“I know it’s difficult for you to understand, Gina,” her father had replied, “but when you’ve been so close to the top that you can taste it, well, it can be hard to admit it’s not going to happen.”
Her mother had clamped her lips together, risen from the table, marched into the kitchen and almost immediately reappeared, her eyes bright with anger.
“Maybe what’s even more difficult,” she’d said in a tone Wendy had never heard her use before, “is admitting you never were that close to the top, Howard.”
Wendy closed her eyes. That had brought things to a stop, all right. Blood had rushed to her father’s face. He’d said nothing, just put down his knife and fork and left the room. Her mother had plopped into her chair, shoved aside her plate and knotted her hands together. Wendy had sat in silence, wishing she were a thousand miles away.
She’d grown up hearing her father talk about how close he’d come to the Olympics, and the rewards that followed when you came home with a medal. When she was little, she’d hung on every word, fascinated by his stories, puffing with pride when he’d say that she had his talent and more. Her mother had always cheered her on but, come to think of it, she’d never said much about her husband’s stories.
And Gina’s loss of temper at dinner was rare. Rare? The truth was Wendy couldn’t recall it ever happening before.
Eventually, her mom had muttered something about not being very hungry. Wendy had said she wasn’t, either. Together, they’d cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then Wendy had gone to her father’s study.
“Daddy,” she’d murmured, unsure of what to say next. But her father had looked up from the papers on his desk and spoken before she could come up with anything else.
“The waiting has made your mother understandably anxious,” he’d told her calmly. “She’s upset because we don’t know if Pommier will agree to the surgery, that’s all.”
She’s upset because she thinks the surgery’s a mistake, Wendy had almost said, but why make a difficult situation worse? Instead, she’d hugged him and told him she understood. Then she’d gone up to her room, where she’d found Gina waiting for her.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your father’s feelings,” her mother had told her. “He was a fine skier. You get all your talent from him. I’m just... Don’t let him pressure you into anything, sweetie. Okay?”
Wendy had hugged her, the same as she’d hugged her father. She’d said the same thing, too, that she understood. And reviewing it all now as she stood inside the doorway of Twin Oaks, she assured herself that she did understand. Her father was only being supportive. He wasn’t trying to live his life through her, as Seth seemed to think.
Did her mother think that, too?
“Hi.”
Wendy looked up. Clint Cooper was smiling at her from the archway that led to the front parlor, a room he and his sister had dubbed the gathering room.
“Hi.” Wendy smiled in return. “Sorry if I’m late.”
“You’re early. It’s only a quarter to six.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good. I thought I’d get here a little ahead of time so you could show me the ropes, but I, uh, I was held up.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. Still snowing, huh?”
“Right,” she said quickly, gratefully. “It’s really picking up and there’s that dip in the road on School Street where there’s a mean stretch of black ice.”
“Uh-huh. In New York City, you get potholes. Here, you get black ice.” Clint grinned. “Sometimes I think I ought to write a letter to the mayor of New York and tell him I’m sorry for all the times I cursed him over those potholes. I’d rather deal with them than with a thin sheet of ice that’s almost invisible on a dark asphalt surface.”
Wendy smiled again. Too much smiling and her new boss would think she was crazy, but it was better than crying, which was what she’d felt like doing, if only for a moment.
“I know. I’d almost forgotten what a New England winter was like.”
“Our guests love it. The snow, the cold, even the roads... Most of ’em think this town is straight out of the nineteenth century.”
“Well,” Wendy said with a little laugh, “I won’t try and change their minds, I promise.”
“Great.” Clint nodded toward the reception desk. “Come on. I’ll show you where to stow your things and then I’ll give you the dollar tour.”
“Okay.”
“And I’ll introduce you to the coffee urn. Maureen picked it up at a garage sale. It’s thirty years old if it’s a day, and she loves it. Unfortunately, the only person it loves is Maureen. If you can figure out how to make the darned thing purr, I’ll give you a raise.”
Wendy laughed, this time with ease. Working here might be fun, not simply a way to meet Rodney Pommier or fill the endless hours.
Clint led her to a small office behind the reception desk.
