Hope stepped into her office at the Moose, shut the door, then leaned back against it and closed her eyes.
After delivering his bombshell, Silas had gone off to talk to Astrid James, Deep River’s current mayor, about organizing a town meeting, leaving Hope to deal with the effects of said bombshell by herself. Which was the way she preferred it since she’d been dealing with everything by herself since the day he and Cal had left.
He wanted to sign the town over to her. The entire town.
Pushing herself away from the door, Hope crossed over to her desk, jerked out the chair and sat down. Then she pulled open the desk drawer that contained Harry’s whisky and took out the bottle. She tugged the cork out, pouring a healthy dram into the teacup she’d used last night. It was far too early for alcohol, but this was an emergency.
She leaned back in her chair and sipped, the whisky sliding easily down her throat to sit warmly in her stomach, her thoughts careening wildly all over the place.
Steve the stag’s eyes gleamed glassily at her from the wall.
After her grandfather had died, she’d known she wouldn’t be able to leave the town, that she’d have to put on hold her dreams of going to college and getting a literature degree, of a life beyond Deep River’s mountains. The Happy Moose had been owned by her family for decades, her grandfather’s legacy, and she couldn’t walk away from it. Couldn’t walk away from her mother either. Angela Dawson had given up her own life and opportunities in order to have Hope, and Hope hadn’t been able to bear the thought of abandoning her. She’d had severe postpartum depression after Hope was born, and if Hope had left, she would have no one and nothing but the Moose, which Hope knew full well her mother couldn’t manage on her own.
So Hope had stayed. Put her college dreams aside and stayed while her friends had left. And she’d come to terms with that a long time ago. She was generally happy with her lot—after all, she could read wherever she was; she didn’t have to study literature to enjoy books—and hadn’t regretted the choice. So Silas handing over the town to her shouldn’t have made her think twice.
Sure, there were a lot of better, more qualified people who’d perhaps manage Deep River better than she could, but if push came to shove, she’d step up. She wasn’t one to shirk her responsibilities. Apart from anything else, she loved this town and the people in it. They all had their issues and some more than most, but they were good people at heart.
Except she’d felt a terrible sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as soon as he’d said he wanted to sign ownership of the town over to her. A weight settling on her shoulders, like hands pressing down on them.
She couldn’t work out why she felt that way. Or why her instinctive response had been no.
Silas had stared at her, and she’d had the uncomfortable feeling he’d seen her exact feelings about the subject—which may not have been much of a giveaway since she hadn’t given him a rousing oh yes, please immediately. He’d only nodded, told her to think about it, then muttered something about needing to see the mayor before getting up and leaving her sitting on the bench.
The second time he’s dumped you in it and walked away.
Hope knocked back some more of her whisky and glared at Steve, the stag’s glass eyes reflecting the sunlight coming through the window.
Okay, she was being unfair. Silas hadn’t exactly “dumped her in it” that first time. She’d chosen to stay. And yes, she’d asked them both not to leave, and he’d been the one to offer. She’d just refused him.
Anyway, he had a successful-sounding life he clearly wanted to get back to in Juneau, so it wasn’t any wonder he didn’t want to come back here.
Yeah, he gets to cut and run, while you stay behind to pick up the pieces. Like you did after Granddad died. And like you’re going to do after Cal’s death now.
Hope shook her head to get rid of the thought, but it stuck like a thorn. It did feel that way, that once again she was the one having to deal with the fallout of someone’s death, while Silas Quinn got to fly away in his plane and never come back.
Her hand tightened on the teacup, and she drained the rest of the whisky, wanting to drown the anger that had seemingly come out of nowhere to coil like a dragon in her gut.
It was ridiculous. If he wanted to sign the town over to her, then she’d take it. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going anywhere.
You’re certainly not going anywhere now.
Hope put down the cup and shoved back her chair. She couldn’t sit here all day, brooding. She had stuff to do. Such as going next door to Mal’s, the general store, and asking him to put up a sign letting people know about a meeting.
Mal’s sold everything and anything, from hunting supplies to fishing gear, from ladies’ clothing to stationery, from basic pantry supplies to gourmet ingredients (season and Mal’s contacts dependent), and from books to souvenirs. Basically if you wanted something, Mal’s would probably have it. And if he didn’t, he’d get it in for you. Such as the collection of Charles Dickens’s classics that she’d wanted that the library didn’t have, plus some Jane Austen and Wuthering Heights, since she had a passion for nineteenth-century literature.
His store also housed a DVD library, since the broadband in Deep River was patchy at best, nonexistent at worst, and required a special wired workstation for consistent internet connectivity even when the rest of the town had no service. No one knew quite how he managed to achieve it, but he did, and it had been a lifesaver—quite literally—on a number of occasions.
