CHAPTER SIX
“You did what?!” Gavin roared, eyeing his partner as if he’d lost his mind.
“I hired Melanie Walker.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Gavin growled.
“What’ve you got against her?” Rich asked, his brows drawing together.
“I knew her years ago.”
“So?” Sitting at his desk, pen in one hand, Rich stared up at Gavin as if he were the one who had gone mad.
“We dated.”
Rich still wasn’t getting the point. “I don’t understand—”
“While I was gone, she married a guy by the name of Neil Brooks eight years ago.”
“Neil Brooks—the lumber broker?”
“You know him?” Gavin growled, rolling his eyes and tossing his hands out as if in supplication to the heavens. “This just gets better and better.”
“Of course I know him. Brooks Lumber is our major supplier for the renovation.”
“No fucking way,” Gavin whispered harshly as he thought of Melanie’s ex-husband—the man who had, in a few short weeks, stolen Melanie from him. He told himself he couldn’t really blame Brooks. It had been Melanie who had betrayed him. Nonetheless, he loathed anything to do with Neil Brooks. “Find another lumber company.”
“No can do,” Rich said, assuming a totally innocent air. “Brooks Lumber is one of the few firms that’ll service this area.”
“There must be someone else! We’re not in Timbuktu, for crying out loud!”
“Brooks offers the best quality for the lowest price.”
“I don’t give a damn.” This was turning into a nightmare. First Melanie and now Neil. Gavin’s throat felt suddenly dry. He needed a drink. A double. But he didn’t give in to the urge.
“Well, I do. I give a big damn. We don’t have a lot of extra cash to throw around. Besides, we had a deal. I handle this end of the business—you help design the runs, bring in the investors and provide the skiing expertise.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Providing expertise. Don’t use Brooks. He’s as slippery as a rattler and twice as deadly.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“Yes, damn it!” Gavin crashed his fist against the corner of Rich’s desk, sloshing coffee on a few papers.
“Hey, watch it.” Rich, perturbed, grabbed his handkerchief and mopped up the mess. “Look, even if I wanted to change lumber companies—which I don’t—I can’t. It’s too late. We’ve already placed our order. Some of it has already been shipped and paid for. We don’t have much time, Gavin, so whatever particular personal gripe you’ve got with Neil Brooks, you may as well shove it aside. And as for Neil’s wife—or ex-wife or whatever she is—she’s working for us. We both agreed that we’d employ as many local people as we could, remember? It’s just good business sense to keep the locals happy!”
“I didn’t know Melanie was back in town.”
Rich grinned. “You’ve always had an eye for good-looking women, and that one—she’s a knockout.”
Gavin clenched his fist, but this time he did no more than shove it into his pocket. “I’m just not too crazy about some of your choices,” Gavin muttered. He didn’t want Melanie here, couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her every day. He’d told himself he was long over her, but now he wasn’t so sure. There was a moment up on the lift when he could’ve sworn that nothing had changed between them. But, of course, that was pure male ego. Everything had changed. “Was working for the lodge her idea?” he asked.
Rich shook his head. “Nope. In fact, I had to do some hard and fast talking to get her to take the job.”
“You should have consulted with me first.”
“That’s what she said.”
Gavin was surprised. “But you didn’t listen?”
“No, I didn’t. I wanted her. And as for consulting with you, that works both ways.”
Gavin’s jaw began to work, and he crossed to the window and stared out at the cool late summer day. A few workers dotted the hillside, and down the hall, in the lounge, the pounding of hammers jarred the old building.
“There’s something else bothering you,” Rich guessed, shoving back his chair and rounding the desk. Crossing his thick arms over his chest, fingers drumming impatiently, he stared at Gavin and waited.
“We don’t need any adverse publicity,” Gavin said flatly.
“And you think Melanie’s going to give us some?”
Gavin hesitated, but only for a second. He trusted Rich, and they were partners. As his business partner, Rich had the right to know the whole story. He probably should have leveled with Rich before. But then, he’d had no idea he would run into Melanie again. If he had guessed she was back in Taylor’s Crossing, he might have balked at the project.
“Well?” Rich was waiting.
“You know that I grew up here,” Gavin said, seeing Rich’s eyes narrow. “And you know that my father had his problems.”
“So you said.”
Gavin’s muscles tightened as he remembered his youth. “Dad’s an alcoholic,” he said finally, the words still difficult.
“I know.”
“And he spent some time in prison.”
