Winter Reunion (6 page)

“I…I have a job as a maid. At the motel. I am saving money so I can go to school someday.” The expression in her eyes turned bleak. “But…it is taking a very long time.”

The motel on the edge of town had seen far, far better days, so the wages they offered were surely nothing
above the minimum level. Beth rested her chin on her upraised palm and tapped a finger against her lips. “I wonder if there would be better jobs, for someone who is so fluently bilingual. Maybe at one of the resorts outside of town, or the bank?”

Elana sat forward in alarm. “No. No—the motel is fine. The hours are good. I take Cody to school and walk him home. Always.”

Dev nodded. “It's safer that way.”

“
Sí
…I mean
no.
” Flustered, Elana's gaze darted between them as she reached blindly for the battered purse by her chair and started to rise.

“Wait.” There was no mistaking the command sheathed in his gentle tone. And though he hadn't moved a muscle toward her, she sank back into her chair. “Is this about an old boyfriend?”

She white-knuckled the handle of her purse.

“A husband, then?”

A single tear slipped down her cheek. “Roberto was no good. He…hurt Cody.”

And Elana too, Beth thought with growing anger at the man who had gotten away with victimizing the family he was supposed to love and protect. What kind of animal was he?

A muscle jerked at the side of Dev's jaw, betraying his similar thoughts. “Does he know where you are? Will he try to find you?”

“No. He went to prison last spring.”

“Because of what he did to you and Cody?”

She shook her head sadly. “Armed robbery and he
wounded a deputy. He will be gone thirty years, on federal charges.”

Yet she still seemed frightened of her own shadow.

Dev turned his chair to face Elana, leaned forward, and gently took her shaking hands in his. “Then whatever happened to you in the past will not happen again. Understand? Roberto is gone. You are with friends, Elana.”

She'd stiffened and dropped her gaze when he drew close, but now she shot a brief, wary glance at him.

“You didn't deserve whatever he did to you,” Dev continued gently. “A man who would abuse his family deserves to be in prison for that alone. Forever, as far as I'm concerned. But you don't need to live in fear—not anymore. Now you can make a good life for you and your son. So he can grow up to be a fine man, with a good future.”

Beth watched them, surprised at Dev's sensitivity and relieved when Elana's tense shoulders began to relax. “He's right, Elana. We want to help you achieve that, in every way we can.”

But when Dev released her hands and stood, Elana instinctively flinched, as if none of his words had even registered.

And Beth knew that reclaiming this poor woman's courage was going to be a long, long road.

R
eplacing a leaky faucet at Sloane House shouldn't have required much talent or time.

Fixing it with two older gents offering both running commentary and plentiful advice, plus one stern woman watching him with a hawk-eyed glare lest he run off with the dish soap, added a whole new dimension to the project.

But it was the wide-eyed boy hiding in the shadows who held Dev's full attention.

Cody's expression was still wary. Yet despite that brief encounter at the bookstore yesterday, when his mother had freaked out at Dev's arrival, there was curiosity and even a hint of longing in those dark eyes—as if he wanted to draw closer but didn't dare.

Since coming back to Aspen Creek, Dev had fended off most of the friendly overtures that had come his way, more comfortable in self-imposed isolation than at the prospect of blending into the fabric of a community he couldn't wait to leave. What would be the point, after all?

Protecting the vulnerable, fighting for justice, and putting his life on the line were pretty much the limits of his skill set, but there was something about Cody that he couldn't ignore.

“Hey, kid,” he called over his shoulder as he knelt in front of the open cabinet under the kitchen sink. “You look plenty strong. I could use some help. Got a minute?”

From the corner of his eye he saw Cody waver, then shoot a hesitant glance at Carl. When Carl nodded to him, he edged forward, still keeping a careful distance.

With the wrench in his hand, Dev gestured toward the old toolbox he'd found out in the garage. “Can you hand me a wrench the next size up from this one? Here—take this one over to compare.”

The boy limped forward and gingerly sorted through the toolbox, withdrew a wrench and offered it with both hands.

“Perfect—first try. Thanks, buddy.” Dev finished installing the sprayer hose, then rocked back on his heels and stood. “Let's see if this works. Want to give it a try?”

Cody leaned across the sink and grabbed for the sprayer nozzle.

Carl chuckled. “Careful!”

Too late.
A spray of water shot from the nozzle when Cody's hand tightened around it, catching Dev square in the midsection. The boy jumped back as if he'd touched electric wire, his face a mask of shock and fear.

The kitchen was chilly and the water was ice-cold. But his automatic exclamation of surprise caught in Dev's throat at the expression on Cody's face—as if he expected to be backhanded, or worse.

