CHAPTER ELEVEN
Melanie returned to Ridge Lodge, determined that the next story in the Tribune would reflect the excitement of reopening the resort.
As she parked in the lot, she realized that the story would nearly write itself—if Jan would let it.
Ridge Lodge was frenetic.
Delivery trucks brought skis, boots, fashion skiwear, food, snacks, light fixtures, paper products, tourist information, utensils, medical supplies, souvenirs and on and on.
The ski patrol had already started checking the runs, and an area had been cleared near the Nugget Rope Tow for the ski school to meet, Chairs and gondolas moved up the hill as the newly named lifts became operational. Grooming machines chugged up the snow-covered slopes, while snowplows kept the parking lot clear.
A rainbow of triangular flags snapped in the wind, and the snow continued to fall, bringing with it hopes for a long and prosperous season.
Inside, the lodge was hectic. Employees manned the phones as the resort geared up for an early season. Others were briefed on the way the lodge worked, dishes were stacked, beds were made in the rooms, the bar was stocked and a new sound system was turned on.
Melanie smiled as she saw her sepia-toned pictures hanging near mining equipment, adding to the Gold Rush atmosphere of the lobby.
In the huge stone fireplace a fire crackled and burned invitingly. Workers arranged furniture in the bar and lobby, and the Oriental rug where she and Gavin had made love was still stretched across the floor. A pang of regret tore through her.
Her smile disappeared. Hadn’t she learned anything? Chiding herself for being a fool, she pulled out her camera and made her way past the bustling workers.
“Well, how do you like this?” Jan asked, breezing in the front door and stamping the snow from her boots.
“What—oh, the lodge?” Melanie glanced around. “Looks a little different, doesn’t it?”
“Very different.” Tucking her gloves in her purse, Jan eyed the walls. “Those your pictures?” she asked, moving closer to a print of miners panning for gold.
“Yes.”
“They’re not bad.”
“Thanks.”
Jan’s mouth tightened. “You know I hate this, don’t you?” “Hate what?”
“Being the bad guy. I wouldn’t be surprised if Doel and Johanson tried to kick me out of here.”
Melanie was skeptical. “Would you blame them? You keep asking all sorts of personal questions.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Brian wants a more personal story. I try to give him one.” Jan’s eyes clouded a minute. “Melanie, I think I should warn you . . .” She let the sentence trail off.
“Warn me about what?” Melanie demanded, then understood. “About Gavin?” When Jan didn’t reply, she added, “Come on, Jan. Weren’t you the one who thought I should chase after him?”
“Maybe that wasn’t such a hot idea,” Jan replied nervously. She looked as if she were about to say something else when she spotted Rich Johanson. “Look, just be careful,” she said cryptically. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
Too late for that, Melanie thought as Jan, following Rich, took off in search of her story.
Melanie wandered down a long corridor to the shops. Mannequins were already dressed in neon and black jumpsuits. Sweatshirts, imprinted with the resort’s logo or simply saying “Ski the Ridge!”, were displayed in a window case.
All around her, employees chatted and laughed, stocking the shelves or waxing skis or adjusting bindings on rental skis.
In the exercise room machines stood ready, and nearby, steam rose from the aquamarine water in the pool. Yes, Ridge Lodge was nearly ready for its guests. Despite Brian Michaels’s arguments to the contrary, Ridge Lodge was destined to be a success. She could feel it. And the photographs she snapped reflected that success—smiling employees, gleaming equipment, well stocked shops.
She worked her way outside and changed lenses. Then she clicked off shot after shot of the moving lifts, a group of instructors in matching gold jackets as they practiced together, an operator in the cage at the bottom of Daredevil run, and above it all, Mount Prosperity stood proudly, a regal giant in a mantle of white.
She didn’t notice Gavin for nearly two hours, then, as she trained her lens on a group of instructors making their way through the moguls at the bottom of Rocky Ridge run, she spied him in the lead, blond hair flying, skis so close together they nearly touched, his form perfect.
Her throat went dry as she camera zoomed in for a closer shot. She noticed the concentration in his face, the natural grace with which he planted his poles, the way he turned effortlessly, as if he’d never been injured.
“The man is awesome,” Jan said as she stepped through the snow to reach Melanie. Her eyes were trained on Gavin, as well. “Looks like he’s good as new.”
“I suppose.” Melanie turned her camera on another instructor, a woman who was gamely trying to keep up with Gavin and losing ground with every turn.
