Holiday Homecoming

“A missed date?”

“A missed appointment,” Jack said, tossing back the last of his brandy. “She was here on business and I wasn’t.”

Cain didn’t ask what “business.” “Does she have anything to do with you wanting to change your life?”

“Not directly,” Jack said as he got up and carried both empty glasses to the bar. He came back, handed Cain a new drink, then sat to face him again. “To the future…to whatever it holds,” he said as he raised his own glass.

Cain answered his salute. “Yes, to whatever it holds.”

HOLLY MARIE WINSTON felt flushed, and even though it was freezing outside, she turned the heater in her small blue car to its lowest setting. She drove out through the entry gates of the Inn at Silver Creek and went north, heading away from the Inn’s almost oppressive luxury.

She’d all but decided not to meet with Jack Prescott, but had known she had to. She’d called up to Jack Prescott’s suite from the front desk, and a man named Malone had met her at the private elevator. He’d let her in, said that Mr. Prescott would be right with her, then left through the private side entrance.

She’d waited for half an hour, horribly uncomfortable in the suite that had been empty when she’d arrived. She’d stood amid Jack Prescott’s luxury, and gazed out the windows toward the ski runs and beyond to the mountain. Her mountain. That wouldn’t change. She’d known that she shouldn’t have come. She wasn’t even going to stay to tell Prescott the mountain wasn’t for sale. She’d left and that was when she’d come face-to-face with Cain Stone.

Her heart was still beating faster than it should from the brief encounter with the man, from the moment her eyes had met his. Cain Stone. Light snow started to fall, and she flipped on her windshield wipers, then her headlights to cut into the gray failing light of late afternoon.

She’d felt relieved that Jack hadn’t kept their appointment, and she’d felt a sense of freedom, resolving to call him later and tell him her land wasn’t for sale. The euphoria had lasted until the elevator door had opened and Cain Stone had stood in front of her.

She’d never seen him in person, only in pictures, but she hadn’t been prepared for the height of the man—a few inches over six feet—or the width of the shoulders covered by an obviously expensive leather jacket. Long legs were encased in dark slacks, and he’d had a presence that had almost stopped her breathing when she’d first met his blue eyes.

Burning anger had surged through her. And it had grown when she saw him studying her, almost smiling, as if he were going to exchange pleasantries with her. The anger had overwhelmed her; all she’d thought about was getting out of there as quickly as she could, to get to anyplace she could breathe. She grimaced when she thought about how she’d almost run from him and about her last look back at him.

She flexed her hands on the steering wheel when she realized she was holding it in a death grip. She slowed as she passed the last of the property that Jack Prescott owned and kept going north. After a few minutes, she took a left turn onto a narrow road that climbed high up the mountain.

Cain Stone had obviously been going to see Jack Prescott, and that made sense. They’d been friends for years. Or maybe they were two big wheelers and dealers doing business. That was the only reason she’d been there. Business.

She slowed even more as the climb increased and stared straight ahead, thankful that the road had been cleared enough for her to use it. Then she saw her turnoff, went left again, onto a narrow road that had been plowed only on one side, so that just a single car at a time could use it. The snow was pilled high on the right, where the mountain soared into the sky. There was little to no bank of cleared snow on her left, because the land dropped away, out of sight.

She went as far as the snowplow had cleared, then stopped, shut off the motor and got out. The air was bitingly cold up here, and a wind had come up, sweeping in a strange moaning sound across the deep snow, through the blanketed pines and into the gorge. She pulled her hat lower and pushed her hands into her pockets. She hadn’t been up here since she’d gotten back in town. She hadn’t thought about the place until Jack had contacted her. Now she wanted to see it again.

She walked into the untouched snow that covered the roadway, thankful she had on her calf-high boots. As the ridges swept back farther from the road she spotted what she was looking for. The snow all but obscured the driveway to the cabin, but a huge single pine at the road marked it for her. The same tree, feet taller now, but still there under the heavy weight of snow.

She climbed the steep grade, and she knew she wouldn’t see the cabin until she hit the rise in the drive. Moments later it was there, the old cabin, appearing incredibly small, dwarfed by the huge pines that canopied its steeply pitched roof. She made her way to the wraparound porch, the only place with any protection from the snow.

