Chapter Seven

 

The following morning, Emma slumped at the dressing table, staring at her face while she appraised the ravages of last night. There is nothing you can do about your job, or lack of one now. She applied a generous amount of concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes which looked more red than blue. Hopefully, a few eye drops should take care of them. Her hair? It looked like she’d slept upside down in a wind tunnel. Snap out of it, Emma. Put it in a damn ponytail.

Getting dressed in jeans and a bright red Christmas sweater, she vowed not to let her impending unemployment spoil Christmas. Facing reality would come soon enough. So, after enjoying French toast and a brie and mushroom frittata, she would spend the rest of the morning baking cookies with Mrs. Pennebeck.

Emma’s favorite part of baking cookies was the bites of cookie dough she could sneak. For almost three hours, every time Mrs. P left the room, Emma sneaked enough cookie dough to make her sick for a week. Good thing pecan butter balls, crescents, gingerbread men, and iced Christmas cookies happened once a year, or she would be a blimp.

Mrs. Pennebeck hugged Emma. “I wouldn’t have been able to do all this without your help, dear. Your mother was always my chief assistant.” She wiped her hands on her red bib apron. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Emma said, realizing how much she enjoyed sharing the task. Mrs. Pennebeck was good at making one feel included, part of the holiday’s preparations.

With matching sighs of satisfaction, they looked at the dozen filled cookie tins ready to be delivered.

“Do you need some help with delivering these?” Emma asked.

“Tim is…” The gong of the front door chime rumbled down the hall. “Those will be the Westerleys.” Mrs. Pennebeck removed her apron and started toward the front foyer.

Emma washed the remains of cookie dough, powdered sugar, and frosting off her hands. She hung her Christmas apron, embroidered in red poinsettias, on one of the glass doorknobs mounted beside the refrigerator. After being in the warm kitchen for several hours, she was ready for some fresh air. Eying the tin tagged with Charlie’s name, Emma picked it up and walked into the foyer to get her red coat. One less delivery for Tim.

Once outside, her boots crunched across the white-packed snow, the only sound on the deserted lane. It was rather odd. In all the years she’d stayed at the inn, she’d never walked to Charlie’s cottage at the far end of Pine Tree Trail.

The day was gloriously sunny. Emma’s body seemed light as air. She smiled, humming “Joy to the World,” as she strolled down the lane. As she came even with a row of giant pines, they eclipsed the bright sunshine, casting the lane in shadow. A sinister vibe sizzled through her. Shaking her head, she laughed at her overactive imagination and cast off the ridiculous sense of foreboding.

She stepped onto the front porch, thumping her heels against the cement, trying to knock off as much snow as possible. After rapping the brass pinecone door knocker several times, she listened. Positive she heard voices, Emma opened the door, calling, “Charlie, cookie delivery.”

He stood in the doorway on the far side of the cozy living room, talking on his phone. The moment he saw Emma, Charlie waved at her to come in.

“Morris, I’m not interested. Plenty of new talent out there, ready and willing. Try Brady McGrath or Stephie Folsom. They both have the skills and good instincts. Either one of them can do the job. Listen, I’ve got company. Gotta go.” After he hung up, he beamed at her like he’d won the lottery. “Well, this is a happy surprise.”

Emma smiled back. As Mrs. Pennebeck’s brother and her mother’s longtime friend, Charlie was a constant fixture in their lives. He’d always been there, in the background, offering an occasional silly joke or an observation. “I’ve brought you some of your sister’s amazing Christmas cookies.”

“Thank you. I imagine Faith is operating at full capacity in her holiday preparations. Would you like a few cookies with me over a cup of excellent Jamaican coffee?”

The sparkle in his eyes told her he was genuinely pleased she’d come. “I do have some time before my next assignment. Sure, I would love a cup, though no cookies.”

“Okay, then.” He rubbed his hands together. “Follow me.”

Emma was close behind him, glancing at a wall displaying dozens of framed magazine covers.

“Here, let me take your coat.” First, he relieved her of the cookie tin, then helped her out of her coat, folding it neatly over a chair. “I know you like cream in your coffee.”

He washed his hands, took a pitcher of cream from the refrigerator, then put it on the kitchen table in front of her and then a tall Christmas mug filled with steaming coffee. She closed her eyes and breathed in the deep aroma.