“I wonder if he’ll race again.”
“I hope so,” Melanie muttered, still adjusting the focus.
“You do?” Jan said. “Why?”
“Because he loves it. It’s his life. He’s not happy unless he’s tearing down some mountain at breakneck speed.”
Jan sighed wistfully as Gavin, flying over the last of the moguls, twisted in midair, tucked his skis together and cut into the hillside, stopping quickly and sending a spray of snow to one side.
“So you think once this lodge is up and running, he’ll take off for the ski circuit?”
Melanie stiffened. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“Don’t worry, that’s on the agenda.” Jan’s eyes darkened thoughtfully. “There’s a lot more I’d like to know about Mr. Doel.”
At that moment Gavin looked up. His gaze scanned the lodge before landing on Melanie. Through the lens, Melanie noticed his jaw tighten.
With a quick word to the instructors, he planted his poles and skied, using his arms and a skating motion with his legs, as he crossed the relatively flat terrain from the base of the run to the lodge.
Melanie’s stomach knotted.
“Well, if it isn’t the Tribune’s finest,” he said, eyeing Melanie’s camera and Jan’s ever-present notebook.
Melanie ignored the jab and decided to try her damnedest to be professional. She would put what happened between Gavin and her behind her if it took all of her willpower. “You agreed to the series of articles, remember?”
“Yeah,” he said flatly, but his lips twisted. “What’s the angle—isn’t that what you call it?—for this week’s edition?”
“Financial impact,” Jan said as Gavin leaned over and shoved on his bindings with the heel of his hand. With a snap, he was free of his skis. “The Trib’s interested in the economic impact on the community, as well as how you keep a lodge resort this size out of the red.”
“It takes some doing,” he replied.
“I’ll bet.”
“But we have backing.”
“Investors?”
He straightened, his expression menacing. “Where’re you heading with this?”
“Nowhere,” Jan said guilelessly, but Melanie decided to step in.
“I thought I already mentioned that there’ve been rumors that the resort is failing financially,” she said, warning Gavin.
Gavin’s jaw set. His eyes turned as cool as the early winter day. “And I thought I explained that there are no problems, financial or otherwise.”
“Then none of your investors are bowing out?” Jan asked.
Gavin whirled on her. “Not unless you know something I don’t.” His eyes narrowed threateningly. “Oh, I get it. Michaels is fishing again. Well, give him a reminder for me, will you? If he prints anything the least bit libelous about this lodge or me, I’ll sue. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Melanie. In private. And don’t print that!” Lips compressed angrily, he took hold of Melanie’s arm and, without a backward glance at the reporter, propelled Melanie up the few steps to the back deck.
“What the hell’s going on?” he demanded once they were out of earshot.
“You know as much as I do,” she replied, glancing over his shoulder. Fortunately, Jan, after casting them a questioning look, had turned back toward the main lobby.
“What’s Brian’s game?”
Melanie yanked her arm away from him. “All I know is he’s looking for dirt. Any kind of dirt.”
“On me?”
“Yes. Or the lodge.”
“Then that brings him right back to you, doesn’t it?” he countered, his expression hard. “Does he know about you and me?”
Melanie caught her breath. How could Gavin talk about their past without so much as a hint of emotion? “No,” she replied levelly.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. A few weeks ago he asked me to look into your past—you know, dig through the files—and I told him I came up empty, that you walked the straight and narrow while you lived in Taylor’s Crossing.”
The lines near his mouth tightened, and he muttered a nearly inaudible oath. “And he doesn’t know about Dad?”
Melanie shook her head, thinking about the pictures she’d lifted from the file cabinet. “There isn’t a file on your father—at least, not at the Trib.”
Gavin’s brows shot up. “But—”
“Don’t ask. Just don’t worry about your father.”
He studied her face for a second, and her breath seemed trapped in her lungs.
With all the effort she could muster, she inched her chin up a fraction. “Is that all you want? Because I’ve got work to do—”
He exploded, pounding a gloved fist on the top rail of the deck. “No, damn it.” His voice lowered, and he grappled for control of his emotions. “It’s not all I want.”
“I don’t think I want to hear this—”
“Just listen. I’ve been thinking. A lot.” His gaze touched hers, and she quivered inside. It took all her grit to hide the fact that he was getting to her. “Look, I know I came on a little strong the other day.”
“A little strong? You mean your impersonation of Genghis Khan? Is that what you call a little strong?”
He shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh. “You shocked me, Melanie. And you threw me for a helluva loop!”
“I didn’t mean to. I just thought you should know the truth.”
“It came a little late.”
Melanie had heard enough. She tried to storm away, but he grabbed her arms again and his face became tender. “Let me go, Gavin,” she insisted, “before we cause a scene we’ll both regret.”
He ignored her. “How did you expect me to act?”
As if you cared. As if you remembered how much we loved each other. “I didn’t expect anything, Gavin. I still don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his gloved hands still gripping her arms. “Really. But you dropped a bomb on me the other day, and it’s all I’ve thought about ever since. I made some mistakes. We both did. I’m just sorry you thought I was too irresponsible to handle fatherhood.”
“Not irresponsible,” she said tightly. “But I just didn’t want to be the one to destroy your dreams.”
He dropped his hand and yanked off his gloves. “You don’t understand, do you? Eight years ago you were part of that dream,” he admitted, his eyes narrowing on her. “The skiing was great, don’t get me wrong. But it wasn’t the same after you married Neil.”
Melanie froze. She could hardly believe him. Though the pain etched across his face seemed real enough, she didn’t trust him. “Believe it or not, Gavin, I just tried to do the right thing.”
“But it wasn’t right, was it?” he said softly.
“I don’t think there was a right or wrong.”
His eyes searched her face. She thought he might kiss her. His gaze centered on her lips for a heartbeat, but, as if he had a sixth sense, he glanced over his shoulder and furrows lined his brow. “Great,” he grumbled.
Melanie looked past him and spied Jan heading for the deck.
Gavin touched her shoulder. “You and I need to talk somewhere quiet, somewhere without your friend.” His mouth curved down as Jan climbed onto the deck.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said, eyeing them with interest, “but I do have a few more questions and a deadline.”
“Just a minute.” He turned back to Melanie. “When things slow down here, I’ll call.”
Melanie shook her head. “You don’t have to.”
“I know. But I want to.”
Their gazes held for just a second, and Melanie melted inside. Quickly, she squared her shoulders. “I’ll be waiting on pins and needles,” she quipped.
Gavin cleared his throat, took in a deep breath and, folding his arms over his chest, turned his full attention back to Jan. “All right, Ms. Freemont. What is it you want to know?”
Melanie didn’t stick around for the rest of the interview. She took a couple more shots of the staff busily at work, then, trying to forget that Gavin wanted to see her again, returned to the office.
Two days later, all hell broke loose.
Melanie caught her first glance of page one of the Tribune. With a sinking heart, she read the headline that screamed: FINANCIAL PROBLEMS PLAGUE RIDGE RESORT.
“This is outrageous!” she sputtered, skimming the article and feeling sick. How could Jan have reported anything so blatantly false? The article stated that Gavin himself was in serious financial trouble, that since his injury he’d become a recluse, not giving any ski clinics, not endorsing any skiwear, not making a dime.
He’d sunk his personal fortune, according to the story, into Ridge Lodge, and when he and his partner had run out of money, they’d sought private funds from investors, who were rumored to be upset with the way their money was handled.
By the time Melanie finished reading the article, her insides were in shreds.
The pictures she’d taken of the workers readying for the opening of the resort were sadly missing. The shots that were included were some she’d shoved aside—a worried profile of Gavin, a picture of an empty lift, another shot of chairs stacked on tables in the empty bar, a photograph of Rich and Gavin talking, their faces set and grim.
Anger burned her cheeks, and her fingers clenched the thin newsprint. “That bastard,” she hissed.
Guy Reardon looked up from his desk. He seemed paler than usual. “I was afraid of something like this.” He dropped his pencil and sighed. “I think it’s only going to get worse.”
“How can it get worse?”
Guy’s eyes were troubled. “Believe me, it can.”
“Do you know something I don’t?” she asked.
He lifted a shoulder but avoided her gaze. “It’s just a feeling I’ve got.”
“Well, it’s got to stop!” Brandishing the newspaper as if it were a sword, she walked swiftly between the desks to the editor’s door. She didn’t even bother knocking but shoved open the door and cornered Brian. He was just hanging up the phone.
“I can’t believe you published this!” she said, tossing the paper onto his cluttered desk. The headline fairly leaped from the page.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not true! I’ve been up to the resort!” She thumped her fingers on the front page. “There’s not a shred of truth in that story!”
“Maybe you’re biased.”
“What?”
