Take a Chance on Me (6 page)

A woman not his late wife and Claire’s deceased best friend.

She stood at the keyboard trying to concentrate as fellow musicians Kyle Hueston and Emma Nelson churned out a version of “I Heard It through the Grapevine,” a cover that always pleased the locals.

Emma finished the last bars of the song as the crowd cheered. Yes, an appropriate song for Deep Haven, where gossip grew like weeds.

Claire expected to know by her shift tomorrow at Pierre’s Pizza the name of the red-haired beauty who had purchased Darek Christiansen tonight.

She’d debated bidding herself, the deafening silence nearly squeezing the words from her. She could admit a swell of relief when someone blurted out a bid.

As the applause died, Kyle came around from his drum set and took the mic. “Hello, everyone! Thanks for sticking out the night with us here. Before we play our last song, I’d like to . . . um . . .” Kyle glanced at Emma, gave her a strange look, a grin mixed with a touch of fear.

Claire didn’t think Kyle Hueston, local deputy, was afraid of anything.

Suddenly, as Claire’s breath stopped, he knelt before Emma and took her hand.

Emma froze.

“Emma Nelson. You put the music in my heart. My life is richer, better, stronger, and more beautiful since you came into it. Please, would you marry me?”

Emma had pressed her hand to her mouth. When he dug out a ring and she nodded, the entire town erupted. She flung herself into Kyle’s arms.

Claire smiled, but her throat burned. She swallowed it down, hating the way all that joy pooled in her chest and turned sour.

Kyle had graduated with her. Emma, three years later. Everyone around her had a life, plans, family, friends.

A future.

And she had . . .

“Claire, can you manage the last song?” Emma turned to her, eyes glistening. “I can’t sing.”

“No problem,” she said as Emma took up her guitar. Kyle settled behind the drums again.

Claire spoke into her mic. “Hey, everybody. How about if we end with a little Jefferson Airplane? ‘Somebody to Love’?”

No wonder Kyle had picked this set. Claire dug into the chords, leaned into the microphone.

“‘Don’t you want somebody to love?’”

Yes, actually, she did. But apparently that wouldn’t happen as long as she lived in Deep Haven. In fact, everyone around her seemed to be finding the one, knitting their lives together, finding a niche.

Claire had managed to settle into her two-bedroom attic apartment above the Footstep of Heaven Bookstore and Coffee Shop. Beyond that . . . well, she had been voted head horticulturist in charge of the roses in Presley Park.

And she made a mean spinach pizza.

Keeping her smile to the end, she let the last chords fade into the walls as the crowd took Emma and Kyle into their embrace.

She packed up her keyboard without acknowledgment and wished the crazy thought that Jensen might still be here.

Not that she’d talk to him, but at least with him in the room, she knew she existed.

Sometimes she wondered if anyone else knew. For the daughter of missionaries changing the world one life at a time, she’d managed to flop hard into oblivion. What a stellar disappointment.

The night smelled crisp and sweet, a breeze off the lake cooling the June air. Claire drove along the shoreline, then up the hill, and took the north entrance to Evergreen Lake, moving from pavement to a dirt road. The south-siders had pooled their vast resources and had a private paving company smooth out their dirt road. Those on the north side still waited for the city to receive a transportation grant. Someday, maybe.

Gravel and dirt kicked up behind the Yaris, her headlights cutting a trail through the inky darkness. She passed the sign for Evergreen Resort and hoped they had a few guests. But she spied no cars in their parking lot.

She turned in to her grandfather’s rutted, two-lane drive, weaving slowly through the trees, past the resort property, and toward the west end of the lake. Beyond the house, the road continued to an old pasture where Grandpop once kept a small herd of dairy cows. The barn had long since been torn down, but the pasture had grown into a beautiful meadow of wildflowers.

She sometimes took her guitar and played in the field, just for the romance of it.

A light burned at the side door, moths flirting with death
around the blaze. Obviously Grandpop held out hope that she might stop by after her gig. He had that uncanny way of knowing when she needed to come home and tuck herself into the familiar smells of the Gibson homestead.

She kicked off her shoes in the linoleum entryway. The kitchen light burned and she smelled the faint scent of grease.
Please, don’t let Grandpop have left something burning.

