The Mountain Between Us (7 page)

Katya cleared her throat. “Madam Mayor, perhaps you should read the first order of business.”

“Oh, of course.” Lucille consulted the agenda on the counter in front of her, though there was really no need. She'd written the agenda herself two days ago. “I'd like to introduce, uh, Mr. Gerald Pershing, with GP Investments. He has, um, a business proposition to make to the city.”

She didn't miss the curious glances Janelle and Danielle exchanged from their seats in the first row of folding chairs. Lucille usually wasn't so tongue-tied.

Gerald strode to the front of the room and Lucille sat, thankful she didn't have to say anything else. She hated that Gerald flustered her so. Yet, she enjoyed the idea that after so many years a man could affect her this way.

“Thank you all for agreeing to hear me out tonight,” Gerald began in his velvety drawl.

Afraid of betraying too much of her emotions if she focused on Gerald, Lucille studied the council members and the members of the community as they listened to his presentation. Doug and Paul sat with arms crossed, jaws set, as if determined not to be swayed. Junior was more expressive, nodding from time to time as Gerald talked about the plight of small investors such as Eureka and his own experience helping people maximize their savings.

In the audience, Bob sat with his hands on his knees, legs apart, frowning at Gerald the way he did anyone he deemed an “outsider.” Behind him, Cassie focused on Gerald, an adoring expression on her face. Janelle and Danielle looked thoughtful, while others variously looked out the window or watched Gerald.

Gerald was masterful, presenting impressive evidence of results he'd realized for towns as diverse as Flower Mound, Texas, and Peach Springs, Arizona. “Call and talk to the people there,” he said. “They were in the same boat you were in, having to cut services to balance the budget. Now they think I'm a miracle worker.”

Did he sound pompous to the others? Lucille wondered. But maybe that was a good thing. You wanted the man you entrusted with your money to be confident of his ability to succeed.

“What's so special about your company that we couldn't do just as well buying stocks or municipal bonds on our own?” Doug asked.

“Do you have years of investment experience?” Gerald asked. “Do you have contacts with emerging firms who are hungry for investment capital? Are you familiar with the markets in Europe and Asia? Can you find out about new opportunities before they reach the market?” He pointed a finger at Doug. “And most important of all, how well have you done investing on your own so far?”

“And you've got references for these other towns you've helped?” Junior asked.

“Absolutely. I'd be happy for you to contact any of them. But I must ask when you talk to them you don't mention the opportunity I'm about to offer you. It's something that's just opened up this week and it's only available for limited participation.”

“Can you put that in English?” Junior asked, garnering laughter from the audience.

Gerald smiled. “I have a Swedish technological firm. They specialize in the development of medical equipment. They have a new line of hardware to be used in corrective surgery: appliances for use on children who are born with birth defects, for instance, or soldiers injured in war. It's absolutely cutting-edge stuff, but they need investors to bring it to market. The returns on this kind of investment stand to be enormous. When word gets out about this opportunity, it will be closed to new investors in a matter of hours.”

“What if we need more time to consider this?” Paul asked.

“Not to worry,” Gerald said. “I'm sure something else just as good will come along.”

“But would something else give us the chance to help children—and soldiers?” Cassie spoke from the audience, and several around her nodded.

“I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have.” Gerald surveyed them all, waiting.

When no one spoke up, Lucille rose. “Thank you, Mr. Pershing. We'll discuss your generous offer and get back to you.”

He smiled warmly and strode from the café. As soon as the door closed behind him the room erupted in the clamor of a dozen voices speaking at once. “How can we pass up such a great opportunity?” “If something's too good to be true, it's too good to be true.” “Is what he's proposing even legal?”

“Quiet, everyone.” Lucille banged her gavel. “I'd like to poll the council.”

The vote was two and two. Katya and Junior thought the town should invest at least part of their funds with Gerald.

“Lucille is a good judge of character, and if she trusts Mr. Pershing, I think we can trust him,” Katya said.

“If we've got the opportunity to make some real money to help out the town, I don't see how we can pass it up,” Junior added.

“It sounds too risky to me,” Doug said.

“I agree,” Paul said. “If this scheme of his is so great, how come I've never heard of anything like it before?”

“So you keep up with the financial news now, do you?” Junior asked.

“I think we should table a final vote until we can do more thorough research,” Doug said.

“I think we should give the guy a chance and see what he can do for us,” Junior said.

“Madam Mayor, what do you say?” Katya asked.

“I only vote to break a tie,” Lucille protested.

“Looks like a tie to me,” Bob said. “You know this guy better than anybody. . . . Do you think we can trust him?”

