Winter Reunion

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Beth stared at Dev in shock, wishing she hadn’t let her thoughts wander earlier. “We’re divorced. I shouldn’t inherit anything.”

“Apparently my mother thought otherwise.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s like Nora said—she didn’t trust me to handle this on my own. So giving you a chance to own your building was a way to ensure your cooperation.”

“It wasn’t a trust issue,” Nora interjected. “I can promise you that. She probably just felt that your current…job skills weren’t attuned to this kind of role.”

“But the building,” Beth insisted. “That’s just…” She fumbled for the right word. “Too much.”

Unless Vivian had somehow learned Beth’s secret. Was that even possible?

Dev leveled a look at her. “Maybe she figured you deserved battle pay after being married to me. Or maybe she just thought you deserved a break.”

Why hadn’t Vivian said something about this?

Dev’s abrupt decision to file for divorce had hurt his mother deeply—Beth had seen it in her eyes. Her former mother-in-law had remained distant but cordial whenever she stopped at the bookstore or joined the crowd lingering outside church on Sunday mornings. She’d even sent Beth a Christmas card, and included her in the dozens of townsfolk she invited for a Christmas brunch last year, though the divorce had long since been finalized.

But Vivian never made a single comment about the divorce, and there certainly had never been any hint at the contents of her will.

Beth frowned. “This must be a mistake—a forgotten clause in the will, or something.”

Nora cleared her throat. “It’s all legal and proper. She revised her will last February, actually, five months after your divorce was final. She went over every paragraph of it with me.”

“Still, the boardinghouse would be far better managed by someone experienced in the field.” Dev made an impatient motion with his hand. “Maybe a social worker. Or a nurse.”

“Like I said, these were your mother’s wishes. She didn’t want to leave her charges to flounder without her,” Nora said with a firm smile. “I’m sure she figured you would follow through.”

He studied Beth for a moment, his eyes narrowed. “Maybe she had other motives.”

Horror and embarrassment washed through Beth at the obvious implication. “You think she wanted us thrown together over this?”

He didn’t respond, but she could see his answer from the hard glint in his eyes. He probably even thought Beth had been in on the “plan,” and there was no way to prove him wrong. Did he really think she was so needy and pathetic?

She could feel her cheeks burning. “Your mother might’ve had fond dreams of happily-ever-afters, but if so, she was sadly mistaken. That could never happen. You made that more than clear when you demanded a divorce. And believe me, I have absolutely no desire to turn back the clock.”

At the force behind her words, he looked taken aback. “No insult intended.”

No insult intended? He was even more obtuse than she’d thought. She took a steadying breath. “None taken. I’m just stating facts.”

Nora glanced between them. “I’m guessing this is going to be an uneasy peace between you two. Maybe even impossible.”

Silence stretched uncomfortably between them.

“I’ll request extension of my leave,” he finally said through clenched teeth. “We can make this work. Right, Beth?”

Beth swallowed hard. “If we want to save your inheritance and my bookstore, we don’t have a choice.”

She reached out and tried to ignore the sudden, familiar warmth that sped through her when his large, strong hand briefly enveloped hers. Warmth that triggered a rush of memories, both good and bad.

He dropped her hand as if he’d touched fire, and she knew he’d felt it, too.

They had six long months ahead.

Six. Long. Months.

The thought made her shudder, yet there was too much at stake to risk failure. And not just for herself.

Tourism had revitalized the town, but the tourists wouldn’t come back if Stan pursued his business interests and destroyed the historic district in the process. If that happened, too many good friends and neighbors would suffer. The owners of the gift shops, the coffeehouses, the antique stores. Even the little marina owned by old Mr. Gerber, who’d added a fresh coat of paint to the main building just this summer.

They were all starting to prosper after far too many years of struggle, and it could all be wiped out if the quaint and inviting atmosphere of the town changed.

All she and Dev needed to do was get along and work together, and in six months everyone would have a more secure future. The shopkeepers. Vivian’s last set of boarders. And Beth would even own the beloved building that housed her bookstore—something she’d never thought possible.

