Snow Falling on Bluegrass (3 page)

Darrell tried to turn on the charm for Sadie, but she was having none of it. The more he smiled, the frostier her gaze became. “I just wanted to see my girl off. Make sure she doesn't forget about me while she's gone.”

Sadie nudged me toward the van. “Oh, maybe if I hit her over the head hard enough the amnesia will take this time. Say good-bye, Kelsey.”

“Good-bye, Kelsey,” I muttered as she shoved me through the open door. Darrell practically simpered at me as Sadie shut the door, smiling with such charm I momentarily forgave myself for falling into his web of lies and hair gel. I resisted the urge to make a rude gesture in response.

“It was so sweet of your boyfriend to see you off!” Gina cooed, patting my shoulder. “Wasn't it
sweet
, Charlie?”

Charlie nodded and gave us one of those tight-lipped, “I'm smiling because it's expected, but I won't show any actual teeth or mirth” smiles, then turned his attention to his copy of
Business
Trends
. I didn't respond, wondering why the hell Gina was speaking to me. Sleek, blond, and slender, Gina was the office shark, always moving, always looking for the next opportunity to suck up to someone higher ranked. She rarely had time for me unless the conversation was related to shoehorning her boss's priorities into the budget.

As tourism commissioner Ted Bidwell's executive assistant, Gina was representing him at the retreat, since he could not be bothered to actually attend. She'd carried a big flamey torch for Josh when he'd first arrived and was loath to give up the goal. In fact, it had taken my none-too-subtle reminders of an unfortunate incident involving Gina's “indiscretion” with a jockey at the annual Derby Day party to keep her from reporting Josh and Sadie's relationship to HR out of spite. But with Josh and Sadie clearly coupled up, Gina seemed to have refocused her energy on Charlie. She'd changed her morning routine to make sure they were in the coffee room at the same time. She'd even started dropping
Dr. Who
references, only she called the character “Dr. Who,” which was just—no.

This would not stand.

“Charlie, don't you think it's sweet?” Gina asked again, nudging Charlie's shoulder.

Charlie didn't bother looking up from his magazine to murmur, “Mmhmm.”

I was careful not to touch Charlie's hips as I buckled my seat belt. Charlie subtly shifted away from me in the seat. It seemed that we were back to the “miss” portion of our hit-or-miss friendship. Great.

“Sorry, Kels, but I just couldn't stand watching any sort of good-bye kiss,” Sadie said, still indecently cheerful, even after threatening me with significant head injuries. “We have a three-hour drive ahead of us and I wanted to hold on to my lunch.”

Beside me, Charlie snorted softly. I dropped my chin against my chest and thought about my dad's promise when I was a kid that road trips would go much faster if I fell asleep. I prayed to fall into some sort of road coma for the next few hours. At Sadie's mention of the lengthy drive, Josh seemed impatient to get going. He started the van and turned sharply out of the parking lot. Of course, the sudden shift sent me sliding against Charlie's side. He gently put his arm around my shoulders and righted me in my seat, giving me an awkward little smile, which he seemed to shut down somehow, and then turned to the window. Great, he took back a smile. What was the return policy on those?

Sighing, I pulled out my phone and began angry-texting Aaron, which was never a good thing, because I ended up misspelling half the words beyond the capabilities of autocorrect. Fortunately, the boys were used to this, so they were able to interpret the gobbledygook I sent them as
Darrell has racked up a bunch of bills in my name. Again. Would you mind checking my credit report? You know the info.

A few minutes later, Aaron responded with,
Yeah. It's bad.

I groaned and slumped forward until my forehead was resting on my phone. I just didn't have the strength to deal with this right now. Who knew how much damage Darrell had managed to do to the credit I'd only just managed to rebuild after his last spree? My phone pinged again and I saw another message from Aaron.
Wally put a freeze on your accounts and a fraud watch on your social security number. We're already tracking the delinquent reports. We'll have it cleared up by the time you get back. No worries.

I sniffled a little, not wanting my coworkers to see me cry over my friends' generosity. The last thing I'd wanted to do was ask my boys to spend hours clearing up the digital mess in my life, but they were already on it. No questions asked. I was very lucky to have them in my life.

And once again, that little pilot light of anger I usually felt toward Darrell flared up into a healthy blaze. How freaking dare he do this to me again? How many times was he going to leave me with these messes to clean up, and what the hell was wrong with me for putting up with it for so long?

