Snowflake Bay (8 page)

“No, Fi—wait!” Kerry made a grab for her arm, but she'd already scooped up her coat from the bar and slid off the stool. “I tried to warn you. He's—”

Standing right behind her. Of course he was.

Fiona stood there, already angry that she'd let herself be provoked enough to blurt out something she'd held as a carefully guarded secret for, well, forever. She'd just wanted to make it all stop. She'd been savoring her private little victory, with the whole childhood ridiculousness put in its proper place once and for all with that one stunned and very male look on Ben Campbell's handsome face. Bon voyage, childhood humiliation, sorry to see ya go, don't let the door hit ya on the way back to yesteryearville.

But what the heck, why not just put it out there, once and for all, so everybody could just shut up about it? It wasn't like she could be made to feel any worse at this point, right?

Wrong. So mortifyingly, stupidly, I'll-never-stop-being-thirteen-again, wrong.
Maybe it was true, what they said about you couldn't go home again. For the first time, she thought maybe she'd made a huge, giant mistake in leaving the city on some misguided mission to find her way back to herself, to who she'd wanted to be when she grew up.
Lucky you figured that out after you just bought yourself a new business.

Yep, she was lucky, all right.

“Fiona,” was all he said, but the look on his face said a million things more. All of them awful, because each one of them started with pity and ended with embarrassment. For her, most likely.

And all she could think was, she'd gotten her moment. That victorious, full-circle moment every kid who's ever been made to feel bad wanted. And she'd been good with that. Pathetically so, maybe, but good. Giddy, even. Ready and willing to bury the past, the score all evened up.

Instead, the look she'd remember forever was the one on his face right now. This was to be her moment. Why had she ever assumed it would be any different? The joke, it seemed, was always going to be on her.

She threw her coat over her arm and grabbed her purse and gloves, careful not to look at either her sister or Ben. She was merely thankful that the pump of adrenaline she'd gotten first from popping off at Kerry and then again upon seeing Ben standing right there behind her, where he'd obviously overheard her every stupid word, had smacked whatever effect too much champagne might have had right out of her. Because at least she didn't wobble so much as a step as she strode by him on her way out the door.

Ben hauled the freshly strapped tree off the baler and tossed it onto the stack already piled on the big flatbed trailer presently hooked to the back of one of the company trucks. Then he turned and grabbed the next one as it was fed through the machine. He dragged that one down the chute and ran the cut end through the chain saw to shorten it, then tossed the bundle in the truck. He and three of Campbell Farm's seasonal hires had been at this since before sun-up that morning. It was presently just after noon and a balmy twenty-two degrees in Snowflake Bay . . . and despite being able to think of little else as he went through motions so ingrained he'd often thought he could make them blindfolded and sleeping, he still had no idea what to do about Fiona McCrae.

“Hey, boss!”

At the shout, Ben looked up to see Tommy, one of the seasonal hires, motioning to the dirt road that led from the main farmhouse out into the fields, lined with row upon row of carefully trimmed pine trees. Ben waved him to cut off the baler: then, with the sudden silence ringing in his ears, he turned to look where Tommy was pointing. “Well, shit.”

If he made a list of all the things he could ever expect to see at Campbell Christmas Tree Farm, Annalise Manderville wouldn't be anywhere on it. He watched in disbelief as she stepped out of a bright yellow Land Rover in boots that probably cost more than the new tree-netting machine he was contemplating buying for the farm. “What in the hell?” he murmured. After all this time, he couldn't fathom what she could possibly want with him, and had even less of a clue why it would require an in-person visit. Several state lines away from their respective homes in Rhode Island.

He'd already been so distracted by the very unfortunate and humiliating scene he'd witnessed two days earlier at the Rusty Puffin—the humiliation part being completely his own—that it was hard to switch mental gears once again to deal with this completely new, but potentially equally perplexing brain twister.

He turned back to Tommy. “Call Frankie over here and keep baling. We have to get this truck loaded and out by three. I want to get this trailer in the Cove and unloaded tonight. I've got help coming to start setting up the lot in the morning.”

“You need help with the unloading? I have a family thing tonight, but I could get out of it if you need me, too.”

Given the hopeful expression on the college student's face, the prospect of unloading a trailer bed of trees in the dark in what would likely be near zero or sub-zero temps, was apparently a better option than whatever this “family thing” was. He hated to dash the kid's hopes, but he shook his head. “I've got it under control, and I need you here in the morning to get the next batch baled so we can get another trailer to Machiasport.” Plus, he was hoping to use the night in the Cove to figure out what to say to Fiona. Even if she'd rather he simply never showed his face around her ever again.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“It's Ben,” he reminded the gangly young man as he hustled off to follow his instructions.