She felt her foot hit the wood stairs, then she went up onto the porch and over to the door. She turned back to glance at the way she’d just walked, seeing her footsteps in the virgin snow. She was probably the first person to be here since her father had died. Her mother had been dead for ten years, and Annie, her half sister, wouldn’t have any reason to trek up here. The place was Holly’s, and now she was here. But as she looked around, she didn’t want to be here alone.

Memories of her as a child driving up here for her weekly visits with her father rushed at her. She shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. Not today, she suddenly decided. She’d return when she was prepared to go inside and walk back into the part of the world she’d left behind her when she’d gone away from Silver Creek.

For a moment, in the frigid silence all around her, she felt an isolation that was almost painful. Maybe she’d thought that coming to the mountain would bring back that slim connection she’d had with her father. But there was nothing like that today. She exhaled, her breath curling into the cold air, then she walked away, stepping in her own footprints as she headed back to her car.

Her cell phone rang in her pocket just as she got to the end of the snowed-in driveway, startling her. She had no idea there was service up here. Even in town, the reception could be spotty at best. She took her cell phone out, flipped it open and saw a number that she recognized. She hit Send and said, “Mr. Prescott?”

“‘Jack,’ please, and I’m sorry I missed you. Can we reschedule?”

She kept walking. “There’s no reason to.” She was at her car now, and breathing hard from her efforts, or maybe from the tension starting to creep into her neck. Probably a mixture of both. “I’m not selling.”

“You said we could talk.”

“I thought about it, but I was at the Inn to tell you that I’m keeping the cabin and the land.”

She got in the car, started the motor, closed the door as he spoke in her ear. “Don’t make this—” his words began to break up “—discuss this and we—” Another break.

“It’s a bad connection,” she said, flipping the heater onto High.

“Mrs. Winston?” he said, louder now. “Are you—”

“I’ll call you later,” she said and didn’t wait to hear if he answered or not. She shut the phone and tossed it on the seat beside her. “But the answer is still no,” she said to the emptiness around her.

She turned in her seat to back down the road, and when she got to the main road, she headed south to Silver Creek. Her phone rang again. She checked the LED readout, saw it was Jack Prescott and let the call go to her message box. A moment later she got the beep that said she had a new voice mail. She ignored that, too.

She passed the entrance to the resort, glanced at the gates that were open to let a huge, silver SUV out. Cain Stone was behind the wheel, she noted. She hit the gas, heard her tires squeal slightly, and knew he’d probably glanced up at the sound. But she didn’t wait to find out. She headed for town, looking neither right nor left at the skiing community, or at the Christmas decorations stretched high over the street lined with old brick and stone buildings.

By the time she’d pulled into the side parking area of the three-story Silver Creek Hotel, she was shaking. She sat in the car and stared at the building, the original hotel in Silver Creek, built during the silver strikes in the mid-1800s. Annie and her husband had bought it a few years earlier and restored it, saving it from becoming a boutique or a specialty coffee shop. Holly took several deep breaths, then made herself get out of her car and go inside.

She went into the warm air of the lobby, into a world of the past, with rich woods and brass everywhere. The old-fashioned check-in desk, with an antique pigeonhole letter sorter hung behind it, filled the far wall. The fragrance of gingerbread touched the air, and Christmas carols played softly in the background. “Annie?” she called at the same moment her half sister came through a curtained opening behind the desk.

Annie had Sierra in her arms, and once the two-year-old saw her mother, she wiggled out of Annie’s arms and darted across the polished plank floors right for Holly. “Mommy!” she squealed as she threw herself into her mother’s arms.

Holly swept her daughter up and hugged her, not realizing how tightly she was holding onto Sierra until the little girl squirmed and pushed back. Her daughter had the same hair as hers, a coppery red, done in braids that Annie had taken time fashioning. Her chubby face was sprinkled with freckles and her eyes were as blue as the overalls she was wearing. Holly found herself hoping that eye color was all Sierra had gotten from her father.