There was a moment of utter stillness, with Frank, Carl and Reva's attention riveted on Dev.

He laughed, breaking the tension. “I wasn't planning on a shower quite yet, but that's okay. What do you think, Cody—want to help me pick up the old parts? Maybe you can help carry them outside. I'll bet you know where the toolbox belongs, too.”

Cody stood frozen for a heartbeat, then he rushed to pick up the old washers and faucet parts, and went out the side door leading into the garage. Dev lifted the toolbox and started after him.

Frank and Carl both nodded in approval and patted Dev's shoulder as they stepped back to let him pass by.

“You'll do,” Carl said under his breath. “You'll do just fine.”

Even Reva wore the faintest trace of a smile.

“Just like your daddy,” she murmured. “He was a good man.”

Carl's gentle touch and words of praise had felt almost like…a benediction. But Reva's burned at the edges of Dev's heart.

The old fear was still there, an ember that had never faded. And just to make sure it never had a chance to grow, he had long since made a decision.

His first marriage had failed. He wouldn't risk
another. And he definitely wouldn't ever have children, because the thought of turning into his critical and demanding father made his blood run cold.

 

With a large FedEx delivery of books to sort through, a steady stream of customers, and a long lunch with Maura at the Dancing Lily tearoom on Main, Tuesday had flown by.

Beth glanced at her watch as she walked in the door of the bookstore. “It's already three o'clock, Mom. I can't believe we stayed at the Lily so long!”

“It was those fabulous sour cream scones with lemon curd. I couldn't bear to leave a single crumb on the plate.” Maura slipped off her sparkly purple wool shawl and tossed it over the back of an oak rocker by the front desk. “Of course, catching up with the news around here was even better.”

At the wistful note in her mother's voice, Beth felt a flash of concern. “Maybe it's time for you to move here again. You always said this was one of your favorite places to live, and you still have friends here. I'd like it if you didn't live so far away.”

Maura flipped a hand dismissively as she paused at the aisle filled with a long magazine rack. “They say you can't really go home again. People change, you change. It wouldn't ever be the same. And I've got a very good life in California.”

But did she? Despite her tendency to flamboyance, Beth had caught moments when her mother looked pensive and distracted, though she refused to discuss
it. And she was getting older, even though that subject was
strictly
off-limits.

As time went on and her health failed, what then?

“Think about it, anyway. Are you still planning to go upstairs for a nap?”

“As soon as I find a new magazine to take with me.” Maura moved farther down the magazine aisle and out of sight. “Something on decorating, I think. While I'm here, I could help you spruce this place up. More vibrant colors would do it. Purples. Reds. A splash of canary. More pizzazz.”

From behind the front counter, Janet grinned at Beth as she handed over a stack of pink telephone notes. “You had five messages as soon as you left for lunch,” she said as she handed them over. “Three of those people called again during the last five minutes, hoping you'd returned. Olivia, the pastor, and Dev.”

Beth blinked. “Goodness.”

Maura reappeared. “It's a shame you need to deal with him at all.”

There was certainly no problem with her mother's hearing where Dev was concerned. “The pastor?”

Maura ignored Beth's lame attempt at humor. “Your ex-husband, as you well know. But as disappointed as I am in that man, I still hope you've had that talk with him.”

Beth flinched, all too aware of Janet's curious appraisal.
“Mother.”

Glancing between them, Janet tactfully slipped from behind the counter and hurried toward the back of the store. “I'm going to the storeroom to unpack some
books,” she called out over her shoulder. “Yell if you need anything.”

“Sorry,” Maura murmured, though she didn't look particularly contrite. “So…have you had that talk?”

Beth lowered her voice to a harsh whisper.
“No.”

“The last thing you needed was for that Devlin to show up in town. After the way he treated you, I hope he never does again. But he should still have to share some of the pain you went through. He deserves to know, honey.”

“Does he? What possible good could that do? Nothing would change. I don't
want
anything to change. He and I are finished. Forever.”

“But—”

“No, Mom. Think about it.” Her voice had risen on its own, and she took a steadying breath. “He could feel remorse, and then he'd have that burden to carry. Or he might not care at all and just offer some empty platitudes—and then
I
would feel worse. Much, much worse, because I'd be so angry. And I don't know if I could ever let it go.”

In her teens she might have stormed away and slammed her bedroom door for satisfying closure to the discussion. Now, she just sighed. “So please, just don't bring this up again. Promise? None of my friends know, either, and I want to keep it that way.”

Maura studied her sadly. “It's your choice, so I'll say no more…. except that you're wrong about this, and I hope that someday you'll see that I'm right.”

Always the last word.
Beth bit back a reply and
focused on the message slips in her hand. “Some of these are for you, Mom,” she said as she handed them over.

