The Mountain Between Us (20 page)

“Once wasn't enough? Really, Maggie, don't make the man work so hard.”

“I think I'm worth a little hard work.” She'd done most of the hard work in her first marriage, now she was ready to be wooed and won over, instead of hoping things would work out because a man got up the nerve to tell her he loved her.

“I'll deal with both of you when we get there,” Barb said. “We're coming in on the twenty-third and staying through the New Year. I've booked us rooms at the Eureka Hotel. Do you know anything about it?”

“It's the only hotel in town.” The nondescript, blockish building on the edge of town wasn't a chain but managed to look like one.

“I'll bring my own sheets. I have to go now. The caterer is on the other line. See you soon.”

Maggie hung up the phone. She debated asking Rick what he thought she should give Jameso, but cringed when she imagined the laughter that would greet such a request. Rick was not the sentimental type, and he never tired of teasing her about what he saw as her unlikely matchup with her father's best friend.

Her gaze drifted to the picture of Jake that she kept on her desk. It had been taken at one of the Hard Rock competitions he'd won, and it showed a craggy, muscular man in a lumberjack shirt. He had an ax balanced casually on one shoulder and looked into the camera with a big, toothy smile. She liked the picture because he looked so happy. Though she suspected he'd come to Eureka to escape his demons, he'd found some measure of contentment here.

It was ironic, really, that she'd hook up with his best friend, a man young enough to be his son. Maybe in Jameso, Jake had seen the child he'd been too scarred, or afraid, to get close to. And maybe in Jake, Jameso had found a father to replace his abusive one. She knew Jameso missed his friend, much more than she missed the father she'd never known.

An idea hit her, as if she'd swallowed something warm and sweet. Smiling to herself, she hurried to the closet at the back of the room where they kept office supplies, old printer and copier parts, and the photo archives—shelves of cardboard boxes filled with black and white photos that dated from the days before they'd switched over to digital images.

She searched until she found the box with photos from the last Hard Rock competition her dad had won. The paper had done a two-page center spread of the festivities, so she had plenty of shots to choose from. She laughed at an image of Bob apparently instructing Junior Dominick on the art of driving a spike, both of them über-serious, while behind them, Jake made faces.

At last she found the photo she'd been searching for. Her memory hadn't let her down. It was a crowd shot of competitors and friends. Jameso and Jake stood by side by side. They were looking at each other, laughing, two friends sharing a moment.

She fished the photo from the box and slipped it into an envelope she found on another shelf. “Rick, I have to go out for a while,” she said.

She drove to Lucille's house and was relieved to see Olivia's black SUV parked out front. Clutching the photograph inside her coat to protect it from the falling snow, she hurried up the steps and rang the bell.

Olivia looked wary as she opened the door, but relaxed when she saw Maggie. “Hey,” she said. “Mom's not here. She's still at the shop.”

“I didn't come to see your mom,” Maggie said. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, come on in.” Olivia held the door open and Maggie slipped inside. She brushed snow from her coat, then handed Olivia the envelope.

“Take a look at what I found in the newspaper archives just now.”

Olivia sent her a questioning look but slid the photo from the envelope. “I recognize Jameso and a few other people,” Olivia said. “So?”

“The man Jameso is standing next to is my dad, his friend Jake. I was hoping you could use the photo to paint a picture of the two of them for me to give to Jameso for Christmas. I know this is really last minute and if you can't do it, I'll understand.” She held her breath. If this didn't work, she was back to square one.

“I can do it. Sure.” Olivia studied the photo again. “They look a little alike, don't they? Maybe not so much physically, but they have the same attitude.”

“God, I hope not,” Maggie said. “My dad would never be mistaken for father of the year.”

“Yeah, I heard he skipped when you were little.”

“When I was three days old. Then, not another word until after he died.”

“I don't think Jameso's like that. He seems really excited about the baby.”

