Christmas In Snowflake Canyon (19 page)

Genevieve wasn’t Laura. She never would be, she realized. She needed friendship and respect and suddenly wanted to do whatever necessary to earn it.

“I was wrong and…I’m sorry. Will you please convey my apology to Sage? Contrary to the way I may have acted, I don’t believe she was completely responsible for the whole mess. Sawyer certainly played a huge role and…I did, as well.”

Well, she had at least succeeded in surprising Maura. The other woman stared at her warily, as if trying to figure out what angle she was playing.

“I was wrong to say what I did about her, publicly and privately. Will you please let her know?”

“I… Yes. Of course. I’ll tell her what you said.” “Thank you.”
She was about to return to her spot on the edge of the sofa when Maura, in turn, surprised her.
“I couldn’t help noticing your bag when you came in.”
Heat washed over her. The bag. Oh, no! She had completely forgotten she’d grabbed one of her hand-sewn pieces since the accent color of it so perfectly matched the salmon of her sweater. Maura was bound to recognize it as the same general style of the dozen or so bags she had anonymously shipped to Dog-Eared Books & Brew to sell.

“Did you?” she said, trying for a casual smile. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I have one myself that’s very similar. May I ask where you found it?”

Again, her mind did a frenzied workout as she tried to come up with an answer that wasn’t a complete fabrication. “Paris,” she finally said, honestly enough, though she didn’t add exactly where: in her apartment, in the tiny spare bedroom/craft room where she hung all the others she had created.

“You don’t happen to know where I could find more, would you? I had a few for sale in my store a few months ago and everybody wanted one.”

Gen could feel her cheeks turn pink with pleasure and pride. She wanted to tell Maura she had made them but she didn’t dare. Not now, when things were still awkward between them.

“I…I don’t,” she stammered. “I’ll keep an eye out and let you know if I see any.”

“Yes. Please. I made a nice profit from them and would definitely be open for more.”

“Okay.”

Flustered and off balance now, she decided she didn’t have any appetite. She set her plate back on her chair, grabbed the bag in question and escaped to the restroom.

She fixed her hair quickly and applied a new coat of lipstick. Mostly, she just used the moment to collect her composure again. When she was ready, she left the ladies’ room and headed through the shelves toward Charlotte’s book-club party.

The sound of someone saying her name halted her footsteps.

“What were you thinking to invite Genevieve Beaumont?”

Gen’s stomach contracted suddenly at the condemnation in the voice, which she now recognized as Ruth Tatum, Claire McKnight’s mother.

“Everybody agreed to bring someone new, remember? Maura brought her pediatrician. Evie Thorne brought Brodie’s new office manager. The whole point was to make the book club more inclusive.”

“That was a stupid idea in the first place. Whoever thought of it? Probably Claire.”

“Yes, it was my idea, Mother,” Claire said. “It’s been wonderful to have fresh faces to talk to, new stories to hear. I think we sometimes tend to stick with our own little group and don’t always make others feel welcome.”

“Why do we need to? Things were fine,” Ruth groused. “Anyway, couldn’t you find anyone better to bring than Genevieve Beaumont?”

Any warm glow she might have been feeling at trying to make things right with Maura—at holding her own at this party and even trying to form tentative new friendships—seemed to shrivel and die a painful death.

“Stop it, Mom.”

“I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking,” Ruth Tatum protested. “You all know what Genevieve’s like. She’s an ice-cold bitch. It’s no wonder her fiancé slept around. He was probably desperate for a little warmth.”

“That’s enough,” Claire said sharply, but Genevieve didn’t wait to hear more. All the remembered humiliation and hurt of that terrible time after her engagement ended came surging back and she thought she might truly be sick.

Trying not to give in to the further mortification of tears, she pushed around the bookshelf. “That’s right,” she said bitterly. “I’m the coldest bitch in Hope’s Crossing. Sawyer couldn’t wait to sleep with anyone who wasn’t me.”

Why had she even tried to be friends with these small-minded, provincial women who refused to think maybe a person could change?

She wanted to stomp and yell and throw books off the shelves at them.
I never wanted to come to your stupid bookclub meeting anyway. You’re a bunch of insulated, illiterate rustics who look at Paris and see crowds and noise instead of light and beauty and magic. I feel sorry for all of you.

Instead, she swallowed down all those words—most of them not even true—and tried for some small semblance of the dignity and strength she wished she had shown after her engagement ended.

“Will you excuse me?” She grabbed her coat, grateful she already had her purse, and drew on the example of her father’s pompous haughtiness as she marched toward the door.

She didn’t look back, though she heard the shocked, echoing silence that met her pathetically melodramatic exit.

As she might have expected, Charlotte hurried after her, stopping Gen just before she yanked open the door and walked out into the cold.

