CHAPTER SEVEN
Ridge Lodge and Gavin were plastered over the front page of the Tribune. There were several pictures of the resort, including a panoramic shot Melanie had taken from the lift, showing the lodge sprawling at the base of the runs, and there was one photograph of Gavin—a thoughtful pose that showed off his hard-edged profile as he talked with the reporter.
He didn’t like the picture. It showed too much of his personality and captured the fact that he felt uncomfortable and suspicious while being interviewed. Melanie obviously had a photographer’s knack for making a two dimensional picture show character and depth.
“Damn her,” he muttered, forcing his eyes to the story. Bold headlines proclaimed: DOEL TO REOPEN RIDGE RESORT. The byline credited Jan Freemont with the story.
Gavin’s jaw clenched as he scanned the columns. But the article was straightforward, and aside from mentioning the fact that Gavin had grown up around Taylor’s Crossing, his personal life wasn’t included. His skiing awards and professional life were touched on, but the focus of the article was the resort.
So maybe Brian Michaels was playing by the rules this time. Perhaps the Tribune was a local newspaper that wasn’t interested in trashing everyone’s personal life.
Gavin didn’t believe it for a minute. He’d met Michaels before. The man’s instincts usually centered on gossip and speculation. Unless Michaels had mellowed or developed some sense of conscience.
“No way,” Gavin told himself as Rich, several newspapers tucked under his arm, a wide grin stretched across his jaw, strode into the office.
He dropped the papers onto Gavin’s desk. “Looks like you were worried for nothing,” he said, thumping a finger on the front page.
“We’ll see.”
“I told you, this is the best source of free publicity, and the story’s been picked up by the Portland Daily as well as several papers in Washington, Idaho and northern California.”
“If you say so,” Gavin said, unable to concede the fact that he was wrong.
“And now the Tribune is doing a series on the resort with a final full-page article scheduled for the grand opening. What could be better?”
“Can’t think of a thing,” Gavin drawled, sarcasm heavy in his words.
“Neither can I.” Rich stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked to the windows, looking out at a cloudy afternoon sky. “So, you be good to the reporters who start showing up.”
“Wouldn’t dream of anything else.”
Rich sighed theatrically. “I know you gave Ms. Freemont a bad time.”
“I was good as gold,” Gavin mocked.
“It’s your attitude, Doel. It’s beyond bad.”
“I’ll get right on fixing it.”
“Do that.”
“Thank God you’re handling the press from now on.”
“I know, I know. But I’m not always here. In fact, I’m taking off for Portland today, hopefully to settle a case. I need to check on my practice for a couple of days—make sure that legal assistant I hired is handling everything. I’ll be back by the weekend.”
“And in the meantime, you expect me to deal with—” he glanced at the byline again “—Jan Freemont.”
“And anyone else who strolls in here looking for a story or pictures—and that includes Melanie Walker.”
Gavin frowned. He’d already decided to try to work things out with Melanie. Bury the past. Forget it. Just treat her like anyone else. If that were possible. After kissing her, he wasn’t convinced he could pull it off. One kiss and he’d been spinning—just like a horny high school kid. Disgusting. “I’ll do my best,” he told Rich, and flashed a cynical smile.
“Try harder than that,” Rich said with a laugh as he stuffed some papers into his briefcase.
“Not funny, Johanson.”
“Sure it was. That’s your problem, you know. No sense of humor.”
“As long as I’ve only got one problem, I guess I’m doing all right. Now, get outta here.”
Rich snapped his briefcase closed. “Seriously, Gavin, try not to antagonize too many people—especially reporters—while I’m gone.”
Gavin assumed his most innocent expression. “You’ve got my word. Unless the questions get too personal or way out of line, I’ll be—”
“I know, ‘good as gold.’ God help us,” Rich muttered, waving a quick goodbye as he left.
Gavin glanced again at the opened newspaper, his gaze landing on his profile. No doubt Melanie would return within the next couple of days. Well, he’d find a way to be nice to her. Even if it killed him.
* * *
Melanie had every intention of dealing with Rich Johanson and staying clear of Gavin. She’d already spent three sleepless nights thinking of Gavin and how easily she’d responded to him.
