fifteen
When Harris recommended they try some new ski runs, Emma wasn’t sure. But when he showed her the map, explaining these intermediate runs were easier than the crowded one they’d been using, Emma agreed. She was surprised that they had to be shuttled to another part of the mountain. Still, he was right, the runs were easier—and they were longer too. Plus the lift lines were shorter.
“I really like it over here,” she told Harris after they finished a run that had only tripped her up once. “But my phone doesn’t get any bars.”
“And my phone is dead.”
“I’m a little concerned about Grant. With his bad arm and shopping all morning, he might be worn out by now. What if he wants to go home?”
“West can give him a ride. After all, he’s the caretaker, so he should take care of the houseguests, right?” Harris’s eyes twinkled.
“Maybe . . . but we’re the ones who brought Grant up here. So I feel sort of responsible.”
“How about we do one more run here and then go back and check on him?”
“That sounds good.”
By the time they got back to the lodge where Grant had planned to sip cocoa and garner female sympathy, they couldn’t find him anywhere. When he finally responded to Emma’s text, he said he was on his way home with West and Gillian. There was also a short text from West, sent a couple hours ago, inviting her to ski with him—or them—but she suspected it had simply been a pity invite and would most likely include skiing with Gillian too. She was glad to have missed it.
“Sounds like the others went home already,” she told Harris. “I’m ready to call it quits too. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I’m still a little sore from yesterday.”
As Harris drove them toward town, Emma’s phone pinged with a text from Gillian. “Interesting . . .” She read it then set her phone down with a long sigh.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Gillian is fixing dinner tonight.”
“You’re kidding. I didn’t think she could cook.”
“You and me both. Anyway, she wants us to stop by the store for a few things.”
He laughed. “I never took old Gillian for the domestic type. But then I didn’t think she’d ever try skiing. That girl’s just full of surprises.”
“Yeah.” Emma felt very close to tears as they came into town. What had looked so incredibly beautiful last night seemed to hurt her eyes now. She tried to tell herself she was simply tired . . . or perhaps homesick for her parents. But the truth was this was all about West. She knew it was silly to feel so emotional about a guy she’d only known a couple of days. And yet everything about West had felt so amazingly magical. But then, just like a magic trick, it had vanished right before her eyes. Thanks to Gillian.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” Harris said.
“Just thinking.”
“So what do you think about Gillian and the caretaker?” he asked.
She turned to stare at him—was he clairvoyant? “Well, to be honest, it’s been pretty mind-boggling.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I actually thought Gil was using West to make me jealous.”
“That occurred to me too.” Unfortunately, Gillian had only managed to make Emma jealous. Not that she planned to admit as much to Harris—or anyone. “But it seems like there’s more to it. I’m guessing Gillian’s sudden domesticity is for West’s benefit. I’ll bet she invited him to dinner tonight.”
“You’re probably right. But I still don’t get it. Everyone knows Gillian’s a climber . . . she’s like the ultimate material girl. So why is she suddenly so smitten with our lowly caretaker? I mean, West is a nice guy and not bad looking. But—give me a break—he’s a ski bum.”
Emma had to bite her tongue to keep from defending West. Sure, maybe he was a caretaker and maybe even a ski bum, but she didn’t like hearing Harris talk down about him. Still, she didn’t want to argue with Harris—not when she was this close to tears.
“Just drop me by the front door of the store,” she said as he entered the packed parking lot. “I should be able to get everything on Gil’s list in about fifteen minutes or so. I’ll text you when I’ve checked out and you can just drive by and pick me up here.”
Based on Gillian’s list of ingredients, fettuccini alfredo, green salad, French bread, and “some good dessert” were on tonight’s menu. Even though Gillian didn’t actually cook, anyone could easily make this entrée with the fresh pasta and canned alfredo sauce Emma put into the basket. For a brief moment, Emma was tempted to get the real ingredients and offer to make dinner from scratch, but she knew Gillian would probably throw a fit. Or else, she’d pretend like she’d made it herself in order to impress West. And Emma just wasn’t going there. As bamboozling as this whole thing was, she knew Gil had something up her sleeve. For some reason, she was into West. The question was—why? Was it competition? She wanted to take him from Emma? Or maybe she thought she was protecting Emma. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or maybe she just wanted a little holiday fling . . . with a “ski bum.” Who could know?
But Emma knew one thing as she gathered Gillian’s items. She would not be dining with the others tonight. Emma would claim a headache—which she felt truly coming on. She’d take some food up to her room and just call it a night. Maybe she’d remain up in her room throughout Christmas as well. Or maybe she would get an earlier flight and simply go home to Arizona tomorrow. Anything to avoid having to be around West . . . and Gillian . . . and whatever games they were playing.
The only reason West had agreed to have dinner with the Landerses and their houseguests tonight was because it would give him an opportunity to see Emma. After not finding her on the slopes today—and the way she’d ignored his text—he was desperate to talk to her. He had to find out what had gone wrong . . . and somehow he had to fix it. He felt so desperate to figure this out that he’d even taken Grant into his confidence.
“I know your sister’s convinced that Emma’s into Harris,” he told Grant while Gillian was upstairs getting cleaned up. “But I find it pretty hard to believe.”
“Me too.” Grant nodded. “I mean, I understand why Harris likes Emma. Who doesn’t like Emma? But she’s always kind of held him at arm’s length. Even more than she does me. But I think that’s because she sees me more like a brother.” His smile seemed halfhearted. “And I guess that’s okay. Emma makes a pretty good sister.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” West ran his fingers through his messy hair. “But I really want to talk to Emma—alone, you know?”