The sweetness played across her tongue when she took her first sip, and a hint of chocolate lingered after she swallowed. “Hmm.” She opened her eyes. “This is really good.” Then, letting the hot liquid warm her, she surveyed Charlie’s tidy kitchen. “Please tell me I didn’t interrupt an important phone call.”

“Not at all. My agent.” He slid into the seat across from her. “He refuses to accept that I’m refocusing my career, slowing down.”

“Your agent?” Emma lifted a brow. Charlie was a handyman. Maybe he meant his real estate agent. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been with Morris Bolander for over thirty years. He…”

“Wait a minute.” She jumped up from the table, retracing her steps to the living room. The side wall was a gallery of close to fifty mounted magazine covers. There was a brass plate on practically every frame with Charles P. Wentworth engraved on it. “You are the Charles P. Wentworth?”

“I am.” He appeared at her side.

Her ignorance shamed her. How could she not know this? Was she that self-centered that she never took an interest in a man she’d known practically her entire life? Examining the covers with incredible landscapes and people from different cultures across the world, she was in awe of what he’d accomplished.

“All these years, I’ve thought of you as Mrs. Pennebeck’s brother, the handyman.” As soon as those words were out of her mouth, her cheeks warmed at how demeaning they sounded. “I can’t believe you are a world-famous photographer.”

He chuckled. “Whenever I come home for the holidays or summer visits, I am the handyman. Faith always has a list the length of my arm of things to be done.”

The phone in his kitchen rang. “Excuse me. I’m taking in a foster dog for a while. I’ve been trying to reach Mary Beth Kinsell over at the Lab rescue.”

Emma explored the room studying mementos and photographs on the walls, in bookcases, and on the coffee table. Finally, she reached the open door of what must be Charlie’s workroom and peeked inside.

At least a dozen photographs of her mother lined the far wall. Her mother, like Emma, had never seen her before—as a laughing teenager, a cheerleader, a young woman on horseback, and a twenty-something at the helm of a sleek, Chris Craft motorboat. Could she ever remember her mother this way—carefree, filled with such…joy?

“Emma?” Charlie took a step closer, following her line of sight to the wall of photos.

For an instant, her heart stopped beating. Her breath caught in her throat. What did this mean? Her gaze darted to Charlie’s in search of what, an explanation?

His voice broke with emotion. “Your mother…Maggie…meant the world to me.” He nodded toward the wall of photos, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “She’s the only woman I ever loved.”

He took a few steps toward Emma. Confused and upset, she backed away from him. What did he mean? She meant the world to him. What Emma did know, the girl, the woman in those photos, radiated such warmth and passion. Her mother’s eyes shone with an intensity Emma could never have imagined.

A litany of questions pulsed inside her. She wasn’t brave enough to ask even one. This didn’t have anything to do with her. Whatever Charlie and her mother had was over many years ago. Her mother was gone. From the light shining in his blue eyes, his love for her mother was very much alive.

In the next moment, Emma began to shake uncontrollably. Then, a heaviness invaded her chest as an insurmountable wave of grief almost flattened her. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. Not wanting to come apart in front of him, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to tamp down her emotions. She repeatedly swallowed to force her pain below the surface.

“Emma, dear.” Charlie’s brow furrowed with concern. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Tell me…what can I do?”

Still shaking, she opened her eyes and backed away from him without uttering a word.

“You’re going to be all right, Emma. You stay here. I’ll get your coat.”

When he returned and helped her into the red coat, her shivers had eased. She turned around to face him and realized the usual pink in his cheeks had paled into nothingness. Guilt lodged uncomfortably in her throat when she understood he was grieving too.

Still not ready to speak, Emma awkwardly kissed him on the cheek, then rushed out the front door, shutting it behind her with enough force to make the brass door knocker clang. The echo was the only sound in the quiet, tranquil setting of the white brick cottage.

Covering her eyes to protect them from the glare of the snow, she gulped the frigid air as her boots couldn’t take her fast enough toward the comfort of the inn. As soon as she reached the line of towering pine trees and came beneath their long shadows, she dropped her hand from her eyes.

She stopped to catch her breath with her hands on her knees, panting in the chill air. The grief threatening to overwhelm her only moments ago loosened its grasp. When Charlie spoke so lovingly of her mother, it surprised Emma, but not in a bad way. If anything, it made her feel less alone and isolated.

