on the other. The kitchen, with its oak cabinets, large center island, and decorative brass pots, was where she spent most of her time, filling the house with the scents of ginger and cinnamon.
Kara had just entered the kitchen when she heard the front door open then slam shut, characteristic of her eleven-year-old daughter. But it wasn't Angel who called out to her.
"Kara?" A man's voice rang through the house.
"I'm in the kitch -- "
Andrew Hunter threw open the kitchen door before she finished speaking. A tall man in his mid-thirties, Andrew was attractive in a clean-cut way with short brown hair, matching brown eyes, a smoothly shaved face, and neatly pressed clothes.
Andrew was a nine-to-five kind of man, one who would never take an extra minute for lunch, never call long distance on a company phone, and never kiss a woman unless he asked first. Kara found that trait comforting, as safe and warm as the house and the town she had come to cherish.
But Andrew also seemed to be a man who thought too much and said too little. Kara suspected that one day the words would burst out of him and his emotions would spill forth like the river after a nasty rain. She just hadn't anticipated being the target.
"I can't believe it," Andrew said. "I can't believe you asked my brother to come to the centennial. Are you out of your mind?"
Andrew ran a hand through his hair in frustration. His eyes reflected anger and uncertainty. He looked like a man who had just found out a murderer was being released in his hometown.
Kara took a step back from him and placed her hands on the cool brown-and-white tiles of her kitchen counter. She had expected Andrew to be upset, but she hadn't expected to see such a look of betrayal in his eyes.
"Andrew, calm down," she said. "This isn't personal. It's business. I think Ryan can help us."
Andrew looked at her in amazement. "My God, Kara, you don't know what you've done." Andrew sat down at the oak table in the breakfast room. He rested his head on his hands, no longer angry but defeated.
The other members of the centennial committee had warned Kara that Ryan Hunter could be a problem, but the advantages of inviting him to participate had seemed to outweigh the disadvantages. At least until now.
She knew Andrew and Ryan had been mixed up with some woman years ago. Rumors of the old love triangle still made their way around town in between the daily gossip about Loretta and her fatherless baby, Aunt Josephine's true hair color, and who had spiked the punch at the high school dance.
But Ryan had left town twelve years ago. There had been a lot of water under Tucker's Bridge since then.
After a moment Kara joined Andrew at the table. "Think about it," she said, putting a hand over his. "Ryan is a celebrity. He's just the draw we need to sell tickets for the centennial dinner."
Andrew lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. "Ryan is a troublemaker. You should have told me, Kara. I thought we were friends -- more than friends."
Andrew's gaze challenged her to reply, to admit the feelings they had yet to discuss. But that was the problem. They didn't talk about their feelings, about what mattered to them. Maybe that's why she was holding back on an intimate relationship. She wanted to be with a man who would tell her everything.
Kara reminded herself that Andrew was a good man. As a single father he knew the challenges she faced in raising a daughter on her own. Plus, Andrew was content to live in a small town, to work on the newspaper with his father. He might not be the most passionate man, but she knew she could count on him.
"We are more than friends," Kara said slowly. "I didn't tell you about Ryan, because I knew what you would say."
"If you knew what I'd say, why did you do it?"
Because her desire to restore Serenity Springs to its former glory had superseded Andrew's feelings. Saving Serenity Springs had become synonymous with saving herself. If she could make the centennial a success, if she could revive the town, then she'd be that much closer to having the home she had always wanted.
Kara lifted her chin, knowing that even though she disliked confrontation, she could no longer avoid this particular showdown. "I'm president of the chamber of commerce, Andrew. It's my job to create interest in Serenity Springs. Harrison Winslow, the developer I told you about, is interested in building an expensive resort in the north woods. If we can show him a nearby town with the charm of the old country and the sophistication of a big city, he'll be completely won over. Think about what that would mean for all of us -- our town featured in premier travel magazines, touted as a popular destination for world-weary travelers."
"I'm sure it would mean business for the Gatehouse."
"That's right, it would. And if I don't get more business, I can't stay here, Andrew. Don't you see what's at stake? It's not just me and my home that's in jeopardy. Your newspaper needs news to stay afloat."