My phone pinged and I checked it again.
Protocol: Icarus?
Aaron asked.

My eyes went wide. Protocol: Icarus was a sort of legend within our small friend group. Named for the dipshit mythical son who reached beyond his capabilities and ended up falling into the ocean and drowning, it was a truly vindictive blueprint for revenge that we came up with after one too many of Darrell's female “friends” turned out to be of the “with benefits” variety. When we'd sobered up and found the list of punishments, and realized the horrors we'd imagined, we'd put it on the boys' fridge as a sort of reminder that we should use our powers for good instead of evil.

Was Aaron kidding about breaking the glass around Icarus or was he really considering it? Did Darrell deserve that kind of treatment, even after what he'd done?

Just then, my phone beeped again. It was a text from Darrell's number.
Oh, I forgot. You also opened a store account at Parson's Leather Goods. I needed a new winter jacket. You should be getting a bill in a few weeks.

Yeah, he had it coming. Gritting my teeth, I typed
Make it so
and sent the message to Aaron. I tossed my phone back into my bag. I would see Darrell in hell.

The van merged on I-64, toward western Kentucky and the Land Between the Lakes recreational area. The lakes district boasted spectacular boating, fishing, and any number of water sports, and provided summer economic boosts to the locals who operated antique shops, go-kart tracks, mini-golf courses, regular-size golf courses, fudge shops, and country-kitchen-themed restaurants.

But of course, very little of that would be available to us, because it was January and winter go-karting expeditions never ended well. The best we could hope for would be some very chilly hikes and shivery trust circles.

True to our luck, at that very moment a misting rain speckled the windshield. So no outdoor activities at all, then.

Awesome.

2

In Which the Lights Go Out in Kentucky

Bouncing between my colleagues' streams of chatter kept me distracted from the gloomy weather and my ex's sociopathic tendencies. Gina and Theresa debated the relative merits of the
Real Housewives
series versus
Big Rich Atlanta
. Josh and Sadie argued over the color of the kitchen walls in Josh's new (bigger, less sad) apartment. Josh wanted blue to reflect his alma mater, University of Kentucky. Sadie was an earth tones person and a University of Louisville graduate, so she refused blue on principle. Tom seemed to be grumbling to himself about his kids, who were texting him, asking for his credit card number for online purchases. And Jacob was reading aloud from a book of Chuck Norris facts that I got him for the office Secret Santa exchange. It was nice that my gift was appreciated, but I didn't necessarily need to know that Chuck Norris could tie cherry stems with his ear.

The weather seemed to be getting worse as we got closer to our destination. The drizzling mix of rain and tiny sleet pellets started to freeze to the windshield, giving it a crackling stained glass appearance. Josh mercilessly defrosted the windshield and kept up his color debate with Sadie, but I couldn't help noticing that he frequently drifted into the other lane. Interior decorating angst was, apparently, a worse driving distraction than texting.

I worried about Bonnie Turkle, yet another office soul mate, who worked out of a satellite KCT location four hours away from Frankfort in Mud Creek. She was one of the smartest women I knew, but she had a history of vehicular disasters. Icy roads were not going to help her chances of arriving safely. I pulled out my phone, frowning at its 40 percent charge. I had several missed calls and voice mails from a number I didn't recognize. Maybe Darrell had used someone else's phone? I'd kept my cell on silent just in case he tried to call, a common occurrence after a breakup when he ran out of clean underwear and friends who would let him crash on their couches. Also, I didn't want to hear about any extra bills he found in my name.

Shaking my head, I sent a quick text to Bonnie.
U OK? DON'T respond if you're driving. Wait til U stop!

“I'm sure Bonnie is fine,” said a smooth voice to my left. My eyes darted to Charlie's face, but he'd gone back to looking at his magazine.

I nodded and tried to tamp down the pterodactyl-size tummy butterflies set loose by his mouth being so close to my ear.

I'd been with the KCT's marketing department for about three years. I majored in English literature, which meant that without a master's degree I was basically qualified for nothing when I graduated. My parents lived in Frankfort and I had been desperate to move out of their house. I'd walked into the state department of tourism offices because I'd confused the address with that of the insurance company down the street. I was sitting in the lobby, explaining the mix-up to my (unlikely) potential employer, copying down directions to the insurance office with one hand and dabbing at a coffee stain on my blouse with the other. My ability to keep my cool and multitask in less than ideal circumstances caught then marketing director Ray Brackett's attention.

Ray pulled me in to interview for the assistant's position and hired me on the spot.