Holly let Sierra down, watched her run back behind the desk, then go into the room beyond the curtain. Annie stayed behind the desk. “Don’t worry,” she said, “Uncle Rick’s in there to watch her.” Then she asked, “So, was Jack mad, or did he up the offer?”

Holly moved closer to Annie. Her half sister was taller than her, with nondescript brown hair, gray eyes and a face wreathed in smiles. Holly was always amazed at how upbeat Annie was almost all the time. Maybe it was the fact they had two different fathers. Annie’s father, Norman Day, had died when Annie was four, so she barely remembered him. But the people around town still said what a wonderful man he’d been.

A year after Norman’s death, their mother had married Scott Jennings, Holly’s dad. The people around town hadn’t liked him then, and still didn’t speak well of him. She’d never figured out why her mother had married him, or why they’d only been married long enough for her to be born before her dad had gone to live at his cabin and her mother had stayed in town to work at the diner. “He never showed for the meeting.”

Annie heard laughter from Sierra behind the curtains and called without looking back, “Rick, make sure she doesn’t kill the gingerbread men.”

“One down, eleven to go,” her husband called back.

Annie laughed but didn’t take her eyes off Holly. “If he didn’t show, then you have more time to think this through and make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Holly skimmed her yellow knit hat off and pushed it in her pocket, then undid her jacket. “I’m not selling,” she said.

“Why not?” Annie asked. “Just tell me why you’re not going to take all that money and laugh all the way to the bank?”

Holly shrugged. “The cabin’s mine,” she said. “It’s…” She bit off the rest of her words—It’s all I have left of Dad. Annie wouldn’t understand that at all. She was one of the people who had hated Scott Jennings. “It’s what I have for Sierra, for her future. It’s really all I have.”

Annie exhaled. “I know, but if you think about it—”

“Annie, no, I’ve made up my mind.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’s yours. You can do what you want with it, and I understand it’s all that your dad left you. Mom didn’t have anything.” Annie’s smile was fading now, and Holly never doubted that Annie blamed Scott Jennings for a lot. Then she flicked her eyes over Holly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Holly shook her head. “You didn’t. It’s not you,” she admitted.

Annie watched Holly. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Who.”

“Oh, not Travis again,” she said, with absolutely no smile now. “That crummy son-of-a—”

“It’s nothing to do with Travis.” Her ex-husband had actually left her alone since she’d returned to Silver Creek. “He’s doing his thing somewhere, and he doesn’t have time to worry about me or Sierra.”

“Then what is it?”

“Cain Stone. I just saw him.”

Annie’s eyes widened and her lips formed a perfect circle of surprise. “Where?”

“At the Inn.” Memory flashed of the moment she’d spotted him, that second when she’d realized who he was and when she’d felt all the anger she’d had for so long, about so many things. “I think he was going up to see Jack Prescott.”

Annie eyed her. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing. I left.” She ran. “What good would it do to say anything to him? He wouldn’t care. They don’t call him ‘Stone Cold’ for nothing.”

Annie shrugged. “We never called him that, but I’m sure we called him ‘Raising Cain’ more than once.”

Holly reflected on the blue eyes—hard, cold blue eyes—of the man she’d seen today. A man who, she’d bet, never lost any sleep over the chaos he left in his wake. “I’m sure that fits, too,” she murmured.

Chapter Two

When Cain stepped into one of the most exclusive cabins at the Inn, one that was usually kept available for some of Jack’s high-profile celebrities who used the Inn to “disappear” from their hectic lives for a while, he was already wondering when he could go back to Las Vegas. The multilevel cabin, nestled in the rugged land near the ski slopes, had more than a thousand square feet but only three rooms. The bedroom took up the whole top level, with views of the ski runs and, in the distance, the resort and the town. The living area was a rambling space, with two fireplaces, three levels and supple leather everywhere. The kitchen took up almost a third of the lower level.

But he barely glanced at it. Instead, he found the phone nearest the entrance, made a few quick calls to check on business, then crossed to the windows and looked out at the late afternoon. If he had to stay, skiing seemed particularly inviting. Yet it was too late. The light was still okay, but here when the sun went down, skiing it was over for the day. He didn’t want to use the main slope, which had lights on twenty-four hours a day. No, he wanted the slope he remembered as a kid, to get the rush he remembered when he’d skied the Killer years ago.