"What does any of this have to do with Ryan?"
"Ryan is news, Andrew. Some of the people in town have been threatening to boycott the centennial, afraid that we're trying to turn Serenity Springs into New York City. But I think if Ryan comes to the party, they'll be more interested in seeing him than in causing trouble."
"They won't have to cause trouble; Ryan will."
"There's another reason, too." Kara paused, hating to rub Ryan's success in Andrew's face, but she didn't seem to have any other choice. "Ryan is a terrific photographer. His work is seen all over the world. If he takes photos of the centennial and sends them off to a national magazine, everyone will see how special this part of the country is. The bottom line is that this celebration, and hopefully Ryan's attendance, will mean more business for everyone, for Aunt Josephine's antiques shop, for Ike's barbershop, for Loretta's bar."
"Progress could ruin this town."
"It could also help it. I don't want our kids to grow up and leave. I want them to grow up here and stay, because there are opportunities."
"Opportunities to destroy what makes this town special -- its smallness."
Sometimes Andrew could be so damned stubborn. "I don't think this is about progress; it's about your brother. I know there are bad feelings between you and Ryan, but surely after all this time ..."
"You don't know anything about me and my brother."
"Then tell me."
"No."
Kara sat back in her seat, taken aback by his blunt answer. "How can you expect me to understand if you won't talk to me?"
"I guess I can't. It's not just me though. A lot of people in this town don't like Ryan. He was always breaking things, always screwing up, always causing trouble."
"Maybe Ryan has changed."
"I doubt it. Who else knew about this?"
"The centennial committee, Loretta, Aunt Josephine, Hannah Davies, Mayor Hewitt, Will Hodgkins, and myself."
"Loretta's probably still pining after him. Your aunt Josephine would do anything you say, and Mayor Hewitt's new in town." Andrew shook his head. "Old Hannah loves Ryan's photos, practically has a shrine set up at the library, so she wouldn't say no. But I don't understand why Will didn't put a stop to this. He's my friend."
"Will only had one vote."
Silence fell between them. "Ryan won't come," Andrew said finally. "He didn't come back when my son was born. Not even when my wife sent him a note. I told Becky Lee not to bother. But she just -- just couldn't forget him."
"You can't forget him either, can you?"
"I was doing just fine until you sent that invitation. Some things are better left dead and buried."
"But Ryan isn't dead."
"He is to me."
The phone rang. Kara stood up, suddenly tense. "That's probably Angel." Andrew didn't move. The phone rang again. She picked up the receiver. "The Gatehouse. May I help you?"
"Is Kara Delaney there?"
The man asking the question had a deep, melodious voice that went down as smoothly as a cup of French roast coffee. Kara swallowed hard. She knew who it was. Deep down in her gut, she knew. "This is Kara Delaney."
"Ryan Hunter."
"Mr. Hunter. Hello." Kara turned away from Andrew.
"I just got your letter. I accept your invitation."
"You do? I mean, that's great." Kara twisted the phone cord between her fingers. Never had she imagined that he would actually attend. Now she didn't know if she should be relieved or worried.
The kitchen door slammed so hard a picture fell off the wall. She turned her head. Andrew had left. Problem number one. They were off and running. She turned her attention back to the phone.
"So you'll come?" she repeated.
"Don't make me say it twice. When do you want me?"
Kara cleared her throat. "The banquet is Thursday night, February twentieth. If you can get here the day before, we can go over the schedule."
"Fine."
"Do you need accommodations? Or will you be staying with -- friends?" Silence greeted her question. "Mr. Hunter?"
"I'll need a room."
"You can stay here. At the Gatehouse."
"Crazy Josephine's place?"
"Mrs. Parker -- actually it's Mrs. Kelly now -- is my aunt."
"Your aunt? Kara Cox?" Ryan let out a long, curious whistle. "I haven't thought of you in years."
Kara stiffened. "Why should you? You couldn't possibly remember me. I was only seven years old when I last lived here. And you were at least..."
"Nine. But I do remember you. We have something in common, don't we, Kara?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Are you telling me you don't know?"
