Winter Reunion (15 page)

“Well?” Beth said, eyeing him closely.

He jerked his thoughts back to the present. “Well what?”

“Any news about that hit-and-run driver?”

The topic felt like a splash of ice water. “The sheriff doesn't have a name. He ran various combinations of similar makes, years and models of the car, but no luck so far. He's guessing it might have been a tourist from out of the area—maybe the boy's family was staying at one of the resorts. If the car went back to Minneapolis or Chicago, it would be like hunting for a grain of rice on a beach.”

“So isn't that a lead in itself?”

“Not enough for a sheriff's department the size of this one—they have almost no manpower. And—thank heavens—this isn't a vehicular manslaughter case.”

Beth shuddered at his words. “I've thanked God more than once about that. Have you heard when Frank will be released?”

“Frank says it depends on his therapy and healing. With his fractured hip, things are going slow.”

“Poor guy. I'll bet he hates being confined.”

Dev grinned. “Not as much as you might expect, since Reva has been visiting him every day.”

“Silver linings?”

“Silver linings,” he echoed as Beth waved and walked away, realizing that there'd been plenty of those for him, too.

With every passing day, he felt drawn deeper into life here in Aspen Creek. Closer to the residents of Sloane House, who were all so unique, and so opinionated. He couldn't have been more wrong, when he'd first arrived and assumed they were just a group of old folks in need of care.

Dev headed for the cottage, and he couldn't help but laugh at the thought of opinionated people.

Reva thought he and Beth were a perfect match. Maura thought they were anything but.

And both women thought they were always right.

T
he mid-November sun was bright and cold as Beth walked out of church on Sunday morning, the wind brisk enough to kick up last night's dusting of snow into icy swirls that bit at her ankles.

The usual clusters of folks chatting outside the church dispersed in a flurry of farewells as everyone hurried to their vehicles. Ahead, halfway across the parking lot, Beth saw Elana walking slowly, accommodating Cody's weak leg. She hurried to catch up.

“Can we talk, for just a minute?”

Elana's eyes filled with uncertainty. She turned to shoo Cody into the car, then moved to the back bumper, probably not wanting the boy to overhear them. “Is—is it about this car? If it isn't okay for me to use it, I understand. I will bring it back right away.”

“Goodness—of course it's all right. It was just sitting at Sloane House, anyway. On a day like this you wouldn't want to hike a long way to church.” Through the back window, she could see Cody putting on headphones
attached to a portable CD player. “It's about what you said at our meeting. About you planning to move out.”

Elana nervously fingered the keys in her hand. “I…we can make it. It's okay.”

“Is this about Roberto? Have you heard from him?”

Elana hunched into her thin coat. “No.”

“Someone else?”

“I should be independent. A good example for my son, who will need to stand on his own two feet someday and not be afraid.”

“If someone is facing a real threat, there's no shame in being afraid. It's
wise
to take every precaution. If not just for yourself, then for Cody. What would it do to him if he saw you being hurt? Or if he was hurt, and you couldn't protect him?”

Elana bowed her head.

“Promise me that you'll stay at the boardinghouse at least until your classes start. By then, you'll have money in savings, and the money for a down payment on an apartment. You'll know about your financial aid, and not have to worry. And—” Beth took a deep breath. “For Cody's sake, if not your own. At Sloane House you have family—people who care.”

Long seconds ticked by before Elana finally lifted her head. “We'll stay.”

 

Checking in on Frank had become the pivotal point in his day, Dev realized as he stepped off the elevator and sauntered down the corridor to the familiar hospital room.

A man who'd started out as a stranger, an unwanted
responsibility, had firmly settled in Dev's heart, like the father he'd always wanted.

Nonjudgmental, undemanding, with his wry wit and piercing assessments, Frank was the kind of guy Dev hoped he would be, if he reached a grandfatherly age.

He certainly didn't want to end up like his temperamental old man.

At Frank's open door, Dev knocked lightly before stepping inside and set a copy of the
Wall Street Journal
on the bedside table. “How are you doing? Ready to take on the world?”

“Better.” Though he must have been up for a shower, shave and breakfast earlier, Frank was lying back against the elevated head of the bed with the covers pulled up to his shoulders, and his usual tangle of IV lines snaking up to the fat, clear bags of fluid hanging by his bed.

He looked exhausted, his skin pale and sagging in folds on his face and neck.

Dev settled a hip on the broad windowsill and unzipped his jacket. “So what's happening? Did they make you run a marathon this morning?”

