Winter Reunion (4 page)

M
aybe Beth hadn't much personal experience, given her absentee husband, but she'd certainly read enough of the pop-psychology books in her store to know that most guys cringed at the thought of discussing feelings. If she'd ever doubted that bit of wisdom, she only had to look at Dev's guarded expression to know it was true.

But standing here alone with him, with no other distractions, was probably the perfect place to set things straight.

“We need to talk,” she said briskly, “because we need to put the past to rest, once and for all. Otherwise, this situation will be unbelievably awkward.”

He studied her, his eyes wary, as if he expected her to dissolve into a tearful, wretched mess.

But she'd die before she allowed him to catch even a glimpse of the damage he'd caused…or the pain she felt, every single day, since her life had been shattered. No matter what her mother claimed, he had relinquished that right.

“I admit…” She hesitated, searching for an innocuous word that would betray nothing of how she truly felt. “That it was a shock when you insisted on a divorce. But you have your life in the service and other relationships to pursue, I'm sure. The last thing you needed were bothersome ties to a wife back home. Right?”

His eyebrows drew together.

“It didn't take long for me to get over it, really.” She managed a smile, even though her heart was pounding against her ribs and the half-truth now lodged in her throat like a chunk of granite. “So don't worry about having to deal with any big scenes from me. I have no regrets.”

His jaw tightened. “That's…good.”

“So with that cleared up, it shouldn't be hard to maintain a business relationship with each other, right?” She fluttered a dismissive hand. “The other thing I need to clarify is that your mother's will was a complete surprise. I had no idea she'd included me, and I certainly didn't try to finagle my way into her good graces.”

“I never said—”

“But you might have thought it. Just so you know, your mother was polite but distant to me after the divorce. Even before that, we were never chummy during all the times you were away in the service. There were no little chats, no invitations for coffee. So if you're imagining any sort of collusion regarding you, her will or my bookstore building, you couldn't be more wrong.”

A muscle ticked at the side of his jaw. “I didn't suggest anything of the sort.”

“She stayed in your corner,” Beth added for emphasis. “And I didn't expect or seek anything more. Now it's your turn.”

“What?”

“If you have any concerns or questions, go for it.”

He fell silent, his intense gaze locked on hers, as if he were examining her very soul. “I…guess not,” he said at last.

“Good. So now we can try to be friendly business associates, at least. No other expectations.”

“Right.”

“It's good to see you in one piece,” she added. “When I heard you'd been wounded, I started praying that you'd be all right.”

His gaze shifted away. “Thanks.”

Years ago, he might've added a sardonic laugh at any acknowledgment of her faith, but this time he actually seemed to mean it. Yet another way he'd changed into someone she no longer knew, she mused. “So you think your shoulder will be fine for active duty?”

“It had better be,” he muttered.

He edged away and she saw the glint of something at his ear. “Was…that your only injury this time?”

“Pretty much.” But then he caught her studying him, and he sighed. “That, and a little hearing loss,” he admitted. “Just temporary.”

“I read a
Newsweek
article that said a lot of soldiers suffer permanent hearing loss because of the gunfire and explosions. Then they can't go back.”

“It won't be an issue,” he bit out as he strode to the entryway. “Not with me.”

 

Though she'd told herself that she wouldn't ever waste the time, she thought about Devlin as she headed back to the bookstore.

He had caught the eye of all the girls in high school, and no wonder. But while his golden-flecked, whiskey-brown eyes and the dark sweep of his eyebrows had bordered on heartthrob handsome as a teenager, now he was at least six feet of solid muscle, and the uncompromising planes and angles of his lean face were attractive in a far more rugged way.

They'd married young—too young. They'd probably been as much in love with love itself as they'd been in love with each other. With her own rocky family life—a free-spirited, irresponsible mother and a dad she barely knew—marriage had promised love and stability, and offered the kind of security she'd rarely felt growing up.

In comparison, Dev's family had seemed like something straight out of a happy TV sitcom—parents who'd been married for over twenty years, who'd lived in the same house since before Dev was born, who lived their faith in a steadfast way. She'd imagined that when she and Dev were that old, they'd be just like them.

She'd discovered the truth much later.

Alan's ironclad expectation that Dev would achieve nothing less than straight A's in high school and then go into medicine had sparked extreme tension between them. With Alan, nothing was ever good enough…and Vivian had sided with her husband.

