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She was not very tall, but nicely rounded where it counted, and still absolutely beautiful. She had long, golden-blond hair that was piled atop her head today, but if he concentrated, he could remember it running across his face in the throes of lovemaking, silky and cool.
Her blue eyes could be lively with laughter or stormy with petulance, her mouth soft and full in the raspberry shade of lipstick she’d always preferred.
She was also still capable of raising his blood pressure.
But he planned to move his life in a new direction, and it was important that she hear him out. He was probably wasting his breath—he’d be damned if he’d just be quiet and disappear as she wanted him to.
“A lobbyist for industry,” he began without preamble, “was offering bribes to push through his particular agenda, and the attorney general’s office invited me into this scheme to flush out Senator Crawford from Vermont who was suspected of having accepted a boat and a place in the Caymans.”
She rolled her eyes. “I believe good old Crawford was crooked, but you’re telling me Claudia was a lobbyist?”
“No,” he replied patiently. “I’m telling you that I was aware that Crawford had a mistress who was a stripper. Several members of the ethics committee ate together when we worked weekends, and I’d seen him meet her afterward.”
She thought she had him when she asked, “And you saw him with this mysterious woman and knew she was a stripper. How was that?”
“One of the others who frequented the club where she worked told me. And Crawford was such a posturing braggart, I was sure he had to have told her what he was doing.”
“So she got down to her panties and poured her heart out to you, is that what you’re telling me?”
He closed his eyes, hoping to summon patience. “No,” he said. “I’m telling you that she told me she’d tell us everything she knew if we could guarantee her safety. The attorney general suggested we take her someplace quiet and remote to record her story.”
“Ah.” She nodded as though in understanding. Then she asked, “And where were these members of the ethics committee when she was in her panties?”
She’d never believe this, but it was the truth, and all he could do was reel out what had happened.
“They hit a moose,” he said, maintaining his patience in the face of her open disbelief, “and never made it to the house. Took them two days to get back to Albany.”
“How thoughtful of them. And in sympathy for the moose, she decided to go au naturel for you.”
“She was a young woman accustomed to using her body as a commodity to get what she wanted,” he explained as Prue let her head fall back to the headrest with a groan. “I told her that, in exchange for her help, we’d see that she could go to New York University, something she told me she’s always wanted to do. She thought she had to pay me for that.”
“So if I call New York University,” she challenged, “they can assure me she’s enrolled.”
“No,” he had to admit. “She did a semester and fell in love with a pharmacy student who moved back home to take over his father’s pharmacy. She’s now at a college somewhere in Indiana.” Her disbelieving expression made him add with mild sarcasm, “I don’t know which one, but you’re welcome to call them all if you like.”
“Oh, Gideon.” Prue shook her head as though trying to clear her mind of what he’d told her. “How stupid do you think I am?”
“You left me without letting me explain,” he said, finally losing patience. “How smart is that?” She’d left their Maine house and raced back to Albany, and when he’d gotten home, she wasn’t there. A friend of hers called to tell him she was in the hospital with a nervous collapse and didn’t want to see him.
“I’d say pretty smart,” she retorted, pushing the door open, “if you expect me to fall for that line of fiction. If any of that was true, why wouldn’t you have told me what you were doing? Why haven’t I read about it in the paper?”
“I didn’t tell you,” he said, stepping out of the cab as she did and facing her across the roof, “because Mrs. Crawford was part of that women’s fund-raising group you worked with. I thought it would be awkward for you if you had to watch what you said around her or did anything to make her suspicious.”
“Thoughtful of you,” she said stiffly.
“And no one’s told the press,” he went on, ignoring her comment, “because it’s still an ongoing investigation.”
“You have an answer for everything.”
“Because it’s the truth.” He’d been sure his effort to explain would end this way, but there was just the smallest tug at his chest as he met her eyes. They were filled with anger, then he thought he caught a glimpse of the same regret he felt. Then it was gone. “Okay, I had to try,” he said evenly, satisfied that he’d done his best.
“Goodbye, Gideon,” she said. “I’ll file for divorce so you can get on with your new life in Alaska, and I can get on with my life.” Then she disappeared into the restaurant.
Gideon stood for a few minutes, examining his options. The suitcase he’d brought with him was still in the trunk of the cab. He’d stay the night in Maple Hill and go back to Boston tomorrow. Then it was off to Glacier Bay and the Kenton Cove Lodge.
Paris and Randy came out of the restaurant, Paris’s expression troubled, Randy’s sympathetic.
“She wouldn’t listen?” Paris asked.
“She listened,” Gideon replied. “She just refuses to believe me.”
Randy nodded and offered his hand. “We have a lot in common,” he said as they shook hands. “We’re both in love with difficult women.”
Gideon smiled grimly. “I can relate to the difficult part, but it’s all become too complicated to resolve. I’m just going to move on. Paris, you said there were a couple of inns in town?”