“I am so sorry, Genevieve. Ruth Tatum is a cranky old biddy. She always has been. If she wasn’t Claire’s mother, I don’t think we could tolerate her.”

Apparently old bitches were more bearable than the young ones.

“She only said what everyone else was thinking. I knew this was a mistake before we ever walked in. I should never have come. I should have asked you where we were going. We both know I don’t belong here in Hope’s Crossing.”

“Please. Come back. Everyone will feel so terrible if you leave.”

She glanced over at the women in the corner and was rather surprised to see Ruth cornered by Claire and Katherine Thorne, of all people. She couldn’t hear what they said, but judging by the way Ruth had her arms folded defensively and the animated expressions of the other two, it looked as if they were scolding her.

Surprising, yes, but not enough to compel her to return to that vipers’ den.

“I’m sorry, but…I need to go.”

Charlotte looked as if she wanted to argue, but after a long moment, she nodded. “I understand. Let me grab my coat and I’ll give you a ride home.”

“No. You don’t have to leave because of me. It’s not far. I don’t mind walking.”

Charlotte suddenly looked as obstinate as her brother. “Don’t be silly. You came here as my guest. I’m not going to let you walk home in the snow.”

The random flakes of earlier had turned into a steady snowfall. Already half an inch covered the roadway.

The idea of walking through it didn’t appeal to her, especially in her heeled boots.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll understand if I wait outside.”

Charlotte chewed her lip as if she wanted to continue urging Gen to stay at the party. After a pause, she nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

Genevieve pushed through the doors, into the cold air. The pelting snow was like a wake-up call.

Had she really thought she could make friends here in Hope’s Crossing, where everyone would probably always see her as the person she had once been?

More depressed than she had been in a long time, she walked a little distance up the street and suddenly caught a distant chord of music coming from a side street.

Without waiting for Charlotte, she impulsively took a few more steps until she could look down the street and see the lights of The Speckled Lizard.

The site of her downfall.

She glanced back at the bookstore, sending out a different, warmer sort of glow. It was far more appealing, except for the women inside, who were probably chattering like angry magpies about her.

Suddenly, she desperately wanted to be in a place where people didn’t care about her history, about her mistakes. Charlotte would understand.

She increased her pace and hurried toward the tavern without looking back.

“O
h, man. Did you see that? Why didn’t he just run the reverse?”

“Good question,” Dylan muttered to his brother Brendan. An even better question: What the hell was he doing in a crowded bar watching a bowl game with Pop, his brothers and a few friends when he could be sitting by his fire, enjoying the quiet solitude of Snowflake Canyon?

That had been his plan until he made the mistake of stopping at Brendan’s to pick up Tucker, who had hung out there that day while Dylan was busy at A Warrior’s Hope. Brendan, who rarely asked him for anything, had invited him along to The Speckled Lizard to catch the game.

He hadn’t had the heart to say no, not when Brendan seemed in the mood for company—and because he owed him for volunteering, along with Peyton Gregory, for dog-sitting duties so Tuck didn’t have to spend the whole day with only the chickens for company.

He hadn’t realized the whole family was coming. Pop. Andrew. A few friends. It was a regular party.

“You need another drink?” Pat asked.

He shook his head. “One crappy, watered-down whiskey ought to do it for me. Thanks.”

Pat, the bartender, glowered at him. “You said you wanted rocks. I gave you rocks.”

“And half the river, too,” he muttered.

“Have another drink,” Andrew urged. “Or are you afraid you might get wasted and deck somebody again? We’re here with the chief of police. He’ll keep things cool.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Riley McKnight made a face. “You steal another one of my pretzels and I might throw your ass back in jail.”

“Warning duly noted.”

“Anybody want to play a little pool during half time?” Brendan asked.

“Sure,” Riley said.

Andrew slid off his chair, always up for a challenge. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“What about you, son?” Pop asked.

He shook his head, forcing a smile. Billiards used to be one of his favorite things, but he hadn’t quite figured out how to manage holding a cue one-handed. He’d seen somebody online who had crafted a wooden cue rest to attach to an amputated arm to help with control and aim. It looked interesting. Maybe he would try to work on that over the Christmas holidays. He had always enjoyed woodworking and had been thinking about trying his hand at it.

“It’s been a long day. I should really take off and—”

The door flew open behind Brendan in a swirl of snow and wind, and the rest of the sentence dashed out of his head, lost in the shock of seeing Genevieve Beaumont there.

She looked like an ethereal angel framed in the light of the doorway with that crown of blond hair and her pale wool coat and hat.

“Uh-oh. Here comes trouble,” Riley said. “Careful, Dylan. I was only joking about hauling you back to jail. I’d really rather not.”

