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Her lips twisted, her eyes bleak. “We can’t choose our families.”
In an instant he saw that this job idea was laden with emotional peril for Libby Parkhurst. When it became glaringly obvious that she couldn’t handle the physically demanding nature of Charlise’s role as his assistant, Libby would be crushed. Surely it would be better to find that out sooner than later. Then she could move on and look for employment more suited to her skill set. Libby was smart and organized and intuitive.
There was a place for her out there somewhere. Just not at Silver Reflections.
He drummed his fingers on the table. “I looked at the weather forecast. We’re due to have a warm spell in a couple of days.”
“I saw that, too. Maeve says you almost always get an early taste of spring here in the mountains, even if it doesn’t last long.”
“She’s right. And in light of that, why don’t you and I go ahead and take an overnight trip, so I can show you what’s involved.”
Libby went from wistful to deer in the headlights. “You mean now?”
“Yes. We could head out Monday morning and be back Tuesday afternoon.” Part of him felt guilty for pushing her, but they had to get past this hurdle so she could see the truth.
He saw her throat move as she swallowed. “I don’t have any outdoor gear.”
“Mom can cover you there. And my sisters-in-law can loan you some stuff, too. No sense in buying anything now.”
“Because you think I’ll fail.”
She stared him down, but he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. “I think there is a good chance you’ll discover that working for me isn’t what you really want.”
“You’ve made up your mind already, haven’t you?” He was surprised to see that she had a temper.
“No.” Was he being entirely honest? “I promised you a trial run. I’ve merely moved up the timetable, thanks to the weather.”
Libby’s gaze skewered him. “Do I need a list from you, or will your mother know everything I need?”
“I’ll email you the list, but Mom has a pretty good idea.”
Libby stood up abruptly. “I don’t think I’m that hungry, after all. Thank you for the Coke, Mr. Kavanagh. If you’ll excuse me, it sounds like I have a lot to do this weekend.”
And with that, she turned her back on him and walked out of the room.
Dylan commandeered the chair Libby had vacated, his broad smirk designed to be irritating. “I haven’t seen you crash and burn in a long time, baby brother. What did you say to make her so mad?”
“It wasn’t a date,” Patrick said, his voice curt. “Mind your own damned business.”
“She could do better than you, no doubt. Great body, I’m guessing, even though her clothes are a tad on the eccentric side. Excellent bone structure. Upper-crust accent. And those eyes... Hell, if I weren’t a married man, I’d try my luck.”
Patrick reined in his temper, well aware that Dylan was yanking his chain. “That’s not funny.”
“Seriously. What did you say to run her off?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’ve got all night.”
Patrick stared at him. “If you must know, Mom shoved her down my throat as a replacement for Charlise. Libby can handle the retreat center details, but there is no way in hell she’s going to be able to do all the outdoor, backcountry stuff. When I hired her, she asked me to give her a chance to prove herself. I merely pointed out that the weather’s going to be warm the first of the week, so we might as well go for it.”
“And that made her mad?”
“Well, she might possibly have assumed that I expect her to fail.”
“Smart lady.”
“How am I the bad guy here? I run a multilayered business. I can’t afford to babysit Mom’s misfits.”
Dylan’s expression went from amused to horrified in the space of an instant.
Libby’s soft, well-modulated voice broke the deadly silence. “I left my sweater. Sorry to interrupt.”
And then she was gone. Again.
Patrick swallowed hard. “Did she hear what I said?”
Dylan winced. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t have time to warn you. I didn’t see her coming.”
“Well, that’s just peachy.”
The waitress appeared, notepad in hand, to take Patrick’s order. “What’ll you have?” she asked.
Dylan shook his head in regret. “Bring us a couple of burgers, all the way. My baby brother needs some cheering up. It’s gonna be a long night.”
Three (#ulink_8442e538-2bb4-598b-bfba-36add4475464)
Not since the wretched aftermath of her father’s arrest had Libby felt so small and so humiliated. She’d thought Patrick liked her...that he was pleased with her work to date. But in truth, Libby had been foisted on him, and he resented her intrusion.