“You said something about it—an accident that was his fault.”
“An accident that killed the driver of the other car,” he said quietly. “A woman, Brenda Walker. Melanie’s mother.”
Rich didn’t move.
“Dad was legally drunk at the time.”
Frowning, Rich said, “I’m sorry.”
“So am I, and so was Dad—when he sobered up enough to understand what had happened. He came away with only a few scrapes and bruises, but Melanie’s mother’s car was forced off the road and down a steep embankment.” Gavin relived the nightmare as if it had happened just yesterday. He’d been twelve at the time when the policemen had knocked on the door, the blue and red lights of their cars casting colored shadows on the sides of the trailer that he and his father had called home. He’d thought for certain his father was dead but had been relieved when he’d found out Jim Doel had survived.
However, that night had been just the tip of the iceberg, the start of a life of living with an aunt and uncle who hadn’t given a damn about him.
Through it all, Gavin had escaped by testing himself. From the time he could handle a paper route, he’d spent every dime on the thrill of sliding downhill on skis. He’d landed odd jobs—eventually at Ridge Resort itself—and fed his unending appetite for the heart-pounding excitement of racing headlong down a steep mountain at breakneck speed.
In all the years since the night his father had been taken to jail, Gavin’s only distraction from the sport he loved had been Melanie.
The only daughter of the woman his father had killed.
Rich asked, “And you think Melanie still holds a grudge?”
“I don’t know,” Gavin answered. “I thought I knew her, but I didn’t. Ten years after the accident, against her father’s better judgment, Melanie and I dated for a while.” Gavin’s gut wrenched at the vivid memories. “But then I had the opportunity to train for the Olympics.”
“So you left her.”
“I guess that’s the way she saw it. I asked her to wait . . .” Gavin’s lips twisted at his own naiveté.
“But she didn’t.”
Gavin felt again the glacial sting of her rejection. His nostrils flared slightly. “Adam Walker—Melanie’s father—never approved of me or my old man. And while I was gone, Melanie married Neil Brooks. My guess is that her old man finally convinced her she’d be better off with the son of a wealthy lumber broker than a ski bum whose father was a drunk.”
“And now?”
Gavin looked up sharply. “And now what?”
“Melanie and you?”
Gavin let out a short, ugly laugh. “There is no Melanie and me.” His insides turned frigid. “There really never was.”
Rich let out a sigh. “You should’ve told me this earlier, you know.”
“Didn’t see a reason. As far as I knew she was still living the good life up in Seattle.”
“She’s already agreed to the job, you know,” Rich said, rubbing his temple. “I don’t see how we can get out of this without causing a lot of hard feelings. I didn’t sign a contract, but if it gets out that we’re not good on our word—”
“Don’t worry about it. Keep Melanie Walker,” Gavin decided suddenly. He could find ways to avoid her. The lodge was large; the resort covered thousands of acres. Besides, he’d be too busy to run into her often. “Just as long as she does the job,” he muttered, and added silently, and doesn’t get in my way.
* * *
Jan wouldn’t let up. She’d camped out at Melanie’s desk when they returned from the resort and wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I saw the way he looked at you. You can’t convince me there’s nothing going on between you and Gavin,” she said, checking her reflection in her compact mirror and touching up her lipstick.
“I haven’t seen him in years.” Melanie walked into the darkroom and picked up the enlarged photograph of Uncle Bart and his prize colt, Big Money. She slipped the black-and-white photo into an envelope and, returning to her desk, pretended she wasn’t really interested in Jan’s observations about Gavin.
Sighing in exasperation, Jan tossed her hands into the air. “Okay, okay, I believe that you haven’t seen him,” she said, ignoring Melanie’s efforts at nonchalance. “But what happened all those years ago? The looks he sent you today were hot—I mean, scorching, burning, torrid, you name it!”
Tucking the envelope into her purse, Melanie chuckled. “You’re overdramatizing.”
“I’m a reporter. I don’t go in for melodrama. Just the facts. And the fact is he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”
“You’re exaggerating, then.” Melanie walked to the coffeepot and poured two cups.
“Am not! Now, what gives?”
Melanie handed Jan one of the cups, took a sip herself and grimaced at the bitter taste. She opened a small packet of sugar and poured it into her cup. “Well, I guess you’re going to find out sooner or later, but this is just between you and me.”
“Absolutely!” Jan took a sip of her coffee, but over the rim her eyes were bright, eager.
