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December 15th
THE HOUSE WAS DECEPTIVELY quiet. Like the calm before a snow storm. Colson, however, knew better. A lifetime with Whittaker Bennett for a father had taught him that.
As Colson stood up from his chair in the guestroom he’d selected to replace his home office, he felt the tension mount in his shoulders. His father had arrived with little warning yesterday, and immediately commandeered the study that Colson typically used to get work done. His old man was currently in the study on some important phone call. Otherwise, he’d be making orders to subordinates back in Boston over the phone. That man could run Bennett and Company from any location on earth. As long as he had a way to berate his underlings, Colson’s father could rule the place with an iron fist from anywhere.
He flexed and stretched his arms, then rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of the dull ache in his upper back. Since his father had arrived in town yesterday morning, Colson hadn’t been able to go on his usual jogs. Not yesterday, and not today. Thus the back pain. Or maybe it was stress. Come to think of it, his night with Blair could have been the reason. She’d responded to him with such passion that he’d had to put monumental effort in keeping up with her. Not that he minded. That night had been one of the best nights of his life.
But he hadn’t seen her since yesterday. He’d sent her a text message, letting her know he’d made it home and she’d replied with acknowledgment, but there had been nothing since. Mostly because he hadn’t wanted to explain his feelings via text. There were some things that needed to be said face-to-face. Yet, with his father around, that was going to prove difficult. Somehow, he had to speak to Blair without raising his father’s suspicions. Without putting her in the awkward position of having to defend herself against his father’s attacks.
For now, though, he had to focus on the present. That meant handling his father’s appearance in the mansion. Getting lost in thoughts of Blair wasn’t going to do either of them any good now that his father was here. His father. Christ, Colson was already resenting the old man’s presence.
In addition to seizing the study for himself, his father had also held several lengthy briefings – a tedious process to get Colson up to speed on everything he’d missed in his absence from Bennett and Company.
The only thing that spared him yet another round of briefings was his father ordering him out of the study so he could take a private phone call.
Colson retrieved his pocket watch from the desk to check the time. Two o’clock. His father had been on that call for almost two hours. There was no telling who his dad was talking to since whoever it was could be in just about any time zone on earth.
Grateful as he was for the break, Colson sensed that the calm wasn’t going to last long. Not only was his father obsessed with work during the holiday season, but he also hadn’t mentioned the reason he’d come to town to begin with—Blair. Neither of them had raised the topic. Colson definitely hadn’t because he’d rushed out of Blair’s apartment the second his father had called at five in the damn morning. Then, he’d rushed out to get to his car and sped off towards the mansion where he met up with his father.
They’d immediately talked business, which set Colson on edge. Because he knew his father. The old man was probably waiting to use Blair against him and go for the jugular. Still, Colson was grateful for the delay. After spending an incredible night with Blair, talking about her to his father right after would have been a disaster. There was no way he’d explain that his car had been parked outside Golden Age Antiques all night. And he sure as hell didn’t want to risk accidentally revealing that he’d spent the night with the store’s owner. His father had guessed that there was something going on between them based on a single Christmas tree. No telling what other conclusions the old man might come to if Colson had been the first to mention Blair.
As if on cue, his father appeared right outside the guestroom, his blue eyes narrowed dangerously.
“There you are,” his old man said, sounding less than pleased. To be fair, he was displeased at all times, but there was a particular frost in the older man’s tone. “I’ve completed the phone call. Rejoin me in the study.”
Colson didn’t bother arguing. That was a losing strategy in this moment. Quibbling about yet another briefing was just going to lead to Colson talking more than he should, and there was nothing worse than harboring a guilty conscience when trying to keep a secret. Better to let his father do the talking.
Nodding, he followed his father into the study. Some of the study’s antiques had been moved to the basement or the attic, but it still housed the essentials. Some shelves, a couple of wingback chairs, and a large oak desk in the center.
His father sat in front of the massive desk while Colson sat opposite on the other side.
