Always Valentine's Day

“How’s Sloane doing, anyway?” Christopher asked.

“Still the size of a house, last time I heard.” Gabe’s eyes twinkled. “Twins will do that to you.”

They stepped outside into the fresh sea air.

“Hi, Christopher.” Gabe’s wife, Hadley, stood at the rail with their sons, Keegan and Kelsey, her pale hair blowing in the breeze. The slender blonde gave an impression of fragility, but there was a core of strength there as well. And excitement to rival that of her sons, he saw as she waved at the pine-covered islands that dotted the waterway. “Have you ever seen anything so gorgeous?” she demanded.

Gabe stepped forward and kissed her. “Yes.”

She made a show of rolling her eyes, but she didn’t move away, Christopher noticed. “I’m going to take the boys down to play with the other kids and leave you two to relax. There’s some sort of rumor about stuffed penguins somewhere on the ship.”

Gabe dropped a kiss on her temple. “I have a better idea. Let Uncle Christopher show them the penguins, and you can help me find my phone.”

“You’ve lost your phone?” She frowned. “When? Do you remember where you saw it last?”

“On the bed, I think. Under the pillows. Maybe under the covers.”

“I’ll find it, Dad.” Keegan raced inside and began throwing pillows industriously off the bed, chiefly in the direction of his little brother Kelsey, Christopher noticed. Who threw them right back.

“Now you’ve done it,” Hadley said, as the pillow fight escalated.

Gabe put his hands up. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

“Thanks for the thought.” She leaned in and kissed him thoroughly just before the chorus of yelps started inside. “I’d better get in there before they tear the place up. You two have fun.”

Gabe walked in and supervised pillow cleanup, then watched her herd the boys out the door. He headed back outside, this time with the addition of a couple of beers.

“Quite a woman you’ve got there,” Christopher said, taking one.

“Ain’t she, though?” Gabe Trask sat back in one of the deck chairs with a beatific smile.

“Too bad kids put a hitch in the cruise romance stuff.”

“Not at all.” Gabe twisted the cap off his beer and took a swallow. “You just get friendly Uncle Christopher to take them for a walk. A really long walk.”

Christopher eyed him. “What’s it worth to you?”

“You’re not going to make me call in a marker, are you? Who was it who got you the date with Lulu Simmons?”

“Did you forget how that turned out?”

“It’s not my fault that you shut the door on her skirt and ripped her—”

Christopher winced. “Can we talk about something besides my worst high-school moments?”

Gabe gave him a sunny grin. “But it gives us so much to talk about.”

“How about your life as a hotel magnate and sexually deprived father of two?”

“Funny thing about hotels,” Gabe said thoughtfully, “all those beds. I’m betting you’re more sexually deprived than I am.”

“It’s a depressing thought, but you’re probably right.”

“You ever hear from Nicole at all?”

“Not since the divorce came through. I see her in a magazine every now and again.”

“It’s been, what, four years? How long since you’ve had a date?”

“It’s been, what, four years?” Christopher gave a faint smile. “The goats are beginning to look really good.”

“Sick bastard,” Gabe said. “How is life on the farm, anyway?”

Christopher took a swallow of beer. “Hey, how about those Red Sox?”

“I take it that means not so good?”

“There’s a reason they call it subsistence farming. Although I’m not doing all that well on the subsisting side.”

“That’s because you blow all your money on hay parties.”

Once, money hadn’t been a problem, back when he’d been working in D.C., living in the corridors of power with a glossy model wife, an architecturally notable condo on the water, a Manhattan apartment and a stock portfolio that was the envy of any broker. What did it mean that he’d spent a dozen years in pursuit of a goal, only to realize it was the wrong goal, a dozen years in pursuit of the perfect life, only to realize that it was the wrong life?

It had taken him only a few weeks to be sure that farming was what he wanted. He couldn’t say how long it had taken Nicole to know it wasn’t. The drift had been gradual. A modeling job here and there. Weekends in Washington and New York with her friends, then full weeks. Then more.