“Close the door, Melanie,” Brian said, lowering his voice. Her skin crawled, but she yanked the door shut and stood glowering down at him while he lit a cigarette. “Let’s not pull any punches, okay?” he suggested.
“Fine with me. Why the smear job on the lodge?”
“Reader interest.”
“And if readers are interested in gossip, in pure speculation, in anything no matter how damaging or incorrect, the Trib will print it, right?”
“This has never bothered you before.”
“Because it hasn’t happened before. I thought this newspaper had some pride, some integrity, some sound journalism behind it!” Melanie’s blood was beginning to boil. “And what about libel? Aren’t you afraid of being sued?”
He thought about that and shook his head. “I think you’re too personally involved.”
“What?”
His eyes behind his glasses squinted. “I know about you and Doel, Melanie. I know you dated him in high school.” He reached into the top drawer of his desk and withdrew an envelope.
Melanie’s stomach turned over as Brian dumped the contents of the envelope onto the newspaper she’d dropped on his desk. She recognized her own face as well as Gavin’s in the black-and-white shots. They were younger, obviously in love, and seated together at Ridge Lodge long before it closed. Eight years ago.
“Where did you get these?” she whispered.
“I had Jan dig through the files. When she came up empty, I had her look through the high school records and check with people around town.” He shook his head. “It seems that all the Tribune’s personal history on Gavin Doel is missing. As for Gavin’s old man, Jim Doel, he doesn’t even have a file here. Isn’t that strange?”
“Not so strange. I took them, Brian.”
“Big surprise. You know that’s stealing, don’t you?”
“I was just trying to protect my personal life.”
He waved off her explanation and pointed to the prints on the desk. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”
Her insides shredding, she said, “I just don’t think any of our readers would be interested in this.”
“And I think you’re wrong. I think the readers will find everything about your . . . well, for lack of a better word, affair with Gavin Doel interesting reading.”
“No!” she said vehemently.
“It’ll be great. The angle will be ‘The Girl He Left Behind But Never Forgot’.”
“It’ll never sell, Brian. Too much schmaltz.”
“I don’t think so.”
Desperate, she whispered, “You can’t be serious,”
Brian frowned. “Look, Melanie, I’ve got a problem. If I don’t increase circulation, I’m out of a job. Now, from my experience, I can tell you what will sell papers.”
“My life?”
“Not yours. Doel’s.”
“My private life is none of your business, none of the readers’ business.”
“Unless you’re involved with a celebrity.”
“Not even then!”
“Anyway, I know, for whatever reason, you broke off with Doel and married your ex.”
Melanie’s face drained of color. Sweat dotted her back. He couldn’t know about the baby—could he? Her knees were suddenly weak, but she forced herself to stand, her fists tightening, her fingernails pressing painfully into her palms. “My life is not open for inspection,” she said quietly. “And neither is Gavin’s!”
“You know, this can work to our advantage. Mine, yours and the Tribune’s.”
“How’s that?” she asked suspiciously, not entirely sure she wanted to hear his rationale.
“I want you to get close to Doel again, see what you can find out.”
“You’re not serious,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
Her eyes narrowed on the man she had once respected. “If you don’t know, I’m not about to tell you.”
“Hey, this is business—”
“Not to me, Brian. This is bullshit. I quit!”
His eyes grew round. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I do,” Melanie flung back with newfound conviction. “And you know what? It feels good. I should’ve done this the first time you suggested I dig up some dirt on Gavin.”
“I’m just doing my job, Melanie.”
“Well, you can do it without my help!” With all the dignity she could muster, she turned on her heel and marched out of the office, letting the door bang closed behind her. More than one interested glance was cast in her direction, but she was too angry to meet anyone’s eyes. She crossed the room to her desk. Grabbing her purse, briefcase, mug, computer, camera case and coat, she took one final look at the newspaper office and started for the doors.
“What happened?” Constance asked, biting on her lower lip nervously.
“Ask Brian.”
“You’re leaving?”
“For good.”
“But . . .” Constance glanced quickly to Brian’s glassed-in office. “I’ll call you.”
“Do that.”
As she headed through the front doors, Melanie ran into Jan and couldn’t help saying, “I don’t think Barbara Walters has too much to worry about.”
“What?”
“Your story, Jan. It’s garbage.”
“You’re the one who was holding out,” Jan reminded her. “You knew a lot about Doel and then you took the damned files—”
“Wouldn’t you, if you were in my shoes?” With that Melanie swung outside, not feeling the cold wind as it blew from the east.