“Didn’t realize I’d spent so much time on the phone,” his dad said, pausing to glance down at his watch.
“I take that to mean that the call went well,” Colson said, choosing his words carefully.
“Well enough.” His father paused to retrieve something from the desk drawer.
A bottle of liquor and a glass.
Colson frowned. It was pretty damn early for his father to start drinking. Especially since his father liked making a big show of never drinking during work hours. As far away as they were from Bennett and Company headquarters, his father was such a workaholic that he undoubtedly considered this to be a workday.
His father held out the bottle, silently offering a drink.
“No thanks.” Colson shook his head, part of him wondering if this was some test that he needed to pass.
Pausing to open the bottle, his father said, “Your mother sends her regards.”
Colson very much doubted that. His mother could have easily gotten in touch with him herself but she hadn’t contacted him since he’d left Boston. Frankly, he would be amazed if she was even aware of his weeks-long absence. She was too devoted to her social clubs to notice anything. Especially during this time of year when she spent every waking moment doing whatever she could to end up in the society pages. He was so used to it that he couldn’t bother resenting his mother’s inattention to her own family. She’d barely noticed him when he was around. Why would she notice when he was out of town?
“Appreciate you delivering the message,” Colson said.
His father began to pour transparent liquid into the glass.
Colson’s eyebrow went up. “Gin? You hate gin. You call it a woman’s drink.”
“This is what your great-grandmother had in the liquor cabinet in the dining room,” his father responded. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
That almost made him scoff. The idea of his father being a beggar was ridiculous. Right now, his old man was dressed in a thousand-dollar suit, silk tie, and bejeweled cufflinks. Colson, by contrast, wore jeans and a shirt.
To his surprise, his father filled the glass with liquor and knocked the entire drink back in one gulp. Then, he refilled the glass. And once again, drained it of its contents.
Much as he wanted to caution his father and urge him to slow down, Colson still wanted to avoid starting an argument. Besides, it was two drinks. A lot but not necessarily excessive. Could have been stress-related due to the call.
“Where is this infamous Blair Hawthorne?” his father asked, setting the glass down on the desk. “If she’s working on acquiring Opal’s possessions, shouldn’t she be here by now?”
Colson tensed. Finally, his father was getting to the point of his visit. Which meant that Colson had to play this right. His job right now was to protect Blair. Not get into a pointless argument with his father.
“Ms. Hawthorne is at work,” Colson responded. “She doesn’t usually stop by during the workday.”
“So, she shows up after hours?” His father said it in a tone the implied something inappropriate. While his old man was pretty close to the truth, Colson wasn’t going to admit to anything.
“After work,” Colson confirmed.
“At night then,” his father said.
“In the evenings,” Colson said. “Starting at around six until she’s done for the night.”
“Ah, so she was here working last night,” his father said mildly.
This felt like a trap. One where the noose was tightening and Colson was in danger of never getting out of it. Damn it, his father had probably used the booze to catch him off guard. Make his son think he was drunk or had lost his touch when in reality, he was just lying in wait.
“Ms. Hawthorne took last night off to do charity work,” Colson said.
“Oh, so the woman is a saint,” his father said in a mocking tone as he pressed his hands to his heart. “Charity work, befriending the elderly. What else does she do? Feed orphans?”
Colson clenched his teeth. “Ms. Hawthorne loves this town. I suppose to a paranoid cynic, it’s a sign of something nefarious, but she is a good person. The right person to help settle Opal’s affairs.”
“There you are defending her again,” his father observed. “If she wasn’t here last night, then I assume you went to bed early.”
Suddenly it felt like the invisible noose was choking off his air supply. Colson shoved his anger aside, resolved to protect Blair from his father’s unfounded suspicions. “What does it matter when I went to bed?”
“When I called you yesterday morning, I was shocked to realize that you weren’t here at the mansion,” his father said. “I figured you’d be up getting work done. At the very least, I thought that if you were still asleep, you were here. Except, you weren’t at home when I called. And then you arrived at the mansion in your car—”
“I went on a run,” Colson interrupted. “You know I work out in the morning.”