It had taken a while for him to clue in enough to call it quits. Of course, by that time it had become pretty clear that without the endless round of parties and receptions and dinners, there was little between them. As with a juggler, it had been the furious motion that had given the illusion of substance. Once the motion had stopped, there were only a few small balls on the ground. Or knives, more like, he thought, remembering the acrimonious end.

“So how serious is it?”

Christopher looked out at a hawk circling over a stand of pines on a passing island. “Pretty damned. When I get back, I brush up my resume and start getting the place ready to go up on the block.”

“What the…But what about that deal with Pure Foods you were working on?”

“I’m still working on it. A year and a half into it and we’re no closer to inking a supply agreement than we were at the start.” He rose and walked to the rail. “Their northeast division has twelve grocery stores across New England. I doubled the size of my herd to be able to supply them with the amount of product they wanted. I’ve got chèvre coming out of my ears, but now they’re dragging their feet and telling me I need to be certified by some sustainable agriculture group before they’ll start buying from me. That’s going to cost a few grand and take at least another six months. In the meantime, the money just keeps bleeding away.”

“Get a loan to tide you over.”

“Gabe, don’t you get it?” he said sharply. “I can’t. I’m cut off at the bank. The money’s gone, all of it. Even if Pure Foods comes through, it still might be too little, too late.”

“Borrow money from the family.”

“From who? My mom and dad are retired. Molly and Jacob are just barely running in the black after they lost all those trees. You and Hadley are still paying off the note on that national historic landmark you run.” He shook his head. “I’m out of options, Gabe. Face it. I have.”

“What about—”

“Give it a rest,” he snapped. Letting out a long, slow breath, he counted to three. “Look, I just want to have a week here to relax and not think about it, okay? Not worry about how to pay the feed bill, not wonder if my payroll checks are going to bounce. Just forget it all and…chill.”

Gabe stared at him for a long moment and then nodded slowly. “You got it, Vanilla Ice. Just one more thing.”

“What?”

“I think it’s going to take a few more beers to do it right.”

Christopher relaxed and dredged up a smile from somewhere. “You know, you’re probably right.” He came back to his chair and picked up his beer to take a drink, then stopped. “Vanilla Ice?”

Gabe smiled broadly. “I’m thinking somewhere inside you there’s a blonde.”

Chapter Two

“So how did you manage to get them to let you on?” Larkin asked Carter as a white-jacketed waiter appeared from behind them to top off their wineglasses. The main dining room filled the stern of the ship. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, crystal gleamed by candlelight. A wall of windows ran around the edge of the room, revealing the rocks and pines of the Alaskan coast in the preternatural 9:00 p.m. daylight.

“How did I get on? I had to run for it. Paid a couple of stevedores a day’s wages to carry my bags. A bargain, if you ask me.”

“And they let you through security and customs?”

He raised his glass. “Amazing how a few tips will grease the skids. I paid, we all ran and I got there just as they were starting to pull the gangway in.”

It was impossible to miss the gleam in his eyes. “You enjoyed it.”

“Anyone can do things the easy way,” he said by way of answer as their waiter set appetizers of saffron langoustine in puff pastry before them.

Larkin’s lips curved. “So where were you coming from this time?”

“Shenzhen, China. There’s a factory out there I wanted to get a look at.”

“A factory? I thought you worked the market.”

He forked up a langoustine. “I’ve been dipping into a little bit of venture cap activity the past few years. I’m looking at funding a company with operations out there.”

“You’re dealing with actual companies now? I thought you said hands-on stuff was for suckers,” she said, cutting into her puff pastry.

Carter shrugged. “Everything gets boring after a while, even making money.”

Fork in hand, Larkin stared. “Wait a minute, you can’t be my father. You must be an impostor.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I still like working the market. That’s never going to go away. But I need a change of pace. Something different.”

“And was the factory different?”

“That’s one word for it,” he said in amusement.

“I take it you’re going to hold on to your money for now.”

“You take it right.” He took a swallow of wine. “Speaking of money, I talked with Walter a couple of weeks ago.”

At the name of her father’s lawyer—and her trust-fund administrator—Larkin glanced up. “Is that how you knew where to find me?”

Carter nodded. “He tells me your fund is getting pretty low. Says you’ve been tapping into the principal.”