Dear Lord, help us succeed. Guide us in helping those people. And please, for as long as Dev is here, help me protect my heart.

Dev stepped into the Walker Building and breathed in the musty scents of mold and mice. Light filtered through the grime and cobweb-festooned mullioned windows facing the street, while the back half of the building was cast in deep shadow.

A wide, open staircase rose along the wall to the left, the wooden steps littered with crumbling cardboard boxes overflowing with yellowed newspapers and what appeared to be rags.

He’d had to come back for another look, even if his every decision would now have to be put on hold until he’d met the crazy stipulations in his mother’s will.

On the endless series of flights coming back to the States and during those long days at Walter Reed, he’d had plenty of time to think, and had planned to make this trip into his past as brief as possible.

But now, the charm and peacefulness of the village called out to him with its scents of pine. The sound of Aspen Creek rushing southward over the boulders strewn through its rocky bed. The absolute lushness of the trees and undergrowth and the damp, fertile earth, so unlike the dry and inhospitable climate where he’d spent much of his adult life.

And with those scents, those sounds, came the memories he’d so carefully shelved away. Of jangling sleigh bells and the clopping of draft horse hooves on snow-covered asphalt, come Christmastime, when sleighs served as taxis for the tourists and locals who came into town for all of the Victorian decorations. The sweet, sweet scent of burning leaves and fragrant pumpkin pies and the local parade at the end of October, during the annual Fall Harvest celebration.

He stepped farther into the building and felt a sense of peace in its silence, its massive stone walls. As a child he’d loved this old building, imagining knights on chargers jangling through the stone arches that framed each door and window. Envisioning Merlin and King Arthur sitting before the immense mouth of a fireplace inside, and a damsel peering from one of the soaring stone turrets that rose above the roofline.

Now, the cavernous interior and multitude of windows spoke to him in a different way.

He closed his eyes, imagining the place filled with soft candlelight and the hushed murmurs of diners sitting at tables set with crystal and silver. Or maybe retail shelving, stocked with colorful toys, antiques or camping gear…or even trendy clothing, maybe. The stuff of fun and relaxation, and the bounteous civilian life that allowed people time to savor some of the most beautiful scenery in the world.

And he tried to imagine a time when war would no longer be a part of his life. No reconnaissance missions, no explosions. No rapid-fire, staccato blast of his M249 while he covered his buddies…or the comforting weight of an M16 cradled in his arms.

But that was reality.

Being here was like stepping into an old-fashioned Christmas card that he’d have to file away in a few months, because he might as well be visiting the moon for as much as he could relate to the breezy, small-town atmosphere where the greatest dangers were mosquitoes and the newest crop of inept teenage drivers. He couldn’t even begin to relate to the innocent, cheerful residents who expected to go about their business unharmed every single day, then sleep safe in their own warm beds at night.

Shaking off his thoughts, he wandered through the building, trying to quell the deep sense of longing flickering to life inside his chest.

Each of the four buildings in this block were roughly the same, with thick sandstone walls built to last for centuries, and old glass rippled with age set in the tall, narrow windows. Yet each building also bore unique, whimsical details in the fanciful figures carved into the stone lintels over their doorways, the patterns of the mullioned windows on the second floors, and the ornate details in the rooflines and eaves.

He still couldn’t believe his mother had risked letting any of this fall into the hands of her brother-in-law, unless she’d wanted to insure that Dev would come home to stay, so he could prevent it. Was she really that crafty? Had she no idea of how difficult it would be for him to deal with Beth? Didn’t she care?

Then again, Mom hadn’t really known him at all. He certainly hadn’t come home much, and when he did, he hadn’t stayed long. He was a far, far different person now than he’d been as a boy.

His palm still burned at the remembered touch of Beth’s hand back at the law office, and his conscience nagged at him over how rude he’d been.

On the trip home from D.C. he’d dredged up a few rusty prayers over how he was going to avoid running into his ex-wife. Gutless prayers, to be sure, and since few of his prayers had been answered in battle, he’d figured that the Almighty wasn’t listening anyway.