“What a workout that must have been,” his father said, granting a smile that didn’t reach his cold, blue eyes. “Did Ms. Hawthorne join you?”
That insinuation made his blood boil. Colson wanted to jump to his feet and grab his old man by the scruff of the neck for insulting Blair. But going straight to violence against his own father was not only unthinkable, but it would also have to be the last resort, not the first. “Your interest in Ms. Hawthorne surprises me.”
His father paused. As if Colson’s statement was so unexpected that he was internally trying to recalibrate. “Does it?”
“You don’t pay much attention to the plebs,” Colson said, using his father’s weakness against him. His old man was too set in his ways to see that writing off whole classes of people was a hinderance, not an advantage. “Why start now?”
“She’s handling my grandmother’s belongings,” his father replied coolly.
“You never showed this much interest in Opal while she was alive.” Colson felt his anger building as he remembered that his father only cared to be in contact with Opal when they came to Mislin Bush in the summers. And now that he was older, it was clear those visits only happened for his father’s own gain. Probably something concerning the family empire or a way to keep tabs on the embarrassing relative whose only sin had been coming from new money. Opal hadn’t endeared herself to high society in Boston and ended up something of a recluse in the town as a result. Perhaps his father had decided that he could chance being seen with her when nobody from their inner circle was around. Regardless of the reason, Colson’s resentment at his father was now amplified.
His father’s snow-white eyebrows shot up. The first hint of emotion since the old man had blown into town. “I see what this is. This is the grief talking. You haven’t gotten over Opal’s death and it’s clouded your judgement.”
“On the contrary,” Colson said, leaning back in his chair. “Grief has clarified things.”
“You were far too attached to that woman,” his father fired back. “That’s always been your problem. You’re far too sentimental. There are cold, hard facts you’ve never been able to accept.”
That woman. His anger threatened to boil over. That woman had been the matriarch of their family. So much of the family’s success had been due to her, yet this was how her memory was being repaid.
“Like the cold, hard fact that you are a pompous windbag?”
Colson knew he’d made a mistake the moment he uttered those words, but he was far too angry to care.
His father momentarily clenched his jaw so tightly, it was a miracle he didn’t break one of his teeth. Then, the emotion vanished. “Mind repeating that? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“Let me remind you, Dad, that you are in my house,” Colson said. “Opal left this place to me. I am the owner. You are the guest. You’d do well to remember that.”
“We’d both do well to remember that.” The old man’s face turned red, but his expression didn’t change one iota. That brief display of emotion was gone. His stone face remained as cold and unyielding as ever. “As your guest, I’d implore you to take better precautions about who you allow into your house. For example, Ms. Hawthorne. Have you looked into her family background?”
Colson paused, taking a moment to calm down so he wouldn’t take his father’s bait. “Whatever you think of Ms. Hawthorne, she is not some wanton gold-digger. She’d hardly care about squeezing money out of me since our working contract awards her a sizeable income. There’s no need for her to do that.”
“That’s your first mistake, son,” his father said. “People always want more money. Greed is limitless.”
“Your greed perhaps,” Colson accused.
“I know you believe that I’m cold and heartless. But I say and do these things to protect our family,” his father said. “If someone didn’t protect us, the family’s holdings would have been sold off piece by piece a long time ago. Our influence would have diminished. We are strong because of me. And we can only remain strong if we keep an eye on outsiders. Or do I need to remind you of how desperate people get when they decide they want a piece of our fortune?”
Colson didn’t need reminding. On that score, his father was right. People had seen the Bennett family as a means to an end all his life. He’d always braced himself for it. But he’d never felt that way around Blair. Never felt like that in Mislin Bush. When they’d gone caroling together with all those townspeople, no one had treated him differently or schemed to get anything out of him. They had been kind. Some of them had been a bit nosy perhaps, but they’d laughed, and joked, shared stories about his great-grandmother. They’d tried to keep each other warm and in high spirits on that cold night. Then they’d thanked him for joining them. Thanked him for his donation. All those townspeople had treated him like he was one of them. If he’d been so completely on his guard around them, he never would have connected with anyone.