She felt the eyes of everyone in the room focused on her. What could she say? That she'd had one dinner and a lunch with the man? That he'd kissed her and felt her up and left her breathless? That she was drawn to him in a way she hadn't been drawn to a man in years? “I don't know him that much better than any of you,” she said. “He's only been in town a little over a month. But I have no reason not to believe what he says. And the truth is, we need to find some way to put more money in the town budget, or this time next year we could very well be broke.”

This last statement caused a new eruption of voices. Lucille banged her gavel. “Are we ready to take an official vote?”

This time the vote was three to one, with Doug joining those in favor of investing the city's savings with Gerald. As treasurer, Doug would make the arrangements for a trial sum, to be followed by additional money if the first returns were promising.

She was pleased, and not too surprised, to find Gerald's car parked in front of her house when she arrived home after the meeting. He stepped out to meet her on the front walk. “From the smile on your face, I'd say the meeting went well,” he said, taking her arm and walking with her to the door.

“Oh, you think that, do you?”

“Lucille, dear, you have such an expressive face. And I've made a life's work of reading people's thoughts in their eyes.”

“Is that a necessary skill for an investment counselor?”

“And for a poker player,” he said. “The difference between the two disciplines is not as much as you might imagine. So I take it the town council voted to let me handle Eureka's investments?”

“Yes, Doug Rayburn, our treasurer, will be contacting you to make the arrangements.”

“You'll be surprised what I can do for you,” he murmured. Not waiting for an answer, he pulled her close for a kiss filled with more passion than she'd expected.

“Gerald,” she said, somewhat flustered when he finally broke away.

He grinned, teeth glinting in the glow of the porch light. “Have I mentioned I find women in power incredibly sexy? Watching you tonight, presiding over the meeting, was an incredible turn-on.”

She hoped the darkness hid her blush. “Honestly, Gerald. I can't think of anything less sexy than a town council meeting.”

“It's all in how you look at it, I suppose.” He stepped back, though his hands lingered on her arms. “You are an incredibly sexy woman, Lucille Theriot. And one day you're going to give me a chance to prove it to you.”

He turned and walked back to his car, his posture so confidant, almost cocky, as if he'd already gotten what he wanted from her. She fumbled with her key in the lock, trembling from both the force of his embrace and his words. For so many years she'd pushed aside her sensuality, like the fancy dresses that collected dust in the back of her closet. It was something nice to have, but not necessary for her happiness.

Now Gerald made her think differently. Maybe in denying the sexual part of herself she'd been ignoring something essential, something that was as important to being a woman as her ability to multitask or her skill at balancing a budget. Something she now had a chance to rediscover, a better gift than all the money he might make for the town, and certainly a lot more enjoyable.

C
HAPTER FIVE

S
omething about sitting practically naked on a paper-covered table in a doctor's office made Maggie feel like a five-year old—vulnerable and at the mercy of everyone who was bigger than her. She had to fight the urge to curl into a ball and suck her thumb. “You appear to be in good health, Maggie, so I don't anticipate you'll have any problems with the pregnancy,” Dr. Racine, an obstetrician Maggie had selected from the phone book, tapped away at her computer keyboard. “Of course, being a first-time mother at your age does put you in the category of high risk. I want to order an ultrasound and some blood work. I'm going to write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins and I'll give you some instructions on diet. You want to eat healthy, but I don't want you to gain too much weight. And you'll need a nuchal translucency scan after twelve weeks, a maternal protein measurement, an alpha fetoprotein test and, of course, amniocentesis, and a CVS to check for chromosome abnormalities.”

Maggie squirmed, overwhelmed by the onslaught of instructions. And here she'd thought her biggest concern would be which stroller to purchase. “All those tests—what are they looking for?”

“We want to make sure the baby is healthy and developing normally.”

“Do you think it isn't?” Alarmed, she put one hand on her stomach, as if she could somehow protect the child growing inside.

The doctor swiveled around to face Maggie, her expression that of someone used to dealing with emotional mothers. “Your baby is probably fine, Maggie. But your age does put the baby at a higher risk for birth defects, so we want to check that out.”

“And if you find something wrong?”

“Then we'll have other decisions to make. But you shouldn't worry about that now.” She turned back to the computer screen. “What about the father?”

The doctor's words brought Maggie out of her fog. “What about him?” Did the doctor need to know Jameso's name for some form or other?

“Is he going to be involved in the pregnancy and labor?”

“Oh, uh, yes. Yes, he wants to be involved.” Jameso had said he wanted to be part of his child's life, hadn't he? Though how involved, exactly, could he be in the pregnancy?