But the cast-iron pan was cold, a layer of grease hardened, the remnants of a venison burger still in the pan. She picked up a plate left on the round farm table, put it in the sink, then went into the family room.

Grandpop Gibs lay in his recliner, emitting a shallow snore. Claire spread one of her grandmother’s knit afghans over him, then considered him a long moment in the pool of light from the standing lamp. He wore his Vietnam years in the lines on his face, his white hair nearly gone now, his skin doughy. His worn, giant hands rested on the arms of the chair, his barrel chest rising and falling.

If she lost him, she’d have no one.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. Her parents were still alive, but they had only really shown up in the past ten years in the form of letters, e-mail, and more recently, Skype. They had about as much knowledge of her life as Jensen, next door.

She wondered if he was home.

Turning off the lamp and then the porch light so she wouldn’t eat a mouthful of moths, she grabbed another afghan from the sofa and stepped outside. The lake lapped the beach, dark and mysterious, and she walked down the path, letting her bare feet sink into the sand.

She cast a gaze over to Jensen’s place, the palatial estate of his
father’s sprawling log vacation home. The moon slid off the green roof, across the manicured lawn, towering white pine and balsam trees, and a trio of birches. Beyond the massive deck that ran the length of the house, the windows remained dark. Sometimes, however, when she came out here, or even canoed on the lake, she could feel Jensen watching her.

Or maybe she just imagined that he did, with those blue eyes, his lopsided playboy smile suggesting he could have anything he wanted.

No matter what the cost.

Claire sank into an Adirondack chair, wrapping the afghan around herself, shivering as the wind found her hair and untangled it from her ponytail. She leaned her head back to stare at the stars, listening to memories, laughter, tears.

Trying not to hear the accusations.

Most of all, she refused to be upset that Felicity had abandoned them all to figure out how to live without her.

“IF YOU’RE TRYING
to impress me, it’s working.”

The county attorney had cracked open Ivy’s office door after a quick knock and stuck his head in. “Second day and you’re already burning the midnight oil.”

DJ Teague looked and dressed like a man who should be living in a high-rise in Minneapolis and dating some supermodel, with his cocoa skin, soft brown eyes, crisp blue dress shirt, tie and jacket, after a day of meeting with county departments, preparing major cases, and defending the county from lawsuits.

Ivy leaned back in her chair and gestured to the pile of manila folders stacked on her desk. “Oh, I’ll be here long past midnight, familiarizing myself with these. I have forty hearings in two days,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “How did this happen?”

On the floor, two cardboard boxes held more files, and on a bookshelf along the wall, all manner of legal reference books filled the shelves. First thing she did yesterday morning, after meeting her secretary, Nancy, and her paralegal, Jodi, was start to dig through the piles stacked on her empty desk.

DJ came in and sat in one of the chairs. “We share a judge with the next county, so we have to pack in as many cases as we can during our two days. Ask Jodi to help you catch up and prepare because on Monday, you’ll have a new stack of cases to look at.”

The afternoon had long since slunk into the horizon, leaving behind pools of light from her lamp. She hated the fluorescent glow and kept the overhead off but had plundered a standing lamp from the reception area to spread light over her shoulder and onto the mess of papers scattered on her L-shaped desk.

Her cursor blinked on an evidentiary brief she was reviewing for tomorrow’s hearing.

Ivy forced a smile and debated warming up her coffee, maybe finishing the sandwich she’d ordered from the Blue Moose Café. “I’ve reverted back to my days as a clerk, I guess. Getting up at 6 a.m. for class, working at the firm at night. I think I lived on coffee and Hot Pockets.”

“Daniel said you were his top assistant prosecutor down in Anoka.” He smiled, kindness in his eyes. “I have no doubt you can handle this.”

A burn filled her throat at the mention of Daniel Wainwright, her mentor/boss/friend. “Daniel might have been overly optimistic about my abilities.”

“I always considered him a great judge of character and ability. If he believed in you enough to offer you a junior prosecutor position out of law school, then I believe I hired the right person.”

She blinked away a rush of heat in her eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Teague.”