For coming through his teen years as balanced as he
was, given the constant criticism he faced at home, Beth had been completely impressed with Dev's strength. She'd been so sure their marriage would be a safe and happy shelter from the world.

But growing up in a cold and distant household and building a career in the military hadn't made him a warmer guy.

Then out of the blue, he'd come home from a tour in some undisclosed place, and announced that their marriage was over. No explanations, no apologies…and the next day he was gone.

He'd been a wild one, a charmer in high school, and she should have known better than to risk her heart.

It wouldn't be something she'd ever do again.

 

Beth eyed the antique grandfather clock opposite the checkout counter. The stately pendulum swung back and forth. Back and forth. Slower, it seemed, than ever before.

Twenty-four minutes to go, and counting.

Sauntering through the empty store once more, she straightened books and fluffed the colorful patchwork pillows strewn on the overstuffed chairs angled into every corner.

She'd let Janet, her sole employee, leave early to make it to her twins' Friday night football game in nearby Parkersville, and since then there'd been exactly two customers who'd braved the unseasonable chilly evening to stop in.

Both were frequent browsers, but the gentleman did put a heavy coffee-table book on Egyptian art on
layaway, and his cheerful little wife selected several magazines while she sipped hot peach tea.

Eighteen minutes.

Beth thought longingly of the raspberry scones and hot chocolate that she'd savor upstairs in less than an hour. After today, she needed that and a good hot bubble bath, too.

Nearly two-dozen three-year-olds had run amok in the store during the morning—ostensibly for story time, though they were new to the preschool experience and none landed in one spot long enough to hear more than a few consecutive words.

As soon as they left, both Beth and Janet had flopped onto the red velvet sofa in the History section and burst into laughter.

The afternoon had been quieter, with the garden club ladies using the meeting area to discuss the town square gardens for next year.

And then there'd been her talk with Dev.

Even now, her midsection felt jittery and unsettled, though she was pretty sure she'd carried off her visit with an air of calm detachment that had conveyed none of her true emotions.

Lord, I hope You'll help me through the next six months, because it isn't going to be easy.

She eyed the clock again. Fifteen minutes to go. Good enough.

Her step lighter, she made one more sweep of the store, checking the windows and back door, then ended up at the front register where she began counting out the cash drawer.

The jangle of the bells over the front door startled her and she spun in that direction. Her mouth fell open at the rainbow apparition standing just inside.
“Mom?”

“Sugar!” Metal bracelets clanging and overlarge hoop earrings flashing, Maura Carrigan swept forward in a flurry of multiple layers of fuchsia and peridot scarves and shawls over some sort of canary, gauzy muumuu underneath. Blond this time, her hair caught up in a twist with strands flying about her face, she was as colorful as a one-woman carnival.

Beth accepted her mother's fierce hug and hugged her in return. “You look…wonderful.”

Maura grimaced. “Not really, after all those days on the road. But color always perks me right up.” She held Beth's shoulders and took a step back to survey her head to toe. “My
goodness,
but you're thin.”

“Not thin. Ten pounds too high, according to the charts.”

“Thin,” Maura retorted. “And so…so
staid.
It's a good thing I'm here.”

Amused, Beth looked down. “A long denim skirt and cranberry sweater isn't exactly staid. I think I'm actually sort of Midwestern hip.”

“Well, we're going to see what we can do about that, hon.”

At Maura's calculating appraisal, Beth quelled the urge to roll her eyes. Her mother had embraced the flower child era with gusto, and at sixty she had yet to let it go. “I'm nearly done down here, Mother. As soon as I close, we can go upstairs. I've got the guest room
ready. It's small, but you'll be comfortable while you're here.”

“It's a lovely room, as I remember. Now, don't mind me. I'll just wander around the store for a while and let you finish up.”

Beth watched her stroll away, the initial bounce in her step fading. Was that a weary droop to her shoulders? Despite Maura's trademark ebullience upon arrival, there'd also been something else—a trace of worry, maybe. Or stress. Two emotions she'd always said she wouldn't waste a nickel on, which made them of concern now. Was it just the long trip, or was something else going on?

Frowning, Beth finished checking her totals and filled out a deposit slip.

A minute later the door jangled again…probably Maura heading out to get her luggage, Beth thought as she dropped the money and slip into an Aspen Creek Savings & Loan night-deposit bag.

“You're closing up already? Guess I got here too late.”

