High Country Holiday

She shot him a confused look. “You’re taking over for your mother?”

“She feels badly about letting you down. Being unable to fulfill a promise isn’t something she takes lightly.”

He still marveled that Ma said Dad had agreed to help out, to do the construction for her. That sure wasn’t the Leroy Hawk he knew.

“She asked you to do this?”

“I offered to do it when I realized how upset she was.”

When I sensed how upset you would be.

“But your mother is an artist.”

Cody chuckled. “That she is. And I’m not a half-bad one myself, if you’ll recall.”

He’d once garnered the courage to waylay Paris as she walked home alone from school one afternoon. He’d shown her a sketch he’d done while observing her from a far corner of study hall. The drawing was one of many where he’d done his best to capture her expressive eyes and her shimmering dark hair draping over her shoulders.

That day she’d stared for a long moment at the sketch he’d handed her, telling her she could keep it. She’d blushed furiously, thanked him, then hurried home without a backward glance.

Had she kept it? Or tossed it in the trash?

“You are,” she said softly, her cheeks even now tinged a delicate pink, “a very good artist.”

So she did remember.

“Ma has the staging designs worked out. All I have to do is build them. Everything will be true to the original plan the committee approved months ago.”

She glanced uncertainly toward the work area, then at him. “Don’t you have a job you have to get back to?”

He could tell it embarrassed her to ask. The older Hawk boys hadn’t been known to stay with anything long. Where were they now? In Texas again? New Mexico? Barry had been in and out of who knows how many marriages and had done time in jail for violation of a restraining order. Carson had been in and out of trouble with the law as well and fathered more than a few illegitimate children.

“I do have a job, but it’s flexible enough at the moment to let me remain in town a few weeks to help my mother. And you.”

From the look in her eyes, he shouldn’t have added that personal postscript. But it didn’t much matter whether she liked it or not. He wasn’t going to let Ma down and allow her reputation to be dragged down to the level of his dad and half brothers.

“Ma’s subcontracting the project to me. If you’ll make sure Harry the Gatekeeper knows I have approval so I can come and go here and at the clubhouse as time allows, I guarantee the staging will more than meet your expectations and your deadline.”

He’d do it if he had to work twenty-four hours a day.

Could she tell that he had no expectations tacked onto his offer of assistance? Neither of them had alluded to that long-ago night when he’d poured out his heart to her, but it hung like an invisible barrier between them. As much as he’d like to spend every moment of his time in Canyon Springs with Paris, even with Dalton out of the picture he wouldn’t attempt to insert himself into her world again as he’d done twelve years ago.

Doubt colored her eyes. “I’m not sure—”

“I’d say you could think it over and get back to me later.” He nodded toward the work area as his eyes remained locked on hers. “But there’s no time to accommodate much thinking, let alone much ‘later.’ I need to get crackin’. And you need to get on out of here and let me get to work.”

* * *

Cody’s authoritative words still echoed through Paris’s mind on Monday morning as she poured herself another glass of orange juice. They’d been spoken as if he were the boss and she an unwelcome intrusion on his valuable time.

You need to get on out of here and let me get to work.

She should have protested, should have told him the contract was with his mother, not him, and that the committee would make alternate arrangements. But what choice did she truly have with the gala now fewer than three weeks away? Bristling under the surface, she’d nevertheless obediently departed, stopping off at the gatehouse to inform Harry of Cody’s project work and to authorize the use of Lucy’s keycard.

She should be relieved. A decorating disaster had been averted at the midnight hour. Everything would be finished on time if Cody was true to his word, and there would be little need to interact with him. He’d made it clear he could handle it on his own and would brook no interference that might delay him in meeting his mother’s obligations.

So why was she feeling anything but relief?

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” Her father rose from the breakfast table to gaze out at the thickly pined acreage from the French doors of his sprawling log home. It had been her home again, too, ever since she’d cut short her junior year at Northern Arizona University and returned when Dad had what he referred to as “my ticker episode.” After Mom’s death, he hadn’t taken good care of himself and had worked too hard. Following a heart bypass and a change in lifestyle facilitated by the diligence of his daughter, Paris hadn’t returned to school—a decision she was increasingly coming to regret.