“There'll be childbirth classes for the two of you later, of course, but before then he'll probably want to attend the ultrasound, and I'd like to see him at at least a few of your prenatal appointments. Meanwhile, he can read this.” She handed Maggie a booklet,
The New Dad's Guide to Pregnancy.
The cover showed an impossibly young couple on the front, both grinning like idiots at a baby in the father's arms.

Maggie felt nauseous, but not from morning sickness. She scarcely listened to the rest of the doctor's instructions, dressed hurriedly, and fled the office to the safety of her Jeep. This was really happening. She was going to have a baby. Jameso's baby.

With trembling hands, she dug her phone from her purse.

“Hello?” Barb had to shout to make herself heard.

“What is that roaring sound?” Maggie asked, raising her own voice.

“I think it's a compressor. The painters are spraying Michael's old room.”

“I thought you just redecorated that room.” Barb was perpetually redecorating her home in Houston's upscale Woodlands neighborhood.

“I did. I painted the walls lavender. I planned to use it as my meditation retreat. But now I have to paint it back white.”

“Why?”

“Michael's moving back home. He lost his job and his girlfriend kicked him out.”

Michael, Barb's only child, was nineteen, a college dropout who until recently had worked as a delivery driver for an auto parts manufacturer. “Oh, Barb, I'm so sorry.”

“Me too. But hopefully it won't be long term. Jimmy's going to try to get him on down at the golf course.” Jimmy, Barb's husband, was chief financial officer at a big oil company, though his true love—other than Barb, of course—was golf. He spent as much time on the links as he did in his office. “Meanwhile, this couldn't have come at a worse time. I should be decorating for our Halloween party. The theme this year is Attack of the Zombies.”

“Sounds fun.” Barb was a renowned hostess, throwing parties that regularly garnered mention in Houston's society news.

“It will be fabulous, of course. But how are you doing?”

“I just had my first appointment with the obstetrician.”

The roaring sound of the compressor faded as Barb moved into a quieter part of the house. “How did it go?”

“I'm definitely pregnant. Six weeks. The baby is due around the first week in June.” That seemed so far away. She'd have been in Eureka a year by then. “The doctor wants to do all these tests—for birth defects. I guess because I'm so old.”

“You are not old!” Barb was a year older than Maggie.

“I'm old for a first-time mother.”

“You'll be fine, and the baby will be fine. I know it.”

When Barb said it, Maggie could believe it.

“I'm so excited for you,” Barb continued. “What does Jameso say?”

“He asked me to marry him.”

She had to move the phone away from her ear as Barb squealed. “A new baby and a wedding, too!” Barb said. “That's it, I'm booking the next flight to Colorado.”

“I'd love to see you, but there isn't going to be a wedding.”

“What do you mean there's not going to be a wedding? You said Jameso proposed.”

“And I turned him down. I'm not going to marry him just because I'm pregnant.”

“You think that's the only reason he wants to marry you?”

“I know it is. He said as much.” The words stung, but they were the truth—no sense denying it.

“Oh, Maggie.” Barb sounded deflated. “What are you going to do?”

“We're going to keep on going the way we have been. He says he wants to be a part of the baby's life and that's good enough for me.” For now anyway. They'd see how things worked out.

“Good.” In typical Barb fashion, she rebounded quickly. She was the most optimistic person Maggie had ever known. Then again, maybe it was easier to be optimistic if you'd lived a charmed life. Barb was a beauty who'd been a runner-up for Miss Texas, had pledged the top sorority at SMU, married into money, joined the Junior League, and become one of Houston's top hostesses and society volunteers. And yet she'd remained fast friends with Maggie since they'd sat next to each other at a fund-raiser for Children's Hospital. Barb never let position and money—or the lack of it—come between her and a friend. “We have so much to do,” Barb continued. “We have to plan your nursery, and pick out names, of course.”

“We?”

“You're going to need help. And you don't think I'm going to let you experience this momentous occasion without me, do you?”

“Of course not. I can't imagine getting through this without you.”

“Good. Now, let's see . . . oh, yes, what are you going to wear?”

“Whatever fits, I imagine. And is warm,” she added. Much of her pregnancy would be during the winter months. She had a sudden image of herself, swollen to the size of an exercise ball, swathed in a bulky sweater and sweatpants, a giant Nordic grape.

“I can see I'm going to have to take you in hand. There's a whole fashion industry today devoted to stylish clothes for the mother-to-be. You'll look fabulous.”

“Barb, I live in a tiny town in the Rocky Mountains. Function trumps fashion any day here. We have dirt streets. If you can't slog through the mud or snow here, it isn't practical.”

Barb made a
tsking
sound. “That doesn't mean you have to dress like a lumberjack. Leave everything to me. Now, for the baby's room. Or rooms? Will Jameso have a room for the baby at his house, too?”