Haltingly, Melanie explained that she and Gavin had dated in high school, glossing over how deep her emotions had run. “And so, when he went to train for the Olympics, we lost touch and I married Neil.”
Jan shook her head. “You chose Neil Brooks over Gavin Doel?” she asked incredulously. “No offense, Mel, but there’s just no comparison.”
“Well, that’s what happened.”
“And nothing else?”
“Nothing,” Melanie lied easily. “But what I told you is strictly off the record, right?”
“Absolutely.” Jan looked positively stricken. “Besides, no one’s going to care whom he dated in high school.”
Jan slid a look at her watch and frowned. “I gotta run,” she said, “but I’ll see you tomorrow. When will the photos of the lodge be ready?”
“I’ll have them on your desk first thing in the morning.”
“You’re a doll. Thanks.” With a wave, Jan bustled out of the building.
Melanie spent the next few hours going over the photographs she’d taken at the lodge, toying with the colors and contrast. The shots from the chair were spectacular, vistas of the rugged Cascade Mountains. A few pictures of the workers, too, showed the manpower needed to give the lodge its new look. But the photographs that took her breath away were the close-ups of Gavin that she changed to black-and-white.
His features seemed more chiseled and angular—as earthy and formidable as the mountains he challenged, his eyes more deeply set, his expression innately sexy and masculine. And though she’d seen little evidence of humor in the time she’d spent with him, the photographs belied his harshness by exposing the tiny beginnings of laugh lines near his mouth and tiny crinkles near the corners of his eyes. She wondered vaguely who had been lucky enough to make him laugh.
She noted the best shots, stuffed them in an envelope and left the packet in Jan’s in-basket. By the time she was finished, most of the staff had left. Walking into the fading sunlight, she took the time to lock the door behind her, then noticed the cool evening breeze that chilled her bare arms.
The mountain nights had begun to grow cold.
She stopped at the grocery store on the way home and finally turned into her drive a little after seven. The sky was dusky with the coming twilight, shadows stretched across the dry grass of her yard, and a truck she didn’t recognize was parked near the garage. Gavin sat behind the wheel.
She stood on the brakes. The Volkswagen screeched to a stop.
Surely he wasn’t here.
But as she stared at the truck, her heart slammed into overdrive. Gavin stretched slowly from the cab. Now what? she wondered, her throat suddenly dry as she forced herself to appear calm and steeled herself for the upcoming confrontation. It had to be about Rich’s offer.
Wearing faded jeans, a black T-shirt, a beat-up leather jacket and scruffy running shoes, he reminded her of the boy she’d once known, the kid from the wrong side of the tracks. No designer labels or fancy ski clothes stated the fact that he was a downhill legend.
Deciding that the best defense was a quick offense, she juggled purse, groceries and camera case as she climbed out of the Volkswagen. “Don’t tell me,” she said, shoving the car door closed with her hip and forcing a dazzling smile on slightly frozen lips. “You’ve come racing over here to congratulate me on my new job at the resort.”
His jaw slid to the side, and he shoved his sunglasses onto his head. “Not exactly.”
She lifted a disdainful eyebrow. “And I thought you’d be thrilled!”
“Rich handles that end of the business,”
“Does he? So you didn’t come over here to tell me that I’m relieved of my newfound duties?”
“I considered it,” he admitted with maddening calm.
“Look, Gavin, let’s get one thing straight,” she said. “I’m not going to get into a power struggle with you. If you want me to do the job, fine. If not, believe me, I won’t starve. So you don’t have to feel guilty. If you want someone else to do the work, just say so.”
“Rich seems set on you.”
“And you?”
Brackets pinched the corners of his mouth, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen your work. At least, not for a few years.”
She ignored that little jab and marched across the side yard to the back door. She kept her back rigid, pretended that she didn’t care in the least that he’d shown up at her doorstep. Over her shoulder she called, “Well, if you’re interested, come inside. But if you’re just here to give me a bad time, then you may as well leave. I’m not in the mood.”
Shifting the groceries and camera case, she unlocked the back door. Sassafras, barking and growling, snapping teeth bared, hurtled through. He didn’t even pause for a pet but headed straight for Gavin.
“Don’t worry,” she called to Gavin over her shoulder, “he’s all bark—no bite.”
But Gavin didn’t appear the least bit concerned about Sassafras’s exposed fangs or throaty warnings. He flashed a quick glance at the dog and commanded, “Stop!”