Her chest hurt, almost as if someone had actually sucker punched her. When she made it back to her room on the third floor of Maeve’s luxurious hotel, Libby threw herself on the bed and cried. Then she cussed awhile and cried some more. Part of her never wanted to see Patrick Kavanagh again. The other part wanted to make him ashamed for having doubted her. She wanted to be the best damn outdoorswoman he had ever seen.
But since that was highly unlikely to be the actual scenario come Monday, perhaps the best course was to explain to Maeve that the job hadn’t worked out.
There would be questions, of course, lots of them. And although there might be other jobs in Silver Glen, perhaps as a shop assistant making minimum wage, it would be difficult to find a place to live on that kind of paycheck. She owed Maeve a huge debt of gratitude. Not for anything in the world did she want to seem ungrateful.
Which left Libby neatly boxed into an untenable situation.
* * *
Saturday morning she awoke with puffy eyes and a headache. It was only after her third cup of coffee that she even began to feel normal. Breakfast was out of the question. She felt too raw, too bruised. There was no reason to think Patrick would be anywhere near the Silver Beeches Lodge, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
After showering and dressing in jeans and a baggy sweater, Libby sent a text to Maeve, asking her to drop by when she had a minute. In the meantime, Libby studied her paycheck. She had planned to buy the first pieces of her professional wardrobe this weekend. But if she was going to be fired Tuesday night, it made no sense to pay for clothes she might not need.
One step at a time.
When Maeve knocked on the door around eleven, Libby took a deep breath and let her in.
Maeve hugged her immediately. “I want to hear all about the job,” she said, beaming. “I saw Charlise in town Wednesday, and she said you were amazing.”
Libby managed a weak chuckle. “Charlise is being kind.”
The two of them sat down in armchairs beside the gas log fireplace. Although now Libby could barely afford the soap in the bathroom, the upscale accommodations were familiar in their amenities. Growing up, she had traveled widely with her parents.
Maeve smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her neatly pressed black slacks. Wearing a matching blazer and a fuchsia silk blouse, she looked far younger than her age, certainly too young to have seven adult sons. “So tell me,” she said. “How do you like working for Patrick?”
“Well...” Libby hesitated. She’d never been a good liar, so she had to tiptoe through this minefield. “I’ve spent most of my time with Charlise. But everyone on the staff speaks very highly of your son.”
“But what do you think? He’s a good-looking boy, isn’t he?”
At last Libby’s smile felt genuine. “Yes, ma’am. Patrick is a hottie.”
“I know I’m prejudiced, but I think all my sons turned out extremely well.”
“I know you’re proud, and rightfully so.”
“Five of them already married off to wonderful women. I think I’m doing pretty well.”
Uh-oh. “Maeve, surely you’re not thinking about playing matchmaker. That would be extremely uncomfortable for me.”
Maeve’s face fell. “What do you mean?”
“I’m starting my life from scratch,” Libby said. “I have to know I can be an independent person. Although I was too naive to realize it at the time, my parents sheltered me and coddled me. I want to learn how to negotiate the world on my own. Romance is way down the list. And besides, even I know it’s not a good idea to mix business with pleasure.”
If a mature, extremely sophisticated woman could sulk, that’s what Maeve did. “I thought you’d appreciate my help.”
“I do,” Libby said, leaning forward and speaking earnestly. “You looked out for me at the lowest point in my life. You helped me through Mama’s death and took me in. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. But at some point, you have to let me make my own choices, my own mistakes. Otherwise, I’ll never be sure I can survive on my own.”
“I suppose you’re right. Is that why you wanted to see me this morning? To tell me to butt out?”
Libby grinned, relieved that Maeve had not taken offense. “No. Actually, I need your help in rounding up some hiking gear. Patrick wants to take advantage of the warm weather coming up to teach me what I’ll need to know for the team-building, outdoor-adventure expeditions.”
“So soon? Those usually don’t begin until early April.”
“I think he wants to be sure I can handle the physical part of the job.” Libby spoke calmly, but inwardly she cringed, Patrick’s words still ringing in her ears. I can’t afford to babysit Mom’s misfits.
