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Paris at Christmas was magical. She had loved every minute of it the year before and had been anticipating another season with great excitement.
Instead, she was stuck in her grandmother’s horrible, dark house, surrounded by people who disliked her. Now she had to spend the weeks leading up to Christmas trying to interact with wounded veterans. If they were all as grim-faced and churlish as Dylan Caine, she was in for a miserable time.
“Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car.”
She blinked in surprise at the unexpected courtesy. “That midblock lot over by the bike shop.”
“I’m close to that, too.”
They walked in silence for a moment, past the decorated windows of storefronts. She would have liked to window-shop but she didn’t have any money to buy anything, so she couldn’t see much point in it.
“Your brother did a good job,” she finally said, just as they passed Dog-Eared Books & Brew, the bookstore and coffee shop owned by Maura McKnight. “We got off easier than I expected. We could have been assigned to pick up roadside trash or something.”
“Is it too late for me to sign up for that?” he answered.
She made a face. “What’s the big deal? Why don’t you really want to help out at the recreation center? Your brother’s right. You understand better than anybody some of the challenges wounded veterans have to face.”
The clouds began to spit a light snowfall—hard, mean pellets that stung her exposed skin.
He was silent for a long moment, snow beginning to speckle his hair, and she didn’t think he would answer. She was just about to say goodbye and head for her car when he finally spoke. “I believe Spence and Charlotte had good intentions when they started the program.”
“But?”
“Nobody else on the outside understands what it’s like to have to completely reassess everything you do, everything you thought you were. I hate bolo ties.”
She blinked at the rapid shift in topic. “O-kay.”
“I hate bolo ties but here I am.” He aimed his thumb at his open coat, where she could see the string hanging around his collar, with that intricate silverwork disk at the center. “Andrew ordered me to wear a tie for the hearing. I can’t tie a damn tie anymore. After trying for a half hour, I finally just stopped at that new men’s store over on Front Street and bought this. It was either that or a clip-on, and I’m not quite there yet.”
She didn’t know what to say, especially as she could tell by his expression that he was regretting saying anything at all to her.
She decided to go back to the fashionista ditz he called her. “Personally, I like bolo ties. They’re just retro enough to be cool without being ostentatious. Kind of rockabilly-hip.”
He snorted. “Yeah. That was the look I was going for. The point is, a couple of days playing in the mountains wouldn’t have a lot of practical value when the real challenges are these endless day-to-day moments when I have to deal with how everything is different now.”
She couldn’t even imagine. “I guess I can see that. But don’t you think there could be value in something that’s strictly for fun?”
“I don’t find too many things fun anymore,” he said, his tone as dark as those clouds as they walked.
“Maybe a couple days of playing in the mountains are exactly what you need,” she answered.
“Maybe.”
He didn’t elaborate and they walked in silence for another few moments. As they walked past one of her favorite boutiques, the door opened with a subtle chime and a few laughing women walked out, arms heavy with bags.
She didn’t recognize the blonde with the paisley scarf and the really great-looking boots, but the other one was an old friend.
“Natalie! Hello.”
The other woman stopped her conversation and her eyes went wide when she spotted her. “Gen! Hi.”
They air-kissed and then Natalie Summerville stepped back, giving a strange look to Dylan, who looked big and dangerous and still rather scruffy, despite his efforts to clean up for court.
“How are you?” Natalie asked. “I saw your mom at the spa the other day and she told me you were coming back for Thanksgiving.”
Yet you haven’t bothered to call me, have you?
Natalie had been a good friend once, close enough—she thought, anyway—that Genevieve had included her in her flock of seven bridesmaids. They had been on the cheerleading squad together in high school, had double-dated often at college, had even shared a hotel room in Mazatlаn for spring break after junior year.
When she had been engaged, preparing to become Mrs. Sawyer Danforth of the Denver Danforths, Natalie had loved being her friend.
After Gen ended the engagement, she felt as if she had broken off with many of her friends, as well. Natalie and a few others had made it clear they didn’t understand her position. She and Sawyer weren’t married yet. Why couldn’t he have his fun while he still could? She had overheard Natalie say at a party that Genevieve was crazy for not just ignoring his infidelity and marrying him anyway.
Sometimes she wished she had.
“Are you heading back to Paris soon?”
“I’ll be here for a month or so. At least through Christmas.”