Dad turned away from a light flurry of snow that lent the view a Christmas-card beauty. “You seem distracted this morning.”

“I’m mentally planning out my day,” she said lightly, instinctively knowing her father wouldn’t approve of Cody offering his services on behalf of the charity event. He’d hear of it soon enough, though, because she’d have to tell the committee tonight. Some—like Elizabeth—would doubt the wisdom of permitting him to take part. Trusting the job to the talented Lucy Hawk was one thing. A Hawk male was quite another.

She’d have to be prepared for pushback.

“Don’t feel obligated to help with those weddings,” her father stated, assuming that was the issue troubling her. “It’s okay to change your mind. There’s not a soul in town who would fault you for not lending a hand.”

“No, but...” Paris smoothed the cloth napkin in her lap. What Dad said was true. Anyone who’d read the local paper’s gushing front-page article in which her engagement had been announced—and later experienced the shock of Dalton’s death reverberating through the community—could guess at the pall which descended on her at the prospect of weddings.

“I think, though,” she continued as her father leaned in to kiss her on the top of her head as he’d done since she was a little girl, “it’s time I got over my aversion to weddings.”

That’s the conclusion she’d prayerfully come to Friday night and now, with Cody seeing to the decorating, she could once again conclude it was the right decision. Things had gone well enough with Macy on Saturday, hadn’t they? Except for those awkward moments when the soon-to-be bride apologized for her perceived insensitivity. Unfortunately, Paris’s strategy of wedding avoidance had only served to draw sympathy she didn’t deserve.

Dad studied her a long moment. Widowed fourteen years ago when her mother’s multiple sclerosis had finally taken its toll, he was a still-handsome man in his early sixties, his dark hair silvering at the temples. He’d caught the eye of more than a few women since Mom’s passing. But not only had he not remarried, he never dated, unless you counted occasionally asking a friend or business associate to accompany him to an event. Most often he went alone. Not that anyone could ever replace Marna Perslow, but Paris had always thought Elizabeth would be a perfect match. Why, after her husband’s death, had Dad never acted on what she sensed might be a mutual attraction?

Dad had to be lonely at times and that’s likely why he threw himself too fully into his work, a fact that worried her at the thought of leaving him on his own when she left Canyon Springs. This morning a crease had formed across his forehead when she’d mentioned Cody Hawk’s scheduled appointment and it hadn’t yet smoothed.

“Don’t let our good pastor pressure you,” he said. “Sharon is entirely capable of handling things on her own and the other two young ladies can call on family and friends if needed. Everyone in town understands the pain weddings bring to you.”

Actually, there wasn’t a soul in town who understood her pain. Not the true source of it, anyway. Would involvement with the weddings, as her pastor had suggested, help her heal?

Nevertheless, she nodded as her father headed to his study, then she checked the time. With the office assistant out again today, she needed to get there by eight to cover the phones and front desk. But she’d promised to give Dad a hand with paperwork for sales he’d be closing on this week, so she could conveniently be in the back room when Cody arrived at nine-thirty.

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

She’d been surprised to glimpse him in church with his mother yesterday. But to her irritation, throughout the service—and afterward—she couldn’t keep her thoughts from wandering to that long-ago night when he’d told her he loved her. Had always loved her. Would love her forever.

She gave a soft, scoffing laugh as she headed up the stairs to her room. Teenagers.

But her heart beat more quickly as she recalled in excruciating detail how he’d stared down at her that night. How she’d leaned in ever-so-slightly toward him, certain he’d kiss her. Even though she’d dutifully turned him down, she’d been mesmerized by the powerful yearning in his black-brown eyes.

But he hadn’t kissed her.

Instead, he’d quirked a smile and stepped back as if pleased with what he’d read in her eyes. He’d brazenly delivered his line about her one day begging him to marry her. And then he was gone, leaving her stunned.

Cody had been clear on his long-term intentions that night. But what was he thinking now? And why did the prospect of his continued interest—or lack of it—unsettle her so?

* * *