That was what his father’s way of doing things had led to. A lifetime of missed connections with people. Leaving him stuck in an upper-class bubble he’d never been able to escape. Until now.
The problem was, now that he’d managed to escape for a little while, his father was trying to drag him back into that world. A world of paranoia, isolation, and truth be told, unbearable loneliness. Colson had never allowed himself to admit just how lonely he was. Coming to Mislin Bush had shown him what he’d been missing all his life. He could no longer pretend that it was acceptable to live this way.
“We each have something to protect,” Colson finally said, the grief crystallizing the truth for him. His father wanted to protect wealth. Material things with little sentimental value. Colson wanted to protect people. The people he cared about. His great-grandmother’s memory and everything linked to it. His place in the town. And most of all, he wanted, no needed, to protect Blair.
“Oh?” His father regarded him with barely concealed suspicion. “And what are you protecting?”
“I’m protecting what’s mine.”
“You mean the contract,” his father said, misinterpreting. “So it’s all signed? Ms. Hawthorne will be handling the property in the house?”
“Everything in the attic and the basement,” Colson said. “I’m not selling everything. Some things are too—”
“Sentimental?” his father finished for him. “There you go again. You’re not keeping those things for monetary value. You’re keeping them for the one thing that renders them utterly useless. You can’t sell a memory.’
“No you can’t,” he said in agreement. “Because they’re not meant to be sold.”
Again his father’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?”
Colson realized that if he didn’t get out of the study, he’d wind up in an endless, pointless argument with his father. An argument that would lead nowhere because speaking to the old man was like dealing with a brick wall.
He got to his feet.
“Where are you going?” his father asked. “We’re not done.”
“We are done,” Colson said firmly. “Not that it’s any of your concern, I have business to take care of.”
Namely, checking his email to see if Blair had sent him the contract to sign. Because if there was one thing his father had been right about all these years, it was that a good businessman always finished the task he’d started. At the very least that meant that he needed to sign the contract like he’d promised. Then, with business out of the way, he’d figure out how to have a real talk with Blair.
***
“SO, ARE THE RUMORS true?” her father asked as he stepped into the kitchen.
Blair had her head buried in the refrigerator as she worked to stock it with supplies for Christmas dinner. She had gone grocery shopping, followed by this trip to her dad’s house as she worked on the family’s Christmas menu. Meanwhile, her dad and her brothers had gone to the butcher shop to get ham and turkey. Looked like they were back.
Stepping away to close the fridge door, she asked, “What rumors?”
Her dad shuffled past her to open the freezer. Then her older brother Kyle appeared holding a pair of enormous canvas bags. Kyle quickly unloaded the bags and crammed the meat into the freezer.
“Lots of rumors going around about you and that client of yours,” her father finally answered.
Kyle stopped by the sink to wash his hands. “Wait, Dad...you know the guy that everybody’s talking about?”
“Well, I had a lengthy talk with him on the phone so yes, I know him,” her father said, sounding pleased with himself.
“If you’re talking about Colson, your conversation was hardly lengthy,” Blair grumbled. She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at her father, followed by a glare in her brother’s direction. “What’s going on? What are you two talking about?”
“Apparently, you and this Carson dude were seen canoodling,” Kyle replied.
“His name is Colson,” Blair said in annoyance. “And what the heck does canoodling even mean?”
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know. Making out? Cuddling?”
“What?” Her eyes went wide as heat stole up her cheeks. “That’s not true. We were not making out in front of people.”
Her older brother leaned against the kitchen counter and grinned broadly. “Making out in private then?”