She imagined word would trickle out in their social circle about her parents’ mandate and her enforced poverty, if it hadn’t already. Her mother was not known for her discretion.
“Great. Good for you.”
“We should do lunch sometime,” Genevieve suggested. “I hear there are a few new restaurants in town since I’ve been gone.”
“Yeah. Of course. Lunch would be...great.” Genevieve didn’t miss that Natalie had on her fake voice, the one she used at nightclubs when undesirable men tried to pick her up.
“I’ll call you,” Natalie said, with that same patently insincere smile.
“Or I can always call you.”
“My schedule’s kind of crazy right now. I don’t know if you heard but I’m getting married in February. I think you know my fiancе. Stanton Manning.”
He had been one of Sawyer’s friends and cut from the same impeccably tailored cloth. “Of course. Stan the Man.”
Her face felt frozen from far more than the ice crystals flailing into her. Natalie had been one of her bridesmaids, for heaven’s sake, but hadn’t bothered to even let Genevieve know she was engaged.
If she were fair, she would have to acknowledge that she hadn’t been her best self during the humiliation of her marriage plans falling apart. She had been the one to drop all her friends first and flee Colorado as quickly as possible.
“I hadn’t heard,” she said now. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I’m counting down the days. You know how that is.”
Natalie’s friend poked her and she flushed. “We’re honeymooning in Italy. He has an uncle who owns a palazzo on the Grand Canal in Venice with stunning views. It’s going to be unbelievable. Oh, and we’ve already bought a house together in Cherry Creek. You’ll have to see it next time you’re in Denver. Stunning. Just stunning. Six bedrooms, five bathrooms. It’s perfect for entertaining.”
“I’m very happy for you,” she said stiffly.
Okay, so Natalie was living the life she had expected, the one she had dreamed. Italian honeymoons, showplace houses, beautiful friends. She refused to let envy eat at her.
She gave Natalie another hug. “Seriously, I’m really happy for you. Be sure to tell Stanton congratulations from me, won’t you?”
“Definitely.” Natalie avoided her gaze and definitely didn’t risk any glances in Dylan’s direction. Her friend nudged her again and she gave that well-practiced smile again. “Well, we’d better go. We’re meeting people at Brazen. See you, Genevieve.”
“’Bye,” she murmured.
Only after they walked away did she realize she hadn’t introduced Dylan. Despite the cold wind that seeped beneath her jacket and whipped her hair around, Genevieve could feel her face heat. A lousy mood was no excuse for poor manners.
He was gazing at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher but one that made her squirm. “Oh. You’re still here.”
“So they tell me.”
“You didn’t need to wait. I can find my own way to my car.”
As if to illustrate, she set off at a brisk pace toward the parking lot, still a few hundred yards away. She had only made it past one more storefront when her heel caught on a patch of ice and she started to flounder.
In a blink, he reached out to block her fall with his arm and his body. Instead of tumbling to the sidewalk, she fell against him and for a moment she could only stare up at him, that strong, handsome face now dominated by the black eye patch. He was still gorgeous, she realized, a little surprised. And he smelled delicious, clean and masculine.
A slow shock of heat seemed to sizzle inside her, and she couldn’t seem to make her limbs cooperate for a long moment. He gazed down at her, too, until a car passed by on Main Street, splattering snow, and she remembered where they were.
What was wrong with her? She couldn’t be attracted to Dylan Caine. She wouldn’t allow it. Genevieve jerked away from him, her face burning, and made a point to move as far away on the sidewalk as she could manage.
He watched her out of that unreadable gaze for a long moment. “Let’s get out of this snow.”
They walked in silence the rest of the way, until she reached the cute little silver BMW SUV her parents had given her when she graduated from college. At least they hadn’t taken that away, too.
At her SUV, she unlocked the door and he held it open for her. Just as she was sliding in, Mr. Taciturn finally found his voice.
“Can I offer a little friendly advice?”
Her stomach tightened. “In my experience, when someone says that, a person usually can’t do much to shut them up.”
And the advice was rarely friendly, either, but she didn’t add that.
“Don’t I know it. I was just going to suggest that you might endure your hundred hours of service a little easier if you can get over being chickenshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know. The whole disgusted, freaking-out thing if one of the guys looks at you or, heaven forbid, dares to touch you only to keep you from falling on your ass.”
Her face heated all over again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.