“That's a ten-four, boss,” Tommy said over his shoulder with a grin, the tousled blond curls sticking out from under his wool knit cap dancing in the wind as he loped out toward the fields, where several other seasonal hires were cutting trees.

Ben grinned back at him, shaking his head. Most of the kids who came to work for Campbell's during the holidays, as well as over the summer when it was grooming and, afterwards, planting season, had been coming to the farm for their family Christmas trees since they were old enough to walk. Some earlier than that, strapped in papooses on their parents' backs. So they took a special pride in working for the place that held such great memories for them. Ben had been considering that as he'd been contemplating what he was going to do about his sudden inheritance.

At the moment, however, all thoughts of Fiona and the future of the family tree farm fled as he focused his attention on his latest problem: the smiling and waving Annalise.

“Ben!” she said as he got closer. “Wow, look at this. Quite the operation. I had no idea.”

He smiled but said nothing. He'd told her all about his family's business when they'd first started dating, but she'd been far more interested in the business he was building in Rhode Island. If he'd paid closer attention to that, it would have saved him a world of trouble. “What brings you all the way up to Maine?”

She laughed, but if he wasn't mistaken—and he wasn't—there was a trace of nervousness in her now. “Oh, well, Mother knows someone on staff at
Architectural Exteriors
and managed to snag an early copy of the issue you're in.” She took a playful swing at his arm. “You didn't tell me you got the cover. That's quite the major cap feather, there.”

“I didn't know, either,” he said, his smile sincere, even while trying not to be mildly annoyed that she'd spoiled the surprise. “They always keep the holiday cover a surprise until it hits the stands.”

She formed a sad O with her mouth. “I knew that, but assumed it didn't apply to the person they actually chose. And I went and spoiled the surprise.” She moved in closer and slipped her arm through his, tipping her head against his arm and looking up at him with those melted-chocolate-brown eyes. “I'm sorry. Forgive me?”

How many times had he heard those words? And how many times had he done as requested?
Every time but the last one.
He gently disentangled her, keeping his expression one of smooth politeness, as if she were more a passing acquaintance than a former girlfriend and lover. One who'd done too many things requiring forgiveness for him to forget. He'd been equally culpable in letting her get away with it for so long, but he took some measure of pride now in the certain knowledge that he never would again. “What brings you here?”

“You know Mother and Dad have that big charity bash every year between Christmas and New Year's?”

He nodded. He knew and recalled the two of them he'd attended with no small amount of dread. He'd been their daughter's “unfortunate, but surely temporary choice” of an escort, as he'd overheard Antonia Manderville describing him. It hadn't come as a surprise. He'd been made to feel just that way.

He'd never told Annalise what he'd overheard, but then the Mandervilles had never made any secret of their disappointment in their daughter's choice. It wasn't until after their relationship had ended that he'd come to understand he'd more or less been Annalise's post-college rebellion lover. Whereas most girls got their rebel on in high school or college, Annalise hadn't been willing to risk even the slightest hint of it until she had her master's degree firmly in hand.

Even then, the phase hadn't lasted too long. They'd dated exclusively for two years, then strung things along, off and on, for another ten months, despite his discovery that Annalise had had an entirely different definition of “exclusive” than he did. The thing with Annalise was, she wasn't cold or calculating like her mother. He wouldn't have been interested in her if that were the case. She truly was a warm, caring, loving person who'd had a way of making him feel like he could hang the moon if he tried. But she'd been raised to be the center of attention of her parents' entire world, and so it was no surprise, he supposed, that she expected the same exalted spot in her personal relationships. And he'd tried, he had, but he had always seemed to come up short, not giving her quite enough, or doing quite enough, or being quite enough.

As he later found out, when she wasn't getting enough attention from him, she kind of sort of found it elsewhere. And not always with her clothes on. She'd never meant any harm by it, and he'd believed her claim that the other guys were meaningless in every way beyond the time it took to get what she needed, like a junkie getting a fix, but that didn't stop her little adventures from hurting him anyway. He'd tell himself he was being mature, accepting the reality of how life was, glad she was being open and honest with him. So it wasn't the fairy tale he'd always assumed his parents' marriage was, but maybe he'd been seeing them through the eyes of a child, not a grown-up. And yet, even so, it didn't stop him from wanting to be enough for his partner, just in who he was, all by himself.