Hope left the Moose and went up the steps next door, striding into the store. The towering wooden shelves on either side were stuffed with all kinds of things, creating a kind of tunnel to the back where the counter was. She’d thought Mal’s was magical back when she’d been a kid, like the stores in the Harry Potter books her grandfather had bought for her, as if she’d discover a wand behind the cans of beans or a broomstick behind the fishing rods.
It didn’t feel very magical just now though. Only familiar.
How is this going to change when the oil comes?
The thought hit Hope like a punch to the gut, and she had to stop in the middle of the aisle to take a breath.
Mal wouldn’t want to take the oil money, would he? If it came to that? Surely he’d want his store to stay the same? Then again, what could he do with money? He might sell up and move out, start a bigger store somewhere else…
Something icy crawled through her. No wonder Silas had been so grim-faced telling her the news. He’d had time to think about the implications, and now they were hitting home for her too.
“Hope,” someone hissed from behind her.
She turned, coming face-to-face with her mother, who on occasion helped Mal stacking shelves in return for a bit of pocket money.
Angela was a small woman, dwarfed by the shelves around her, looking even smaller in jeans and one of Hope’s grandfather’s flannel shirts that she persisted in wearing since it was a family tradition. Her long dark hair—same as Hope’s—was pulled back in a ponytail, and her dark eyes—also the same as Hope’s—were suspiciously bright.
In fact, there was something suspiciously bright about her mother in general this morning, and that wasn’t a usual occurrence. Angela mostly sat around watching the soaps on TV, completely absorbed in a world outside of the town she’d gotten stuck in. And when she wasn’t watching TV, she was bitterly listing an endless round of complaints about everything and anything to whoever was around to listen.
Except today her mother’s usual discontent wasn’t apparent. She was…excited.
“Come here,” Angela whispered. “I’ve got something to tell you.” Then she grabbed Hope’s hand and tugged her around one of the shelves into a more private corner of the store. It was where the knickknacks were shelved, dusty porcelain shepherdesses and glass statues of cats and other things, plus hand-carved items from various locals. No one ever bought them and no one ever looked at them, which was why Mal never dusted this area of the store. In fact, Hope was pretty sure Mal had forgotten it existed.
“What?” she asked her mother, frowning.
Angela dropped her hand then glanced around, as if she was afraid of eavesdroppers. Which was stupid since there was no one in their immediate vicinity.
“Okay,” she said, her gaze still darting around. “I have some news.”
“What news?”
The glitter of excitement in Angela’s eyes became more pronounced. “I got a call yesterday from a guy who was interested in buying the Moose.”
Hope blinked at her. “What?”
“He wanted to buy our lease.” Her mother leaned in closer. “And the money he was offering… Well, let’s just say that it was a lot.”
The subject was so out of left field that it took Hope a couple of seconds to process what her mother was saying. Someone had offered to buy the Moose’s lease? Seriously?
“I…” she started, not quite sure what to say.
“I know.” Angela reached out and took Hope’s hands in her own, her long fingers still elegant and smooth despite the years of disappointments and bitterness. “It means we could leave, Hope. It means that we could finally get out of here. You could go to college or whatever, and I could move south. Go to Florida. California. Somewhere warm.” Her mother’s smile was full of excitement and anticipation. “We could finally do whatever we wanted.”
The ice that had been sitting in Hope’s stomach solidified, becoming strangely weighty.
For years, all she’d wanted to do was leave. She hadn’t wanted to turn into her mother, stuck in the family home with a kid and a life hemmed in by mountains and small-town gossip. Where there was nothing to do but watch soaps and complain, too poor to do any of the things she’d always dreamed of doing. And then her grandfather had died, and Cal and Silas had left, and she’d had to shoulder responsibilities she’d never dreamed she’d have. She’d had to put those dreams of another life aside. But those dreams had never gone. They’d never disappeared entirely. They were still there, and suddenly she felt the weight of them acutely.
It was not a good feeling. Not given what Silas had just told her.
A call to buy the lease? That’s never happened. Strange timing, don’t you think?
Hope narrowed her gaze at her mother. “Did this guy leave a name?”
“John something or other.” Angela lifted a shoulder. “Does it matter? The most important thing is that he wanted to pay good money for that lease.” Her fingers squeezed Hope’s, her eyes bright in a way Hope hadn’t seen in years, if ever. “Aren’t you happy?”
Interesting question. Happy wasn’t a state she readily identified with. Contentment, sure, but happiness?
