On the first Wednesday in October, Beth sat back in her office in Laurel, Georgia, and gazed through the window. She sighed as the mountain mist slowly lifted from the distant hills, dissolving in the early morning sunshine. Her mind drifted down Main Street and its quaint old buildings, colorful awnings, and gingerbread trim. Across the scenic landscape, she could see autumn trees, glowing bronze and golden against the pale blue sky. The peaceful scene did little to relieve the tender ache embedded in her heart.
The front door opened. The old clapper bell jangled against the glass-fronted panel. Familiar footsteps moved across the aged wooden floor. Beth glanced over her shoulder.
Amy Chambers appeared in the doorway, her short, dark hair tousled and her plump cheeks dimpled into a welcoming smile. “Bill received a phone call from the sheriff’s office right before we left the house. It would appear that some hiker discovered a skeleton up on Piney Ridge this morning. It’s probably just the remains of another bear or mountain lion. Bill’s gone to check it out.”
“Does Bill want me to drive up there?”
“Nah.” Amy smiled. “He knows how busy you are.”
Beth swiveled away from the window. For weeks she’d been trudging through her work. Determined to make up for her lackadaisical attitude, she scooped papers from her desk and stuffed them inside a thick, manila file folder. “I’ll have these ads ready by tomorrow. I plan to call David Bracken and ask him why he omitted part of his rental company’s listing for next month’s advertisement.”
Amy waddled into Beth’s office, her sturdy frame bulging with the third trimester of a long-awaited pregnancy. She lowered herself into the chair in front of Beth’s desk. “Beth, can we talk?”
“Of course.”
“We’ve been friends for a long time.”
Beth grimaced, knowing those words usually preceded something she didn’t want to hear.
Amy continued, “I don’t want to pry, but ever since you returned from California, you’ve not been yourself. Bill and I are concerned. All you told us about your trip was that you met Mr. Adams and things didn’t go as you hoped. But, Beth…” Amy leaned forward. “Just because Adrian Adams refused to help you is no reason to give up. If we keep trying, somehow, we’ll find a way to get your manuscript into the hands of a publisher.”
Not wanting Amy to see the tears stinging her eyes, Beth pivoted her chair back toward the window. She could feel Amy’s penetrating gaze on the back of her head. Trying to keep her voice steady, Beth asked, “Why did Mary Ann tell us Adrian Adams was an old man?”
In a tone of surprise, Amy said, “She didn’t say Mr. Adams was old. If you remember, she described him as ‘older.’ You know how it is. At seventeen, any man who holds a position of authority and needs a shave on a daily basis would seem old.”
With her emotions under control, Beth turned back to face her friend. Meeting Amy’s brown-eyed gaze head on, Beth placed her palms face down on the cool, hard surface of the desk and forced herself to speak. “Not only did Mary Ann fail to mention that Adrian Adams is not the author’s given name, she also never told us how devastatingly attractive the man is.”
Instantly alert, Amy scooted closer, a dawning gleam of understanding shining through her eyes.
Mustering her courage, Beth shared honestly and openly with her friend for the next twenty minutes, describing as much as she could without breaking down, telling Amy about her Sacramento fiasco. When she finished, Beth felt proud that her voice had broken only twice during the detailed description of her disastrous journey.
Amy’s look of shock turned into sympathy. With concern mirrored in her eyes and a tone of indignation in her voice, she exclaimed, “Just like that! Carter left you without calling or anything? He simply boarded a jet and flew out of your life?”
“Well, no,” Beth admitted. “For nearly three weeks, Carter telephoned several times each day. I refused to answer his calls.” Beth couldn’t bring herself to admit, even to her friend, how the sound of Carter’s voice had triggered sleepless nights filled with angry tears and painful weeping.
“But why wouldn’t you respond to his calls? What if Carter really does love you? Men do stupid things sometimes, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you.”
“We spent five days together. Carter couldn’t possibly know me, much less love me! Besides, if he really cared, he wouldn’t have given up so easily. No, I feel certain the novelty quickly wore off. He’s probably dating some ski instructor or fashion model by now.” The image of Carter holding someone else in his arms made Beth feel sick to her stomach.
Amy sighed. “I guess you’re right. Why don’t you come to our house for dinner tonight? I have a pan of lasagna in the freezer.”
Hearing the pity in Amy’s voice caused Beth to square her shoulders and lift her chin. I’m an Ashton, she told herself. I’ll get through this. In answer to her friend’s invitation, Beth smiled, nodded, and wondered if the hurt would ever go away.
****
It was nearly 2:00 p.m. before Beth managed to reach David Bracken on the telephone. “David, this is Bethany Ashton.” She pictured him, long and lanky, as he answered on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Beth. I haven’t talked to you in awhile. How was your trip to California?”
“Hot and dry. It’s good to be back in Georgia. I wanted to go over your listing with you. Since the tourist trade is typically gone by November, and you usually advertise monthly rates for your properties, when I noticed that you did not have Mountain View Lodge on your list, I thought I should check with you before running the advertisement.”
“I received a year-long lease agreement on that chalet,” David responded.
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh,” David admitted. “I was contacted by a real estate agent who said his client was a well-known writer looking for a secluded retreat.”
Beth felt all the breath leave her body. Swallowing hard, she asked, “Where was this agent calling from? Do you remember?”
“Colorado.”
Beth slapped a hand over her heart. She tried to breathe.
Her voice low and steady, Beth inquired, “Do you know the writer’s name? Or when this lodger will arrive?”
“No. Wait a minute.” The owner of Bracken’s raised his voice, called to his secretary in the outer office. “Jean, do you know when our lodger for Mountain View will take possession?”
The blood began to pound in her head, and when Beth realized she was holding her breath, she slowly exhaled.
There was a bump on the other end of the line, and then the voice of David Bracken. “Tomorrow. Don’t know the name of the person, but the agent assured Jean his client will pick up the key before noon on Thursday.”
“Beth?”
Beth could hear David’s voice trailing her as she raced toward the lavatory, where she felt certain her lunch was about to make a sudden comeback.