Two
nurseries? Maggie had a vision of the two of them passing the baby back and forth across the yard like a football. “I'm not ready to think about any of that.”

“You should think about it,” Barb said. “Those eight months are going to fly by.”

“That still doesn't mean I have to do everything at once.”

“Of course you don't. I can do a lot of things for you. And you'll want to assign some tasks to Jameso, to make him feel a part of things.”

Wasn't he already a part of “things” by virtue of his contribution of half the baby's DNA? “You make it sound like if I don't give him a job he can't be the baby's father.”

“Genetically, he's the father no matter what he does. Honestly, beyond contributing that sperm and holding your hand while you're in labor, there's not a heck of a lot for the dad to do until it's time to change diapers. I strongly suggest you put him in charge of those.”

She tried to imagine Jameso changing a diaper and failed. “Did Jimmy change Michael's diapers?”

Barb laughed. “Are you kidding me? He didn't even want to be in the same room when I was changing them. You want to start off on the right foot with Jameso. Tell him since you're in charge of input—breastfeeding—it's only fair that he handles output—diapers. It's the kind of logic men appreciate.”

“That would only work if we were living together. I'm not going to haul the baby next door every time he needs a clean diaper.”

“Or she. You might have a girl.”

Maggie imagined an infant in a little pink dress and matching bonnet and had to blink back tears.

“You ought to consider moving in with Jameso,” Barb continued. “It would make child care so much easier.”

“If we're going to live together, we might as well get married.”

“An excellent idea. You probably still have time to accept his proposal.”

“Barb, I don't want to be married.”

“Ever?”

Maggie massaged the bridge of her nose, behind which a headache was beginning to throb. “I don't know. But I don't want to be married right now.”

“Fine. But you're just making things difficult for yourself.”

Something she was apparently very good at. “I have to go now. I have to get back to work.” She'd lied and told Rick she was going to the dentist—only because she wasn't ready for the whole town to know about the baby. Not when she was still getting used to the idea herself.

“Wait,” Barb said. “Don't go yet. Any other exciting news in Eureka?”

“The town council's decided to pull the budget surplus out of the bank and invest in foreign stocks, or something like that.”

“They couldn't pay worse than the banks. I swear, I'd come out ahead these days if they'd go back to giving away free toasters when you opened an account.”

“The Eureka Bank gives you a coffee mug with their name on it.” She had hers in the cabinet at home, next to a matching one that had belonged to her father.

“I'd take a coffee cup. Anything's better than one third of a percent interest, or whatever they're paying these days.”

“Tell your CPA husband to find you a better deal.”

“I'm the best deal the man ever found, and believe me, he knows it. I have to go. The painters want me to inspect the work.”

Maggie hung up and slid the phone back into her purse. Talking with Barb was always wonderful, but exhausting, too. Where did she get so much energy?

She drove, not to the paper or her house in town, but up to her father's cabin. The mountainside was still bare of snow, though last month when he'd persuaded her to move, Jameso had assured her the road would be impassible by the middle of October, if not before. Maggie was grateful she could still make it up here. She kept coming back to this place because this was where what she thought of as the second chapter in her life had started. She'd begun to see herself differently here—not as an orphaned, unemployed divorcee, but as an independent woman who could do almost anything.

Did that anything include having a first baby at forty, with no husband?

She was surprised to see a familiar black SUV parked in front of the cabin. Olivia Theriot walked around from the side of the house, camera in hand. “Hi, Maggie,” she said. “I hope you don't mind. I was taking pictures of your dad's place. I'm thinking of including him as part of a mural I'm working on for the Last Dollar.”

“Jake?” Danielle and Janelle had idolized her father for his defense of them against some town bigots—and for the fireproof chicken house he'd built them after vandals destroyed their first one. But putting him on a mural seemed a bit much.

“Yeah, I'm painting a mural of the history of Eureka. Some people suggested I should include your dad. But I can't find a picture of him anywhere.”

The only photographs Maggie had of her father had been taken when she was an infant. They showed a thin young man in an army uniform, not the larger-than-life character locals remembered. “Come by the paper,” she said. “We have photos on file of Jake at Hard Rock Days.”

“I heard he won the competition three times.”

“He did.” The trophies were stored under the stairs in the cabin, along with his army discharge papers, his divorce decree, and half a dozen unpaid speeding tickets.

“Thanks,” Olivia said. “I will stop by.”

She started to turn away. “Olivia?” Maggie called.

“Yes?”

“Have you been a single mom long?”

“The last ten years or so. Why?”

“I just wondered. I know it must be hard, but you've done a good job. Lucas is a great kid.” He was the one, after all, who'd discovered the turquoise in the French Mistress Mine.