Her brother’s accusation set Blair’s face on fire. Even though she hadn’t told anybody about her night with Colson, her brother was getting dangerously close to the truth. If rumors had already reached her own family, she could very well guess what she was in for. Perhaps she could try and play it cool.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she said, slipping past him to also wash her hands.
“Your face is so red.” To her annoyance, her older brother started laughing at her. “Dad, I think the rumors are true.”
“No, they’re not,” she said through gritted teeth. Blair was pretty sure she was lying, but she didn’t know exactly what the rumors were. Which made denial the best option until she got to the bottom of this. Plus, she could deny kissing Colson in public because that hadn’t actually happened. “You really shouldn’t listen to town gossip.”
Her brother reached over to grab a nearby cookie jar off the counter. Then he grabbed one of the sugar cookies and crammed it into his mouth. Crumbs started flying. “Your face says it all.”
“Ewwww.” She jumped out of the way. “Do your kids know you talk with your mouth full?”
Kyle had two children and he seemed to pride himself on being the fun, cool dad out of her brothers. Knowing him, he’d take the entire cookie jar with him as a treat for the kids. Not that she blamed him. His adorable twin toddlers could be absolute sweethearts when they weren’t trying to wreck whatever space they were in. “Nice try, Blair, but you can’t distract me. You’re not going to talk your way out of this. You finally got yourself a boyfriend. Confess.”
“What? No, I do not. Colson is not my boyfriend.” She turned to her father. “Tell him, Dad.”
“I hear your denials, sweet pea, I really do. But...” Her father started whistling to himself and nonchalantly tapped his foot on the floor. “Well, there’s one thing you haven’t denied.”
She frowned at him. “What’s that?”
Her father cleared his throat dramatically. “You haven’t denied that you were spending time with this Colson fellow. I’ve never known you to spend that much time after hours with a client.”
“Okay, we were together last night.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “So what?”
“She admits it!” Kyle’s eyes lit up with mischievous glee. “The rumors are true then.”
“You know what? I don’t have to listen to this.” Blair retrieved a fresh towel from one of the drawers to quickly dry her hands.
“Man, this Colson guy must really be something,” Kyle continued, ignoring her. “All the women talking about him were practically swooning.”
“Where are Sam and Tony? Didn’t they go shopping with you guys?” she asked with a huff, referring to her other brothers.
“They drove out to get wood for the fireplace. Heard them saying something about getting a Yule log,” her brother answered around a mouthful of more cookies. “Anyway, what were you and your boyfriend doing last night?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she repeated. “We went caroling, okay?”
“That’s right,” her father said. “There was chatter about him making a pretty sizeable donation to the yearly carol fund.”
“Oh, yeah? Is he loaded or something?” Kyle asked.
Before Blair could offer up explanations, denials, or whatever her brain thought would be better than just letting the rumors spread even further, her father said, “Yup. He’s one of the Bennetts.”
Kyle nearly dropped the cookie jar. “Whoa, seriously? Sheesh, Blair, is that why you like him so much? His money?”
Blair felt her temper start to flare. And truthfully, she wasn’t angry at Kyle or her father. They weren’t the reason there had been a lump in her throat all day and a stabbing pain in her heart. She had spent the most incredible night with Colson. A night so special she knew she’d never forget it. Yet, instead of him feeling the same way, he’d abruptly left before dawn because of his father. And though he’d sent a text later on to let her know he’d arrived home safely, there hadn’t been anything further. Not another word.
She’d been a wreck ever since and Blair had tried to distract herself. First with work, then with Christmas prep, but it was clear that neither had worked. Colson had ditched her. Chores weren’t going to help get past that awful truth. Even though she hadn’t expected forever from him, his sudden departure still hurt. A lot.
Which was probably why good sense evaporated from her mind. She balled up her fists, her body shaking with anger that her brother could accuse her of such a thing. “I liked him before I knew he was rich,” she snapped.
“Chill out, I was just joking,” Kyle said.
