The Problem Child (Emerson Pass Historicals 4)

“Yes, indeed you do. You and Poppy continue to be the talk of the town.”

“And why would that be?” I knew the answer, but making him say the truth out loud was akin to picking at a scab. One shouldn’t, but one does anyway. Poppy had apprenticed for a veterinarian and upon her return home had asked me to join her. We took care of every sick animal in the valley between our two mountains.

He had the decency to look flustered. “Doing the work of…” He trailed off.

“Doing the work of men.” I unbuttoned the top of my coat, suddenly hot. These men and their judgment of Poppy and me. We were darn proud to take care of all the farm animals and pets of Emerson Pass. Did we have to get in some muck and mud? Sure. But it was work we could be proud of instead of sitting around making doilies.

“I admire you for it,” Viktor said. “I’m proud to know you both.”

Despite the pleasure that gave me, I changed the subject. “How did you get the car home?”

“The road up from Louisville’s open now. No more waiting for the train to take us out of Emerson Pass.”

“Right, the new road,” I said drily. With the clearing of the trees to make a dirt road from here to Louisville, Emerson Pass would be overrun with strangers. Flynn was delighted. He’d been instrumental in getting a road put in. More visitors to the ski runs meant more money in his pocket.

“I’m thinking of naming her Rose.”

“The car?” I asked.

“Yes, doesn’t it suit her? The most beautiful flower of all.”

“That’s my favorite flower, but not everyone thinks it’s the most beautiful. There are peonies, for example.”

“We’re in agreement, then? Roses are the most beautiful? I believe pink are your most favorite?”

Flushing from embarrassment, I tried to think of what to say. He’d discombobulated me, and I had no idea what we were talking about. “That’s a silly thing to name a car. They’re not flowers.”

“Cars are female, which I associate with flowers.” He shrugged his massive shoulders in that playful way I found maddening and attractive all at once.

“So provincial of you, Mr. Olofsson.”

He ignored my pointed remark, continuing on as if I hadn’t said anything at all. “And she’s pretty, like you. It’s wrong of me to be so vain, but I’m awfully proud to be able to afford a car.”

“What exactly does a banker do, anyway?” I asked.

“Secret money things.”

“How did you know I love roses?”

“I’ve studied you since we were children, devouring every bit of knowledge about you. Not that it’s easy. You’re quite a study in dichotomy. The stuff of novels.”

“That’s ridiculous.” To prove his point, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to kiss him or punch him. I bit the inside of my mouth to remind myself that punching was the better option. “I’m interesting, unlike some of the girls in this town.”

“Are you talking about Emma?” His face broke into another of his infectious grins.

I shrugged, fighting against the churn in my stomach as the images of them together floated across my mind. They seemed to be everywhere together of late. “She seems rather dull.” Actually, she seemed smart and very pretty. I’d never let him know I thought so.

“Are you jealous?” Viktor asked.

“Wouldn’t you like that to be true?” Would he? Or was he as taken with Emma as he used to be with me? Lately I’d seen them together at the club and down at the river where the young crowd socialized. Were they an item or only friends? My throat tickled with my desire to ask him, but my tongue managed to behave.

“Maybe I do.”

“Do what?” I’d completely lost the thread of our conversation.

“Maybe I do want you to be jealous.” Viktor came around the front of the car, graceful and agile as the elk I’d spotted in the meadow last week. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he brought my gloved hand to his mouth for a quick kiss. “I haven’t greeted you properly. Miss Barnes, you’re looking lovely this evening, as always. Do you know, I believe you grow prettier every year.”

“I’m practically an old lady.”

Viktor laughed as his head drifted to the side. His eyes flashed in the last of the sunlight. “Twenty-one is not an old lady. I’ve three years on you, and I know I’m not an old man.”

I swallowed and looked away. My legs felt about as stable as a mound of Lizzie’s pudding. “I wonder what Flynn’s up to?”

“He hasn’t told you?” Viktor asked.

“Lately, he doesn’t tell me much of anything. I’m a woman.”

“Which infuriates you,” Viktor said.

“Endlessly.”

“He said it was something about the ski mountain, but wouldn’t tell me anything more. Whatever it is, it’s sure to be a success.”

Flynn and my brother-in-law, Phillip, were clever businessmen and kept their affairs between them and my father. The ski slopes and lodge were doing well. Too well, I thought sometimes. Flynn had become as cocky as our rooster. Phillip, Josephine’s husband, on the other hand, seemed to have grown humbler with each success.

“He has the gift of pretty talking, does he not?” I asked, irritated with my brother. “Dropping hints of what’s to come only makes us all want to know more.” Not that he’d even given me any inclination at all. I was nothing to him now that he was married and a businessman. We’d been close when we were younger. Two rebels. Two troublemakers.

Why didn’t I ever know of the changes coming to the ski mountain? Was this the alteration I’d sniffed in the wind? If so, I was disappointed. I’d dared to hope for a moment that my adventure had finally come.

“Do you ever worry about his involvement with bootlegging?” Viktor asked, unusually seriously.