She flushed. “Not much. I’m doing all right.” Okay, maybe that was overstating the case a little. The fund she’d come into when she’d turned eighteen hadn’t been enormous, and she could have been smarter in the way she’d managed it. She’d spent the better part of her early twenties living in one city after another, until one day she’d realized that she wasn’t looking for a home, she was looking for herself. That hadn’t made what she was looking for any easier to find, but it made it easier to stay in one place.

“You need more money?” Carter asked.

“I seem to remember you telling me once I needed to get a job,” she said. “I got one.”

“I heard. Modeling, right? I had the impression you were dabbling more than anything.”

“I’m happy to dabble for a thousand dollars an hour.” She gave a faint smile. “There’s a certain cachet to being the daughter of somebody who shows up on the power lists from time to time.”

“Nice to know I can be helpful,” Carter said dryly.

For a few moments they just toyed with the food on their plates. Larkin was the first to jump.

“So what made you pick up the phone?”

“Outside of the fact that we haven’t spoken in over five years?”

She looked down at the tablecloth. “I never wanted that to happen.”

“Neither did I.” Long seconds went by. “I suppose you heard that Celine and I split up.”

Larkin didn’t say anything.

“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Carter said.

“What?”

“Not saying ‘I told you so.’”

She looked at him directly. “That was never what it was about.”

“What was it about?”

“Not wanting to see you make another mistake. Wanting you to be fair to yourself for once, to look at a wife as closely as you did a stock.” She stopped, aware she’d gone too far—and far too soon. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the place or the time…”

He watched her, eyes steady. “You’ve grown up.”

“Five years will do that.”

“I’m sorry I missed it.”

“You could have called sooner.”

“So could you.”

“Celine,” she said simply.

He sighed and looked out the window at the shoreline, white sand broken up with the dark lines of beached logs.

Bitter words, bitter times, hard to get past. Larkin remembered staring at the invitation written on handcrafted linen paper, announcing Carter’s impending wedding to a woman she’d distrusted on sight. Don’t do this, she’d pleaded. Give it time, for once. The argument had escalated, somehow turning back on her. Suddenly it wasn’t about Celine being after his money; it was about Larkin. For every point she’d taken Carter to task on, he’d returned a barb that had unerringly struck home. She had no business accusing him of being rash and impulsive when she’d never once finished anything. Who was she to talk about Celine when she’d never done anything constructive herself?

The battle had reverberated through both of their lives long after the echoes of the words had faded away. She hadn’t expected it to last, but somehow the years had worn on. And now, it appeared, bridging the gap wasn’t going to be as easy as either of them had hoped.

The silence stretched out as the waiters removed their plates and set out their entrées, chateaubriand for Carter and butter-poached lobster for Larkin. In the background, the pianist played “Blue Moon.” Across the room there was a burst of laughter from a large table, the enormous family she’d seen that afternoon. That was how it should be, she thought. Not silence but joy.

They were all grouped together any old way, brothers and sisters, fathers and daughters. The silver-haired matriarch threw back her head in delighted laughter. Larkin glanced over and realized that Carter was watching them, as well, her own wistfulness mirrored in his eyes. Once upon a time they’d been a family like that.

Once upon a time, when her mother had been alive.

Abruptly she had to get out. “Excuse me.” She rose. “I’ll be right back.”

In the ladies’ room, she washed her hands in cold water, touching her cool fingertips to her forehead, adjusting the straps of her ruby silk halter dress. Fifteen years had passed since Beth Hayes had been killed by a drunk driver. Months at a time could pass without Larkin thinking of her, but every once in a while, like an ambush, she’d find herself overwhelmed by a wave of loss, an absence screamingly present.

She shook her head. Pointless to think of what might have been. Carter had done what he’d been able to, and if it had left her permanently wary of any and all relationships, that was her problem.

She ran her fingers through her hair and walked out the door.

Her destination was the dining room. Somehow, though, she found herself climbing the stairs that led to the fantail, instead, stepping outside to gulp deep breaths of the cool air. To either side, tree-covered mountains rose straight up from the water in a landscape that looked too wild for human habitation. The sun was finally setting, its ruddy rays slanting across the deck. The space was empty, quiet, with just the breeze for company.

