Sleigh Bells in Valentine Valley (2 page)

What the hell had Kate been thinking, coming here? He remembered his flash of surprise when she'd walked through the door, and then the momentary appreciation of her beauty, the same beauty that had been kicking him in the gut since he was a kid. She'd cut her blond hair short, and though it had been windblown when she'd walked in, he guessed she could make it look professional and neat when she wanted to. But it was her eyes that always lured him in, their purple color that was indescribable, lavender or amethyst or—thank God he wasn't still the lovesick boy who'd once composed mind-poems about her eyes. But today they'd been full of an anguish he hadn't seen in years. She could still move him to worry, and he'd had to work hard to appear disinterested. And it had hurt her, he knew, not that he took any pleasure in it, although once he might have. It was simply self-preservation.

Ned and Ted Ferguson, identical twin plumbers, glanced at each other with smirks, then back at him. They were always a day behind shaving, and their whiskers were as shot through with gray as their hair was.

“Wasn't that your ex?” Ned asked.

You could tell it was Ned, because he'd once cut his chin on a pipe, leaving a scar.

“Yep,” Tony answered. “Another beer?”

Ted glanced down at his half-full bottle and eyed his brother. “He doesn't want to talk about her.”

Tony sighed. “There's nothing to talk about. She's home for Thanksgiving. Our kid'll be happy.”

“But not you?” Ned prodded.

“Guys—”

“I don't like to see my ex,” Ned continued as if Tony hadn't spoken. “And she don't look anywhere near as good as yours. Yours has done good for herself.”

“Classy,” Ted added, the twin who always agreed more than instigated. “But then, Ned, your ex could give a horse a run for its money.”

Tony sighed and walked away. The twins bantered but never took offense, and as Ned shot back a good-natured retort, Tony found himself staring unseeing at SportsCenter on the closest TV.

Kate had certainly been flustered, but she'd never met a situation she couldn't conquer. She had a fierce will to succeed. It had attracted him to her, but it had also been one of the causes of their breakup. They'd been in the same class in kindergarten, but she'd just been another girl then. It wasn't until fourth grade, when she'd developed a friendship with his sister, Lyndsay, a year younger than them, that Tony had come into contact with Kate outside school. He'd found himself playing the role of annoying older brother for a while. Only in hindsight had he realized he'd been trying to get Kate's attention even then. She'd been like the sun shining on his world, vibrant and happy and so driven—always so driven, he thought, shaking his head. She'd wanted to be the smartest student, the best trombone player, the fastest cyclist, and being around her and all that energy had been exciting. He hadn't even minded that she liked to be in charge all the time.

By high school they were a couple. He accepted his sister's teasing, Kate's brothers' protectiveness—none of it mattered. The future seemed far away; he lived for his moments with her, kissing her, touching her. He even got a part-time job bussing tables at her parents' restaurant so they wouldn't have to be separated. During the summer, he hung around at the end of each day at the local law firm where she interned, hoping to buy her ice cream or walk her home. And when Cal Carpenter, one of the lawyers, said she could always work for him after she graduated, Tony started deceiving himself about their future.

Together they went off to college in Denver, though she'd landed a full ride at the best university. He played down how much he loved her, how she was the center of his world. He knew that scared her, and he was willing to let her go for her dreams, never wanting to stand in her way.

And then she got pregnant the summer after their freshman year, and everything between them changed. She was panicky and scared, but he wasn't. He'd always meant to marry her, to be a family. The thought of their baby just thrilled him. They were young, but they'd have all the time in the world to be parents, unlike his mom, who died before she was even fifty.

But their marriage only lasted four years—four years during which the pressure of college and jobs and a baby stressed their little family. It didn't break it, though, until the final realization that he and Kate didn't want the same kind of future together after all.

“You look like crap.”

Tony looked up to see Will Sweet taking the seat Kate had just vacated. Will was a tall cowboy with sandy hair, hazel eyes, and a cleft in his chin that set the girls' eyelashes fluttering. Of course his devil-may-care attitude and constant flirting helped.

“Nice to see you, too,” Tony said dryly.

Will parked his cowboy hat on the stool beside him and eyed Tony. “Was that Kate Fenelli I just saw looking as grim as death as she drove off in that fancy Range Rover?”

Tony nodded. Without being asked, he poured a draft beer and set it in front of his friend. “She's got some time off, so don't be surprised to see her around.”

“You okay with that?”

Tony's eyes widened. “Why wouldn't I be? This is her hometown, same as mine. And Ethan'll be glad.”