At the all-too familiar deep rumble of his voice, Beth looked up in shock. “D-Dev?”

“I've been thinking about what you said, and you're right on all counts.” He approached the front counter with the newest Lee Child hardback in his hand, his eyes troubled. He dropped a couple of twenties on the counter. “This situation isn't going to be easy for either of us, but we'll manage. I want to apologize for being rude, and thank you for being willing to try.”

She glanced over her shoulder, then rang up the
purchase and handed back his change, hoping he wouldn't linger. “Maybe we can discuss this tomorrow morning—”

But it was too late.

In a flurry of retro-hippie scarves and beads, Maura came around the corner of a bookshelf clutching a large hardback on organic gardening.

Her mouth fell open, then her eyes narrowed.
“Devlin,”
she exclaimed, her voice low and bitter as she looked between Beth and her nemesis, then pinned her glare on Dev.

“
Mom,
please,” Beth pleaded.

“How can he have the
audacity
to come in here?”

“I think I'd better go,” Dev said in a low voice. He turned to leave. “No sense in making anyone upset.”

Beth watched him go, her heart heavy. Maura had been against their marriage from day one, proclaiming that it was a terrible mistake. Ever the champion for her two daughters, she'd later pinned all blame for the divorce on Dev's shoulders. Her heart had truly turned to stone over what happened after that, and Beth knew her mother would never, ever forgive him.

But the clock was already ticking on the situation with the Sloane House boarders. There was a lot of work to do with no time to waste, and much of it was going to involve Dev.

It was going to be hard enough as it was, and now Beth could only pray that she could keep her mother and Dev apart until at least one of them left town.

B
eth stood at the open door of her car and watched Dev park his late father's Jeep behind her bumper, hoping her mother's outburst hadn't irreparably damaged their tenuous truce.

Maura had retreated into troubled silence on the topic of Dev after their encounter on Friday night. And since Dev had never been one for emotional scenes, preferring a stony retreat to fanning the flames of an argument, it wasn't likely the two of them would ever come to any level of understanding even if they did run into each other again.

Beth had hoped to see him at church this morning for a chance to talk, but the fact that he hadn't shown up wasn't a surprise. As a teenager he'd attended only rarely and probably under duress, though his parents had been pillars of the community and staunch members of the church.

An old memory surfaced, of the first Sunday after Beth's family had moved to town. She'd been a high
school sophomore, and could still remember seeing the dark, brooding teenager in a pew with his parents. He'd been tall, dark and impossibly handsome. That raw, youthful appeal had nothing on what he'd become…six feet of solid muscle, with an aura of strength, even when he was standing still.

She'd never known exactly what he did in the Marines, but had no doubt that he completed his missions with the kind of intense, lethal power that allowed nothing to stand in his way.

Now, he climbed out of his vehicle, clearly favoring his injured shoulder, and started up the walk leading to the two-story brick home where he'd grown up, pausing to stare at the discreet, forest-green sign over the porch steps with Sloane House written in fanciful gilt letters.

There was no warmth in the firm set of his jaw or the flinty expression in his eyes when he spared a brief nod in her direction.

“Cool wheels,” she called out as she closed her car door.

“What?”

Belatedly remembering that he might not hear her clearly, she spoke louder. “The Jeep. It sure brings back memories.”

“Dad's house calls,” he said on a long sigh.

Clutching a leather folder to her chest, she caught up with him at the front steps. “He had to be the last of a dying breed. He was such an institution around here.”

“A real hero, all right.”

Though from the lack of emotion in Dev's voice, he'd
been one to everyone but his son. “Even if he wasn't a perfect father, he was well loved in the community, Dev.”

Dev tipped his head in silent acknowledgment.

“Nora told the boarders that we'd be here this afternoon. So how do you want to handle this?” Beth asked.

“I don't. Hand me an M16—”

Startled, she looked over her shoulder at him. “A
what?
”

“Hand me an M16, give me a mission, and I'm good to go. But I don't fit this everyday life in the States anymore. So how am I going to help these folks? If my mother cared about them, she should've allowed us to hire the appropriate staff.”

Beth suppressed a shudder, imagining the kinds of dangers he'd faced all these years. “I'm not sure these people
need
a staff, as such.”

“Then aren't there other options—like low-cost public housing?”

“Not nearly enough in the county, and none here in Aspen Creek. The economy hit this town pretty hard over the past few years, so I don't suppose there are any plans, either.”