He headed for the door. He had no idea where Jack was, so he got in his SUV and headed for the gates. Once he’d driven off the grounds of the resort, he headed south to Silver Creek. The Inn was two miles north of the main part of town, with a buffer of empty land in between.

He drove away from the world of the rich and famous to the world of Silver Creek, the town he’d grown up in. He’d never been given to nostalgia, always reasoning that you had to have good memories to indulge in that sort of thing. But at the moment, he felt an odd sense of longing to see the town again. Not the main street, but the back parts, the parts he remembered from his childhood.

He drove along the snow-lined streets at a snail’s pace. The town was overrun with the influx of skiers and with businesses catering to their needs. There were upscale restaurants, convenience stores, boutiques and supply stores that held every sort of ski product you could imagine. When he’d been here years ago, skiing had been a sport you did, usually on raw runs that you cut yourself. Now skiers lined up at the lifts, bought tickets and skied where they were told to ski.

In the old-town section, he glanced at the buildings that had been refurbished and repurposed into boutiques, ski supply places, coffee shops and souvenir corners. A few held to their origins, like Rusty’s Diner on the east side of the street, a plain place with good food and still managed by Rusty himself. Rollie’s Garage, the same garage that Rollie Senior had operated years ago was still there, now run by his son. On a side street he saw the original police station, where Joshua’s father had been sheriff all those years ago.

Although he now knew where he was going, he hadn’t realized it until that moment he saw Eureka Street. He slowed to a crawl when he approached the only building to the right. The old, two-story brick structure appeared the same, pretty much how it had when he’d been a sixteen-year-old sneaking out at dawn on a day as cold and snowy as this one.

He felt drawn back into the past, and despite the painfully new sign above the double-door entry, Silver Creek Medical Clinic, he could have been a kid again. Back then the sign over the doors had read Silver Creek Children’s Shelter—a euphemism for orphanage. He pulled onto the half-circle drive that ran past the entry. Snow was piled high on either side, but a section had been cleared to make it easy for anyone to get to the doors.

He stared at the building for a long moment, at the lights spilling out the bottom windows onto the snow and the deep shadows on either side. The place looked old and dark, the way it always had, and he barely controlled a sudden shudder. He’d thought he’d go in and find Gordie, but now he decided against it. He’d didn’t want to step onto the green tiled floors or hear the empty echo that seemed to always be in the old building. He’d see Gordie at the Inn.

He meant to drive out to the street, then go back to the Inn, but he found himself stopping at the end of the drive and looking at the school directly across the street from the clinic. His gaze skimmed the old brick building, the Christmas decorations in the tall, narrow windows of the bottom floor and two huge wreaths on the double front doors at the top of recently cleared concrete steps. The only change was the fairly new six-foot-high chain-link fence that enclosed the whole area, including the parking lot. The lot’s double gates were open, and a snowplow sat idly nearby. A fraction of the lot had been cleared before whoever drove the plow had stopped for the day.

Cain went straight across the street, through the open gates and onto the asphalt parking area. He passed the still plow and slipped into one of the few cleared parking slots, one of five or six fronted by blue signs designating the user. He felt a hint of a smile when he chose the one marked “Reserved for the Principal” instead of the one marked “Reserved for the Librarian.”

Over the school’s main doors a banner rippled in the wind, proclaiming CHRISTMAS FESTIVAL, DEC. 24, 7:00 P.M. They’d had Christmas programs when he’d been there, but he’d never had anyone to come and see him. After the concert he got the candy canes the town Santa handed out. Everyone had known the Santa was Charlie Sloan’s dad, a cop at the police station. But they’d all pretended to be excited and believe he was the Santa.

Cain hadn’t bothered with the make-believe. He’d taken what he could, then gone back to the orphanage, to wake up on Christmas morning to a neatly wrapped present that had always held clothes some well-meaning town person had donated to the orphanage. He hadn’t expected much else. It had simply been his life. Just as his life now was his life. But now it was all up to him to get what he wanted, instead of waiting for some Good Samaritan to give the “poor orphan” something he needed.