Past the shade of the tall pines, sunlight hit her square in the eyes. A tall, dark shape appeared in the lane—Jake. Tears flooded her eyes. She quickened her pace. The instant his arms caught her, she realized her mistake. Not her Jake. This man was a man she’d never seen before.

“Slow down there,” a deep masculine voice said.

She fumbled in her coat pocket for a tissue. “I am sorry.” Dipping her head for an instant, she blotted her tears away. “I didn’t see you,” she muttered.

“Really.” He chuckled. “I’m a rather large target to miss, don’t you think?”

Yeah, he was. The first thing she noticed was that he was dressed entirely in black. The second was that he was well over six feet with at least fifty pounds on her. “Sun was in my eyes. I thought you were someone else.”

Teeth chattering, she wrapped her coat tightly and headed into the parking lot. The stranger kept pace beside her. The last thing she wanted to do was converse with a total stranger. The only thing she needed was to get up to her cozy blue and white room, her new safe haven.

“Are you a guest at the inn?” she asked to fill the awkward silence.

“No, I’m dropping off some wine for the party.” The tall man stopped behind a silver Land Rover and opened the rear door. Reaching inside, he hefted a case.

“Can I help you carry something?” she asked.

“If you could grab the four-bottle crate, I’d appreciate it.”

After lifting out the crate, she walked behind him into the inn’s back entrance, down the hall to the kitchen where Mrs. Pennebeck stood at the large farm sink rinsing broccoli.

“You have a delivery,” Emma said, stepping aside to give the man room to put the heavy box on the island.

“Thank you, Griff.” Mrs. Pennebeck kissed the man on the cheek. “You’re coming tonight?”

“Yes. However, I have a mare ready to drop a foal sometime in the next twenty-four hours. I might have to come early or come late.”

Emma had never outgrown her love for horses. They were the main reason she spent her younger years as a camper at Rollicking Hills Camp and later as a counselor during high school and college. “What kind of horse do you have?”

“She’s an Arabian. This will be her third foal. My first. So, I am more nervous than she is.”

“Emma is quite a horse woman herself,” Mrs. Pennebeck said.

“Really?” Griff turned to Emma. “We have a real conglomeration of warmbloods at the farm. Two Hanoverians, a Holsteiner, three Arabians, and a couple of rescued thoroughbreds. If you’re going to be here for a few days, you should come out.”

Was he simply polite because she would never say “no” to a chance for some up-close horse time. “I will. I’ve seen horse show videos of Arabian costume classes where the horses and riders, decked out in elaborate, flowing native costumes, gallop full tilt into the ring. Still, I’ve never actually seen an Arabian in the flesh.” She looked up at him. “Count me in.”

“Anytime.” He glanced at the wall clock. “Got to go. See you tonight.”

After Griff left, Mrs. Pennebeck slapped her hip. “Where are my manners? I forgot you didn’t know Griff. Well, I’ll introduce you tonight. He never goes to parties—only mine and the MacQueen’s. You will meet them tonight. Lovely couple, expecting their first baby. Any day.”

The house phone rang. Mrs. Pennebeck answered it. A smile of delight lit her face. Then, after gesturing that she might be a while, Emma decided a walk would be an opportunity to clear her head and consider Charlie’s relationship with her mother.

After collecting her hat and gloves from the foyer closet, she paused to look at the lovely Victorian Christmas tree in the side parlor. Then, breathing in the smells of pine and cinnamon, she headed out the front door, turning right toward town. A gentle, powdery white snow floated helter-skelter to the ground. One wish was coming true—it would be a white Christmas.

Making her way downtown, she took in the red, green and gold Christmas banners waving from the lampposts all along Main Street. Mr. Ottie, her high school math teacher, waved at her from across the street, where he stood with an older black Lab decked out with a bright red Christmas collar. No doubt he remembered her because she was his all-time worst student in algebra and geometry. Perhaps it was one of the reasons she was drawn to social work—no numbers, just people.

She meandered further into downtown taking in all the holiday decorations and the festive storefronts. With his reindeer and sleigh, Santa flew high above the busy intersection of Main and Front streets as he had every winter for as long as Emma could remember. When she came to Sportsman’s Paradise—Jake’s favorite store—with no real purpose in mind, she wandered inside.