You’re already turning into your mother. But instead of a kid, you have the bar. And now Silas has dumped the town on you as well…
Hope forced away the feeling of being helplessly crushed by stones people kept piling on top of her. She didn’t want to be the one to pour cold water on her mother’s obvious excitement, but questions needed to be asked. There was also a strange, secret part of her, a part she didn’t want to acknowledge, that found the idea of selling the Moose’s lease to a stranger almost painful.
“No, I’m not happy,” Hope said flatly. “I’m weirded out. No one has ever offered to buy the Moose’s lease before. Never.”
The excitement in Angela’s eyes dimmed, and carefully, she withdrew her hands from Hope’s. “What does that matter? Someone wants to buy it now.”
“Who, though? Someone from here?”
“No. He said he was based in Juneau.”
“So, what? Some random guy calls up out of the blue and offers a lot of money for the Moose’s lease?”
Angela’s expression darkened, the years of bitterness sitting more heavily on her, highlighting the lines around her eyes and mouth. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened. What’s the matter with that?”
Hope’s heart ached at the dimming of her mother’s pleasure. She hated to be the one to do it, but that had always been her role. She’d been the hard reality check since she was born. “Mom, you don’t know who this person is. Or why they’re suddenly offering you a lot of money. Didn’t you even ask?”
Offense flitted across Angela’s sharp-boned face. “Of course I did. I’m not an idiot.”
“Mom—”
“He said he was looking for an escape from city life and had always wanted to own a bar. And he’d been investigating places of interest. He said Deep River sounded like just the kind of place he wanted to move to.”
“So has he cold-called anyone else?” She should stop asking questions, stop making things worse, but she couldn’t help herself or her suspicions. “Or was it just us?”
“No.” Angela’s expression was now full of her usual resentment. “He said the Moose was his first port of call. He’d been here, he said. And he’d liked it and he was calling on the off chance that we might want to sell.” She glared at Hope. “I don’t understand why you’re being so negative. This could be just the kind of escape that we’ve been looking for.”
“We? Why do you keep saying ‘we’?”
Angela blinked, then frowned. “You always wanted to leave, Hope. Don’t tell me you didn’t. You wanted to get a degree. Go to college. And then—”
“And then Grandad died,” she heard herself say, her voice unaccustomedly hard. “And I had responsibilities to shoulder. I can’t just leave them because some random guy called you and offered to buy the lease.”
Her mother drew back as if she’d slapped her. “So that’s a no?”
Of course, that’s how most of their arguments went. Every time her mother talked about selling and moving away, Hope would present her with the facts of their situation, the sharp pin that punctured the balloon of Angela’s fantasies. Hope hated being that person, hated how she was forced into that role, especially considering what her birth had meant for her mother. But reality wasn’t something Angela often concerned herself with, and someone had to be the one to present it to her.
“No,” Hope said tiredly. “It’s not.” She took a breath, trying to temper her own feelings and not be so hard on her mom. “Okay, so what did you say to him?”
Angela sniffed. “I told him I’d think about it. He’s going to call again in a couple of days.”
That was something at least. That might give her time to investigate whatever this call was really about and who’d made it. And who knew? Maybe the guy was genuinely on the level.
He’s not and you know it.
Hope ignored the voice in her head and instead gave her mother what she hoped was a reassuring look. “Okay, well, let’s think about it. I can investigate him and see if he’s genuine and then maybe we can discuss it.”
Angela’s expression was, for once, difficult to interpret. “Fine. But don’t forget, Hope: When Dad died, the lease passed to me. It’s in my name. Which means I can do whatever the hell I want with it.”
The ice in Hope’s stomach became a little thicker, a little weightier. Her mother wasn’t wrong. The lease had passed to her. She owned it and the Moose along with it. Of course, Angela never actually wanted to own it and had even made some noises about transferring it to Hope. But that’s all it had ever been—just noises. Her mother’s name had remained on the lease.
It hadn’t been an issue before, but Hope had a feeling it was going to be an issue now.
Dammit. She was going to have to find Silas and tell him, because the timing of this was just too convenient. It was about the oil. It had to be.
* * *
Silas stood in the doorway of the small Deep River community center and stopped dead. The center was comprised of one big open room with wooden floors, stacked chairs, and noticeboards on the wall. A big stove stood down at one end to keep it warm in winter, but it had always been a faintly chilly space. He had memories of huddling on one of the wooden chairs, freezing his balls off the few times his father had dragged him to town meetings and trying not to fall asleep as the adults talked about boring stuff.
But it wasn’t chilly now. In fact, the temperature reminded him of a particularly grueling mission down in South America, where he’d sweated through miles of jungle, soaking his fatigues while insects ate him alive.