“Hang your parka there, put your purse, whatever, in this drawer, and oh, by the way, welcome to Twin Oaks. We’re happy to have you here.”
“I’m happy to be here,” she said, and meant it.
There was lots to learn, but it was all easy stuff. Clint showed her how to register guests in case he wasn’t available, and what to say when people phoned with questions about Twin Oaks and its accommodations. He pointed out the cabinet where he kept the supply of brochures about the Berkshires so she could refill the wooden racks near the desk when they were empty.
He showed her where to find the coffee, tea and cocoa, gave her a quick rundown on what wines, brandies and cognacs were available, and pointed out where they kept the nuts and dried fruits that filled the bowls scattered about the gathering room.
“We put out cheese and crackers, too, around eight o’clock. You’ll find the cheese in the fridge, the crackers in the pantry. And I almost always put out a couple of baskets of cookies, too.”
“Chocolate chip?”
“The specialty of the house,” Clint replied, and smiled. “Ah. You talked to Seth, huh?”
“Seth?”
“Seth Castleman. He said you two knew each other.” Clint frowned. “Oh, damn. Did I put my foot in something?”
“No, not at all.” Wendy deliberately turned her attention to the individual packets of hot chocolate heaped in a straw basket. “Seth and I are...we used to date, but that was a long time ago.”
“Good.” Clint groaned. “There I go again. I don’t mean good that you guys are history, only that I’m relieved it won’t be a problem for you to spend so much time together.”
“It won’t be.” What exactly did “so much” mean? Once a week? Twice? Wendy thought about asking and decided against it. “No problem at all.”
“That’s terrific. Seth’s become a good pal, and I have to admit, having him around for the kids—did he tell you about my nieces? They’re twins, bright, beautiful three-year-olds...but they can wear you to a frazzle.”
“And Seth’s...good with them?”
“Good? He’s terrific. One look and you can see he’s a man who should have a houseful of his own someday.”
The casually spoken words were like a knife to the heart. “Yes. He should.” She smiled brightly to hide the wound. “How about standing by while I make some coffee? Just to be sure I’ve got it right.”
“Good idea. Okay, let’s take out a filter first...”
“Got it. And the coffee’s in here, right?”
“Yup. We have different flavors, by the way. Sometimes we make up a small pot of vanilla or raspberry almond—”
“Uncle Clint!”
Wendy looked up as two little girls flew down the stairs, faces lit with excitement. Chestnut curls bobbed beneath red velvet ribbons; blue-green eyes sparkled with excitement as the children ran to Clint, who bent down and swept both of them into his arms.
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“Speak of the devil,” he said, and grinned. “Here they are, my twin tornadoes.”
One of the twins giggled. “We’re girls, not tomatoes.”
“You are, too, tomatoes,” Clint teased. “That’s why you have red bows in your hair.”
“No, it’s not,” the other twin said. “We like red—and Mommy does, too.”
“Uh-huh.” Clint shifted the children in his arms and smiled at Wendy. “These terrors are either tomatoes or tornadoes, your choice, but they’re definitely my favorite nieces.”
“Silly Uncle Clint. We’re his only nieces.”
“An’ even if we wasn’t, we’d be his favorites ’cause we’re the bestest nieces anywhere. Right, Uncle Clint?”
“Right,” Clint said solemnly. “Say hello to Miss Monroe, you guys.”
“It’s Wendy,” Wendy said. “And I’m delighted to meet you.”
“We’re delighted to meet you, too,” Robin said politely.
Randi observed Wendy with care. “Are you Uncle Clint’s girlfriend?”
“No.” Wendy laughed. “I’m not.”
“Mommy says he could use one.”
“Your mother’s full of helpful ideas,” Clint said, and sighed. “What else did she say?”
“That we can stay down here for a little bit if you say it’s all right.” Robin’s smile was beguiling. “Is it all right?”
“She says it’s time we drove you crazy for a while,” Randi added helpfully.
“I’ll bet.” Clint gave each girl a resounding kiss on the cheek, then put them down. “Okay, ladies. I’d be delighted to have your company for a while, but you have to behave.”
“We always behave,” Randi said, wide-eyed.
“And the moon’s made of green...” Clint looked past Wendy and sighed. “Uh-oh.”