And he’d responded, too. Whether he admitted it or not. Her foolish heart soared at the thought, but she quickly brought it back to the ground. No matter how Gavin responded to her, that response was purely sexual. His emotions were far different from hers. He’d kissed her as he’d kissed a dozen women in the past year. She’d kissed him as she’d kissed only him. No other man, including Neil, had ever been able to cause her blood to thunder, her pulse to race out of control.
And that’s why Gavin was off-limits, she told herself as she shoved open the door of Ridge Lodge three days after Gavin’s visit.
Unfortunately, the first person she ran into was Gavin.
Thankfully, they weren’t alone. A work crew was busy hammering and sawing, stripping old wood and refinishing. Men with sagging leather belts filled with hammers, chisels, nails, planers and files moved throughout the interior and scrambled up scaffolding that reached to the joists and beams of the ceiling three stories overhead. Though it was late afternoon, the lodge wasn’t dark or intimate because of the huge lights the construction workers had mounted to aid them in their restoration of the rustic inn.
Blueprints, anchored by half-filled bottles, were spread upon the bar while power saws screamed and dust swirled in pale clouds. A radio blared country music, but Melanie was sure no one could hear it over the din.
“I’m, uh, looking for Rich,” she shouted over the noise, aware that a blush had stained her neck. Gavin was standing near the bar, eyeing the ceiling. Wearing jeans and a loose Notre Dame sweatshirt, he seemed to be supervising the restoration.
He frowned, dusted off his hands and moved closer, pulling her to him and talking into her ear so he didn’t have to shout. “Rich isn’t here. He left me in charge.”
Gavin’s warm breath sent a shiver up Melanie’s spine. Great, she thought, bracing herself for an inevitable confrontation.
“And I promised I’d be on my best behavior.”
“I wasn’t aware you had one.”
His lips twitched. “It’s buried deep. But you’re in luck today. I’m going to try my level best to be charming and helpful.”
“Bull,” she replied, caught up in his teasing banter.
“Hey.” He opened his palms. “Either you deal with me or you come back later.”
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me?”
His eyes darkened. “Sometimes fate works against us.”
Amen, she thought, but held her tongue. No reason to antagonize him. At least, not while he was trying to be affable.
“Rich left a contract for you on his desk,” Gavin was saying, as if the other night hadn’t existed—as if nothing had changed. “I’ll get it for you. Come on.”
Wondering how long his gracious manner would last, she followed him down a short hall and into the office.
Slamming the door behind him, he actually grinned. “Sorry about the mess.”
“Doesn’t bother me. In fact, I’d like to take a few pictures.”
Nodding, he rummaged through the papers on the desk, found the contract and handed it to her.
Taking the document, she observed, “You’re in a better mood today.”
“Why not?” he tossed back, leaning over the desk. A few pale rays of afternoon sunlight streamed through the window to catch in the golden strands of his hair. Melanie’s heart flipped over. “You and I got everything straight the other night, right?”
“Right,” she agreed, not sure she was any more comfortable with this affable Gavin than she had been with the jaded, cynical man who had left her only three nights before—a man who had kissed her with a passion that had cut to her soul.
Gavin shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “And now that the construction’s moving along, I feel that I’m not just spinning my wheels any longer.”
“And so now everything is just dandy?” she asked, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice.
He glanced up sharply, but a practiced smile curved his lips. “Until something goes wrong.”
She didn’t believe him for a minute. This was all just an act, but she didn’t argue with him. If he were going to be agreeable, it would make her job that much easier.
“Here’s the contract. Take it home, look it over, have a lawyer look at it if you want to, but Rich wants it signed by the end of the week.”
“No problem,” she said as he handed her a stiff white envelope with the name and address of Rich’s legal firm printed in the upper left-hand corner. She tucked the envelope into her purse, then settled down to business. “I’ve got some ideas for the brochure, but what I’d like are old pictures of the lodge and of you for background.”
“I don’t see why—” He stopped himself short. His sunny disposition clouded for a minute, and small lines etched his forehead. For the first time she understood how difficult it was for him to appear easygoing. “Sure. Why not?” he said. “Everything you’ll need is in my suite.” With a muttered oath, he grabbed his cane. “Come on. Walk this way.”
“Okay Igor,” she said, holding back a chuckle.
She followed him down a narrow hallway to a door near the back of the lodge.
Twisting the knob, he said with more than a trace of cynicism, “Home sweet home.” He held the door open for her, and she walked into his living quarters.
She’d expected a grand suite with lavish furnishings for a man as wealthy and famous as Gavin, a man who had desperately wanted to shed his poor roots.