“You mean without Gillian’s interference.”
“Exactly. But that might not be easy.”
“So you need sort of a wingman?” Grant’s brows arched.
“Yeah. I could use a wingman. You interested?”
“Sure. Might be fun.”
“And if it turns out that Emma actually likes Harris, well, I’ll just bow out gracefully. In fact, I’ll probably just go spend Christmas with my family.”
“Don’t blame you for that, man.” Grant rubbed his chin. “So here’s a plan. How about if I arrange for you to meet with Emma alone—before dinner.”
“Sounds good.”
“Gillian said dinner’s at seven, so how about you come over early—like six-thirty? I’ll keep Gil occupied, and you can talk to Emma.”
“Great. And here’s a heads-up. If I make a hasty exit before dinner—you can let your family know the caretaker has taken the holidays off.”
“Meaning Emma will have given you your walking papers?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Aw, that won’t happen.”
As West headed to his studio, he wasn’t so sure. He even considered calling the airlines for a standby red-eye flight to Phoenix. He could make the drive to Denver tonight and surprise his family early tomorrow morning—Christmas Eve. Sure, Arizona might not feel much like Christmas, but it would be better than holing up in his studio or having to witness the budding romance between Emma and Harris. If Gillian’s prediction was right and they really did get engaged on Christmas—West wasn’t sure he could take it.
But he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. Before he gave up on Emma completely, he had to speak to her—alone. First he needed a good long shower and a change of clothes. Then he needed some sort of plan.
Emma and Harris carried the grocery bags into the kitchen only to find it dark and quiet with no one around. “What time is this dinner party taking place?” Harris asked her as they put things away.
“I don’t know, and I don’t particularly care since I’m not planning to come.” She took a yogurt, apple, and bagel and set them on a plate. “I’ll dine in my room tonight.”
“No, you won’t.” Grant popped into the kitchen, holding up his cast-enclosed arm like a stop sign. “Sit down, Emma.”
“Huh?” She stared at him.
“I need to talk to you. Alone.”
She blinked then exchanged glances with Harris, but he just chuckled and, after grabbing something to snack on, excused himself to go clean up. “Let me know if you two are planning to elope or something,” he called over his shoulder.
“Very funny,” Grant shot back at him.
“What’s going on?” Emma sat down on a stool by the island and waited.
“Here’s the deal, Emma. West needs you to be here tonight. He wants to talk to you.”
“Oh?” She took a bite of the apple, feigning nonchalance.
“Yeah. And I happen to know Gil wants this to be a romantic dinner for two. She already insisted Dad take Mom out tonight. And she wants me to take you and Harris out as well. She even made a reservation for the three of us. That way it’ll be just her and West.”
“Cozy.” Emma took another bite, slowly chewing.
“That’s how she wants it—cozy . . . just the two of them.”
“Well, you can go out with Harris if you want, Grant, but I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
“Then you’ll eat dinner down here with them?”
She firmly shook her head. “Like I said, I’m going to my room.”
“But West is only coming tonight in order to see you. So you can’t hide out in your room.”
“What do you suggest I do? Crash a candlelit dinner for two? Sit there and watch Gillian flirting with West? Act like it’s all just peachy keen and I don’t care?”
“So you do have feelings for West?”
“I didn’t say that, Grant. I just said I don’t want to—”
“What if we all crash Gil’s dinner?” he said. “You and me and Harris. Dinner for five. That way I can distract Gil long enough for you and West to have a conversation.”
“You’re overlooking one little thing, Grant.” She stood.
“What’s that?”
“What if West does have feelings for Gillian?”
“He doesn’t. I know he doesn’t.” Grant leaned over the island, looking squarely into her eyes. “I always think of you as a gutsy girl. Are you seriously going to just step aside and let Gillian run this circus? Meanwhile you hide out in your room and don’t lift a finger. Don’t put up a fight?”
“Fight? Seriously?” She frowned.
“If you like West as much as he seems to like you, you should be willing to put some effort into this, Emma Daley.”
She pursed her lips. “Yeah . . . I suppose you’re right.”
“I mean, West might just be a caretaker, but he’s a good guy. And he really likes you—and I know you really like him.” Grant scratched his head. “What I can’t figure out is my sister. She’s the wild card here.”
“Okay, you talked me into it, Grant. If you and Harris promise to stay for dinner, I will too.” Emma picked up her plate. “But since Gillian’s cooking, I’m going to eat this first.”
“Good idea. I better grab something too. Gillian told West seven, but he’s coming at six-thirty. I’ll text you when he gets here.”
Emma patted his shoulder. “Thanks, Grant. You make a very decent brother.”
“Maybe to you, but I doubt Gillian will think so after tonight.”
Emma chuckled on her way upstairs. She appreciated Grant’s help and interest, but she wasn’t sure how Gillian would react. Still, something was up with Gillian . . . something that Emma wanted to figure out. Deep inside, Emma knew that Gillian couldn’t possibly have sincere interest in a caretaker. Good grief, he probably made less than Emma did as a substitute teacher. And Gillian loved money and things, leisure and prestige. She’d never made it a secret that she planned to marry a millionaire. The whole biz just did not compute.
But if Gillian was using West—either to make Harris jealous or simply for her own egotistical pleasure—it was just plain wrong. And Grant was absolutely right, Emma should put up a fight. She just hoped West wouldn’t get hurt in the process. For all she knew, he might’ve gotten caught up in Gillian’s game. Because Emma knew it was a game. But what was the prize?