I adjusted to the position more quickly than I'd thought possible. Running someone else's life? That I could do. It was like juggling a dozen little balls, and the reward for keeping them in the air was a schedule that ran smoothly. I was not a particularly creative person. I would never paint a great masterpiece or invent some life-changing gadget, but I could remember all the little details, anticipate the potential problems. I could see the big picture formed from the little puzzle pieces. And when I saw the work that the marketing department produced, I could feel like I was part of something great.

Unfortunately, Charlie's interview for the grant-funded statistician position happened to fall on one of my manic days, and I was running around the office like the proverbial headless chicken. Charlie came strolling out of the elevator like a cover boy for
Suave Nerd Quarterly
and I dropped a pile of file folders at his feet. And while he was helping me gather them up, I stood and he said, “Uh, you have a—” and reached up to peel a bright yellow Post-it note from my butt.

Instead of commenting on the embarrassing grocery list on the Post-it, Charlie simply smiled and handed me the yellow paper, then asked me if there were any Sadie-related quirks he might need to be aware of before the interview. When that minefield of a conversation didn't scare him off, I advised Sadie to hire him immediately.

Much like with my Lost Boy nerd herd, I had taken Charlie under my wing as soon as he took the position as statistician, using his multiple advanced degrees in mathematics to create and decipher surveys that helped us predict state tourism trends. Sadly, Charlie's insanely large brain had been installed without the “social ease” chip. That led to the occasional awkward moment in which I had to act as what Sadie called the “Ambassador of Dumbassery” and explain our normal colleagues' wacky antics to him. And like my boys—and Sadie, for that matter—Charlie needed someone to help him with little details of everyday life, like making sure he ate actual food every day and was forced into the outside world for exposure to sunlight to prevent cave fish syndrome. Again, I was good at running other people's schedules. I simply added Charlie to the rotation of people I cared for, literally and figuratively.

In addition to being smart and well-mannered, Charlie was the type of guy who always remembered our birthdays with little potted plants and iTunes gift cards. I suspected there was a birthday spreadsheet involved, but it was the thought that counted. More than that, he was well-read, enjoyed the same obscure sci-fi movies that I did, and showed occasional flashes of absolutely filthy humor. They were few and far between, but so very worth the effort to see.

And yes, he also appealed to me on a completely shallow, physical, non-intellectual level. Beyond the sharp, elegant features, the man's voice was sex—deep, smooth, chocolate-covered sex. It didn't matter what he was saying, it sounded ridiculously sensual. He asked me for a bottle of Wite-Out once and I swear my panties slid right off. And, just to prove the universe was a cruel place, over the past few months he'd magically figured out how to dress: cute little vest-and-tie combinations paired with dark jeans that emphasized his long legs and thoroughly bitable butt. It was like he was trying to torture me.

I wanted him so badly my thighs ached with it. Charlie never dated, never mentioned a girlfriend, but I never had the guts to act on my feelings (read: do something naked and foolish). I told myself it was because it wasn't fair to Darrell. I told myself that I valued my friendship with Charlie too much to ruin it. But honestly, I was afraid that I'd misinterpreted Charlie's behavior and he would gently but firmly friend-zone me. Or worse, he wouldn't reject me and I would manage to screw up the relationship in less than a month and end up alone. It was better to stay with familiar, predictable Darrell.

I had thought this holding pattern was working for us. I knew my place. Charlie knew his. But right after Sadie's transition to the director's position, the sweet, affable Charlie I knew gave way to this occasionally distant, tongue-tied version.

As the van bumped along the interstate, I told myself for the twentieth or so time that morning that I couldn't let my feelings affect my job. I closed my eyes and visualized a weekend spent handling the mundane details I could manage so deftly. I pictured hours of quiet time in my room, resting and restoring a psyche that had been smacked all to heck by Darrell's dickery, not to mention Charlie's mood swings. I pictured coming home to a newspaper headline reading
LOCAL MAN DARRELL WATTS DIES OF
OVEREXPOSURE TO AXE BODY SPRAY
.

“Wow,” I heard Jacob whisper. I opened my eyes and saw that we were turning off the access road, past the weathered stone Lockwood Lodge sign.