Sassafras skidded on the dry grass but the hairs on the back of his neck rose threateningly.
“That’s better,” Gavin said, slowly following Melanie up the steps. “Damned leg,” he grumbled, pausing in the doorway.
“Come on in,” Melanie invited. “I don’t bite, either—at least, not usually.” She placed the bag on the counter. “Just give me a minute to get things organized.” She kicked her shoes into a corner near the table and stuffed a few sacks of vegetables and a package of meat into the refrigerator.
She felt him watching her, but she didn’t even glance in his direction. She pretended not to be aware that he was in the room, managing a fake calm expression that she hoped countered her jackhammering heart and suddenly sweating palms. Now that he was in the house, what was she going to do with him? The house seemed suddenly small, more intimate than ever before.
The fact that he was in her house, alone with her, brought back too many reminders of the past. The rooms felt hot and suffocating, though she expected the temperature couldn’t be more than sixty-five degrees.
“Come on, my studio’s down the hall,” she said, opening the door for Sassafras. Cool mountain air streamed in with the old dog as he eyed Gavin warily, growling and dropping onto his favorite spot beneath the kitchen table. “See, he likes you already,” Melanie quipped, suppressing a smile at Sassafras’s low growl.
“I’d hate to think how he reacts to someone he doesn’t like.”
“Just about the same.” Melanie led Gavin to the front of the house and down a short corridor to her studio. He didn’t remark on the changes in the house, but maybe he didn’t remember. He’d been over only a few times while they’d dated and he hadn’t stayed long because of her father’s hostility.
As she opened the studio door, Gavin caught her wrist. “I didn’t come here to see your work,” he said, spinning her around so that she was only inches from him, her upturned face nearly colliding with his chest.
“But I thought—”
“That was just a ruse.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving slowly up and down in his throat. Melanie forced her eyes to his. “I came here because I wanted to lay out the ground rules, talk some things out.”
“What ‘things’?” His hand was still wrapped around her wrist, his fingertips hot against the inside of her arm. No doubt he could feel her thundering pulse. The small, dark hallway felt close. It was all she could do to pull her arm from his grasp.
“I just want you to know that I don’t want any trouble.”
“And you think I’ll give it to you?”
“I think that rag you work for might.”
She bristled. “The Tribune—”
“We’ve been over this before,” he said, cutting her off as she found the doorknob and backed into the studio. She needed some breathing room. With a flick of her wrist she snapped on the overhead light. “I have a feeling that reporter friend of yours would print anything if she thought it would get her a byline.”
“Not true.”
“If you say so.” He didn’t seem convinced. Glancing quickly around the studio, he slung his injured leg over a corner of her desk. “But she gets pretty personal.”
“You don’t have to worry about Jan,” Melanie said, instantly defensive. “I told her a little of our history.”
“You did what?” he thundered, gold eyes suddenly ice-cold.
“It’s all off the record.”
“You trust her?”
“Of course I trust her. We work together and she’s my friend.”
He snorted. “I suppose you trust Michaels, too.”
“Yeah,” she replied indignantly.
Gavin muttered something unintelligible. “He hasn’t been your boss for long has he?”
“No,” she conceded. “The paper changed hands about a year ago. Brian was hired to take charge.”
“From where?”
“Chicago, I think. He’s worked in publishing for years. Before Chicago, there was a paper in Atlanta.”
“Right. Never planted his feet down for long, has he? And I wouldn’t think Taylor’s Crossing, Oregon is the next natural step up on the ladder of success. Atlanta, Chicago, Taylor’s Crossing? Doesn’t seem likely, does it?”
“What’re you trying to say, Gavin?” she asked, bristling at the unspoken innuendos.
“I’ve met Michaels before. He was a reporter in Vail. I didn’t like him then and I don’t trust him now.”
Folding her arms across her chest, she said, “You are the most suspicious person I know. You don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“I wonder why,” he said quietly, his features drawn.
Her heart stopped. “So you’re blaming me?”
“No, Melanie, I’m blaming myself,” he replied, his words cutting sharply. “I was young and foolish when I met you—naive. But you taught me how stupid it is to have blind trust. It’s a lesson I needed to learn. It’s gotten me through some tough times.”
“So you’re here to thank me, is that it?” she tossed out, though she was dying inside.
“I’m here to make sure that you and I see eye to eye. I want our past to remain buried, and for that to happen, you’d better quit talking to Jan or anyone else at the Tribune.”