Will snorted before taking a sip of beer and smacking his lips. “Good stuff. Yeah, the kid's always happy to see his mom, which says good things about her, I guess.”

Tony grinned. “That compliment was dragged out with reluctance.”

Will shrugged. “She's always been gorgeous, but I never thought she was your type.”

“I have a type?” Tony countered, glad to be feeling amused again.

“She might have been born here, but she's a city girl at heart, and you're, well, you're practically a rancher, you're so small town.”

“
You're
the rancher—I'm just a simple barkeep. And she lives in Vail now, remember.”

“But I bet she misses Denver. To think she tried to force you to live there. Like you or Ethan would have been happy.”

Tony kept his smile in place, although it was strangely difficult. “That's old news, Will. And it wasn't just her wanting to live in Denver, and me here, that ruined our marriage.”

Will harrumphed, even as he took another sip of beer. “Then what was it? You don't exactly talk about it much.”

Tony hesitated, then spoke softly. “It's hard to talk about the biggest failure of your life.”

Will eyed him, then looked around. “I'd like to listen.”

Tony chuckled. “It's my job to listen.” There weren't many people he'd unloaded his problems on, and he wasn't going to start now. “Thanks, but it's in the past. I've moved on.”

“Really, with who?”

“Hey, I've dated.”

“I can't think of anyone who lasted longer than three months. I think you're way too loyal to a memory.”

“I haven't met the right girl. And I have Ethan, you know. I have to be careful. I really don't intend to marry again until he's an adult. Why traumatize him that way?”

Will's only response was a snort.

But inside, Tony was worried that he'd met the
only
girl for him and, since their relationship was ruined, he'd never have another. Their breakup had shattered him. She'd seen the real person inside him—and hadn't wanted him.

More and more lately, he was reminding himself how good his life was, with family, friends, and the best son in the world. More and more he was trying to prove to himself that everything was as it was meant to be.

But he was trying too hard.

K
ate arrived at her parents' home on Grace Street around dinnertime. Not having called ahead, she knew she'd be alone. Her parents would be at their restaurant, and so would her youngest brother, Joe, who was seventeen and worked there part-time—just as she and all her brothers once had, she thought with a wince. Serving at Carmina's had convinced Kate she was never going into the restaurant business, much as her parents had wished otherwise.

She let herself into the dark kitchen through the back door, then turned on the light over the sink. It gleamed on maple cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The kitchen island held a cornucopia, complete with tumbling fruits and vegetables for the Thanksgiving season. The long tablecloth had cartoon turkeys all over it. She remembered how her parents had proudly displayed on their refrigerator every handprint-turkey Ethan had made when he was little, just as she had. Now her little boy was almost fourteen, an eighth-grader taller than she was, although still shorter than his dad. Suddenly, she felt old.

“Barney?” she called, even as she heard the clicking of claws on the tile floor.

Her parents' dog, a beagle mix, came toward her, tail wagging. He went right through her legs so he could have his hips scratched. He had a bit more white on his snout, and she thought she detected a faint limp, but her mom told her Barney was holding his own, even though he was as old as Ethan. Barney had been bought as a playmate for Joe when the boy was four, but it was Ethan who loved him the most. At last the dog tired of Kate's attention and agreeably went outside to the fenced-in yard, before coming back in to curl up on his bed in the corner.

She reheated the morning's coffee in the microwave, then sank down on a stool at the island. Finding the semidarkness almost a comfort, she warmed her hands around the mug. She didn't want to think any more, still feeling ridiculously vulnerable after spilling her newest secrets to Tony. What had
that
been about? How the hell had she just looked into his eyes and fallen back into her need to tell him every important thing, as if nine years hadn't gone by?

She glanced out the window into the backyard next door—Tony's backyard. He'd bought the house for Ethan's convenience, she knew, so the little boy would always have family nearby; if not her family, then the widows of the Widows' Boardinghouse, three elderly ladies who knew everyone, and every secret, in town. When Ethan was little, the widows had taken turns sleeping on Tony's couch when Tony had had to work evenings. Everyone had coordinated together so that Ethan never felt bad about the divorce or both parents working.

Not that Ethan had all that many memories of Kate and Tony together. Kate had been a busy student by day, doing her homework in the evenings while Ethan had slept and Tony had worked at a Denver bar. She'd once thought that love would get them through the temporary rough patch of opposite schedules, but she'd been naïve.