When he'd finally called it off for good, she'd almost immediately hopped back on the familial expectation bandwagon and found herself a nice, rich doctor. And all he could think, even now with her not two feet away, smelling sweet, looking beautiful, and smiling at him like he had, in fact, set the moon, was,
Better you than me, Dr. Biff, ol' chap. Better you than me.

“What about it?” he asked, feeling perversely less annoyed now that he knew he was on solid ground and would remain there, whatever this latest test was she was about to throw at him.

“Well, you know they pride themselves on the diversity of their guest list, mixing a few politicians in with whoever the celebrity spokesperson for their charity of choice happens to be that season, adding a blend of old business with new business, throw in a few Olympians and maybe a neighbor or two.” She smiled, as if her parents were really nothing more than benevolent elves, serving up Santa's goodwill every Christmas. And many saw them as just that. Many who'd never had the chance to sit at the private family dinner table with the mister and missus and witness firsthand just how un-elf-like they could be.

“They don't just want the movers and shakers,” Annalise was saying. “They always want to have the up-and-comers as well. Dad likes to think he's on the cutting edge of what's happening with the local and state economy, and Mother just wants to give the newer entrepreneurs who show promise a leg up, a chance to meet and mingle and network with those in position to help them along their way to success.” Her smile turned a shade deprecating. “Well, and because they both not-so-secretly hope to get them involved in their charitable foundation work early on.”

It was true that the Mandervilles not only operated, in addition to their vast business holdings, a charitable foundation that gave significant grants to many worthy groups, but also gave from their own deep financial well, too. That they made no secret of their largesse was their choice, of course, and if, as they explained, it helped to shed an even brighter light on whatever causes they were championing that year, then why not have the TV cameras and the journalists in attendance? It was all for the greater good, right?

And maybe it was. But one thing he'd learned from his time in the Manderville inner circle: he was not cut out to swim with the sharks. He didn't even want to sit on the sidelines and watch them feed on each other.

“Annalise, if this is an invitation—”

She slid her arm back through his and tugged, a bright smile and cheery laugh putting the punctuation mark on the presentation. “Say you'll come. It would mean a lot to them.” She held his gaze. “And to me.”

He once again carefully, and politely, disentangled himself. “Thank you and thank them, and I'm sorry you came all this way, but the answer is no.”

“Ben—”

He heard that note in her voice, the one that sounded like vulnerability but was really made of steel. Annalise Manderville didn't like to hear the word no. “I'm sorry you traveled all the way up here, Anna. You could have called and asked, or sent a printed invitation.”

“I know you, Ben Campbell. You're too modest. I knew this was something that had to be done in person if I had any chance of persuading you to come. Don't let our personal history cloud your professional future.”

She was smiling, as if she hadn't even heard the no. He frowned now. “What's this really about?”

“Surely your family has enough help here,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the field and the employees presently working on cutting, baling, and loading trees for the satellite stands. There were more employees, some full-time, some seasonal, helping to get the two bigger fields ready for the families who would come to cut down or dig up their own trees, doing the last-minute grooming, clearing away debris, checking over all the trailers folks used to haul their trees, the wagons used to pull the little ones, the tractors and big stake-body trailer used for the hay ride, along with all the various tools that would be used to take the trees down or dig them up.

There was enough help, but at the moment, only one person was actually running the show. “It's not that—”

“Surely you won't be here the entire time. Your business—with the magazine coming out, I mean—you plan to be in Rhode Island, taking full advantage of the free publicity, right? Your family wouldn't expect you to come help on the tree farm with that amazing opportunity in the offing. I mean, timing is everything, surely even they understand that.”

Even they
, he thought. As if his parents were poor peasant farmers who knew nothing of the big world. He was still trying to figure out what the bigger game plan was here, because there was one, of that he was certain. Annalise hadn't come all the way to the Middle of Nowhere, Maine, because she suddenly had a keen interest in his business getting its due attention. On the heels of that thought came the realization that it honestly didn't matter why she was there or what her end game was; none of it mattered to him any longer. “How did you know I was here?”

“I went to Campbell Landscapes. You weren't there. I asked.” She lifted her hands, smiling up at him. “And here I am.”

“What did they tell you?” All of his employees had been with him long enough that they knew Annalise. They also all knew she was no longer part of his life. He'd never given them any kind of instructions regarding what kinds of things he'd prefer for them to share or not share with her, but then, he really hadn't expected it to ever be an issue.