“Really?” Maggie moved to look over Olivia's shoulder at the photograph of the several years younger Jameso laughing. “It's hard to tell.”

“Well, he's a man, so who knows what they're really thinking? But, yeah, I think he's looking forward to being a dad. A little nervous, but that's understandable.”

“I think both of us are scared spitless sometimes. We have no idea what to do with a baby.”

Olivia slid the picture back into the envelope and laid it on a table by the door. “You think I did? I was a sixteen-year-old punk rocker wannabe. I knew exactly zero about kids and didn't even think I wanted one. But there you go.”

“So you were like me . . . a single mom?”

“The guy—Byron—and I decided we should get married. It's what everybody expected. Big mistake. We hung in there until Lucas was two or so; then I got tired of him beating up on me and left. I got divorce papers in the mail to sign months later. I should have hired a lawyer and sued for child support and whatever else I could get, but by that time I just wanted to be done, you know?”

“Yeah.” Maggie nodded. She'd felt the same way by the time her own divorce had gone to court. She'd just wanted to be free of the marriage. Except for her rings and a collection of Steuben glass that she held on to for too long, she hadn't taken much in the way of reminders with her. When she'd finally gotten rid of the glass and the rings, it had felt like breaking the final connection, allowing her to really start over.

Steps pounded up the porch and they turned to see Lucas burst in the door. “Hi, Mom,” he said, dropping his backpack in the hall. “Hey, Mrs. Stevens.” He nodded to Maggie, then turned back to his mother. “Can we ride to the school program with D. J. Thursday night?” he asked.

Olivia looked uncomfortable. “We can go in my car and D. J. can meet us there.”

“But I want us to all ride together!” Lucas's voice rose an octave and his expression darkened.

“I really should be going,” Maggie said, inching toward the door.

“No, you don't have to leave,” Olivia said. She turned to her son. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Because D. J. is my best friend and I want to ride with him . . . but I want to be with you, too. Can't we just all go together?”

Olivia bit her lip. “All right, if it's that important to you.”

“Thanks, Mom.” He pulled her into a quick hug, then raced from the room. “I'm starving!”

“Sorry about that,” Olivia said when she and Maggie were alone again. “So, don't worry about the painting. I'll have it for you before Christmas.”

“I'll pay you, of course,” Maggie said. “How much?”

Olivia looked around the foyer, as if the answer was pinned to the drapes or hiding under the table. “A hundred dollars?”

“I think a hundred and fifty sounds better,” Maggie said. “I know you'll do a good job.”

“Sure. That sounds great.” She remained silent as Maggie shrugged back into her coat. “About D. J. . . .” she began.

“You don't owe me an explanation,” Maggie said.

“No, but I want to tell you.” Olivia twisted her hands together. “I guess I want to tell someone, and you strike me as a person who won't judge.”

Maggie stopped buttoning her coat. “No judgment here.”

Olivia sighed. “I guess it's pretty clear from the way I acted the other day, after the accident with the snowplow, that I still have feelings for D. J. But they're a mix of good and bad. He let me down when I really needed him, and I'm not sure I can trust him. I don't want to hurt like that again.”

“I hear you,” Maggie said. “I've got a few trust issues of my own.” She thought of Jameso, down on his knees before her with the ring in his pocket, looking like a man going to the gallows.

“Yeah, well, I just wanted you to know. I'm not blind or anything. I see that D. J.'s a good guy and he's trying hard, and Lucas loves him and everything. I get that. But it doesn't mean I can pretend nothing happened and we're now guaranteed a happily ever after.”

Maggie reached out to grasp the younger woman's arm. “I understand. I really do.”

A smile flickered across Olivia's face, then vanished. “Thanks. Love is never this tough in movies, is it? People fall in love and they just know they can get through anything together.”

“Life is a little less pat than that.” A lot of things could happen to kill love—that didn't mean it hadn't once been real.