“Physical therapy
and
occupational therapy starting at seven-thirty in the morning,” he grumbled, though there was still an irrepressible sparkle in his pale blue eyes. “And the vampire woman came by at four, wanting her daily vial of blood.”

Dev laughed. “They just don't want you to enjoy this place too much, so you'll get well and go home.”

“They're doing a fine job of it. Thanks for the newspaper, by the way.”

“We finally had our first monthly meeting at Sloane House. Everyone wished you were there.”

That earned a half smile.

“Let's see…. Elana has been accepted at the community college, but hasn't received the news about her financial aid package yet. She's talking about wanting her own place, though.”

“Good for her. She's a fine mama to that little boy of hers.”

“Beth is going to help Carl work on his long-term disability benefits this week.”

“Carl suffers more than a body should. He deserves those benefits, and more.”

“Let's see. Who's left…” Dev grinned at him “Reva. I understand a friend wants her to move to Michigan, and her cousin wants her to move to Florida, because they each have businesses she could manage. But the oddest thing…she wants to stay right here in Aspen Creek, so she's starting to look harder for a job. Now, why would she want to do that?”

The sudden tension in Frank's shoulders eased. “I have no idea.”

“She's one classy lady, Frank. How long have you two known each other?”

“We haven't. Well, not really. She was married of course, until her husband died last year. I was just a teacher, and never traveled in their social circle. But… I'd always admired her. Lovely woman, so smart.”

“That she is.”

“I hardly dared talk to her at the boardinghouse. What would she want with an old gray-haired, unemployed
schoolteacher? But since the accident, she comes to see me every day and we have long talks.” His smile turned rueful. “Guess now I see what I've missed all these years, by not settling down. Companionship is a wonderful thing. Too bad I had to just about kill myself to find that out.”

Dev glanced at his watch and stood. “I'd better be going. I'm short a right-hand man at the moment, and I have some shipments coming in.”

Frank beckoned to him as he started for the door. “Just one thing.”

Dev dutifully returned to Frank's bedside and rested his hands on the upraised side rail.

“A marine and a quiet high school teacher couldn't be further apart, so you probably don't think you and I are much alike. But in some ways, we are. I was a loner—guess I still am, mostly. I'm independent, sort of stubborn. I look back and see a pretty little gal I liked a lot—but I let her slip through my fingers. Maybe I would have had kids and grandkids by now. A real family.

“And then I look at you and Beth, and I see sparks there, but neither of you is paying attention, and you're going to lose out on something good. You're going to end up like me, son, if you're not careful.”

 

The tourist crowds had thinned after the Harvest Festival during the last weekend of October, leaving the town to the locals once more. Come Thanksgiving, the holiday weekenders would start flooding back for the festive Victorian Christmas decorations, overflowing
gift shops, and the quaint little restaurants and B and B's tucked into the surrounding hills.

Beth smiled to herself as she stepped outside for a brisk, early-morning walk through town before opening her store for the day.

With Thanksgiving less than a week away, the rhythmic jangling of bells and clopping of Clydesdale hooves would soon be echoing through town on the weekends, as the massive horses pulled brightly painted wagons with bench seats and roofs decorated in twinkling Christmas lights. Aspen Creek's own version of shuttle buses to and from the parking lots out on the perimeter of town had always charmed her, year after year.

She paused in front of the empty sandstone block building next to the bookstore and looked up at the mullioned windows set deep in the casements.

The building had such potential, it never failed to spur little daydreams about how it could become a focal point for the entire community if it ended up in the right hands.

At the sound of footsteps, she saw Dev sauntering down the sidewalk toward her. “Did you go see Frank this morning?

He nodded. “He's doing well, though he's anxious to be released.”

“I don't blame him a bit. How long were you in Walter Reed?”

“Too long.” He followed her gaze. “All of these buildings along here are so unique. They look like they'll stand for another hundred years.”

She smiled at his abrupt, obvious change of topic.
“I'd been saving for a down payment to buy this one, but it wasn't for sale at any rate…and now soon it will be yours. Any idea what you'll want to do with it if we manage to meet the stipulations of your mother's will?”

“I haven't thought that far ahead. I definitely don't want anything on this block torn down.” He leaned back to look at the fortresslike roofline. “Why would you want it? To expand your store?”