“DJ. And I miss him too. The cancer took him too quickly.” He leaned forward. “You weren’t the only one to sit under his teaching.” Ivy could feel the quote before it came. “‘You hold justice in your hands. Treat it with respect.’”

She nodded. “I hear him in my head sometimes, even after a year.”

He laughed. “I hear him in my head after
ten
years. But I found that everything he said was spot-on. Especially in a small town like Deep Haven. Everyone is watching you here. You have to keep your word and earn their trust one case at a time and never, never abuse your power.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Of course not. But justice to one person looks like favoritism to another. This may be the hardest job you ever have.”

“I want to get this right. I’ve dreamed of living here ever since . . .” She grimaced. “Well, since the Jensen Atwood case.”

“It was your memo that called for a departure from sentencing guidelines and set up the plea agreement.”

“Yes. I still remember the day Thornton Atwood passed it to me—in fact, he gave it to an associate, who gave it to me. Truth was, I didn’t know I was doing research on his son’s case. He told me to find a way to get the defendant out of jail time. I slaved over that memo, looking for precedent. Daniel was one of my law professors at the time; he read the piece and thought it was a slick bit of legal work.”

“And you didn’t worry about the ethics?”

“Why? Atwood wasn’t representing the case, and I didn’t even
know Jensen. To be frank, I thought it was a teaching exercise until I saw it on the news after I turned it in.”

“You didn’t see the headlines?”

“I was clerking and going to law school. I didn’t watch television.”

DJ nodded. “Daniel told me you were one of his shining stars.”

Shining stars. Oh, she missed him.

DJ picked up a file and paged through it. “Jensen still lives here, you know. Still working on his hours. Mitch O’Conner is his probation officer. His office is just down the hall.”

“I saw Jensen the other night at the VFW. Nearly said hi, but he doesn’t know me.”

“Probably better that way,” DJ said.

“Why?”

He frowned and slowly shook his head. “He might not thank you for what you did. It hasn’t been easy to live here.”

“And going to jail would have been better? Listen, Deep Haven should be happy they got anything on him. At least justice prevailed.”

“Justice can take many shades, especially in a small town.” He put the file back on the stack. “In this job, you get to know your friends, your neighbors, and as their lives weave together with yours, the lines become blurred. You have to always be thinking of conflict-of-interest issues. You get to know the darker side of the community, your neighbors.”

“Deep Haven hardly has a dark side,” Ivy said with a smile. “Not like Minneapolis.”

“You still think that after spending the last day preparing for court?”

Her smile died. “I came here because I wanted to make a dif
ference. Daniel always said small acts of justice can make great ripples in the community.”

“Or tear it apart. One of our former assistant CAs left after she had to prosecute her best friend’s son. The son went to jail, she lost her friend, and she was dragged through the paper for weeks. She finally left, moved out of town completely.”

Ivy stared at him. Oh.

He got up. “Remember, every case is personal. And in a town like this, that means it’s about your grocer, your banker, the local barista, your favorite waitress, even sometimes a deacon in the church. People you know and care about. You might have to give them the hard news that their lives are about to change—and you’re the one making it happen.”

She tried to add a little laughter to her voice. “Well, then it’s a good thing I don’t know anyone. Not really. I can be impartial.”

DJ raised a dark eyebrow. “Hmm. Don’t you? Wasn’t that you who purchased Darek Christiansen in the bachelor auction?”

Her mouth opened.

He laughed. “It’s a small town, Ivy. Besides, I was there.”

“It was just for charity. I can promise there is nothing between Darek Christiansen and me.”

He held up his hand. “None of my business. You may be playing with fire there a little, but it’s your life. I’m just saying that your address book is going to fill up faster than you think.” He opened the door. “Don’t stay too late. Judge Magnusson is fair, but she doesn’t like napping in her courtroom.”

“Good night, Mr. Teague.”

“DJ.” He winked and closed the door behind him.

DJ counted as the second person who’d warned her about Darek Christiansen. He’d been skirting the edge of her brain all day, the
way he’d morphed right before her eyes into a man with a heart of flesh. And his family—what might it be like to have a family who rushed to each other’s aid? She imagined their Thanksgiving table, loud and noisy, their Christmases messy and cluttered. She could see Darek wrestling with his brother Casper as children, or the two sisters sharing secrets as they polished their toenails.