"Know what, Mr. Hunter?"
Ryan didn't answer for a long moment. "It's not important. Mrs. Delaney, is my father still alive?"
"What a strange question. Of course he's alive."
"Then hell must have frozen over."
Kara thought about Ryan's parting words as she hung up the phone. Her mother had used that phrase every time Kara had asked about her father. "He'll be back when hell freezes over," Jane Ann Cox would say. Her mother would put her hands on her hips when she said those words and glare at Kara as if it were her fault that the man they both loved had up and gone.
For a long time Kara believed it was her fault. A part of her still did, because she didn't know why her parents had split up. One day they were living happily at the Gatehouse in Serenity Springs. The next day the river flooded its banks, and a week later her mother filed for divorce. She hadn't seen her father again for fifteen years.
Kara stared at the phone. What had Ryan Hunter meant -- we have something in common? They had nothing in common, except that they had both been born in Serenity Springs.
The grandfather clock in the hall began to ring six long, melodious, penetrating bells that counted off the hours, reminding Kara that Angel was late -- again.
A gust of air blew the wind chimes on the back deck into a sudden frenzy. Kara walked over to the back door and stepped outside, drawing her arms around her body to ward off the chill of winter.
Normally she loved the view from the back deck, enjoying the impressive redwood trees that led down to the Snake River a few hundred yards from the house. Like the serpent it was named after, the Snake River wound its way through several small towns in Sonoma County, moving relentlessly in its downward trek toward the Pacific Ocean some sixty miles away.
The river had played a major role in the birth of Serenity Springs, giving the early loggers an opportunity to move the massive logs downstream, and creating a beautiful setting where loggers and their families could make a home for themselves. The river had also drawn tourists and vacationers from San Francisco, thus giving the town a chance to survive once the forest had been stripped bare.
The trees had finally grown back, some protected in a redwood grove ten miles south, the others protected by the people who had come to respect and cherish the land, not profit from it.
Although, Kara guiltily admitted, she did want to profit from the river. She wanted to share some of the beauty of this town so that she could make enough money to stay here, to live here.
Kara shivered again as a brisk breeze blew through her thick red hair, drawing goose bumps down her arms. Tonight the early-evening atmosphere was almost spooky. Dark clouds gathered to the west, promising more rain in the not-too-distant future.
Maybe it was the phone call from Ryan or the confrontation with Andrew, or maybe it was just nerves over the upcoming centennial, but Kara felt uneasy, as if something bad was about to happen.
She glanced down at her watch, her worry increasing as she wondered about Angel.
Not that Angel wasn't often late -- she was. Her daughter had a tendency to get caught up in imaginary games. Since her parents' divorce, those imaginary games had turned into long, involved flights of fancy.
Kara told herself there was nothing to worry about. At eleven, Angel was vulnerable, and she was probably just acting out her fears about the divorce, about their future. At least Kara hoped that's all it was. Sometimes Angel looked at her in the strangest way, as if she knew something that Kara didn't.
But that was impossible. Kara had protected Angel from most of her marital fights, always putting on a happy face, pretending that they were a normal family. And when they'd finally split up, she had simply told Angel that she and Michael would always be friends, but they couldn't live together anymore. It was only a half-truth, but the full truth was too ugly for a child to hear about her father.
A sudden crack of distant thunder rattled the house, bringing another shiver to her chilled body. Kara hated storms, the feeling of being out of control, at the mercy of something so much bigger than herself.
Kara hugged her body tightly as the wind whistled through the trees. There were shadows everywhere, in front of her, behind her, next to her. Andrew had told her that by bringing Ryan home she was raising the dead. Tonight she could almost agree.
"At night the lady rises out of the river like a ghost. She wears a long, white lace dress, and a veil covers her eyes. Her hair is black as night and floats down to her waist, with streaks of gray that shine like silver in the moonlight." Angel Delaney dropped her voice to a whisper as her fellow sixth graders looked nervously at the brown, muddy river. She had them going now. She dropped her voice another notch. "If you listen very, very carefully you can hear her voice in the wind. It starts out soft like a whisper, then gets louder until it pierces the night like a scream. Ah- ooh," Angel wailed. "Ah-ooh."