Something different, Carter had said. Larkin knew how he felt. The restlessness had been brewing for months. Usually when it hit, she moved to another city, but she’d sworn off that. A change of scenery wasn’t the cure. She needed something more.

There was a sound behind her. “I thought that was you,” a voice said.

And she turned to see Christopher Trask.

She’d breathe, Larkin thought, in a moment. When she’d met him that afternoon, he’d been casual, appealingly rumpled. Now he stood before her in black slacks and a charcoal-gray silk shirt that made his shoulders look very wide. The effect was simple, sophisticated and sexy as hell. The man she’d met that afternoon clearly worked with his hands; the man before her belonged in an expensive gallery or on the scene of a sleek nightclub so new that celebrities didn’t even know about it.

He grinned. “I told you the ship wasn’t that big.”

She turned to face him, her back to the rail. “Nice to see you’ve survived so far.”

“Nice to see you, period,” he said. “Dinner dress suits you.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself.”

“I do my best. So how’s the first night aboard going?”

“It’s been…interesting,” she decided.

“It can’t be too interesting if you’re standing up here all alone. Didn’t your father make it onto the ship? I thought I saw you with him earlier.”

“Oh, he’s here,” she said. “Back in the dining room, actually. I just wanted to step outside for a minute. I just can’t get over all the daylight.”

He stepped closer to her. “It’s that whole midnight sun thing. It must make it hard on kids. No sneaking out at night.”

“And why do I think that that was an integral part of your repertoire growing up?” she asked, slanting a look at him.

“Ah, come on, it’s a part of summer, like watermelon and baseball. Are you telling me you never snuck out at night when everyone else was asleep? Just to see what it felt like to be outside and on your own when nobody knew about it?”

She could feel that sense of freedom beckoning just outside the window, that breathless sense of adventure. Or maybe she just felt breathless because he was so near, close enough she could feel the heat from his body.

“You’ve sneaked out now, haven’t you?” His voice was low. “You’re supposed to be in at dinner but you’re here.”

“I just—” Wanted something different. “Wanted some air. What are you doing up here?”

“I saw you.” The sunset turned his skin copper and made his eyes look dark. For an instant, she couldn’t look away. For a humming moment, a kind of a pure, distilled need surged between them. On a ship with three thousand other people, it felt like they were alone in the fading light. She could get lost in this man, Larkin thought suddenly.

She swallowed. “I should get back,” she said and turned to the doors. The motion of the ship sent her steps off course.

Christopher caught her arm to stabilize her. “Careful.”

She felt the imprint of each individual finger on her skin, warm, distinct from the growing chill in the air. Anticipation jumped in her stomach. Careful.

“You don’t want to fall,” he added softly, slipping his fingers down to her hand and raising it to his lips.

Heat bloomed within her. The seconds spun out as it flared into desire, and all she could do was stare. There was something hypnotic about his eyes, the warmth of his lips against her hand, something that made it impossible to think of anything except how they would feel against hers. She didn’t intend to lean in toward him. She simply had no choice.

His mouth was soft on hers. It was barely a kiss, just a light brush, yet she felt it everywhere. That so little could take her so far would have been terrifying if she’d been able to think of anything except the flush of heat, the shiver of excitement, the coursing of a need that could become all-consuming.

He hadn’t moved to hold her. He didn’t touch her otherwise except for that tantalizing brush of lips, that light graze that fired up every neuron in her body, making her pulse with the need for more. It was tease. It was invitation.

It was promise.

The restlessness she’d been feeling flared into hunger. Intellectually, she knew that whatever it was she yearned for couldn’t come from another person, any more than a quartet of wives had done it for her father. But she wanted Christopher Trask, oh, she wanted him.

Behind them, the doors opened and a chattering group of people walked out. “Whoops,” someone said loudly, “looks like we’re interrupting.”

It had her stepping back, her eyes flying open only to leave her feeling that she was still in a dream. “Well,” she said blankly.

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘wow.’”

Larkin shook her head to get her mind working again. “I should…”

“Have a drink with me,” he supplied.