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud group of men pushing their way out of the restaurant, talking and laughing. It was Hank Whitcomb and his friends, at whose table Randy had left Gideon when he’d run after Paris.
Hank broke away from the crowd, waving them off, then came to join Paris, Randy and Gideon. He hugged Paris and clapped Randy on the back. “All right, you two. Glad to see you’ve patched it up. Makes me winner of the pool.”
Paris raised an eyebrow. “The pool?”
“They had bets on when we’d finally get together,” Randy explained, lifting both hands to deny responsibility when Paris looked dismayed. “I had nothing to do with it. Except in falling in love with you.”
Paris leaned into Randy and wrapped an arm around his waist, a beatific smile on her face. “Well, that’s all right, then. Hank, you’ve met my brother-in-law?”
Hank nodded. “We empathized about women while you and Randy were having it out.” He winced at Gideon. “I presume since Prue’s now inside with her mother and Jeffrey that you’re in the same situation Randy was in half an hour ago.”
Gideon grinned mirthlessly. “No happy ending for us, though. I understand your wife has an inn?”
“No, no,” Paris insisted. “If you’re staying the night, you can stay with us, or with Mom.”
Gideon shook his head. “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but the two of you need private time, and frankly, so do I. I have some calls to make, some business to conduct that’d be best done without distractions.”
“Jackie covered the desk at the inn this morning and I promised to take her a cinnamon roll.” Hank held up the to-go box in his hand. “Why don’t you just ride to the inn with me?”
Paris looked worried. “So…you’re just going to take off for Alaska tomorrow?” she asked Gideon.
He wrapped her in his arms. “There’s little point in me staying. What about if the three of us meet here for breakfast in the morning before I go?”
“That’d be good.” She heaved a sigh. “She’s changed, you know. I’m sure if you two had some more time together, you might be surprised by how much more…real she’s become.”
He nodded grimly. “She’s always been very real to me. The trouble is, what we had no longer exists for her. So there isn’t even a thread of the old life to hold on to and find our way back.”
“Maybe the way isn’t back, but forward,” Randy suggested. “Approach it as two people without a past. Start over.”
“That sounds good,” Hank offered, then added with a grin, “And I fully appreciate that this is none of my business, but I’ve inherited an unfortunate buttinsky nature from my mother.” Then he sobered and went on. “But as someone in love with a woman with whom I’d had a past, I know you can’t pretend it isn’t there. It’s always there. It affected you, it changed you, and it has to be resolved or there is no future.” He frowned at Gideon. “The bad news, Gideon, is that if it’s important to you, you have to hit it head-on. There’s no way around it.”
Gideon spread both arms. “I understand that. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t really think we could repair the relationship, I just wanted to make sure she understood what had happened. But she’s not willing to listen and I’m tired of trying.”
Randy shook his hand. “Maybe she’ll miss you while you’re in Alaska.”
Gideon gave that suggestion the small, wry laugh it deserved. “I don’t think so. See you two here in the morning. Is eight too early?”
“Eight’s good.”
Gideon followed Hank to a dark green van, Whitcomb’s Wonders painted in white script on the side.
“The men who work for you are called Whitcomb’s Wonders?” Gideon asked, climbing into the van. “That’s quite a claim.”
“It is. And I can back it up. Like I told you over breakfast, clients love that they can call one number for almost any kind of service relating to a home or business.”
“Do you have a good shrink on staff? I feel as though I could use one right about now.”
Hank laughed. “No shrink, but my mother loves to dispense advice. I’ll spare you that.” He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. “I think I understand your frustration. My wife and I were high-school sweethearts. We were separated by a major breach in communication and finally got back together when I moved home a couple of years ago.”
“How did you heal that breach?”
“We fought a lot,” Hank said. “But at least we were talking.”
That, Gideon thought, was the difference right there. Prue had a lot to say but wasn’t interested in listening.
Well. That was fine. He was sure he’d like Alaska. Land of the Midnight Sun, of sled dogs and tales of the gold rush. Another adventure.
He just wished he felt more enthusiastic about it. He had to do something completely different, and a partnership with an old college friend in a fishing lodge in the wilderness had seemed like a good place to relax, enjoy the outdoors and try to get a little spirit back into his life.
He hated what had happened between him and Prue, but pleading with her to listen to the truth was as close as he intended to get to groveling.
Hank pulled up to the Yankee Inn, a three-story colonial with green shutters and a vine-covered pergola at the side.
Inside, as Hank leaned over the counter to embrace his wife and deliver the cinnamon roll, Gideon looked around. He saw worn wood floors, a cozy atmosphere provided by a fieldstone fireplace and a settee that was probably as old as the building.