Instead, she found the suite comfortable and sparse. A rock fireplace filled one wall. Nearby a bookcase was crammed with books, magazines, a stereo and a television. A faded rug covered the worn wood floor, and a few pieces of furniture were grouped haphazardly around the room.
Wincing, Gavin bent down to the bottom shelf of the bookcase, rummaged around and pulled out a couple of battered photo albums and a box. He tossed everything onto a nearby table. “I think that should do it,” he said, forcing a smile as he straightened. “If you need anything else, just holler. I’ll be supervising the renovation or working out in the weight room.” He cast an impatient glance at his injured leg. “Physical therapy.”
“It shouldn’t take long,” Melanie replied, trying to be polite, though her voice sounded strained.
“Good.”
“I’ll try not to bother you.”
If you only knew, Gavin thought, trying his damnedest to be civil. But every time he looked at her, gazed into her wide hazel eyes, he was reminded of how much he’d loved her, how deeply she’d touched his soul.
“Fool,” he muttered, leaving the room as quickly as he could. Just being around her made him restless. And though he knew rationally that he was through with her forever, there was a wayward side of his nature that wanted to flirt with danger, a wayward side that kept reminding him of their last kiss and the feel and smell of her yielding against him. What would it hurt to spend time with her—get a little back? Now that he was over her, he could handle any situation that arose—right? The other night hadn’t gone exactly as planned. However, he was trying to keep the promise he’d made to Rich and himself, trying not to antagonize her. But it was hell.
In the lobby, he spent nearly an hour with the foreman and was relieved the remodeling, though only a few days old, was still on schedule. Then, because he didn’t want to run into Melanie again, he hobbled down the short flight of steps to the pool and the weight room.
Fortunately, this area needed very little work, and the long, rectangular pool was operational.
He stripped out of his work clothes, stepped into a pair of swim trunks and took a position at the weight machine. Slowly, he started working his leg, stretching the muscles with only a little resistance and weight and adding more pounds as he began to work up a sweat.
“Take it easy,” Dr. Hodges had said. “Don’t push yourself.” Yet that was exactly what he felt compelled to do. Cooped up in this damned lodge with Melanie poking through old photographs upstairs while the upcoming ski season, which could make or break the resort, loomed ahead, Gavin had no choice but to push himself to release tension and nervous energy.
He pressed relentlessly on the foot bar of the thigh machine. Sweat trickled down his back.
The pain in his leg started to burn. He ignored it, pushing again on the weight, stretching out his knee and calf only to release the tension and hear the weights clang down. Gritting his teeth, he shoved again. Sweat dripped from his temples to his chin.
How the hell would he get through the next few weeks, unable to participate in the sport he loved, unable to trust a woman he’d treasured?
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled to himself, his muscles bulging as he pressed relentlessly on the weights, his thigh muscles quivering. He slammed his eyes shut, but even in his concentration, Melanie appeared—a vision with a gorgeous body and seductive smile. She was older now, a little jaded in her own way. Yet he found her sarcastic remarks and sense of humor refreshing. The fact that she had the nerve to stand up to him was beguiling—or would have been if it weren’t so damned maddening. The nerve of her actually baiting him when she’d left him high and dry all those years before.
He wondered if she ever thought of him—of those nights they’d shared. God, with his eyes closed, he could still smell the scent of hay on her skin, see the seductive light in her hazel eyes, hear the sound of her pleasured cries as he . . .
He dropped the weights, and they slammed together, the noise ringing to the rafters. Climbing off the damned machine, he shoved his sweaty hair from his eyes and noticed he felt an uncomfortable swelling between his legs. “Damn it, Doel,” he said, swearing beneath his breath.
Embarrassed at a reaction he would have expected from a teenager, he dove into the warm water of the pool and began swimming laps. Stroke after stroke, he knifed through the water, determined to push Melanie from his mind. With supreme concentration he counted his laps, losing track somewhere after thirty and not really caring. The water was refreshing, loosening his muscles, and he stopped only when he felt his ankle begin to throb. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Six-thirty. Nearly three hours had passed since she’d shown up. Surely she was long gone.
Dripping water across the aggregate floor, he snapped a clean towel from the closet and wiped his face. He was still breathing deeply, but at least his ridiculous state of sexual arousal had passed and he felt near exhaustion.