She certainly couldn’t tell him she had freaked out because of her own inconvenient attraction.
“Goodbye. I’ll see you Thursday,” she said, then slammed her door shut, turned the key in the engine and sped out of the parking lot without looking back.
CHAPTER FOUR
THREE MORNINGS LATER, Genevieve was still annoyed with Dylan, with Natalie, with her parents—with the world in general—as she dressed carefully for her first day at A Warrior’s Hope. She really had no idea what to expect or what she might be asked to do, which made it difficult to determine appropriate attire.
She finally selected black slacks and a delicious peach cashmere turtleneck she’d picked up at a favorite little boutique in Le Marais. Probably overkill, but she knew the color flattered her hair and eyes.
Or at least it usually did. Unfortunately, it clashed terribly with the overabundance of Pepto-Bismol-pink in Grandma Pearl’s hideous bathroom.
This was her least favorite room in the house. How was she supposed to apply makeup when this washed her out so terribly? If she could afford it, she would renovate the entire room, but she doubted her budget would stretch to cover new bathroom fixtures.
She was just finishing her second coat of mascara with one eye on her watch when chimes rang out the refrain of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus.” Grandma Pearl’s ghastly doorbell. She shoved the wand back into the tube and hurried through the house, curious and a little alarmed at who might be calling on her this early in the morning.
“Good. You are home.” Her mother beamed at her as soon as Genevieve opened the door.
“Mother! What are you doing here?”
“Oh, that awful doorbell! Why haven’t you changed it yet?”
“I’m still trying to figure out how. Seriously, why are you here?”
“I’m on my way to the salon. When you were at the house the other day, I couldn’t help noticing your nails. Horrible shape, darling. I thought I would treat you to a mani. I’ve already made the appointment with Clarissa. She had a tight schedule but managed to find room first thing this morning. Won’t that be fun?”
Her mother gave her a hopeful look and Genevieve scrambled for a response. Since the end of her engagement—and the subsequent death of all Laura Beaumont’s thinly veiled ambitions to push them both into the higher echelons of Denver society—Genevieve’s interactions with her mother had been laced with heavy sighs, wistful looks, not-so-subtle comments about this gathering, that event.
Being married to one of the most financially and politically powerful men in small Hope’s Crossing wasn’t enough for Laura. She had always wanted more. When she was engaged to Sawyer and she and Laura worked together to create the wedding of the century, Genevieve had finally felt close to her mother.
She had missed that closeness far more than she missed Sawyer.
“I can’t,” she said regretfully. “I’m starting my community service today.”
Laura gave a dismissive wave of pink-tipped fingers that looked perfectly fine to Genevieve. “Oh, that. Well, you can just start tomorrow, can’t you? I’m sure they won’t mind. I’ll have your father give them a call.”
This was her family in a nutshell. Her mother didn’t understand anything that interfered with her own plans, and when she encountered an obstacle, she expected William Beaumont to step in and fix everything.
When Gen’s younger brother, Charlie, had been arrested for driving under the influence in an accident that had actually resulted in the death of one of his friends, William had been unable to prevent him from pleading guilty. Charlie had served several months at a youth corrections facility, and Laura hadn’t spoken to her husband for weeks.
Now both of their children had been embroiled in legal difficulties. She imagined Laura found it much easier to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened.
“I don’t believe it’s that simple, Mother,” Gen said. “It’s court-mandated. I have to show up or I could go to jail.”
Laura pouted. “Well, what am I supposed to tell Clarissa? She’s expecting us.”
How about the truth? That you see the world only the way you want to see it?
“Tell her I have another obligation I couldn’t escape. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Laura gave a frustrated little huff. “I was looking so forward to finding a moment to catch up with you. We hardly talk when you call from France. I can’t say I agreed with your father’s decision to cut you off financially. I tried my best to talk him out of it. I told him you were having a wonderful time in Paris, that you needed this time and why shouldn’t you take it? As usual, he wouldn’t listen to me. You know how he can be when he’s in a mood. Still, I told myself at least this would give me the chance to spend a little more time with you, darling.”
Her parents drove her crazy sometimes...she couldn’t deny that. These past two years away had helped her see their failings more clearly, but she still loved them.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could go,” she said, not untruthfully.
“I understand. You have to do what you must. I’ll see if I can reschedule for tomorrow.”
