Snowbound in Montana (15 page)

“The house is full of people. But you could come to my room.”

“No. We’ll walk.” The night was clear, and not that cold. It was the safest option.

He helped her stow her luggage out of sight on the back porch, then followed her down the lane that led to the river path. Faint light from the nearby houses gave a golden glow to the chunks of snow-covered ice that had risen up from the river in the cold. Another young couple, out for a romantic stroll, appeared ahead of them, walking arm-in-arm in their direction.

“Merry Christmas,” the guy murmured, tightening his hold on his sweetheart.

“Same to you,” Eliza replied.

She noticed the woman give John a glance, then a second look. As they were passing, the woman whispered. “Did you see him? That was John Urban, I’m sure of it!”

A second later, she ran back, tapped John on the arm. “Could I please have your autograph?” She pulled out an old receipt from her purse, as well as a pen.

John laughed good-naturedly and did as she asked.

“Thanks, man,” the guy said. “We like your music.”

John nodded. “Good to hear. No problem. Have a nice walk.”

“I guess you get a lot of that now,” Eliza said, tucking her hands in her pockets, not only to keep them warm, but also so John wouldn’t try to hold one of them.

“Comes with the territory. And I’m not complaining. You know how much I wanted this. How hard I worked.”

“Yes. And I also know the people you stepped on to make it, since I was one of them.”

He let out a sigh. “I was a fool. I didn’t appreciate you the way I should have. And I’m sorry, Eliza. I truly am.”

He was either sincere or a truly gifted actor. Possibly he was both.

She stopped walking. “Okay. You’ve given me your apology. Can we go back now?”

“But we just started. And I have a lot more I want to say.”

“Really? Because, earlier, you said you just wanted a chance to apologize.”

“You’ve changed, Eliza. You didn’t use to be so hard.”

“Guess who made me this way?” Oh, she shouldn’t have said that. By admitting how much he’d hurt her, she was also letting him know how much she’d cared. But then, he’d known that. And he’d cheated anyway. Then lied about it to her face.

“You’re not the only one who’s changed. I admit the fame went to my head at first. But I’m ready to settle down now. We were so good together. We could be that way again.”

These were words that would have felled her if he’d spoken them earlier. Maybe even just a few months ago. But as she looked into the eyes of the man she’d loved so deeply, she had the weird sensation that she was looking at a handsome photograph in a magazine. She could appreciate his beauty. But it no longer touched her.

She didn’t love him. Not even a little.

And in a flash she understood why.

Marshall McKenzie was a quiet, unassuming man. But man he was, and in the deepest, truest sense of the word.

It was interesting how society placed value on people and their contributions. Everyone loved John now, even strangers stopped him in the street for an autograph or just to shake his hand. But how would John have acted if he’d been snowbound at that lodge? Would he have been calm and capable? Provided leadership when it was needed, yet also been willing to help Betsy in the kitchen? Been patient with the Kellys when they skied into danger, and also kind to a little boy like Kevin?

The world needed people who could write songs about things.

But it also needed people who did the things that songs were written about.

People like Marshall McKenzie.

“I tried to tell you this earlier, but you’re wasting your time. What we had is over. You should pack up and leave in the morning. Or even sooner would be nice.”

John took hold of her shoulders, and came perilously close to shaking her. “No. You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. Take your hands off of me.”

He loosened his grip, but didn’t let her go. “You have to return to Nashville with me. I wrote my best songs when we were together.”

Eliza glared at him. So that’s what this was all about. She should have guessed. Pulling away from him, she started to run toward the blazing lights of Bramble House.

‡

T
he next morning
was chaos. Eliza had managed to sneak quickly into her room the previous evening, avoiding encounters with her sister, brother-in-law and great-aunt Mable.

Now she had to pay the price.

She was up early to prepare breakfast. All the meals for the holiday had been planned weeks ahead of time and organized by date in the kitchen binder. She opened the page to December twenty-seven and saw that blueberry compote, French toast and sausages were on the menu.

According to the guest calendar, updated online and accessed from the kitchen on the same laptop she used for most of her recipes, there would be three couples with them this morning, as well as John Urban.

Eliza updated the record to delete John’s name.

He’d driven off, as she’d hoped, shortly after their argument. From her bedroom window, she’d watched him throw his guitar and suitcase into the back seat of his fancy black truck. She’d felt only relief as he’d disappeared down the road.

She’d just pulled two packages of turkey and apple sausages from the freezer when her sister appeared. Caro was in jeans and a sweatshirt, with her long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“What time did you get home last night?”

“Not that late.”

“Did John whisk you off for a romantic dinner?” Caro grabbed Eliza’s left hand. “Did he ask you to marry him?”

“No and no. We went for a walk. I told him to get lost.”

Caro laughed. “Thank God. I was so afraid he was going to weave his evil spell and ensnare you again. Though, honestly? Having met him in person, I do understand the appeal. I mean, wow. The guy is totally hot.”

“Did he stay here the entire time I was away?”

“When he heard you wouldn’t be back until the evening after Christmas, he hustled back to Nashville on his own private jet. He was back yesterday, a few hours before sunset. He tried to charm great-aunt Mable, but she would have none of it.”