“That’s all you ever do.” Blair felt tears prick the back of her eyes. Between her nonstop pressure from her dad and her brothers making fun of her, she had always felt stifled. Like she had to constantly defend herself. Constantly defend her choices as if she needed to justify her own life in ways none of her brothers had to. It wasn’t fair. “Joke at my expense.”
Vision blurring, she started to turn away.
“Blair, wait.” Kyle set the cookie jar back down on the counter before he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute? Catch your breath.”
Her father was already shuffling towards the kitchen table to pull out one of the chairs. “Yeah, sit down, kiddo. I can make us some coffee. How about that?”
For a moment she paused, unsure of what to do next. When she was a teenager, she usually handled Kyle’s relentless teasing with a punch to his arm before running off. But they weren’t kids anymore. That was why this was so difficult. Blair couldn’t handle things the way she had when she’d been a child. If she did, her family would never let her forget it. No matter how much she tried to assert her independence or attempted to prove that she could stand on her own two feet, her family refused to treat her like an adult. Which was why she had been putting up with them pushing for a husband all these years. Putting up with it as stoically as possible. Unfortunately, she was now on the verge of tears. Very unlike her.
Hoping to fight back the tears and compose herself, Blair decided to follow their suggestion and sit down. “Sometimes living in a small town really sucks. Everybody thinks they know everything, but they don’t. It’s just gossip and innuendo. They don’t know the real story.”
Her dad headed for the kitchen cabinets. “What’s the matter, kiddo? You had a fight with your boyfr...uh friend?”
“Not a fight. We’re just way too different,” she managed to get out.
“Well, yeah, he’s a Bennett,” her brother said. “They founded the town, right? Don’t think they’re regular Joes.”
“Right. Plus his ancestors also came up with the stupid mistletoe tradition,” she grumbled.
“I’ll be damned,” her father said in amazement.
“Whoa.” Kyle’s mouth dropped open and he looked stunned as he sank down into the chair across from her. “Seriously?”
Blair nodded. “Yup. There were newspaper clippings from like a hundred years ago that said as much.”
“Definitely not average Joes. The influence they have on the town is bigger than I thought. Every year Mislin Bush goes nuts because of a tradition the Bennetts started.” Her older brother whistled, shaking his head in disbelief. “But if this guy is donating to the carol fund, that’s cool. Even though you’re from opposite sides of the tracks, that’s a sign that he’s a good dude, right? His head can’t be up his own ass if he’s caroling and donating money.”
At any other time, Blair might have laughed at her brother’s remark. But she didn’t feel like herself at all. Not to mention, she didn’t have to heart to confess the truth. The truth that meant she’d never have a chance with Colson because he came from money and she didn’t. Colson could afford to give away his money, but he couldn’t do the same thing with his family name. He had obligations. Family duties that meant he was going to have to befriend and date in his own class. Old fashioned as that was, she understood family duty.
Even she hadn’t strayed that far from what her family wanted. Blair might have been putting off getting married, but she did want to settle down eventually. To please her family. To please the town. Most of all, to please herself. Especially since she had figured out that she didn’t want to settle down just for the sake of it. Blair didn’t want to settle. She wanted Mr. Right.
Ever since Colson had come to town, she had slowly began to realize what had been missing in her life. And that missing piece felt so out of reach now because she could never be with the one man who had turned her head. Spending an incredible night was all she was going to get. His father’s sudden arrival yesterday had thrown cold water on any illusions she may have had. Blair couldn’t come between Colson and his family, and based on his quick departure last night, he seemed to agree. The Bennetts were too formidable to let one of their scions end up with a small town nobody like her. Besides, he belonged in the city. She belonged in town. That was all there was to it.
“No, his head isn’t up his ass,” she finally said to her brother. “Not completely.”
That made her brother laugh. At least somebody was enjoying the holidays.
Suddenly, her phone chimed. She reached for it, picking it up from the kitchen table where she’d left it earlier. Her heart pounded when she saw what it was. A new text from Colson.