Towel drying his hair, he headed upstairs. The lodge was quiet and nearly dark. He’d go back to his room, change, then head into town for dinner.
With Melanie? a voice inside his head suggested.
“Not a chance.” The only way he was safe from her was to keep his distance.
* * *
Melanie lost all track of time. Poring over the photographs of Ridge Lodge was fascinating. The old pictures created a visual and unique history of the lodge and Taylor’s Crossing. She spent hours choosing photographs she thought might enhance the brochure, and she’d had trouble deciding which shots she wanted to enlarge for the lobby and restaurant. She finally picked thirty pictures that had the right feel as well as clarity. She would let Rich and Gavin choose from these.
She should have quit then, but she picked up the second photograph album. The pages fell open to a picture of Gavin barely out of his teens, poised on the crest of a snow-covered hill. His face was tanned, his skin unlined, his hair blowing in the wind, his smile as brilliantly white as the snow surrounding him. She swallowed hard. She recognized the picture. She’d taken it herself on the upper slopes of Mount Prosperity.
Gavin had been an instructor at the time, paying for his skiing by earning his keep at the resort. And she’d spent every minute she could with him.
Her throat ached, and she pressed her lips together as she stared at the image. Memory after memory flashed in her mind, colliding in vital, soul-jarring images that she’d kept buried for eight years.
“Don’t do this,” she whispered, but she couldn’t help herself and she slowly turned the pages, each photograph a chronicle of Gavin’s professional life. She saw pictures of breath-stoppingly steep runs, dazzling snow-covered canyons cut into narrow runs that sliced through the rugged slopes, and always Gavin, tucked tightly, skimming across the snow, throwing a wake of powder behind him.
And there were other photographs, as well: pictures of Gavin accepting awards or trophies or standing beside any number of gorgeous women, the most often photographed being Aimee LaRoux.
Melanie had composed herself and her heartbeat had nearly slowed to normal when she lifted the album and a single picture fluttered facedown to the table.
She flipped it over, and time seemed to stand still as she stared at a picture of herself with Gavin, laughing gaily into the camera. Seated at a booth near the huge fireplace in this very lodge, snuggled together, their faces flushed from the last run of the day, their hair mussed, their eyes bright with love for each other. Gavin’s arm was thrown carelessly across her shoulders, and he looked as if he had the world on a string. And he did. It was the night he’d learned that he was to train for the Olympic team.
Melanie took in a shuddering breath and released it slowly. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered when she heard the creak of old floorboards and looked up to find Gavin standing woodenly in the doorway.
Wearing only swimming trunks and a towel looped casually around his neck, he didn’t say a word. But his eyes were filled with a thousand questions.
She tried not to notice the corded muscles of his shoulders or the provocative way his golden hair swirled over his chest. Lowering her eyes, she noticed the thick, muscular thighs and a series of thin scars around his ankle.
“I thought you’d be gone,” he finally said.
Oh, God, he’d caught her looking at the picture! Wishing she could slam the album shut, she forced her eyes upward again. He was already crossing the room, and his gaze was focused on the desk and the photograph still clutched in her fingers.
She searched for the right words, but they wouldn’t form in her cotton-dry throat.
Stopping at the table, he stared at the photograph, and his lips curved down at the corners. “Reliving the past?” he growled.
“No, I—” She dropped the picture as if it were hot, then was instantly furious with herself for being so self-conscious. Inching her chin upward, she said, “It fell out of the album. I was just putting it back.”
“Don’t bother.”
“Huh?”
“Just toss it.”
To her horror, he snatched the picture from her fingers, crumpled it and dropped it into a wastebasket.
“No!” she cried, feeling as if a part of her past had just been wrenched from her soul.
“You want it?”
“No, but—”
“Then let’s just leave it where it belongs, okay? It was just an oversight. I got rid of all those pictures a long time ago.”
Inside, she was shaking. From rage? Or something else, a deeper, more primal emotion? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. But her voice was steady as she stood. “You can’t just erase what happened between us, Gavin.”
“Nothing happened.”
“We loved each other.”
“I thought you agreed we were just two kids fooling around.”
“I lied.”
His eyes narrowed. “Not the first time, is it?”
She sucked in her breath, feeling as if she’d been slapped. “I think I’d better go.”
“Good idea.”
She started gathering her things, picking out the photographs she needed and scooping them into a pocket of her case, but he grabbed her arm, forcing her to spin around and face him again.