She was upset. He wasn’t certain how he knew, but her eyes were shadowed and her mouth trembled a little as she looked around at the mostly male crowd assembled to watch the bowl game.

When her gaze landed on him, her mouth made a little O and a vast relief spread over those lovely features, so unexpected and humbling it made his chest ache.

She headed straight for him. “Dylan! I didn’t know you would be here. I can’t
begin
to tell you how happy I am to see you.”

He was aware of his brothers exchanging glances and didn’t miss the mix of curiosity and worry in his pop’s eyes. Unfortunately, he could guess what they were all thinking.

He cleared his throat. “What’s going on? I thought Charlotte was taking you to her book-club party.”

“She did. I left.”

Her chin started to wobble again, and he knew she would hate it if she broke down here in the middle of the bar. There was definitely a story here and he wanted to hear it—but not when half his family listened in with avid interest.

“Let’s grab a table,” he growled.

Ignoring the speculative looks aimed in their direction, he pushed his way through the crowd and found a secluded spot in the corner. Either Pat was overly concerned about the trouble the two of them might cause together, given recent events, or the small bar staff was also curious about what Genevieve Beaumont was doing at a dive like the Lizard on a Wednesday night. They had barely sat down when Nikki, one of the tavern servers, showed up tableside.

“Can I get you two something?” she asked.

“I really, really want a mojito,” Gen said. “But I’d better just have a mineral water.”

“Dylan, anything for you?”
“I’m good.”
She rolled her eyes at the paltry order, slapped down a cardboard coaster and napkin and headed toward the bar.

After she left, Gen fidgeted with the coaster and refused to meet Dylan’s gaze.

“You going to tell me what happened?” he finally asked.

“I’d rather not,” she muttered, focusing on the pool table where it looked as if Andrew was cleaning up, as usual.

“You might as well tell me. I’m trained in interrogation, you know.”

She finally did meet his gaze, her delicate eyebrow arched nearly to her hairline. “Well. That explains a lot.”

“Such as?”

“You’re always trying to make me spill my innermost thoughts. It’s a bad habit, soldier.”

He wanted to tell her he wasn’t a soldier anymore. He wasn’t much of anything right now. “My family would tell you I was born naturally nosy. With five older brothers, there were always interesting secrets to discover.”

The group around the pool table suddenly exploded in cheers, probably because Brendan had aced a particularly difficult shot to pull ahead of Andrew the pool shark.

Genevieve followed the sound, her eyes wide and envious. “I’m interrupting a family thing,” she murmured. “Not at all. Brendan just asked if I wanted to come to the Liz and watch the game for a bit. I don’t have great reception at my place when snow gets in the satellite dish, so I decided what the hell.”
“You can go back to the game. I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll just drink my San Pellegrino and go home.”

He liked looking at her. Even when she was distressed, she was so lovely it was almost unreal, until a person came to know her. Then he could see the little flaws. A tiny mole on her jawline she concealed with makeup, one ear that was a fraction lower than the other one, a tooth slightly out of alignment when she smiled.

Those little imperfections made her real and endearing. His chest suddenly felt a little tight, clogged by a strange, thick emotion he didn’t want to identify.

He had watched her the past week as they worked together at A Warrior’s Hope. He didn’t think he had been the only one surprised by Genevieve Beaumont. She had been sweet and warm, treating the guests with the perfect mix of lighthearted teasing and respect. The wives all seemed to like her and even the children were drawn to her.

That afternoon he had walked into the lodge and found her sitting on the sofa in earnest conversation with Charlotte and Tonya Brooks, one of the cute little Brooks girls snuggled on her lap, all braids and big eyes and adorable smiles.

His chest had felt the same way then, kind of thick and sluggish.

Maybe he was coming down with something.

Because he had been watching her so intently these past few days, he didn’t need her to confirm something had upset her. She wasn’t the soft, sweet Gen he was coming to know. There was an edgy brittleness about her, as if she would shatter like an icicle falling off a roof if somebody slammed a door too hard.

“Come on,” he pressed. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She gave him a haughty look he was coming to realize was simply another defense mechanism. “If this is an example of your interrogation skills, I have to tell you, I’m not impressed. You’re not being particularly persuasive. So far, all you’ve done is order me to talk in that bossy tone. I suppose there’s a slim chance you might eventually wear me down but, let’s be honest, that could take all night.”

He fought a smile he didn’t think she would appreciate right now. “How about if I threaten to start another bar fight? Would that do the trick? I’m always looking for an excuse to go after one of my brothers. Annoying bastards, the lot of them.”

“I’ve learned my lesson. If you started throwing punches, I would just sit here primly with my hands folded in my lap, minding my own business.”

He snorted. He would believe that when he saw it.