Forget about the drink, she just wanted him. But she had obligations. “It’s the first night. I haven’t seen my father in forever. I need to go back in.”

Christopher nodded and touched his hand lightly to the small of her back as they started toward the doors. “Later, then.”

Just a flick of a glance from him was all it took to start the pull again, but she couldn’t just disappear on Carter. She wasn’t twenty years old and here to find a guy to hook up with.

But what a guy.

She moved a little bit away from him as they walked through the doors to the dining room, but when she glanced toward her table, she stopped.

“What?”

“My father’s gone.”

“You sure you’ve got the right table? It’s a big dining room.”

“Of course it’s the right table. Over by the window, beyond the planter.”

Christopher looked where she gestured and raised his eyebrows. “You were gone a long time. Maybe he had to go see a man about a dog.”

“I suppose,” she said, and hesitated. “Let me see how dinner goes. Maybe we can have that drink after all.”

“Better yet, come to our table.”

“But my fath—”

“At least until he comes back. You can protect me from the nieces and nephews. Show off some of your American Gladiators chops.” He steered them that way before she could protest further.

She shouldn’t have been even remotely surprised that he walked up to the family at the big table. Up close, the sense of fun and pleasure shimmered around them. Although they were finishing up dessert and coffee, nearly everyone in the Trask family appeared to be more interested in talking and laughing than in food. A blond beachboy type held a woman on his lap—girlfriend or wife, judging by the kiss he planted on her hair. A pair of men with enough similarity in their dark good looks to make them brothers held an energetic debate about baseball and someone named Papi. Sophia was absorbed in a fast, complicated version of patty-cake with a tow-headed little boy who was the spitting image of the delicate-looking white blonde next to her, who in turn laughed with a mischievous-looking woman with a pixie’s cap of brunette curls. It was a chaotic, all-ages blend of people thoroughly enjoying being together.

“Hi, Larkin!” Sophia broke off her hand-slapping to wave.

“Hey, guys,” Christopher said to them all. “I brought a stowaway for dessert. This is Larkin. Let’s see, Larkin, this is my sister Lainie and her husband J.J.—” He pointed to the beach boy. “You know Sophia, and she’s playing with Kelsey, who’s the son of Hadley, there, and my cousin Gabe.” One of the dark-haired men raised his hand. “The guy next to him is my other cousin Jacob, and his wife Celie’s the one talking to Hadley, and—”

“Stop, Christopher,” protested Celie, the brunette pixie. “You’ve got her head spinning. Just let the poor thing sit.” A hint of a French accent colored her words.

“So where’s Aunt Molly?” Christopher asked, standing near Larkin.

“She went to the ladies’ room. A while ago, now that I think about it. She should be back soon.”

“In fact, she’s here now,” said an amused voice.

Larkin turned, and found herself startled into silence. There was no doubt where the Trask boys had gotten their good looks. Molly Trask’s face held a quiet loveliness, enough to have attracted an escort, Larkin saw. She extended her hand. “I’m Larkin.”

“The one who caught Sophia? I’m so pleased to meet you, Larkin,” Molly said warmly. “I’m Molly Trask. And this is—”

“My father—”

“Carter Hayes,” Christopher said simultaneously.

“What?” Larkin whipped her head around to stare at him.

“What are you doing over here?” Carter asked.

“You weren’t at the table. I came over with—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“This is Larkin, my daughter,” Carter told Molly.

“We’re going to need a bigger table,” Gabe said.

There was an after-dinner quiet to the decks as they all walked back to their rooms. The group of them had lingered over coffee and liqueur until the children had started yawning, worn out by the excitement of the day. Now Jacob carried his youngest son while Celie and Hadley shepherded the rest.

“We’ll be leaving at nine tomorrow morning for the glacier flight,” Carter said to everyone as they stepped out of the elevator. “We’ve got four open seats, so whoever wants to come is welcome.”

Christopher wasn’t surprised that Carter and Larkin had rooms on the luxury deck. Carter probably could have booked every suite on the ship with his pocket change alone. He walked along with Molly now, to escort her to her room on the portside hallway. Judging by the weather eye Jacob gave him as the rest of the family followed, that was all he was going to do.