Olivia straightened and took a step back, away from Maggie's touch. “Don't worry about the baby thing,” she said. “You'll know the right thing to do when the time comes.”

“Sounds like a good philosophy for life in general.”

“I guess it does, doesn't it.” She opened the door and Maggie stepped out into the snow again, and carefully picked her way to the Jeep. She still wasn't sure life was as easy as that, but she liked thinking she'd instinctively know what to do for her child, and that she'd know, too, when the time was right to make a commitment to Jameso.

Or not.

 

“Mom, hurry up! D. J. will be here any minute.”

Olivia brushed mascara onto her lashes, concentrating on holding the wand steady despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. Why had she let Lucas talk her into riding with D. J. to his school program? Things would be so much easier if they went with her mom.

She was doing this for Lucas, not herself or D. J. or anyone else. This was his program, his night; she could ride to the program with D. J., no big deal.

She capped the mascara and studied her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. The relentless mountain sun lent color to her cheeks even in the dead of winter and the last of the platinum bleach had grown out, leaving her hair a softer, wheat-blonde. Add some stylish western threads and she could pose for a Ralph Lauren ad, holding the harness of a thoroughbred. Her hipster and punk friends from the city would laugh.

She sighed, then slicked on lip gloss and went downstairs. Lucas met her at the bottom step. “What took you so long, Mom?” He was practically jumping up and down with agitation. Thank God for that little-boy impatience, which reassured her this was her son standing in front of her; otherwise, she might not have recognized him. He'd seemingly shot up overnight, until he was as tall as her. He had his hair slicked back and wore black trousers, a white shirt, and a tie. Where had he gotten a tie? “We have plenty of time,” she reassured him.

“You look really pretty, Mom.”

She glanced down at the lavender silk sheath she'd found at a thrift store in Montrose. Too light and summery for the weather or the season, but she'd paired it with tall black boots and a fake fur jacket that gave the whole look an edge she liked. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, very pretty.”

She jerked up her head and found D. J. standing in the doorway. Dressed in khakis and a blue dress shirt, open at the throat, his worn leather bomber jacket instead of a sports coat, he looked impossibly handsome, less rugged than she was used to, but every bit as masculine.

“We'd better get going or we're going to be late,” she said, and started past him.

“No rush.” He put a hand on her arm as she passed. She stopped and looked into his serious brown eyes, and her knees threatened to give way beneath the intensity of his expression. The spicy scent of his aftershave overwhelmed her with memories of pressing her nose to the soft flesh at the crook of his neck to inhale his scent.
Get a grip,
she told herself. “What?” she snapped at him.

He released her. “Nothing. But I thought you might want to take your camera.” He nodded to the little digital camera that sat on the table by the door.

She snatched it up and stuffed it into her purse, then stalked out the door ahead of them. This was the first time she'd seen him up close since last week on the mountain, when he'd come back from the dead to stand in front of her and all she could think was to slap the smug grin off his face. Afterward, she'd been ashamed of her reaction, but it was too late to take it back. The whole time, D. J. hadn't said a word, and he didn't seem inclined to say anything now.

They rode in Olivia's SUV—really D. J.'s. His name was still on the title, though he'd never asked for it back. He seemed content to drive around in the old beater truck he'd bought somewhere. She should probably offer—even insist—that he take the SUV back. But then what would she drive?

The school was lit up like a Christmas village. Most of the town must have turned out for the kids' program. A few snowflakes sifted over them as they climbed out of their vehicle. “You won't have to leave to go work, will you?” Lucas asked, his eyes wide with anxiety behind his glasses.

“I won't have to leave.” D. J. put his hand on Lucas's shoulder. “I promise.”

“Good. Well, you two go to the auditorium,” Lucas instructed. “I have to go in the back way.” Not waiting for an answer, he took off across the parking lot.

D. J. took Olivia's elbow and steered her down the crowded hallway. She wanted to protest, but she liked the feel of his hand on her arm. Steady and strong.