She swallowed hard.
“Just explain one thing,” he ground out.
“Name it.”
“If you loved me,” he said quietly, every feature on his face tense, “then why didn’t you wait for me?”
“I didn’t want to be a burden,” she said quickly, thinking for a second that the truth was better than the lies they’d both been living with for years.
“A burden?”
“You had a future—a chance for a berth on an Olympic team. You didn’t need a wife tying you down.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously and his nostrils flared, but his hard mouth relaxed slightly. “We could have waited until the Olympics were over and I had started my career.”
She licked her lips. Could she tell him about the baby? Now, when honesty seemed so vital? Would he understand? Instinctively, she reached for his forearms, her fingers touching rock-hard muscles. “There’s something else—”
But before she could finish, he lowered his head and his mouth slanted over hers in a kiss as familiar as a soft summer breeze. His arms surrounded her, crushing her against him. He tasted of chlorine and salt and whiskey, and she felt his thighs press intimately into the folds of her skirt.
She offered no resistance and kissed him back. Being held by him seemed so natural and right, and all the wasted years between then and now melted away. Once again she was seventeen, caught in the embrace of the man she loved.
Groaning, he shifted, his wet trunks dampening her dress, his fingers catching in the long strands of her hair. Her head lolled back, and her mouth opened to the insistent pressure of his tongue. Quick, moist touches of his tongue against the inside of her mouth caused her blood to boil, her knees to weaken.
He kissed her lips, her cheeks and her throat. Closing her eyes, she ignored the warning bells clanging wildly in her head. His touch was erotic, the hand against the small of her back moving deliciously.
“Melanie,” he whispered hoarsely. With his weight, he lowered her to the floor and pinned her against the carpet. Still kissing her, he found the buttons of her blouse, and the thin fabric gave way to expose her breasts covered in lace.
Stop him! Stop him now! But when his palm glided over her breast, she could only moan and writhe as his fingers dipped beneath the lace, gently prodding, touching and withdrawing until her nipple strained tight against the bra and her breasts ached for more.
With agonizing slowness his tongue moved along her cheek and neck and rimmed the circle of bones at the base of her throat. Her own hands were busy touching and exploring the corded strength of his chest and the fine mat of hair that covered suntanned skin. His shoulder muscles were hard as she reached around him, and her fingers dug into his back as he continued to kiss her, moving downward.
“Gavin,” she cried as his mouth fit hot and wet over her nipple. His tongue touched her in supple, sure strokes that caused her blood to burn and wiped out any further thoughts she had of stopping him.
He suckled through the lace and moved one free hand to cup her buttocks, bringing her body so close to his that she could feel his thighs and hips straining against the fabric that separated him from her.
Lord, how she wanted him. Nothing else mattered but the smell, taste and feel of him.
Finally, he unhooked her bra; the lace gave way, and she felt cool air against her bare skin before his mouth covered one breast and teased and laved the taut nipple.
She cradled his head against her, wanting more, knowing that only he could fill the ache that was beginning to yearn deep inside.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, drawing up and away from her, staring down at her tight abdomen and soft skin. Groaning low in his throat he squeezed his eyes shut for a few heart-stopping moments, and when he finally lifted his eyelids again, the passion burning so brightly in his gaze had died. “What’re you doing to me?”
He rolled away from her and sat with his back to her, his rigid arms supporting him as he drew in deep, ragged breaths. “Damn it. Why can’t you just leave me alone?” His voice was rough, the hand he plowed through his hair trembling.
“I didn’t start this, Gavin.”
“Well, you sure as hell didn’t stop it!”
Humiliated, Melanie sat up and started working on her clothes. “This wasn’t my fault,” she said, still buttoning her blouse.
“Wasn’t it?” he flung back at her, glancing over his shoulder before pushing himself upright. His features twisted in pain for just a second as he strained his ankle.
“Of course not!” she declared hotly. “And I’m tired of you always throwing the blame at my feet!”
“Maybe that’s where it belongs.”
She swept in a long breath. “You can really be a bastard when you want to be.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t seem to mind sometimes.”
“Maybe that’s because sometimes, when you’re not trying out for boor of the year, you’re wonderful.”
He stopped, his eyes locking with hers. Time stood still. His throat worked, and his face gentled for just a second. Warring emotions strained his features. “You’re dreaming! Living in a past that didn’t exist.”