Maeve stared at her intently. Almost as if she could tell something else was going on. “Write down all your sizes,” she said. “I’ll gather everything you need and meet you here tomorrow around one.”
“I really appreciate it.”
Maeve stood. “I have a lunch appointment, so I need to run. You’ll get through this, Libby. I know how strong you are.”
“Mentally or physically?”
“They go hand in hand. You may surprise yourself this week, my dear. And you may surprise Patrick, as well.”
* * *
Patrick’s mood hovered somewhere between injured grizzly and teething toddler. He was ashamed of himself for letting his aggravation make him say something stupid. But damn it, he’d been talking to his brother...letting off steam. He didn’t go around kicking puppies and plucking the heads off flowers.
He was a nice guy.
Unfortunately for him, he could think of at least one person who didn’t think so.
During the weekend, he gathered the equipment he would need to put Libby through her paces. Normally, he and Charlise shared the load: supervising the employees who organized the meals, interacting with the executives, teaching skills, coaching the group through difficult activities.
But Charlise was not only accustomed to being outdoors, she also had a great deal of experience in living off the land.
Libby didn’t. It was as simple as that.
Patrick tried to juggle things in his mind, ways for him to take over some of Charlise’s duties so that Libby could handle a lighter load. But that would only postpone the inevitable. This first experience had to play out as closely as possible to the real thing, so Libby would understand fully what was involved and what she could expect.
By Monday morning, his mood hadn’t improved. He’d gone through his checklist on autopilot, but of course, he’d had to cover Charlise’s prep, as well. He arrived at Silver Reflections several minutes before eight so he would have some time to mentally gear up for the day’s events.
Libby’s car was already parked in the small wooded lot adjacent to the building. It was an old-model Mercedes with a badly dented fender. Suddenly Patrick remembered where he had seen the car before. Liam’s wife had driven it a couple of years ago until a teenage kid backed into her at the gas station.
Liam had decided it wasn’t worth fixing and bought Zoe a brand-new mommy van. The damaged car had been in Liam’s garage the last time Patrick saw it. Apparently, Maeve wasn’t opposed to getting the whole family in the act when it came to her “rescue Libby” plan.
Patrick headed inside, greeted the receptionist with an absent wave and holed up in his office. Taking a deep breath, he leaned a hip against his desk, pulled his phone out and sent a text.
We’ll leave at nine if that works for you...
Libby’s response was immediate: I’ll be ready.
Meet me out front.
He wondered if Libby was nervous. Surely so. But he knew her well enough already to be damned sure she wouldn’t let the nerves show.
At 8:55 he hefted all their gear and headed outside, only to get his first shock of the day. Libby leaned against a tree, head back, eyes closed. On the ground at her feet lay a waterproof jacket. From head to toe, she was outfitted appropriately. Sturdy boots, lightweight quick-dry pants, a white shirt made of the same fabric and an aluminum hiking pole. He came do a dead stop and swallowed hard.
Every bit of what she was wearing was borrowed. Yet inexplicably she managed to look like a model for some weird amalgam of Vogue and L.L.Bean. The clothing fit her better than anything she had worn so far in his employ. Suddenly, he realized that Dylan was correct. Libby Parkhurst had a kick-ass body.
When he shifted from one foot to the other, he dislodged a piece of gravel. Libby’s eyes snapped open, her expression guarded. “Good morning,” she said.
He hated the guilt that choked him. “Libby, I—”
She held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
They stared at each other for several long seconds. He couldn’t get a read on her emotions. So he shoved aside the memory of her face in Dylan’s bar and forced himself to zero in on basics.
“Three things,” he said tersely. “The moment you feel anything on your foot begin to rub, we stop and deal with it. A major key to hiking in the mountains is taking care of your feet. Blisters can be incapacitating. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Her smart-ass tone was designed to annoy him, but he didn’t take the bait. “Secondly, if I’m walking too fast for you, you have to say so. There’s no need to play the martyr.”
“Understood.”
“Lastly, you have to drink water. All day. All the time. Women don’t like the idea of peeing in the woods, so they tend to get dehydrated. That’s also dangerous.”