She rose and went to the window, looking at the swing set in Tony's backyard, which Ethan never used anymore. It was covered in a couple inches of snow, and the swing moved gently back and forth in the breeze, as dusk began to obscure the view. Frosted with snow, the Elk Mountains now shadowed the valley, rising high above the town. It was a beautiful view, and part of why living in Vail was so easy. It was just like home.

She'd enjoyed Denver, too, although not in the first years of her divorce. But big-city life and the endless entertainment of clubs and restaurants, shows and museums, had proven a good distraction on her rare evenings without work. She hadn't had many of those, since she'd tried to get her work done during the week and save her weekends for Ethan.

She heard the jiggle of the knob before the back door burst open and Ethan entered, his eyes narrowed with concern. “Mom? I saw your car. Why are you here? Is everything okay?”

She put her mug down on the island and opened her arms wide, feeling a rush of love and gladness. “Can't I have a hug first?”

He actually had to bend to hug her, and it was over too soon. His cheek was chilly from the outdoors and pink with the cold. His hair, once blond like hers, was now sandy, perhaps on its way to darkening to his father's brown. He already had his dad's brown eyes, which now looked at her like something terrible must have happened to make her change her schedule. Was she teaching her son that change was a thing to be dreaded? That made her feel guilty—but she should be used to guilt by now.

“Nothing's wrong,” she said, patting his cheek like she used to.

He ducked his head away and absently reached down to pet the adoring Barney. “Mom—”

“You must have just come from ski club? Oh, sorry, I mean snowboarding.”

“Same difference.”

“Is that a new jacket?”

He nodded to both.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yep—it's always fun when we have a good base this early. But Mom, I thought you had plans this Thanksgiving?”

She sighed and sank back down on her stool, pointing to the one beside her. He glanced around first, looking as if he could eat the whole kitchen, then went immediately for the cookie jar, a giant turkey for the season. Her mom was old-fashioned that way. Ethan took a handful of chocolate chip cookies and set them on a napkin, pushing it toward Kate. She helped herself, grinning her thanks at him. He was a thoughtful kid. She and Tony had done something right. Barney waited patiently at Ethan's knee, and soon he gave the dog a piece, after making sure there was no chocolate in it.

She'd thought she'd be explaining her problem to her mom first and hadn't considered what she'd say to Ethan. Now she took a deep breath. “Well, I've taken some time off, E. It's called a sabbatical. I've been having trouble with a case, disagreeing with the partners, so . . . I've got some time away.”

He frowned and swallowed a mouthful of cookie. “Sounds like a punishment rather than a vacation.”

“Well, I'm choosing to see it as a much-needed vacation. I haven't had much of one since that Disney cruise we took a couple years ago.”

“That was four years ago, Mom.”

She winced. “Really? Time flies.”

He studied her with those eyes that echoed his every emotion, and once again, she was startled at the resemblance to Tony. She was thinking too much of her ex since unwisely revealing her problem to him. Now Ethan looked at her with a son's worry, and she knew she had to put him at ease.

“This is nothing, E., I promise you,” she said, touching his hand. It was still chilly, so she gave his hands a brisk rub between her own, like he was still her little boy coming in from building snowmen. “People disagree all the time and work out their problems. I wish I could tell you more, but—”

“Client confidentiality. I know.” He took another bite of cookie. “You and Dad didn't work out your problems.”

He spoke guardedly, not bitterly, and she was surprised he'd even brought it up.

“That's true, but marriage is very different from business. Hearts and emotions are involved in a marriage, two people's beliefs. You have to be perfectly in sync to be married, and work hard at it. That just didn't happen for us. I think it's because we were too young and didn't know what we really wanted in life.”

He accepted that with a nod, since it was her standard explanation for something that was far more complicated. But their youth had surely played its own role.

“What did you want that was different from what Dad wanted?” he suddenly asked, his voice squeaking on the last word.

“Has your voice started to change just since last weekend?” she asked, forcing a laugh.

He cleared his throat and gave a chagrined shrug, but she was only distracting herself from his pointed question.

“Well, E., your dad and I made the mistake of never really talking about where—or how—we wanted to live once I finished law school. We both made assumptions and never had any deep discussions. For instance, since you and your dad moved back to Valentine during my last couple years of law school”—a horrible, heart-wrenching decision made in desperation—“he just assumed I wanted to move back here, too. And I assumed he knew I was working hard to earn a job at a big law firm, which meant Denver or another city. When I got that job offer, we were forced to face the realization that neither of us would be happy settling for what the other wanted.”

And there had been so many other things wrong, including the ways they'd disappointed each other.

“What's wrong with Valentine Valley?” Ethan asked almost conversationally, picking up another cookie.