Maura stared out the front window for a moment, then looked down and studied her messages. “My gallery, every last one of them. Hollister should be able to handle everything just fine without calling every two hours.” She lifted her shawl from the rocker and slipped it over her shoulders with a flourish as she headed for the door. “I'll call her on my cell from upstairs.”

Beth waited until her mother left, then went to the storeroom and braced a hand on the door frame. At Janet's bemused expression, she shook her head. “Thanks for the space.”

“She certainly does hold a grudge—over whatever he did.” Janet fanned her face with one hand. “Whew.”

“My mom is a wonderful woman in many ways, but she doesn't like Dev and has never hesitated to remind me.” Beth sighed. “During the years we were married, I never discussed any problems with her. She would have jumped on them like a dog on a bone.”

“And what's with her assistant? This was her fourth call since your mother got here.”

“I'm beginning to wonder. Except for the topic of my ex-husband, she has seemed so…so vague about what's troubling her. But I know something is—I can feel it.”

“Maybe she's in the midst of some major art sales? Trouble with difficult artists?”

Beth bit her lower lip. “I doubt it. She carries very nice originals, but not major names. She enjoys giving newer artists exposure by giving them space for their
shows, and then the public has a chance to get in on the ground floor with some of their pieces. Everybody's happy.”

Janet held up her hands, palm up. “So…what does that mean, exactly—ground floor?”

“The oils are usually less than five hundred, the pottery and art glass less than a hundred.”

“Which is about what you find in the galleries around town. So if she did move here, she could easily fit right in.”

“True. And coming back to town would be a good thing. I'm worried about her, really…I think something's wrong and she just won't admit it.” Beth reached for the cell phone in her purse. “And my mother can be one very stubborn lady.”

 

Dev got out of his Jeep to study the building next to the bookstore. The lawyer had arranged to get him the keys so he could do a quick walk-through inspection.

As always, the bookstore caught his eye, and he found himself wondering if he might catch a glimpse of Beth through the big plate-glass front windows…though this time, he saw Maura coming out the door.

She stared at him. Hesitated. Then beckoned.

This couldn't be good.

But when she beckoned again, he sighed and crossed the street. At the age of thirty-four, he felt like a schoolboy being brought into the principal's office.

She moved a few yards down the sidewalk, out of sight from the store windows. Her expression was troubled. “Look, you and I have had our differences over
the years, even if they were mostly unspoken. Since I'll only be here another week or so, I…well, I thought I'd better just come out and say it.” Her voice was flat, without anger, but he had no doubt that she meant every last word. “I've been worrying about you spending time with my daughter.”

No one could say Maura didn't speak her mind. The irony was that his own parents hadn't approved of Beth any more than Maura had approved of him. “We only have a business relationship. Nothing more.”

“But my worry is that I
saw
the look in your eyes when you came into the store.”

What
look in his eyes? Dev jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Your daughter has no interest in resurrecting a relationship with me, believe me. And that's not what I'm after, either.”

“I don't want her hurt her again.”

“I never meant to let that happen. But she has already moved on. She has a good life—far better than she would've had with me.”

“A good life?” Maura's gaze riveted on his, as if she were daring him to feel the pain he'd caused. “Someday, you two need to talk about this.”

Her quiet vehemence startled him. “We have.”

“No…” Maura bit her lip, as if she were debating saying more, but then she sighed. “Leave her alone, Devlin. Don't try to have a little fling with the past, then fly off to wherever it is you go these days. I have to trust that you're a better man than that.”

But the expression in her eyes showed that she didn't trust him at all.

 

Beth's phone messages on Tuesday had all been about the same topic—setting up a youth project for cleaning up the Walker Building.

Olivia and Pastor Jamison had been brimming with enthusiasm, while Dev apparently wanted to fend them off so he could continue down his solitary path—preferring silence and slow progress to a legion of teenagers eager to do a good deed.

When Beth finally convinced him this morning that gracious acceptance was the fastest way to satisfy everyone and then be left alone, he'd grudgingly agreed.

Now, Beth stood with him in the center of the building on Wednesday evening and watched two dozen teens hauling the final garbage bags of refuse down the open stairway leading to the second floor. As industrious as a legion of ants, they'd already cleared the first level, leaving a squadron to scrub the filthy hardwood floor with scrub brushes and buckets.

“I told you this was a great idea,” Beth said, slapping her dusty gloves against her jeans. “They're just about done. What they've finished in four hours would have taken you
weeks.
And you're helping them raise funds, to boot.”

Dev snorted. “Not if they have anything to say about it. So far, Pastor Jamison and the kids have refused payment, other than the delivery of pizza and pop that's on its way right now.”