Yeah, exactly like that except with less insects and more women dressed in shorts and tanks contorting themselves into pretzels. Correction, not all were women. There were a couple of guys at the back doing the same thing.
A poster on the wall opposite told him exactly what was going on. Hot yoga! Eight sharp every morning in the community center! Bring yourself and a positive attitude!
Heads turned as he came in, and the woman leading the class—tall and willowy with blond hair and a tie-dyed tank—shouted, “Shut the door!” as he stood there staring.
He frowned, but shut it, conscious of everyone staring.
Hot yoga. In Deep River. He couldn’t quite get his head around it.
“You want something?” the yoga instructor demanded. “If not, there’s a spare mat by the door.”
No, he was not going to be doing that.
He gave the woman—whom he didn’t recognize, because there appeared to be so many people he didn’t recognize—what he hoped was a smile and said, “I’m not here for the class. I need to speak with Astrid James.”
A murmur rippled through the assembled class, and a woman in the middle of the crowd unfolded herself. Her pale gilt hair was tied in a knot on the back of her head, her gray eyes sharp and not a little suspicious. “Yeah?” she asked, giving him the usual Deep River stare. “What do you want?”
Silas ignored the pang that stare gave him and stared levelly back. “You’re the mayor here, right?”
Her eyes narrowed still further. “Who wants to know?”
Damn. He could already feel the avid gazes of the assembled class becoming even more avid, and that was going to generate more interest than he wanted right now. But there was little he could do about it. Any newcomer was going to generate interest, and most especially when they barged into a yoga class demanding to see the mayor.
Hell. He should have waited.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked instead. “It’ll only be five minutes.”
At that moment, an older woman said, “Silas Quinn? Is that you?”
Silas threw her a smile. It was Clare, who owned the bed-and-breakfast. “Hi, Clare. How are you?”
The mayor abruptly rose to her feet. “I’ll be back in five,” she said to the blond instructor.
Silas gave Clare another grin, then pulled open the door and followed the mayor into the foyer area outside the hall. She was a small woman, with precise, petite features, yet projected the air of someone much larger and much more formidable. A very capable woman, this one, and certainly better than the goat the townspeople had elected once in protest at the yearly batch of candidates.
Astrid folded her arms and stared at him. Her pale skin was flushed from the heat they’d just exited, but she didn’t look one whit discomposed. “Silas Quinn, huh?” she said, clearly having paid attention. “What are you doing here, and what do you want?”
Silas didn’t beat around the bush. “I’m an old friend of Caleb West’s. And I got some news concerning the town and its future.”
“What news?” Astrid’s gray eyes became even sharper.
He flicked a glance at the door to the hall. “Not here. Already too much gossip is happening, and I don’t need any more. It’s serious, and it’s going to need a town meeting, where everyone can be informed.”
The mayor said nothing for a long moment, then asked, “Is it going to cause trouble?”
“Yeah,” he said, because it would—no two ways about it.
“It’s about Caleb’s will, isn’t it?” Concern flickered through her eyes, which Si took to be a good sign. A mayor who cared about the town and its people was always going to be a mayor he could respect, and that was necessary, especially when he was going to be leaving said town and its future in hers and Hope’s hands.
“Yeah,” he repeated, and decided not to say anything more.
She could read his expression. She’d know it was serious.
And indeed, Astrid silently studied him another couple of beats, then gave a brisk nod. “Okay. Give me a half hour to get changed. You know where the mayor’s office is?”
He appreciated that he was a stranger to her, but the pang inside him deepened at her assumption he didn’t know where the mayor’s office was. Like he hadn’t been there on numerous occasions when whichever mayor it was gave him either a hard word about his father’s behavior or a sympathetic inquiry as to how he was doing. The mayors of Deep River were always overly intrusive in the lives of the people they represented, in his humble opinion.
“I do,” he said gruffly, not letting any of his irritation show.
“Good.” She turned back to the hall. “I’ll see you there.”
Five minutes later, he was walking back down Deep River’s main street, his head full of all the things he had to tell Astrid, when Hope stepped up beside him.
He stopped. “Got an answer for me already?”
She hadn’t been pleased when he’d told her his plans to sign the town over to her, and he’d known it the second the words had come out of his mouth. What he’d thought was distress had flickered through her dark eyes, and he didn’t quite understand that. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d told her, but upsetting her hadn’t been the goal, that was for sure.
No, you just wanted to palm off your responsibilities the way you did all those years ago.
That thought irritated him. No, he wasn’t palming off his responsibilities.
If he wasn’t living here, he couldn’t claim ownership. Cal had managed to twist the rules a bit, because he was a West and Morgan still lived here. And there were caveats that allowed for military service. But Si wasn’t a West and his military service was done.