“Absolutely nothing. I grew up here, after all, and this is where my family is—where you are. But . . . the job opportunity I wanted nine years ago wasn't here. I wanted the chance to represent large companies in major cases, to test my skills and grow as a lawyer.”

“I get that,” he answered. “Sort of like if I wanted to move up to the first snowboarding team instead of the developmental team.”

She smiled with relief. “Exactly. And you haven't seemed to mind living in two different towns.”

“Nope, it's kind of cool.” He poured a glass of milk, looking up at her to ask, “So if you're on a break from work, what are you going to do?”

She found herself blinking at him. “Uh . . . I don't know. I haven't thought that far. Any ideas?” she joked halfheartedly, unease feeling like a weight in her chest. “I guess you could finally teach me to snowboard.”

“Uh . . . I don't know, Mom. You probably couldn't keep up.”

“Hey, I'm not
that
old! At least I'm ready to take you on in Xbox.”

“Sure, we'll do that.” He grabbed the backpack he'd left by the door. “Gotta go, Mom. Dad's expecting me home.”

“Of course,” she said, even as he shut the door, leaving her and Barney alone again.

She sighed and took another sip of coffee. Ethan was growing up so fast.

Not ten minutes later, just as she was bringing in her suitcase, her parents showed up, bustling through the back door, snow falling from their coats and hats as they took them off. Barney took turns leaning against their legs for the adoration he was due.

“Ethan texted us,” Christina, Kate's mom, said. “He felt bad that you were hanging out alone.”

Christina Fenelli was a chubby woman in her early sixties, with dimpled cheeks and blond hair several shades darker than Kate's, which curled around her shoulders and often drove her crazy.

“You cut your hair!” Christina exclaimed.

Kate wasn't sure if her mom was disappointed or envious. She patted her shorter cut. “Yes, but I'm not sure yet if it's worth the work.”

“Well, you look beautiful, as always,” her dad said.

Tom Fenelli was barely taller than his wife, only Kate's height, with a stocky, slightly overweight build and dark brown hair going silver at the temples.

“Thanks, Dad,” Kate said, giving him a hug as he kissed her cheek. She kissed her mom, then took a step back and waited for the interrogation to begin.

“We're so glad you decided to join us for Thanksgiving,” Christina said, going to the fridge and looking inside. “I'll see what I can whip up for dinner.”

Kate blinked in surprise. No questions about her last-minute schedule change? “Mom, don't worry about me. You must have pies or something to bake for tomorrow. Let me help.”

Both her parents eyed her as if she'd spoken another language.

She gave them a mock frown. “I can follow directions, you know.”

Christina grinned, flashing her dimples. “Of course you can. And I'm happy for your company.”

“As if that's all I'm good for?” she shot back in amusement.

Her dad studied her, his smile fading, but to her surprise, he didn't ask any questions. “We had meatballs last night. Unless your brother Joe polished them off after school today, we should have leftovers.”

“Where is Joe?” Kate asked, taking the containers her mom passed her.

“Basketball practice,” Tom answered.

“On Thanksgiving eve?”

“He has a tournament this weekend. If you're staying around, you can watch him play.”

“Sounds great, and . . . yeah, I'll be staying around—if it's okay with both of you.”

“How nice that you were able to take some vacation time for the holidays,” Christina said, slipping on an apron.

Kate took a deep breath. “Well, it'll be longer than just the weekend. I'm on sabbatical for the next two months.”

Both her parents froze, her dad pulling a beer from the fridge, her mom reheating a pan of sauce.

“I know you're curious,” Kate hurried on, wondering how many times she would have to explain this to her large extended family tomorrow, “and I can't really say much, since it's the firm's business, but . . . at least I'll have some extended time with Ethan, right?” Her voice sounded weak by the end, and once again, she felt the rise of tears. Hadn't humiliating herself in front of Tony been enough for one day?

Her dad surprised her with a hug. “Looks like you need one of these, Katie.”

Only her dad called her by her childhood nickname, and for a moment, she clung to him, overcome by the feelings of failure she'd felt only once before, because of her divorce. She'd promised herself never to fail again, but now she'd disappointed the senior partners. And she was disappointed in them, too, and so furious at the whole situation.

“I-it's not as bad as it seems,” she said when she finally broke away and gave her parents a wobbly smile. “We disagree about a client, and they just want to rethink some things and . . . it'll be okay.”

“Will it?” Christina asked softly. “If you disagree with the partners on something so fundamental that it's causing you this kind of anguish, maybe you need to rethink your future—”