Hank introduced Jackie, a pretty woman with strawberry blond hair and welcoming gray eyes. Hank wished him good luck, while Jackie checked Gideon in and then led him upstairs to his room. It was remarkably quiet. He could see some roofs, the tops of trees and birds in flight. He went to the window and looked down on the bucolic setting stretched out before him. Drying grass, the beautiful Berkshires and the occasional home dotting the road that led to town. He felt something reach out to him and take hold.
“One of my ancestors hid an injured redcoat in this room,” Jackie said, smoothing the quilt on the bed. “And nursed him back to health.”
He put his bag down and opened the window. Cool fragrant air filled the room. It smelled of wood smoke, and he could hear the musical burble of a stream. He turned back to his hostess to grin. “That was probably a dangerous and unpopular thing for her to do.”
Jackie nodded. “She was sixteen. Danger doesn’t always stop you at that age. Fortunately, he changed sides for her and survived the war. They raised eight children on this place.”
“Courage deserves a happy ending.”
“Yes, it does. And sometimes it takes time to get there.”
She smiled pleasantly as she opened the door, a silent message in her manner that she understood his situation and sympathized with it. Of course. She’d dealt with and survived that major “communications breach” with Hank. And everyone in Maple Hill seemed to know and even care about everyone else’s business.
“Drinks in the lounge five-thirty to seven this evening,” she said. “And continental breakfast from seven to ten in the morning. Is there anything I can get you?”
He looked around the cozy, comfortable room and shook his head. “No, thank you.”
“Just press nine on the phone for the desk. Enjoy the day.”
She stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.
He didn’t think there was any way that was going to happen, but he could get himself organized for the trip to Alaska. He confirmed his reservations from Boston, verified his flight on the small plane scheduled to take him from Juneau to Gustavus, then tried to call Dean Kenton, his partner in the fishing lodge, but got no answer.
He took a shower, closed the window in the room as the day wore on to early afternoon, then lay down on the bed, enjoying the unusual luxury of having the time and place for a nap.
The bedding smelled fresh and vaguely herbal as he settled his head into the middle of a plump pillow and closed his eyes. His back and shoulders relaxed against the mattress.
Peace, he thought, enjoying the moment. He was finally going to have peace. Loving Prue had been exciting, tempestuous and undeniably delicious when she was being sane and adult. But she’d displayed those qualities less often in the last year of their marriage, and he wouldn’t miss the tears and shouting on her part, the exasperation and anger on his. Refusing to see him when he’d followed her home had been unreasonable, even for her.
Yes. Moving away was a good thing. Nothing like a clean break from the past, even though he couldn’t completely separate himself from it, as Hank had said. It was a part of him, had changed him. But he would take what he’d learned and move on.
Somewhere there had to be a woman who was willing to give a man the benefit of the doubt.
He was just drifting off, when his cell phone rang.
“Hello?” he asked, sitting up, happy to put thoughts of Prue out of his mind.
“Gideon? It’s Dean.”
“Hi. I tried to call you earlier.”
“Did you? Oh. Sorry.” Dean’s usually cheerful voice was grim and hesitant. “There’s been a lot going on here.”
Gideon could hear a commotion in the background, people shouting. Then he heard a wail—like a siren. He sat up a little straighter. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Dean replied. “But there’s been a fire at the lodge.”
“A fire,” Gideon repeated, a sense of foreboding bumping along his spine.
“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “The kitchen and the whole guest wing burned to the ground.”
CHAPTER TWO
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I named you Prudence,” Camille O’Hara said.
Prue stared at her mother, a woman in her late forties who was a model and an actress. She’d had her two daughters very young and was still gorgeous. She wore her expertly colored platinum hair in trendy spikes and had an artistic flair for line and color in her clothes. The fact that she was small and slender contributed to her youthful appearance. Prue knew that she got her creative talent from her.
Unfortunately, she’d inherited other things as well. Camille was charming and vivacious with a tendency toward theatrics—a quality probably well suited to her career. But those same qualities made Prue seem like the princess Gideon had often called her.
“Camille, don’t be so hard on her.” Jeffrey St. John, an actor, musician and old friend of her mother’s who was recently rediscovered, had been visiting for a week and showed no signs of going home to Florida. He’d been a calming influence in the household. “She’s had a shock, and strong feelings are involved. What would be right for you isn’t necessarily right for her.”
“How can a strong, dynamic man who loves her not be right for her?” Camille demanded.
“He said he didn’t want me back,” Prue reminded her. Now that the initial shock of seeing Gideon in Maple Hill had passed, Prue was dealing with a sort of posttraumatic depression. The need to be cool and disdainful in the face of his pathetic explanation had disintegrated and now all she felt was loss for the magic they’d known. “Neither one of us wants to be married again. And that ridiculous explanation of what happened was enough to make the most trusting woman laugh.”
“Sometimes,” her mother suggested more quietly after Jeffrey’s reprimand, “truth is stranger than fiction. Remember when you and Paris were little and the dog stole the cookie dough and I thought you’d done it?”