There is nothing between Darek Christiansen and me.

And there wouldn’t be. Because she didn’t need darkness and trouble in her life. Especially if there was some kind of crazy ex-wife in the picture.

Except . . . well, it wouldn’t hurt to give him another chance, would it? Especially since she doubted very much that his name would ever land on the assistant county attorney’s desk.

These were exactly the type of guests Evergreen Resort needed. A young family with four rambunctious children—three boys and a toddler daughter all under the age of eight, not old enough to miss cell phone service or Facebook. Sure, they piled out of their SUV with handheld gaming gadgets, but their smart father ordered the hardware left in the car while Darek checked them in and showed them around the resort.

“There’s a playground of sorts by the house. A sandbox and a tire swing, a basketball hoop,” Darek said, pointing to the ancient recreation area. “And horseshoes, bocce ball, and a badminton set in the shed.”

Overhead the sky had turned into watercolor glory, reds and golds and lavender painted across the horizon. “There’s a restaurant down the road, or you can always fire up your barbecue.” He
had put them in the largest cabin, a three-bedroom with homemade quilts, a tiny kitchen with a retro Formica table and chairs. “There’s a canoe down by the shore; feel free to take it out. The life jackets and paddles are in a corral nearby. And of course, a paddleboat available at the swimming area down by the dock. We also have a floating raft with a slide on it, but there’s no lifeguard, so you’re on your own.”

“No problem,” the man said. “We came here to spend time together as a family.” He eyed the oldest son, who seemed to be pining for his gaming console. But the boy smiled back at his father.

“There’s a booklet of all the nearby hikes and activities in the cabin, and if you want to add a fishing trip, I can arrange that.”

“Fishing!” one of the other boys exclaimed. “Cool.”

Darek smiled at that. Once upon a time he lived for the hours on the lake with his father and brothers, pulling in walleye.

He walked the family back to the lodge, a towering building that anchored the property, built from hand-hewn logs his great-great-grandfather felled. “You can buy essentials at the canteen.” He pointed to a tiny alcove of supplies and snacks, including a small freezer with pizzas and ice cream, next to the resort check-in counter. The front office was actually just an extension of the main lodge, where guests could come and enjoy the view of the lake from the expansive deck or read a novel in the public living room. Darek’s family had their own private quarters on the other side of the living room wall, the stone fireplace linking the two sides, their bedrooms upstairs.

“Honey, we should pick up a pizza or two for the kids,” the man’s wife said, her daughter perched on her hip.

They were leaving outfitted with pizzas and ice cream
sandwiches just in time for Tiger to race in from where he’d been helping his grandfather clean fish. The smells of the lake and fresh air lifted off him and stirred a childhood longing in Darek.

“I caught a fish this big!” Tiger said, eyeing the guests and holding his arms open.

“Already mastering the art of the whopper,” Darek said, glancing at the bandage over his son’s eye. Seemed soiled but intact.

“Looks like the fish took a bite outta you,” the father said, and Tiger laughed.

“We had a little mishap with a bunk bed,” Darek said.

Tiger grinned up at him. “Don’t forget about the Muffin Man, Daddy!”

The Muffin Man. Right. “Let me get these guests settled, and we’ll head out.” He picked up the keys to the family’s cabin. “Can I help you with your luggage?”

The man shook his head. “That’s why I have sons; right, boys?”

The three towheaded boys nodded and scampered outside. Their father took the keys from Darek. “You have a beautiful place here. I came here once with my parents. Best week of my life. I’ve been looking forward to coming back for years.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” Darek said as he spotted Tiger helping himself to an ice cream sandwich. “Not yet, sparky. Let’s go.”

Tiger made a face but hustled out to the Jeep.

“Mom, we’re taking off,” Darek said, popping his head into the private quarters.

Ingrid looked up from where she stood in the kitchen, making bread. “Are our guests settled?”

“Looks like it.”

“I might wander down later and check on them.”

Of course she would. With a fresh batch of sticky buns. One of the secret touches of Evergreen Resort—the homey extras.