"Stop it, Angel. You're scaring me." Melissa Johnson slid closer to Billy Hunter.
"Listen." Angel turned her attention to the river. The current moved fast with the breeze. Storm clouds blew in from the coast. "I think I can hear her."
"You can't hear anything," Billy said. "You're making it up. I've lived here my whole life, and I've never heard that story."
"It's true. And the best time to see her is when the river is rising, like today."
"My mother doesn't think I should play with you anymore," Melissa said. "She says you tell lies."
Angel ignored Melissa, concentrating instead on Billy's rapt expression. "The lady is very sad about something. When she cries, her tears fill the river."
A shrill cry pierced the night, and Melissa buried her head in her arms.
"How did you do that?" Billy demanded.
Angel shook her head. "I didn't do anything."
The sound came again, a long, lonely wail. All three children jumped to their feet. Thunder rocked the sky.
Melissa clutched Angel's sleeve. Billy had a hand on the belt loop of her jeans. Angel wasn't afraid of the storm. She liked it when the wind blew hard and the trees rattled the windowpanes on her house. It felt like God was sweeping the world clean, blowing out the cobwebs and all the other nasty stuff.
"It's okay, it's just the wind," Angel said calmly.
"Right," Billy said.
"Maybe we'll see the lady." Angel pointed to a faraway spot on the river where the clouds were so low they almost touched the water. "There she is. I see her. Look. Look," she cried. Actually she did see a shape, and it looked like a woman, but Angel told herself it was just her imagination making her own story even better.
"I don't want to look," Melissa yelled as she scrambled up the riverbank. Billy ran after her.
Angel smiled to herself. Scaredy-cats, she thought. Then a heavy hand came down on her shoulder and it was her turn to scream.
"What are you doing out here?" The man's voice sounded rough. His hand slid from her shoulder to the back of her neck. She could feel the calluses on his fingers as he spun her around to face him.
Angel swallowed hard. As tall as a redwood tree and thick around the middle, the man wore an old fishing hat on his head that barely covered his straggly black and gray hair. He had a thick beard, and his dark eyes blasted right through her.
Jonas Hunter, Billy's grandfather, and the meanest man in town. Aunt Josephine said Jonas Hunter was a lonely, bitter man. Billy said his grandfather was a grumpy bear. Angel thought he looked like Bigfoot, at least the monster she imagined in her mind.
Still, her mother had always told her to be nice to old people, so she supposed she should give him a chance. Maybe she would be grumpy, too, if she looked as ugly as he did.
"I said, what are you doing here?" His voice shook her more than the thunder.
"I, uh. I..." Angel looked around. Billy and Melissa were long gone. "I got lost."
"Lost? You're that kid, aren't you? That Delaney woman's kid, the one who tells all the stories."
"Angel. My name is Angel." Angel offered him her brightest, most winning smile and stuck out her hand. When he didn't respond, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "I came down to the river to write an essay for school on the sound the water makes when it rushes downstream. Does it sound like a roller coaster or a jet plane? What do you think?" It wasn't much of a tale, not up to her usual standards, but it was all she could think of at the moment.
"Why are you out here all alone?"
"She's not alone. I'm here, too." Billy walked slowly out of the trees. He was shaking so bad Angel thought he might fall over.
"Billy? Is that you, boy?" Jonas roared. "Why, I should tan your hide for coming down to the river on a night like this. You got sawdust in your brains, or what?"
"Well, sir." Billy's voice shook and he started to stutter.
"Speak up now. I can't hear you." Jonas put his hands on his waist when Billy tried to get out a word, but it was completely unintelligible. "What the hell's the matter with you, boy?"
"You're scaring him," Angel said, running over to Billy's side. "How come you're so mean?"
Jonas stared at her through slitted eyes. "What did you say?"
"We're just kids, you know," Angel said defiantly, hating to see her best friend so upset. "We can come to the river if we want to. It's a free country."
"You got a tongue on you, just like your mother," Jonas said. "She ought to wash your mouth out with soap."