“I've always been afraid that someone might buy it and turn it into a bar, or just tear it down and put in something new and ugly. It has those wonderful old high, pressed-tin ceilings and hardwood floors, and I suppose it could be a trendy setting for some yuppie bar, but I think the main floor would be lovely as a gift shop and a nice venue for parties, a wedding chapel, or perhaps a photographer's studio. The upstairs would be perfect for a youth center. Our town doesn't have anything like that, and we need a good, safe place around here for the kids.”

A bright red BMW pulled up in front of the law offices on the other side of the street. Nora Henderson climbed out, a briefcase in her hand, her trim, black skirt suit and severely combed chignon suggesting that she would be in court today.

She smiled, waved, then looked both ways and crossed the street to join them, her high heels smartly clicking on the asphalt. “I got the report you e-mailed last night. Thanks.”

“One month down and five to go,” Beth said. “I think things are going pretty well.”

“I also got a fax from Stan Murdock.”

Dev snorted. “I'm sure he's rubbing his hands in anticipation, waiting for us to fail.”

“Oh, he's doing more than that. He has a lawyer going over the will in great detail. I have a feeling he'll demand documentation of exactly how you two are meeting your mother's wishes—but he'll wait until the very end of the six-month period to do so, hoping to catch you when it's too late for you to make corrections.”

“I like him less the more I hear,” Beth murmured. “He stopped in one day, and said we had no chance of success with Sloane House. He offered me cash to just give up.”

“You did say no.”

“Of course. I want to help those people, not walk away. Just keeping the place open as long as we can is the biggest help of all. Stan has no claims unless Dev and I fail with the boardinghouse…correct?”

“Absolutely. His lawyer has also talked to me about what he terms the vague, subjective nature of the parameters defining the success of the boarders in the ‘real world,' he called it.” She shrugged. “I think the man has comprehension problems if he doesn't understand the terms ‘gainfully employed' and ‘independent living,' but maybe that's just me.”

Beth bit her lower lip. “About that…Carl is trying, but he hasn't come up with any employers interested in a guy with chronic health problems. I'll be looking into his disability benefits this week.”

“Good. But also try to get him to ‘think outside the box,' as it were. I think he'll surprise you.”

“And Frank is still in the hospital…. but he should be out soon, and we still do have until March.”

“You still have that extra six-month extension, but I'd try not to use it if at all possible. Stan is going to pull every string he can, and I'd rather not give him any chance at taking you two down.”

 

“‘Taking us down.'” Beth shivered as she and Dev walked to the end of Hawthorne, then headed toward Main. “What an awful term.”

“And don't think for a minute that Stan would hesitate to do it. I think he was more interested in the estate than my aunt's death when she passed away. I was just a kid, and even I saw that avaricious gleam in his eyes.”

“How sad, if he didn't even love her. A wasted marriage to the wrong man.” Her words were barely out before she caught the irony of what she'd said, but Dev didn't seem to notice.

“It happens way too often.”

“I always thought your parents seemed happy together.” At Dev's dry laugh, she looked up at him. “Well, I know they were a little too busy to be parents, but they seemed to get along well. Not that I mean to pry.”

“It's no secret. They were happy enough with each other. Their problem was having a son who didn't conform to expectations, as you well know.” The dimple in his left cheek deepened. “I always thought a dozen siblings would have been nice, so I could get lost in the crowd. Maybe I would have even ended up following in Dad's footsteps, if he hadn't harped on it so much.”

Their hands brushed as they walked and she veered
away, but he caught her hand and held on for a few strides, then released his hold when they reached Main.

The stores were still closed and the streets were nearly empty, save for the cars nosed to the curb in front of the Dancing Lily tearoom, which offered scones and French pastries during the morning hours.

“Do you have time for coffee?”

She looked up at the old-fashioned clock jutting out over the door to Ray's Barbershop. The hands, shaped like scissors, were always at least twenty minutes fast, so it had to be close to ten. Still, she wavered, before shaking her head. “I need to get back. The Happy Frogs day-care group is coming for a tour, so I need to get ready.”

“I bet that'll be wild.”

“It is, but I love it. Kids that age are so precious.”

She hadn't meant to sound wistful. She usually took care to keep her inner longing well hidden from family and friends, because they'd invariably urge her to date more—as if that would instantly lead to white picket fences, apple pies on the sill and 2.3 perfect kids.

Only her mother and Dev knew the score in that regard. No happily-ever-afters, no stair-step kids with long chestnut curls, all lined up in their Sunday best for church each week.