While her sister perched on a stool and watched, Eliza put a large copper frying pan on the burner, then added a quarter inch of water and the sausages. With the lid in place, she left the pan to simmer while she prepared the blueberry compote. “She’s a smart woman, our aunt Mable.”

“Well, thank you. It’s nice to be appreciated.” Mable rounded the corner into the room, using her cane to make her way to her favorite chair in the corner. She was dressed in one of her wool, knee-length skirts, with a cashmere twin set and pearls. As always, her hair and make-up were impeccable.

Eliza gave her aunt a kiss, then put the kettle on to boil to make her aunt’s favorite English Breakfast. “How were things here? I hope it wasn’t too much work.”

“I wish I could score some brownie points and claim I was worked off my feet,” Caro said. “But you were so organized, the guests were all sweeties, and everything went very well.”

“Thank goodness that musician didn’t decide to hang around,” Aunt Eliza said. “That would have changed everything. But, yes, Caro’s right. With all the baking in the freezer, and your pre-planned menus, everything went off without a hitch.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

“And what about your ski holiday?” Caro asked. “We were worried about you when that storm set in. I’ve never seen so much snow. Believe me, Frank and I were really regretting not going to the tropics with Mom and Dad.”

“Well, at least you still had power. And heat. The lodge ran out of propane on the third day of the blizzard. And the snow was so bad, no one could get in or out for four days.”

Of course, that only brought on more questions, and Eliza was scrambling to provide all the answers while she kept breakfast preparations going smoothly.

Finally, she held out her hand. “Stop. No more questions until after breakfast, okay?”

Caro jumped to her feet. “Sorry. I’ll set the table, then I’ll make coffee. If you’re wondering about Frank, I told him he could sleep in this morning.”

Good, Eliza thought. At least that was one less person peppering her with questions. As she grated lemon zest into the compote, she thought about Marshall. What was he doing today? Had he thought about her at all?

She’d been such an idiot on the trip, worried about giving him the wrong idea, when all along, she’d been the one with the wrong idea, thinking John Urban was the only man she could ever love. Every time poor, sweet Marshall had made a tiny move on her, she’d foolishly pushed him away.

She was desperate to see him again. To test out her new theory that it just might be Marshall, not John, who was the love of her life.

But first she had to get through this breakfast….

*

Two hours later,
breakfast had been served. Frank came down in time for a serving of the cinnamon dusted French toast topped with blueberries, and several sausages. Then, he offered to handle clean-up duty so Caro and Eliza could relax with a much deserved cup of coffee.

“Thank you, Frank.” Eliza gave her brother-in-law a hug, then filled her mug with coffee and joined her sister in the library. Aunt Eliza was already in her chair, working on her cross-stitch, a cup of tea on the table beside her.

“So, tell me more about your winter adventure,” Caro insisted, as soon as they were settled. “Especially this Marshall fellow. He sounds like he has potential.”

Her sister had good instincts with men. Eliza had to give her that much. “He held things together, and it wasn’t easy. It was a very fractious group, especially in the beginning.”

An hour later, she’d shared most of her stories, leaving out the little moments between her and Marshall when a potential attraction had seemed to be brewing. She wouldn’t feed Caro’s imagination any further, at least not until she’d had a chance to talk with Marshall and see if she was right.

“So how much longer can you and Frank stay? Have you had a chance to see much of Marietta while you’ve been here?”

“Sorry, Sis, but we’re leaving this afternoon. Our flight leaves Bozeman around five o’clock, so we should get on the road soon.”

“That’s too bad,” Eliza said, feeling guilty because she felt the exact opposite. The sooner Caro and Frank left, the sooner she could call Marshall and see if he wanted to see her.

“By the way, you and Aunt Mable have been invited to the Circle C for dinner tonight.”

“Oh?” Eliza didn’t often receive invitations from her cousins. And she certainly hadn’t been planning on one tonight.

“Count me out,” Aunt Mable said. “We were just there for Christmas. That place is mayhem. After poor Beverly died, those girls were left to run wild. Especially the youngest, that Callan. I hear she hangs out at Grey’s Saloon on Fridays, drinking and playing pool like she was some sort of cowhand.”

Caro rolled her eyes at Eliza privately, signalling that her definition of “mayhem” wasn’t the same as their aunt’s. “We had a fun time, actually. Frank and Sage’s new husband, Dawson O’Dell, really hit it off. And Dani’s new baby is such a sweetie. I would have held her all night long if Dani and Eliot had let me.”

“She is a good baby,” Mable allowed. “Even if she does have that Downs problem. And it’s only proper that Danielle named her after her mother.”

“Down Syndrome,” Eliza corrected, automatically. “I would love to see everyone while they’re together. Plus, it can’t hurt to ask once more if they’ll let me read their mother’s diaries. It would help fill in a few blanks in the family history.”

“Are you still working on that?”

“I’m almost finished. Maybe next year I’ll be able to give a published copy to everyone for Christmas.”

“Well, I guess I should call the Circle C and pass along my regrets,” Aunt Mable said.

“And I should get packing.” Caroline finished her coffee and was rising out of her seat, when something out the window caught her attention. “My, oh my. Looks like we have a visitor coming up the walk. This is a wild guess, but any chance this is your Marshall McKenzie, Eliza?”