thank you.” He turned to leave, pausing only long enough to say over his shoulder, “Put your boots on and let’s get going, Mel. I have to be back at the lodge in half an hour.”
His footsteps stamped out of the suite and back to the other side of the veranda with a vehemence which suggested he would have liked to grind them across the interloper’s throat. Shortly thereafter, his own front door slammed. Truly, the man was formidable! As for his daughter, all her animation had died, leaving her little face pinched with misery and her mouth drooping sullenly as she trooped obediently in his wake.
And small wonder! Left too much to her own devices, with only a couple of dogs for company, half the time—it was no sort of life for a child.
“Well, ma petite, things will be different as long I’m living next door,” Claire muttered, clearing away the remains of their celebration. “By the time Christmas is over, you’ll be glad to see me leave, you’ll have grown so tired of me.”
But she knew that wasn’t true. The girl was dying inside for want of affection and the feel of strong, loving arms around her. As am I, she thought. The need to feel cherished never goes away, but I don’t have the heart to tell you that, sweet child. Sadly, it’s something you’ll learn on your own, all too soon.
The après-ski happy hour was well underway when Zach walked into the lounge, and if the noise level was anything to go by, people were having a good time. In itself, this was always a positive sign because he knew from experience that a successful social program was a key factor in keeping the resort in the black. But the scene he’d just had with Melanie had left him with no taste to party and when his gaze settled on the cause of this latest father-daughter spat, his mood blackened further.
Claire Durocher leaned against the far end of the bar, all dolled up in a clinging jumpsuit. Made of some sort of sparkly black stuff, with a halter neckline which dipped in a deep vee at the front, it left so little to the imagination as to be almost indecent.
She’d tied her hair up to show off her long elegant neck and the diamond-studded hoops which swung in her ears like a pair of metronomes every time she turned her head. Which she did often, batting her silly eyelashes at all the attention she was receiving from every man in the joint. Even McBride was making a damn fool of himself, ogling her from his side of the bar where he sat nursing his hot toddy.
“Keep drooling like that and you’ll shrink the ends of your mustache,” Zach advised him tersely.
“That’s one fine figure of a woman, son,” McBride drawled, his gaze never wavering. “Yes, sir, one fine figure of a woman!”
Zach flung another sidelong glance to where she continued to hold court, gesturing with her hand and showing off the diamonds strung around her dainty wrist. “If brains were what counts, she’d be standing at the end of the line waiting for other people’s leftovers!”
Hoisting himself up on a stool, he flagged down the bartender. “Pour me a Scotch, Charlie. And before you say another word,” he added, seeing McBride about to chip in with a further two bits’ worth of unasked-for comment, “I’m well aware I don’t usually start drinking this early in the day, but I’ve had another go-round with Mel and it’s all because of her.” He jerked his head in Claire Durocher’s direction, a slight enough gesture to pass unnoticed, he’d have thought, but she must have sensed she was being talked about because she glanced up suddenly and locked gazes with him.
The noise in the room grew oddly distant then; muffled almost, as if everyone else had moved off and left him alone with her. Her expression grew sober and altogether too thoughtful for his peace of mind. Belatedly, he realized that there was a brain behind that disturbingly lovely face, and right at that moment, it was working overtime.
Mesmerized, he lifted his glass and took a mouthful of the Scotch. But nothing it could offer compared to the fire suddenly burning in his blood. She needed to be brought to heel, he thought savagely. Where did she get off waltzing into Topaz Valley and upsetting the even tenor of things? And what was wrong with him that, while the thinking part of him declined to tolerate her intrusion into any aspect of his life, another part knew a sudden primitive ache of desire?
He swore under his breath and tossed back the rest of the Scotch. “I’m off to make sure everything’s on schedule in the south wing,” he told McBride. “You can hold down the fort in here—always assuming you can keep your mind on the job, that is!”
“When did I ever let you down, Zach?” McBride asked mildly, not once taking his eyes off the Durocher creature.
She’d finally grown tired of trying to stare him down and Zach doubted she even noticed his departure. Unaccountably miffed, he strode to the dining room.
Flames from the big fireplace reflected on polished crystal and silver. Pyramids of napkins starched to within an inch of their lives stood to attention beside every plate. Arrangements of chrysanthemums and holly surrounded the candle centerpieces. Sterling serving dishes lined the massive rosewood sideboard he’d bought at a hotel auction. A twelve-foot Noble fir sparkling with Christmas lights stood in one of the window recesses.
Surveying the scene restored his equilibrium somewhat. It was with just such attention to luxury that he’d built Topaz Valley’s reputation. There were plenty of ski resorts which catered to a less discriminating crowd, where hamburgers and pots of chili were the order of the day and the baked goods were obtained commercially. But he’d known that if he was to persuade people to undertake the journey to this remote and beautiful place, he had to make it worth their while.
Satisfied that he was succeeding, he passed through the swing doors at the far end of the room and entered the butler’s pantry leading to the kitchen. A chalkboard propped against a cabinet showed the evening menu: crab chowder and crusty baguettes, poached pear salad, roast partridge with spiced orange salsa and wild rice, brandied mince tarts, peach compote, and a selection of imported and Canadian cheeses with fresh fruit.
As a peace offering, he’d invited Mel to join him for dinner in the dining room, but she’d insisted she wasn’t hungry. Actually, what she’d said was that she’d rather eat dirt, which amounted to the same thing, albeit in less polite terms. Pretty irate himself and feeling perfectly justified in pointing out that she had no business hobnobbing with adult guests in their private quarters, he’d made her grilled cheese sandwiches and left her to sulk at home. Pity she was missing out on her favorite crab chowder, though. Not that she’d exactly starve on grilled cheese, but still…
“Oh, what the hell!” Exasperated, he filled a bowl with soup, swiped some bread, cheese and fruit, and piled the whole lot on a tray. “If I dithered like this in business, I’d be in bankruptcy court within the year,” he muttered, heading for the door.
But parenting refused to be cut and dried. Too often, he simply didn’t know the best route to take, and as Mel grew older and less tractable, he found himself wondering if he was up to the job of bringing up a daughter single-handedly. He wasn’t exactly famous for his insight into the female psyche, after all.
It was still snowing lightly when he went outside a few minutes later, but a smattering of stars now showed through the ragged cloud cover. The air was sharp as crystal, filled with the scent of pine and fir and wood smoke, and quiet as a church.
He paused a moment at the top of the main lodge steps, just to inhale the fragrant peace. This was what he’d worked for, for the last twelve years and he was nuts to let anything spoil the pleasure of his achievement. The holidays were almost here, more than thirty feet of snow had fallen already, and it would take a lot more than a spat over a temporary guest to come