“Is that so?”
“For both our sakes as well as my father’s. No matter what happens, I want Dad’s name kept out of the paper.”
Melanie bit her lower lip. “I don’t know if that’s possible.” “Well, use your influence.”
“I will, of course I will, but I’m only the photographer.”
“And the bottom line is Brian Michaels doesn’t give a damn whose life he turns inside out.” He stood then, towering over her, his eyes blazing. “My father’s paid for what happened over and over again. We all have. There is no reason to dredge it all up again.”
“I agree. I just don’t know what I can do.”
Gavin sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “Dad’s moving back to Taylor’s Crossing and I want to see to it that he can start fresh.”
“I doubt anyone’ll be interested.”
“Aren’t you naive! You just don’t know what kind of an industry you work for, do you?”
“We report the news—”
“And the gossip and the speculation—anything as long as it sells papers!”
“I’m not going to stand here and argue about it with you,” she retorted, wishing she felt a little more conviction. “If you’re finished—”
“Not quite. Now that we understand each other—”
“I don’t think we ever did.”
“Doesn’t matter. You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. If you have any questions while you’re working up at the lodge, you can ask Rich.”
“And if he’s not there?”
“Then I’ll help you.”
“But, don’t go chasing after you, is that what you’re telling me?” she mocked, simmering fury starting to boil deep inside her.
“I just think it’s better if you and I keep our distance.”
“Don’t worry, Gavin,” she remarked, her voice edged in cynicism. “Your virtue is safe with me.”
He flushed from the back of his neck. “Don’t push me, Melanie.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she threw back at him. “I’m not afraid of you, Gavin.”
His gaze shifted to her mouth. “Well, maybe you should be,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Why?”
He swallowed hard. His expression tightened in his attempt at self-control. “Because, damn it, even though I know it’s crazy, even though I tell myself this’ll never work, I just can’t help . . . Oh, to hell with it.”
His arms surrounded her, and his lips covered hers.
Surprised, Melanie gasped, and his tongue slipped easily between her teeth, tasting and exploring.
She knew she should push him aside, shove with all her might, and she tried—dear Lord, she tried—but as her hands came up against his chest they seemed powerless, and all she could do was close her eyes and remember, in painful detail, the other kisses they’d shared. He still tasted the same, felt as strong and passionate as before.
Her lips softened, and she kissed him back. All the lies and the accusations died away. She was lost in the smell and feel of him, in the power of his embrace, the thundering beat of her heart.
Slowly, his tongue stopped its wonderful exploration, and a low groan escaped from him. “Melanie . . .” he whispered against her hair, his arms strong bands holding her close.
“Why?”
She tried to find her voice, but words failed her.
Slowly he released her, stepping backward and shoving shaking fingers through his hair. She watched as he visibly strained for control.
“Gavin, I think we should talk.”
“We’ve said everything that has to be said,” he replied. “This isn’t going to work, you know.”
“We’ll make it work.”
His gaze slid to her lips again, and she swallowed with difficulty. “No.”
“I need to explain about Neil,” she said.
His features hardened. “You don’t have to explain about anything, Melanie. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Well, try,” he said, turning on his heel and striding out the door.
She didn’t move for a full minute, and only after she heard his pickup spark to life, tires squeal and gravel spray, did she sag against the door.
The next few weeks promised to be hell.
* * *
“Jesus Christ!” Gavin pounded on the steering wheel with his fist. What had gotten into him? He’d kissed her! Kissed her—and she’d responded. Suddenly, in those few moments, time and space had disappeared, and Gavin was left with the naked truth that she wasn’t out of his blood.
He cranked on the wheel and gunned the accelerator as he left the city lights behind and his truck started climbing the dark road leading to the mountain.
He couldn’t hide from her. Not now. As a photographer for the resort, she’d be at the lodge more often than not. And then what? Would he kiss her again? Seduce her next time? Delicious possibilities filled his mind, and he remembered how the curve of her spine fit so neatly against his abdomen, or the way her breasts, young and firm, had nestled so softly into his hands, or how her hips had brushed eagerly against his in the dim light of the hayloft.
“Stop it!” he commanded, as if he could will her image out of his mind. He flicked on the radio and tried to concentrate on the weather report. Temperatures were due to drop in the area, a weatherman reported, but Gavin’s lips curved cynically. He decided that in the next month or two, his temperature would probably be soaring. All because of Melanie.