“Gavin—”
Swearing roundly under his breath, he hobbled toward the bookcase. He opened an upper cabinet, withdrew a bottle and glass, then poured himself a quick drink. “Why didn’t you leave a couple hours ago?” he asked suddenly. “What were you doing hanging around?”
“I wasn’t finished sorting through the pictures.”
He tossed back half his drink and stood rigidly near the windows. “Or you were waiting for me—because of that,” he said, cocking his head toward the now ruined snapshot of the two of them.
“No, I just stumbled across it. But don’t worry, I’m leaving now.”
“Not quite yet,” he said, slowly drawing the back of his hand across his mouth, as if he were wiping off excess whiskey—or the feel of her kiss.
Furious with him, she grabbed her camera bag and slung the strap over her shoulder.
Gavin set his unfinished drink on the window ledge and closed the distance between them. “There’s something I have to know,” he said quietly, though his anger was still evident in his uncompromising expression.
“It’s too late for this discussion.”
“Just one thing,” he said again, his features set.
“What?”
“Why did you marry a bastard like Brooks?”
“It’s none of your business,” she lied.
“Like hell. Why, Melanie?” he thundered.
She slowly counted to ten. There were reasons, but they wouldn’t come to mind. Melanie grappled with the truth, wishing she could just tell him about the baby they’d never shared.
“I’m waiting,” he said, his voice low. “Was it because of his money? Is that what you found so attractive?”
“No!”
“God, I hope not,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But I can’t help wondering why you’re hanging around here, lingering in my room, more than willing to seduce me.”
“What?” she gasped. “I wasn’t lingering and I had no intention of seducing anyone!”
“You could’ve left.”
“I told you, I wasn’t finished.”
“Well, you are now.”
“You got that right.” She grabbed her purse and swung toward the door, but one of Gavin’s arms snaked out and surrounded her waist.
“You haven’t answered my question yet.”
There was nothing she could say to change the past. With a sinking sensation, she realized that telling Gavin the truth about the baby would only increase the tension between them, making it impossible for her to work with him. “I don’t think your question merits an answer.”
“You walked out on me—”
“No, Gavin. You did the walking—or to be more precise, the skiing,” she charged, unable to hide the bitterness in her tone. “You just skied your way out of my life and I fell in love with someone else.”
The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he found her reason bordering on the ridiculous. “You loved Brooks? After me?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed. “Save that for someone who’ll believe it. You sold out, Melanie, to the almighty dollar.”
Without thinking, she slapped him with a smack that echoed through the room. Gavin’s teeth set, and he clamped both hands over her arms. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“I’ll try never to get that close!” Her voice shook with anger.
“Then you’d better stay out of my bedroom.”
“You’re what? Oh, God, Gavin, don’t flatter yourself!”
His eyes blazed, and his fingers dug into her flesh. For a few seconds they glared at each other, breathing deeply, fury and other, more dangerous, emotions tangling between them.
Gavin sighed finally. “You make me crazy,” he admitted. “Same here. It’s a bad combination.”
Something flickered in his gaze, and then his mouth crashed down on hers. She wanted to fight him, to stop this insanity, but when his lips molded over hers intimately, she couldn’t resist.
Closing her eyes, Melanie willed herself not to respond. Though her heart was thudding wildly, her blood on fire, she set her jaw and acted as if she could barely endure the kiss.
But Gavin didn’t give up. His lips coaxed, his hands moved magically across her back, and at last she gave into her weak knees and leaned against him.
“Why do we always have to hurt each other?” he whispered raggedly.
“I don’t know.” Her heart felt as if it might break all over again. Slowly Gavin released her.
“I don’t believe you ever loved Neil Brooks,” he said quietly.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” she lied. Reaching behind her, she found the door handle and yanked it open. As quickly as her legs would carry her, she walked through the dark lodge and outside, where she took in deep breaths of fresh air.
Her legs were unsteady as she walked to her car, but she held her chin up and decided that Gavin Doel, damn his black-hearted soul, was going to be harder to deal with than she’d ever imagined.
She tried to start her car, but it stalled. Slowly counting to ten, she tried again. This time the old engine sputtered and caught. She didn’t waste any time. Shoving the Volkswagen into first, she barely noticed the battered old pickup that pulled into the lot. She had other things on her mind.
“Don’t be a fool, Mel,” she told herself as she turned on her headlights, but she had the sinking sensation that she was falling in love with him all over again.