Nestled in the heart of the heavily wooded Lake Lockwood Nature Preserve, Lockwood Lodge was a four-story, four-hundred-room resort constructed of local granite and timber. As the one who booked the accommodations for the retreat, I spent a lot of time considering our hotel options. Beyond the sturdy “country manor” exterior, I was drawn in by the cozily decorated rooms with their pearly blue walls and queen-size beds covered in blue-checked quilts. The lodge also boasted an eighteen-hole golf course, an indoor/outdoor pool with accompanying spas and saunas, and a stunning view over Lake Lockwood. Even through the tumbling sleet, it promised warmth and comfort.

I supposed it was too much to hope that I could forage a bottle of champagne and just sit in one of those hot tubs all weekend.

“Nice job, Kels,” Josh said, winking at me in the rearview mirror. I grinned back at him, pleased to feel that familiar flutter after a job well done. Charlie nudged me with his elbow and started to wink, but I gave an exaggerated gasp and cradled my side as if I'd been stabbed. “I was wrong, your elbows
are bonier than mine
.”

“When Kelsey is done with her death throes, we can unload the van,” Sadie told us.

“Dead people don't carry their own bags!” I said without opening my eyes.

Josh tossed a Starbucks napkin at my head. “They do when their bags are the size of coffins.”

With much leg stretching and griping about oversize luggage, we eventually piled out of the van. The rain was already forming a thick crust of ice over the pavement and the few cars in the parking lot. Sadie was going to have to send the Kentucky meteorological community at large a note of apology for openly mocking their predictions.

As we dragged our luggage inside the lodge, I couldn't help but notice how vacant the building was. Our voices practically echoed off the buff-colored cathedral ceilings. The comfy-looking tooled leather club chairs arranged around the huge stone fireplace were vacant. The cozy bar off to the left of the registration desk was quiet and dark, as was the dining room just beyond the glass double doors etched with two leaping white-tailed deer. While the carefully placed furniture and shiny maple floors were immaculately chic, the large room seemed oddly tomblike without the hum of conversation and excited tourists. When I'd booked the reservation, the clerk had warned me that this was considered the lodge's off-season, but I'd expected a few other guests. The only person I could see was a big piece of tall, dark, and handsome standing behind the front desk.

Yowza.

Typically I didn't go in for the broad-and-burly type, but the way the front desk clerk filled out his long-sleeved green Lockwood Lodge collared shirt was enough to make me change my mind. He wasn't some gym-built meathead, but he was definitely fit. I imagined he'd built those sinewy arms chopping wood or wrestling bears or something equally manly. He glanced up at our party and my eyebrows rose. Blue-black hair and bright blue-green eyes so clear they reminded me of the ocean? Check. Rough-hewn, craggy features that belonged on a cowboy romance novel cover? Check. Slight beard scruff that might feel quite pleasant chafing against certain spots on my body? Check. I smiled, mostly out of nervousness, and he beamed back. His smile was almost blindingly white, set against tan skin that hadn't faded since the summer.

Charlie followed my line of sight to the front desk and frowned, as if he could hear my checklist of sexual objectification in his head. I had to learn to be more subtle about these things. But, since Charlie didn't seem interested, the front desk cowboy might just fit the bill for a pleasant weekend distraction.

I unbuttoned my heavy coat, which just happened to give him a generous view of my cleavage. Darrell-related self-esteem issues aside, there was no denying I had a nice rack. The cowboy—whose name tag read
PARK RANGER LUKE HOLMES
—let his smile ratchet up a notch.

If Gina so much as simpered at him, I was going to shave her head.

But Luke's face immediately fell. Apparently, I'd overestimated the power of my cleavage. That was disappointing.

“Oh, no, are you the KCT party?” he asked.

“Uh, yes,” Sadie said. “We have a reservation and confirmation numbers. I just spoke to your manager yesterday and she assured me everything was ready.”

“Did you not get my messages?” Luke asked, glancing down at some papers on his desk. “I called a Kelsey Wade twice in the last two hours to cancel.”

Oh, no. I'd given the lodge my cell phone as the “in case of emergency” number. My cell phone, which had been set to silent. My cell phone, with the two missed calls I'd ignored.

Damn it.

“Cancel? You can't cancel. We have a confirmation number!” Sadie exclaimed, pointing to the paperwork in her special retreat binder.

His tone was sincerely apologetic. “We don't have a choice. I was calling to let you know we received an emergency shutdown notice from the state parks department. The weather is supposed to get really ugly in the next twenty-four hours. We don't want to risk guests or employees being injured on the drive to the property. You were the only large party we had booked this weekend, anyway. I managed to contact all the other guests and warn them to save them a dangerous drive.”