"And you ought to be nicer to Billy. He's your grandson," Angel replied.
"Angel, stop," Billy muttered. "You're making him mad."
"I used to wish I had grandparents. But mine are all dead," Angel said. "Maybe that's good if all grandparents are as mean as you. No wonder your own son left town and never came back." Angel stopped abruptly at the look of rage that crossed Jonas Hunter's face.
"You fixin' to see your next birthday, kid?"
"She didn't mean it," Billy said, finally getting some words through his stiff lips.
"Oh, I think she did."
Angel nervously licked her lips. So much for being nice to old people. "I'm sorry."
"Get out of here, both of you, before I tan your hides myself."
Billy grabbed Angel's hand and dragged her away from the river. "You shouldn't have mentioned Uncle Ryan," Billy said as they made their way back to town. "Nobody is supposed to talk about him, not ever."
"How come?"
"Because he's a liar and a thief."
"What did he lie about?"
Billy shrugged. "Don't know."
"Well, what did he steal then?"
"My dad wouldn't say."
"Then maybe none of it's true," Angel said.
Billy looked shocked that she would even question him. But then Billy believed most of what she told him, too.
"Of course it's true," Billy said. "My dad wouldn't lie to me."
Angel looked away, feeling terribly sad. "Sometimes dads are the worst liars of all," she whispered, but Billy didn't hear her. Maybe it was better that way.
Andrew Hunter set his beer glass down on the bar and sighed. Three beers and he didn't feel drunk, just nauseated. He never could hold his liquor. Just another thing his little brother did better than him.
"Refill, hon?"
His brain said no. His mouth said yes.
Loretta Swanson took his empty glass and filled it from the tap behind the bar. Her movements were graceful and efficient for a woman nine months pregnant. He couldn't help admiring the slender curve of her neck where her blond hair was swept up into a ponytail, or the long thin legs that came out from under her oversize sweater.
Loretta Swanson had always been the prettiest girl in town as well as the fastest. She was the Serenity Springs bad girl. She had been in Ryan's class, and for a while she and Ryan had been a pair.
Rumor had it that Loretta had laid every man in town. And even if that was an exaggeration, judging by the current state of affairs she'd slept with at least one. According to the town grapevine, she wasn't saying who the father was. People speculated that she didn't even know who the father was, and since she'd turned up knocked up most of the men took care to avoid her.
Of course, Andrew had never been with her. His father would have kicked his butt out of the house if he had ever messed with a girl like Loretta. It was bad enough when he got involved with Becky Lee...
"Must be woman problems," Loretta said, offering him a warm, commiserating smile.
"Not this time." Andrew drained his glass of beer in one long draft. His stomach turned over, and his vision blurred slightly. "Hit me again," he said.
Loretta shook her head. "You're not a drinker, Andrew Joseph. So what are you doing here in my bar, shoving down beers like a thirsty man in the desert?"
It was her warm brown eyes that did it. No wonder so many men wanted her. She had a way of talking and looking that made everything seem personal. Course, he didn't approve of her life-style. He wanted a woman with morals, someone like Kara.
He tried to smile at the thought of Kara. She was just as pretty as Loretta in a different sort of way. Kara had beautiful red hair and big blue eyes, the kind of skin that burned under a winter sun, and a womanly figure that was pleasing to a man. Unfortunately she also had a stubborn streak, a tendency to laugh at the worst jokes, and a bit of a temper. Not to mention her ideas for Serenity Springs, which was why he was here in the first place.
"Cat caught your tongue, Andrew Joseph?"
"Don't call me that," he growled. "Makes me feel like
I'm in the third grade again. If you really want to know the problem, it's Ryan. He's coming home."
Loretta stared at him in shock. "I knew Kara invited him, but I never thought he'd come." She put a hand to her mouth in amazement, then self-consciously began to tuck her loose hair into her ponytail, as if Ryan might walk in any minute and catch her not looking her best.
"I don't think your hair will be the first thing Ryan notices," Andrew said, tipping his head toward her stomach.
Loretta blushed. He couldn't believe it. Her cheeks actually turned red.
"That was a mean thing to say," she said.