* * *
Gavin grabbed his drink, almost tossed it back but at the last second chucked the whiskey down the drain. He didn’t usually drink—at least, not the way he had in the past few weeks. Having lived with an alcoholic father, he had always been careful with liquor.
Until he’d seen Melanie again. Just being with her, gazing into her intelligent eyes, seeing glimpses of her sense of humor, touching the slope of her jaw or burying his face into the clean scent of her hair, made him crazy.
“Get a grip on yourself,” he said, knowing that alcohol didn’t solve any problems. He twisted the cap on the bottle just as he heard footsteps in the outer lobby.
He froze. Melanie? Back? God, how was he ever going to keep his hands off her? He’d intended to kiss her to prove that he could kiss her without his emotions getting in the way, to prove that he really didn’t care about her—
“Gavin?” a rough male voice called out.
“In here,” he replied. So his old man had made it back to Taylor’s Crossing. Ignoring his cane, Gavin crossed the room and held open the door, letting the light from his apartment spill into the hallway.
“Oh, there you are! This place is a goddamn maze!” Jim Doel, tall and gaunt, his hair snow-white, strode down the hallway to Gavin’s apartment.
“It just takes a while to get to know your way around.” Casting a critical eye on the rooms his son now called home, Jim took a seat on the raised hearth of the fireplace. “Quite a comedown from what you’re used to, isn’t it?”
“It’s all right.”
“And you’re already fixin’ it up. I saw the rigging.” He rubbed his hands on the faded knees of his jeans.
“It should be finished by the time ski season opens.”
“That’s not so far away.” Jim noticed the bottle of whiskey on the table and glanced meaningfully at Gavin. “I saw you had a visitor.”
Gavin braced himself.
“That Walker girl still sniffin’ around?”
“She’s a photographer for the paper.”
“So what was she doin’ here so late?”
“Rich hired her to do some publicity for us. Brochures, maps, that sort of thing.”
Jim raised an interested eyebrow. “And where is Rich?”
“In Portland.”
“Convenient.” Jim reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.
Gavin thought about protesting, but decided the grand opening was months away, and instead of upsetting his father, he could open a couple windows once he was alone again.
“I think it’ll work out.”
“You thought that before,” Jim observed. He lit up and clicked his lighter shut.
“What’re you trying to say, Dad?”
“Nothin’, nothin’.” Jim drew hard on his cigarette. Gavin waited as his father blew smoke to the ceiling, “I’m just a little concerned, that’s all. That girl hurt you once before.”
“Water under the bridge,” Gavin lied.
“Is it, now? I wonder. But then, I guess I don’t have to point out to you that she didn’t bother to wait for you when you took off for Colorado. No siree, she just up and married Neil Brooks within weeks after you left.”
“What’re you getting at?”
“She’s fickle, that one. First you, then the minute you’re gone, she puts the richest boy in town in her sights, marries him, then when she gets bored, divorces him. Now she’s back here, making herself available because you’re back in town—and now you’re probably the richest man in town.”
“Not by a long shot.”
Jim shrugged. “Well, she does seem to be developin’ a pattern, doesn’t she?”
“What do you know about her marriage?”
“Nothing except it was short. Six years or so, I think, and then she comes back when her dad gets sick.” Jim’s face grew tense. “I never did like old Adam Walker, you know. He never forgave me for what happened to his wife.”
“That was a long time ago,” Gavin said, hoping to ease some of his father’s pain.
Jim sighed. “But it’s something that’ll stick with me until the day I die.” He cleared his throat and tossed his cigarette into the grate. “You don’t know how many times I prayed I could’ve changed things.”
“Probably just about as many times as I did,” Gavin admitted.
Scowling, Jim looked his son straight in the eye. “Don’t get mixed up with Melanie. She’ll only hurt you again.”
Gavin bristled. “I survived.”
“If that’s what you call it.”
“Look, I can make my own decisions. Now tell me, what else is on your mind?”
“I thought maybe you’d give your old man a job.” Seeing that Gavin was about to protest, he held up one hand. “Hey, you’ve been good to me. If it hadn’t been for you, I probably never would’ve dried out. And for that I owe you. But I’m tired of being a charity case. This time I want a job—a real, bona fide job. I’m not old enough to be sent out to pasture yet, and I’m handy with a hammer and nails. What d’ya say?”