“There’s always a chance I might be able to help the situation, but not if you won’t tell me what happened.” She opened her mouth to answer, but Nikki returned with her mineral water and a glass of ice and she closed her mouth again. He wanted to growl with frustration. She drank the water straight from the bottle, ignoring the ice, then wiped at her mouth daintily with the napkin.

“Something happened at the book-club party, obviously.”

“Wow. You
are
good,” she said dryly.

“Oh, I’ve got skills you can’t begin to guess at,” he answered.

“No doubt,” she murmured. It was probably just the low lighting in The Speckled Lizard, but for a moment, he was almost positive her gaze flicked to his mouth, sending instant heat curling through him.

He did his best to douse it. “You never know. I might even be able to help with whatever’s bothering you.”

She fretted with the bottle. “It’s nothing. Just…I didn’t belong there. I knew it before I walked in. Ruth Tatum even said so. She had some harsh words for Charlotte since she’s the one who invited me.”

“Seriously? That’s why you came in here looking like somebody kicked your dog?”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“Okay, like somebody kicked
my
dog, then. Do you really care what Ruth Tatum said? She’s a cranky bitch and always has been. It’s no wonder her husband was going to leave her for a cocktail waitress.”

Her finger traced the painted lizard on the coaster. “Funny. That’s just what she said about me.”

“What?”

“That Sawyer slept around because I’m such a bitch. That he must have been desperate to find a little warmth wherever he could.”

“She said that? See? Ruth is not only a bitch but a
crazy
bitch.”

Her mouth lifted just a little but quickly sagged at the edges. “She’s not wrong. I was terrible during my engagement. Bridezilla on steroids. That’s what your sister said.”

He frowned, thinking he might need to have a talk with Charlotte if she was calling people names like that. “However you might have acted in the stress of planning a wedding, that’s no excuse for what your asshole of a fiancé did to you, humiliating you like that. You said yourself, you’re far better off without him.”

“I am. I know that. We would have made each other miserable and probably would have divorced within three or four years—if we could have lasted that long. By then we might have had a child or two to add to the mess.”

He thought of her that afternoon with the little Brooks girl in her arm, how sweet and patient she had been with her.

“Forget about him. And Ruth Tatum, too. She’s not worth wasting a minute on.”

She sighed. “Do you want to know what makes me most upset?”

Not really. He just wanted to fix the whole thing and make it all better for her. “What?”

“Before I overheard her, I had been enjoying the party. I was talking to people, listening to their stories, having a good time. But then I heard what Ruth said and nothing else mattered. I let one person’s opinion have too much power over me. I’ve always been that way. I became what my parents wanted of me, what Sawyer wanted. I’ve never bothered to become who
I
want to be.”

“And who would that be?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, so softly he had to lean in to hear. “But I think I’m closer to finding out.”

He wanted to kiss her, right here in the middle of The Speckled Lizard. And wouldn’t that send his family into an uproar?

She winced suddenly. “I should probably text your sister. She was going to give me a ride home, and I sort of ditched her outside the bookstore. What’s her number?”

The image of her fleeing into the night like Cinderella would have made him smile if she wasn’t so distressed over the whole thing.

“Here. Just use my phone. She’s in there, though not under Bossy Little Sister, as she should be.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out to her. Her hand brushed his as she took it from him. Her fingers were cool from holding the chilled water bottle, and he wanted to fold them in his and tug them against his skin… .

He really, really needed to stop thinking like this. They were friends, that was all.

Her thumbs quickly flew over the screen of his phone, then she handed it back to him. He was curious enough to read the message:

Gen here. I’m with Dylan. Don’t worry. Sorry I’m a baby. I’ll see you tomorrow.

“You still need a ride home. Let me say goodbye to Pop and my brothers, and I’ll drop you off on my way up the canyon.”

“Why don’t any of you Caines think I can walk six blocks by myself?”

“Maybe because it’s dark and it’s snowing.”

“So what? I don’t mind walking home. You don’t need to leave your game on my account.”

“I told you, I was just about to take off before you came in. These long days of recreating are kicking my butt.”

She smiled a little, as he intended. Her mood seemed lighter, and he considered that just about his biggest achievement of the day.

“I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and sipped at her water as he headed for the billiards table.

“I’m taking off,” he said.

“With Genevieve Beaumont.” Pop’s words were a statement, not a question.

He saw Brendan and Andrew exchange looks that made him want to pound both of them.

“I’m only giving her a ride home,” he said.

“Good for you,” Andrew said. “It’s about time you, er, gave somebody a ride.”

He was in his brother’s face before he even thought it through, ready to go. “You want to say that again?” he snarled.

“That’s enough,” Dermot said in a long-suffering voice. “Settle down, boys.”