Dev looked unconvinced. “I knew she'd turned the house into a boardinghouse, but her country club and golf buddies were her primary focus when I was a kid. I still can't imagine my mother doing this.”

Privately, Beth agreed. Vivian Sloane certainly hadn't had a very warm heart when it came to welcoming a
young daughter-in-law into the family. What could have made her change during the last few years?

“Well, Nora has been overseeing things since your mother passed away, and that's what her report said. Did you read your copy?”

“Just the first few pages so far.”

“She explained the whole operation, and listed the current residents. We've got just four adults here, plus one of them has her young son with her.”

Dev's eyebrows rose. “A child?
Here?
”

“Hey, there are homeless families everywhere. At least this mom has a safe place for her son to live.”

“How long have they all been here?”

Beth shuffled through the papers in the folder. “According to the records, the current boarders moved in during the three months prior to your mother's heart attack. Elana and her son Cody arrived just the week before.” She looked up and caught a flicker of uneasiness in Dev's eyes. “But good news—residents do benefit from being here, and then they do move on. There were actually two more women and a gentleman, who left a few weeks ago.”

“Successfully, I hope.”

“All have their own apartments now, and have jobs in town. Nora has checked in on them a couple of times.” She looked up at him, and bit back a smile at the grim set of his mouth. “This isn't some dangerous mission, Dev. It might actually be fun.”

“Right. If ‘the blind leading the blind' isn't a recipe for failure.”

“We'll do fine. I suppose we should talk to them as a group and allay any fears they may have, then meet with everyone individually. What do you think?”

He sighed.

“Ready?” She crossed the wide plank floor of the porch, noting the half-dozen Adirondack chairs and rockers with bright red cushions and a checkers set sitting on a table. At the front door she hesitated, then rapped on the door.

A few moments later, a somber, gray-haired man peered out a beveled windowpane in the door before he opened it. “You must be Vivian's boy.” He gave Dev a narrowed look. “And…you must be Beth Carrigan. We've heard about things changing around here.”

“We're only coming on board to help out. Right, Dev?” She looked over her shoulder and winced at his dark expression.

“Folks here are worried. Most of us have been waiting in the parlor to hear what you have to say.”

“And you are?” Beth asked, extending her hand.

“Carl White. Thirty-two years on the railroad line till my heart gave out.” He thumped his barrel chest with his fist. “Got a pacemaker and new valves—a real overhaul. Almost ready to go down the tracks again.”

But his face was ashen, and he sucked in a rattling breath after each sentence. If he was planning to go down the road, she hoped it wouldn't be very far.

“Good to meet you, Carl.”

Overhead, a massive chandelier hung in the center of the two-story entryway. Beyond lay a wide hall
way flanked by a curving, open staircase with a dark, burnished oak railing.

Beth had always been as intimidated by the grandeur of the house as she'd been by her in-laws' subtle disapproval. From the stiff set of Dev's shoulders, he didn't have happy memories about the place, either. No wonder. With his mother's charitable works and active social life and his father's dedication to medicine, they'd earned a sterling reputation in town, but they sure hadn't put a priority on understanding and supporting their only child's wishes.

Carl led them to the dining room, where the original, gleaming cherrywood dining room table and chairs for twelve still took center stage.

A patrician silver-haired man, probably in his early sixties, studied them as they walked in. The austere, elegant woman across from him was a woman whom Beth recognized as an infrequent customer at the bookstore. Her upswept, coal-black hair and perfect manicure were badges of prosperity, so what was she doing here?

Carl cleared his throat. “This is Frank Ferguson and Reva Young.” The woman nodded. “Our youngest residents, Elana Mendez and her boy, couldn't be here.”

Beth cast a quick glance at Dev, but he shook his head slightly, turning the discussion over to her.

“As you know, Dev and I have been given the responsibility of taking over the management of this house, to satisfy the promises his mother made to each of you. Today we'd like to meet with each of you privately to discuss your concerns and needs. But first, are there any questions we should address with the group?”

Carl scowled. “About the costs…are they going to be the same?”

Wishing Dev had been more willing to discuss details out on the porch, she shot another glance at him and caught his almost imperceptible shrug, then nodded. “According to the documents I have, you all pay a flat hundred-dollar monthly rent for your room, plus a hundred for your share of the food, supplies and lawn care. We have no plans to change that at this time.”