He hadn’t had the desire to go into the clinic moments earlier, but now he found himself getting out of his car to go into the school. Snow was starting to fall softly from the gray heavens, and it brushed his face. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as he went toward the entry and took the steps in a single stride.

He pushed against the heavy wood-and-glass doors, but the door was locked tight. He cupped his hands on the cold glass and leaned to peer inside. Security lights showed the expansive center hallway. Lockers lined both sides of the walls, and the same highly polished tiles were still on the floor. Christmas was everywhere, from the paper garlands looping high on the walls to the Christmas tree, done in red, green, silver and gold, just inside the door.

He could almost see the kids in the hallway, the bustle of life, back then. He could remember the smell of new books and new pencils, the shouts of friends heard above the daily announcements blaring over the loudspeakers. Then that was gone, and all he felt was an emptiness that was almost tangible to him. He pulled back from the door, ready to leave. But as he turned to go, he saw a small blue car turn into the parking area, disappear behind the large plow for a moment, then come back into view as it pulled into the slot he’d forgone, the one for the librarian.

The windows in the car were partially fogged up, but he could make out a single occupant. The motor stopped, the door opened and he found himself looking at the woman from the elevator. She stepped out into the cold, and glanced up at him, her forehead tugged into a frown under her bright yellow knit cap.

“You,” she said, her breath curling into the cold air, the single word sounding like an accusation.

He wasn’t an egotist, but most women didn’t study him as if he were an insect. At that moment, this woman was regarding him with the same contempt she’d shown earlier. At least, he thought that was the expression on her face as she hurried over to the stairs and came up quickly to stand one step below him. She was just as tiny as he remembered. Now, standing on the step above her as he was, he towered over her by at least a foot.

She tilted her face up, and he saw tendrils of her brilliant hair that had escaped her yellow knit cap clinging to her temple and her cheek. Her amber eyes were narrowed on him as if she didn’t like what she saw, and her voice was brusque when she asked, “What are you doing here?”

He found himself forcing a smile, but there was no humor in him at all. “I’m going to blow the place up,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “How about you?”

Red suddenly dotted her cheeks and her expression tightened even more. She exhaled in a rush. “You don’t belong here.”

He wouldn’t argue with that. He never had belonged here. Not here, not anywhere. “I went to this school back in the Stone Age, and I was just looking around.”

“For old times’ sake?” she muttered.

He shrugged. That was as good an explanation as any he could come up with at the moment. “Sure, old times’ sake.” He hadn’t meant to be sarcastic then, but he was. He glanced down, and saw a ring of keys in her gloved hand. “What are you doing here with keys?”

“I work here. I teach second grade, or I will be teaching second grade when school’s back in session after the holidays.”

A teacher? He never had a teacher like her when he was here. “Well, I won’t keep you,” he murmured, and went down the stairs.

He couldn’t tell if he heard her say “Goodbye” as he walked away, but he heard the door open, then close, followed by the sound of a lock being set. As he got in his car and settled behind the wheel, he realized he didn’t even know her name. He’d never asked. He glanced back at the school and was taken aback to see the woman with no name looking out the glass top of the door at him. And the woman with no name wasn’t smiling.

Cain read people well. He could size up someone at ten feet and be pretty close to being right about the person. Maybe owning a casino had something to do with having that particular skill, or maybe it was a skill he’d honed throughout his life. Strangers had come and strangers had gone, and it had always been up to him to figure out why anyone was near him, and what they wanted from him.

But this woman baffled him, this woman didn’t fit into any of the categories he used when he labeled people. She was pretty enough, in a small, delicate way. A teacher. And she hated him.

He drove out of the parking lot, even though he had the most overwhelming need to go back and confront her. He just wanted to understand. But he didn’t turn back. He drove north, and by the time he got to the Inn and his cabin, he realized he’d never confront her. He’d never see her again. He’d leave, and she’d be teaching her hellions at the start of the new year. He shrugged as he went in a side door to his cabin, into comfortable heat. What she thought of him just didn’t matter.