much wintertime grief. The majority of residents vacated after Labor Day, of course, not returning until early summer. But diehards remained throughout the year or returned on winter weekends to ski nearby slopes and cozy up to a roaring fireplace.
When they reached the top of the rise, the log-and-stone clubhouse came into distant view through the pines, but she took a sharp right turn down a narrow blacktopped road marked “Private.” When she finally reached the large steel structure where heavy maintenance equipment and supplies were housed, she shut off the engine and got out as Cody pulled in beside her.
As he approached where she stood next to the substantial building, his dark eyes assessed his surroundings.
“This is new. And I’m guessing that was the clubhouse I glimpsed before we turned off. The foundation was being poured about the time I left town.”
She’d forgotten he’d have still lived in Canyon Springs when the project was getting underway. Motioning to a door off to the side, she held a keycard to the security pad next to it. Cody reached for the latch and opened it for her.
“Thanks,” she said as she stepped into the dimly lit interior, noting that the workers had left for the day. She felt along the wall for the light switch just as Cody reached for it, too, his warm fingers brushing hers as together they illuminated the high-ceilinged space. She pulled back as a shot of awareness bolted through her.
Catching her breath, she pointed across the spacious interior to the far corner. “We’ve set up an area for your mother to work. Since you’ve come to take a look, I assume you’ve talked to Lucy?”
“I phoned her.”
Please, God, let Lucy be able to finish this project. This was supposed to be a special Christmas. My last one as a resident of Canyon Springs. But everything is snowballing out of control. Please?
She took a steadying breath. “And?”
“And...” Cody’s brows formed a sympathetic, inverted V. “She can’t follow through on it. Dad’s too sick. She needs to be there for him.”
“But she signed a contract. Accepted payment.”
“Yes, she’s well aware of all that.”
“Well, then, what—?”
“What am I doing here? I wanted to see how much she’s done.” Cody glanced toward the work area, then once again leveled a steady gaze on Paris. “And see how much I have left to do.”
A soft, startled breath escaped Paris’s lips. Cody wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. All he knew was that it pierced his heart and made him more determined to make good on his mother’s commitment to the holiday gala. For Ma. For Paris.
She shot him a confused look. “You’re taking over for your mother?”
“She feels badly about letting you down. Being unable to fulfill a promise isn’t something she takes lightly.”
He still marveled that Ma said Dad had agreed to help out, to do the construction for her. That sure wasn’t the Leroy Hawk he knew.
“She asked you to do this?”
“I offered to do it when I realized how upset she was.”
When I sensed how upset you would be.
“But your mother is an artist.”
Cody chuckled. “That she is. And I’m not a half-bad one myself, if you’ll recall.”
He’d once garnered the courage to waylay Paris as she walked home alone from school one afternoon. He’d shown her a sketch he’d done while observing her from a far corner of study hall. The drawing was one of many where he’d done his best to capture her expressive eyes and her shimmering dark hair draping over her shoulders.
That day she’d stared for a long moment at the sketch he’d handed her, telling her she could keep it. She’d blushed furiously, thanked him, then hurried home without a backward glance.
Had she kept it? Or tossed it in the trash?
“You are,” she said softly, her cheeks even now tinged a delicate pink, “a very good artist.”
So she did remember.
“Ma has the staging designs worked out. All I have to do is build them. Everything will be true to the original plan the committee approved months ago.”
She glanced uncertainly toward the work area, then at him. “Don’t you have a job you have to get back to?”
He could tell it embarrassed her to ask. The older Hawk boys hadn’t been known to stay with anything long. Where were they now? In Texas again? New Mexico? Barry had been in and out of who knows how many marriages and had done time in jail for violation of a restraining order. Carson had been in and out of trouble with the law as well and fathered more than a few illegitimate children.
“I do have a job, but it’s flexible enough at the moment to let me remain in town a few weeks to help my mother. And you.”
From the look in her eyes, he shouldn’t have added that personal postscript. But it didn’t much matter whether she liked it or not. He wasn’t going to let Ma down and allow her reputation to be dragged down to the level of his dad and half brothers.
“Ma’s subcontracting the project to me. If you’ll make sure Harry the Gatekeeper knows I have approval so I can come and go here and at the clubhouse as time allows, I guarantee the staging will more than meet your expectations and your deadline.”
He’d do it if he had to work twenty-four hours a day.
Could she tell that he had no expectations tacked onto his offer of assistance? Neither of them had alluded to that long-ago night when he’d poured out his heart to her, but it hung like an invisible barrier between them. As much as he’d like to spend every moment of his time in Canyon Springs with Paris, even with Dalton out of the picture he wouldn’t attempt to insert himself into her world again as he’d done twelve years ago.
Doubt colored her eyes. “I’m not sure—”
“I’d say you could think it over and get back to me later.” He nodded toward the work area as his eyes remained locked on hers. “But there’s no time to accommodate much thinking, let alone much ‘later.’ I need to get crackin’. And you need to get on out of here and let me get to work.”
* * *
Cody’s authoritative words still echoed through Paris’s mind on Monday morning as she poured herself another glass of orange juice. They’d been spoken as if he were the boss and she an unwelcome intrusion on his valuable time.
You need to get on out of here and let me get to work.
She should have protested, should have told him the contract was with his mother, not him, and that the committee would make alternate arrangements. But what choice did she truly have with the gala now