Pugnacious as a boxer spoiling for a fight, Carl sat forward with his jaw jutting, drumming his fingers on the table. “When do you plan to kick us all out and close this place?”

“The agreement you all had with Vivian was for a six-month stay—renewable based on need, on a case-by-case basis. Her will stated that should she pass away, the full six-month period would start fresh for everyone living here.”

“Then what?”

“We'll do our best to help you all get a good start at renewed independence,” Beth assured him. “Just like Vivian did. No one will be thrown out in the street. If there are problems, we'll talk. However, this was never intended to be a long-term boardinghouse.”

Beth felt a tug at her heart when Carl nodded bleakly. For all his crotchety bluster, he was
afraid.
What
would
happen to these people if successful independence wasn't attainable within six months, or even a year? Yet…what could happen to the viability of this entire scenic tourist town if that didn't happen, and Stan Murdock got his hands on the property?

Would Nora and Harold be ruthless in their application of the terms of Vivian's will and let Stan lead the town to ruin?

 

After fielding a few more questions, Beth and Dev moved to the parlor across the hall to meet with the residents individually. With each passing hour, Beth's concern grew. Was it even
possible
to meet the stipulations of Vivian's will?

Carl was a childless widower with no family to watch over him. Asthma and advancing congestive heart failure had led to his early retirement at fifty-six, a minimal railroad pension and little stamina for the only kind of blue-collar work he knew. He was regaining his strength after a subsequent heart attack but now, at fifty-eight, was he even able to be self-supporting? And would anyone actually hire an older man with such a dour outlook on life?

Reva Young came in next. At close range, her perfectly coiffed black hair revealed a hint of silver at the roots. Her bearing was regal as she settled into a chair and folded her hands primly in her lap. The tight compression of her lips and her white knuckles betrayed her anxiety.

She eyed the leather folder on the end table next to Beth's chair as if it were a snake ready to strike. “I suppose you have information on all of us. Is there really anything at all left to say?”

Beneath the acid tone, Beth heard a glimmer of fear. “Vivian wasn't a social worker and neither is the lawyer. There's no social history or deeply personal information
on anyone—just the most basic information, plus old addresses, recent work history and emergency contact information. Exactly what you filled out on your application before moving in.”

“I see.”

“What are your goals?”

“I…have degrees in French and Comparative Literature.” Her lower lip trembled, though she met Beth's gaze squarely. “I'm afraid that doesn't translate to many career choices in the Northwoods of Wisconsin.”

“You haven't ever worked, then?” Beth asked gently.

“My late husband was a banker, dear. He did quite, quite well.” If her voice grew any colder, it might splinter into crystalline shards on the Persian rug beneath their feet, and now a note of bitterness crept in. “I spent my life supporting all of his endeavors.”

“So…do you have some ideas about what you'd like to do?”

The woman's chin lifted defiantly, and Beth guessed that she was hanging on to every last shred of her pride.

“I…don't know. At fifty, with no résumé…”

But if her husband had done so well, what was she doing here? The obvious question hung between them for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“I don't mean to pry, Mrs. Young. Dev and I just want to help.”

“My husband should have played our portfolio conservatively as he got older. But he took big risks thinking he was going to make a killing, then several
significant dips in the stock market nearly wiped us out. He ultimately left me widowed with a heavily mortgaged home, a lot of debt and almost nothing in the bank…and trying to ignore rumors that he hadn't even been faithful. Ironic, isn't it?” Reva rose gracefully to her feet. “The banker's wife turned pauper sounds like such interesting fiction. But in real life, it's a grand disappointment, and rising from the ashes, as it were, will be no mean feat. I know I need to find a job, and I'm trying. I'll keep you informed.”

Beth waited until she heard the woman go up the stairs, then shook her head. “I feel so sorry for her.”

Dev shifted in his chair. “Makes you think, doesn't it?” he said in a low voice. “Good health and a regular paycheck are quite a gift.”

“True.”
And a family support system, too,
though Beth didn't say those words aloud.

She still had her mom and a sister who both lived on the West Coast, but as an only child with both parents gone, he no longer had any close relatives she knew of. And yet he'd thrown away their marriage as if it had been worth nothing.

Had he been unfaithful, like Reva's husband?

Not long after the divorce, Vivian passed her on the street and offhandedly mentioned Dev's advantageous new relationship. Had he been having an affair before the divorce was even final? That possibility had once made her heart twist with grief.