* * *
“I told you that girl was trouble!” Jim Doel flung a copy of the Tribune onto the empty bench in the weight room.
“What girl?” Gavin, working on strengthening his thigh muscles, let the weights drop with a clang.
“You know which one.” Jim’s face was rigid, his mouth a firm, uncompromising line.
“You must be talking about Melanie.”
“That’s right.”
Grabbing a towel, Gavin wiped the sweat from his face and ignored the churning in his gut. “What happened?”
“See for yourself!” Jim growled, motioning toward the newspaper.
The headline nearly jumped off the front page. “Son of a . . .” He bit off the oath as he saw that the article was written by Jan Freemont. “How do you know Melanie’s involved?”
“She works for that rag, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, but she already told me that Brian Michaels was up to something. I doubt that she would tip me off, then be a part of it.”
“Why not? That way she looks innocent.”
“She is innocent,” he retorted vehemently, wanting to believe his own words, instantly defending her.
“If you ask me, you’ve got it all wrong. If she works for the paper, she’s part of the problem.” Jim sank onto the empty bench, lifted his wool cap and scratched his head. “I know you’ve always been soft when it comes to Melanie,” he said quietly, “but it seems to me she causes you nothing but grief.”
If you only knew, Gavin thought, reading the article and slowly seething. Though no concrete evidence was given, the story suggested that Ridge Lodge would close soon after it opened, leaving its investors, and anyone foolish enough to pay in advance for lift tickets and lodging, high and dry.
Gavin stripped the towel from his neck. “This is probably my fault,” he admitted.
“Your fault?”
“For not playing the game.”
“What game?”
“Years ago I met Brian Michaels. He was a reporter with the paper in Colorado. He wanted dirt on the ski team and then personal stuff on me and my teammates. I not only told him to get lost, I called the paper he worked for and complained. So did my coach. Michaels lost his job.”
“And you think he’d hold a grudge?”
A corner of Gavin’s lip lifted cynically. “I don’t think he’d chase me down to get back at me, but since it’s convenient, I’d bet he can’t resist a chance to get even.”
“And so he’s payin’ you back?”
“Not for long,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing. He wasn’t about to take all the bad publicity lying down. Rich was a lawyer; he could deal with the legalities of libel. As for Michaels, he intended to talk to the owners of the paper.
But first he had to deal with Melanie.
Leaving his father sitting on the bench, Gavin walked through the shower, then threw on a pair of jeans, a sweater and a battered pair of running shoes. On his way out of the lodge, he spied the manager and left some quick instructions.
He couldn’t wait to hear Melanie’s side of the story.
Newspaper tucked under his arm, he shouldered open the door of the lodge. A blast of cold mountain air swirled in. Outside, dusk was settling around the mountain, shading the snow-covered landscape in shades of lavender and blue. He barely noticed.
As he climbed into his truck, Gavin told himself that Melanie wasn’t involved in this—she wouldn’t have used him for a story. But he couldn’t ignore the seeds of doubt his father had planted.
After all, hadn’t she lied to him, kept the secret of their child from him? If there really had been a pregnancy. His lips pursed in a grim line as he shoved the truck into gear and accelerated. The pickup lurched forward. She wouldn’t have lied about the baby. There was no reason. No, he decided, his jaw clamped, her story was genuine—at least to a point. He still wasn’t convinced that she’d kept the secret for altruistic purposes. No, she probably wanted to snag rich Neil Brooks all along.
Or had the baby been Neil’s? Was there a chance she’d been sleeping with Neil at the same time she was seeing him? That made more sense. Neil would much rather claim his own child than a bastard of Gavin’s.
“Stop it,” he ground out, his fingers tight on the wheel.
His chest constricted, but he forced his thoughts back eight years to the hayloft where they had met, to the moonlight that had streamed through the window to cast her black hair in a silver sheen, to the look of sweet, vulnerable innocence that had lingered in her eyes.
No, he couldn’t believe that she had lain with him one night and the next with Neil Brooks. No matter what had happened between them, he wouldn’t believe that she was that emotionally cold and calculating. “Get over it,” he growled at himself as he cranked the wheel. The truck skidded around the corner, then straightened.
In the distance, through the pines, the city lights of Taylor’s Crossing winked in the darkness. It would take twenty minutes to get to Melanie’s house. He only hoped that she was home—and alone.