Anyway, he firmly believed that Hope was the best person to help deal with this situation. Everything he’d seen of her since coming back to Deep River had only confirmed his belief. Managing Deep River’s only bar took a special sort of grit, and Hope had that in spades. Not to mention how she’d shouldered the responsibility of taking it on after her grandfather had died.
Only because she’d had to. And now you’re giving her another no-win situation.
Yeah, well, however she felt, she’d told him that she’d think about it. Though he hadn’t expected her to come back with an answer so soon.
“It’s not about that.” Worry glittered in her dark eyes. “I’ve just been talking to Mom. She got a call yesterday from someone wanting to buy the Moose’s lease.”
A cold feeling threaded through him. A familiar feeling. The sense that something was wrong. He’d experienced it enough times in the army that he’d come to trust it without question.
He gave Hope a narrow look. “Buy the Moose’s lease? Seriously?”
“Yeah.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and looked around warily, for eavesdroppers presumably. But it was still early, and there weren’t many people around, the sidewalk empty. “Mom said it was some city guy looking for an escape and wanting a bar to run. He apparently told her he’d been here and liked the place and wanted to know if she wanted to sell.”
The feeling of wrongness deepened. Yeah, he was betting that phone call had nothing to do with some city guy wanting to cash in. “I guess you’ve never had anyone call out of the blue and ask about the Moose’s lease before?”
Hope’s gaze came back to his, sharp and clear. “Nope. Not even once.”
There was a note in her voice that he didn’t quite understand, but now wasn’t the time to think about what it could be or why he might be interested in finding out, so all he said was, “You think it’s not genuine?”
“Hell no. I tried finding someone to take on the lease after Grandad died, and no one was interested. And I tried again a few years after that, but again, no one wanted it. So this guy suddenly offering now? After Cal? It’s sketchy.”
Again that note in her voice, a hint of bitterness. So she’d tried to sell up.
And no one wanted it and so she was stuck with it. Just like you’re sticking her with the entire town. Way to go, asshole.
Something ached behind his breastbone, an old regret that suddenly felt not so old anymore. But he couldn’t go on thinking about it, and he couldn’t have regrets—not now. He couldn’t take on the responsibility that Cal had unexpectedly shoved on him, and neither could the rest of the Wild Alaska team. They had other plans, and none of those plans included Deep River.
“Yeah, it’s sketchy all right,” he said, ignoring the ache. “If Cal had someone here prospecting, then somehow word might have gotten out. Oil companies are shady as hell.”
Hope let out a breath, as if he’d given her confirmation of something. But it wasn’t satisfaction on her face. It was something more painful.
He stared at her, and the urge to lift his hand and cup the angular shape of her cheek gripped him. So strong that he had to close his fingers in a fist to stop himself. “What’s up?” he asked instead, even though he shouldn’t. Even though getting interested in Hope again was not something he should be doing.
And for a second, he thought she might answer him. Then she looked away, over his shoulder, to the street at his back. “Nothing. Well, not nothing. I wonder how many other people this guy has been calling. Or how many other people have gotten similar calls.”
That wasn’t what she’d been upset about, Si was sure. But again, this wasn’t the time to be talking about it. “Okay, so that’s a worry. We need to get this news out in the open so everyone knows and there’s none of this shady shit happening.” He nodded toward the buildings that faced the river. “I’m just on my way to meet with the mayor. Why don’t you come along and tell her about that too?”
“Okay.”
Without another word, she fell in step beside him as they made their way to the Deep River tourist information center, since the mayor’s office was situated above it.
The buildings all faced the river and the boardwalk, but there was an entrance from the street that ran behind the buildings. Hope didn’t say anything as Si pulled open the door and let her in first. She gave him an enigmatic glance, one he couldn’t interpret, as she went past him and up the creaky, dark stairs. But he suddenly found that he wanted to interpret it. He wanted to know what was going on with her and how she felt about his plans to sign the town over to her, but wanting to know those things was a mistake.
He was only going to be here a few more days, then he’d be going back to Juneau and the life he’d planned for himself there. A life that didn’t include this town. A life that didn’t include Hope either.
Somewhere inside him, that ache deepened even though he tried not to let it, and he had to stop and take a breath before following her up the stairs.
No. He wasn’t going back to those old feelings again. The longing and the need. The loneliness that had settled inside him after his mother had died when he was ten. The loneliness that had only ever eased when Hope smiled at him.
Shit, he’d thought those feelings were gone, that he’d excised them completely from his heart, but maybe he hadn’t removed them as cleanly as he’d thought.
Maybe it was time for a second operation.