Chapter 8 Piper #2
No self-important fraud like Rhett Baldwin would get in the way of that, even if it meant I had to skip team-building drinks with the rest of my coworkers.
“I’ve got to pick the boys up from school,” I told Mila, which was the truth—just not the fact that I’d have a bit of time to myself in between.
She tilted her head in understanding. “Next week, maybe. Any plans for the weekend?”
“Mostly just trying to find us a new rental,” I said.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Is your place no good?”
“It’s great,” I replied, grabbing my purse to start packing up my things. It felt wrong to be leaving work so early, but I slipped my phone into my purse and smiled at Mila. “My landlord can only do a three-month lease, and we’re already one month in. She does short-term rentals for the winter.”
Mila hummed, wrinkling her nose. “I can’t blame her—the money’s crazy with tourists coming in to ski and snowboard. But still. You’d think people would care about locals having somewhere to live.”
“Not sure I qualify as a local quite yet,” I said, wrapping up my charging cord and stuffing it in the smaller outside pocket of my purse—only to feel paper crunch against my fingertips.
“You’re here to stay, aren’t you?” Mila asked brightly. “That makes you at least halfway to local in my books.”
I smiled, warmth and sadness blooming through me at the same time. No matter how much my boss hated me, I couldn’t deny that everyone else I’d met was wonderful. My boys were thriving. The town was gorgeous. If I eliminated Rhett from the equation, I loved it here.
But I’d messed up my chance to keep Rhett on my good side the very first time we’d met. Now I had the tiniest bit of leverage—his reputation, and his need to get the lodge open. I couldn’t afford to look weak to him, or I’d lose what little power I had in this situation.
Mila, Todd, my landlord, Ms. Diane—they were all good people whom I’d love to get to know. I’d love to put down roots here, but it felt like there was already a clock ticking over my head, counting down to the moment I had to leave town again.
I hid my melancholy behind a smile. I glanced down at the paper I pulled out of the side pocket of my purse, thinking it was an old receipt I could toss on my way out.
Instead, I found a crumpled raffle ticket.
Mila was still waiting by my door, and I didn’t want her to see how sad her comment had made me.
I lifted the ticket. “Maybe this is my winning ticket,” I told Mila.
“Won’t need a rental at all, because I’ll win a house. ”
“Not if I win it first,” she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows, then waved and headed out the door.
My Saturday morning was spent viewing three apartments with the boys.
Two of them were completely uninhabitable, and the third was way out of my price range.
Dejected but trying not to show it, I put on a cheery face and loaded the boys up into the car to leave the beautiful home that I’d never be able to rent.
“What do you say we stop at that market we saw on the way here?” I asked, glancing at the two of them in the rearview mirror.
“Can I get a funnel cake?” Nate asked.
“I’m not sure they have them,” I replied as I started the car.
“Do they sell Hot Wheels?” My boys were obsessed with the toy cars.
I hummed. “Probably not.”
The boys groaned, obviously not enthused by the prospect of a Hot Wheels–less, funnel cake–less farmer’s market.
But the alternative was going home and trying to entertain two little boys in our too-small rental with no backyard, so the farmer’s market it would have to be.
At least until I figured something else out.
I pulled into a free parking spot on the street and herded them toward the market, smiling at the old woman sitting near the entrance and resting on her walker.
There was a coffee truck with a long line on one side and a stack of hay bales for seating on the other.
A few decorative pumpkins added to the fall decor, the whole thing framed with the changing leaves of a gigantic tree.
I inhaled the scent of autumn and let my shoulders drop.
A few snowflakes fluttered around us, falling to the ground and immediately melting.
“Whoa!” Nate said. “Look! Beef jerky!”
I followed his pointed finger and huffed a laugh at his enthusiasm. There was a market stall with nothing but jerky, with a white-bearded man presiding over the whole thing. Nate loved jerky. “You want to get some?”
“Can we?” My eldest looked at me with big eyes.
I wasn’t above bribery, so I pulled out some money and handed a bill to each of the boys. “You can each pick one pack.”
They scurried over. Nate impulsively picked up and paid for the first bag of jerky he saw.
Alec took his time, asking me to explain all the flavors lined up on the table before making his choice.
I thanked the old man and guided my sons away from the stall, my shoulders easing a little more.
Above and around us, the mountains carved across the sky in jagged lines.
Their presence was comforting. The peaks were massive and unmoving, and being in their shadow made me feel like the world was a little steadier under my feet.
I’d find somewhere for us to live. I’d do a great job at work. I’d make a home for my boys, whether it was here or somewhere else. No one would make me feel small and worthless again.
A couple stalls down from the jerky was a booth with a big blue sign bearing bold black letters: “LOVERS PEAK CHARITY HOME RAFFLE.” A red strip had been stuck on the sign below the letters with white writing that proclaimed: “ALREADY 80% SOLD.” The woman behind the booth was bundled up in a fuzzy hat and puffy jacket to ward against the growing cold.
Her cheeks were apple red as she smiled at me.
“Would you like a ticket to the Lovers Peak Charity Home Raffle? You could win a house, and tickets are only five dollars!”
I patted my purse. “Already got mine.”
“See you next Saturday, then!” she called out.
“Next Saturday?”
“For the draw,” she replied, a slight frown forming between her brows. She picked up a neon yellow flyer and handed it over. It looked like a photocopy of a photocopy, with a small map showing the location of the community center and the date of the draw. One week from today.
“You can’t miss it. There’s food, a bunch of carnival games, and, of course, the draw,” the woman said.
Her name tag said “Rita,” and I wondered if she was the Rita who owned the popular bar and eatery on the main drag in town.
“Everyone shows up. You can’t buy a ticket and not come. What if they called your number?”
I huffed a laugh, a shiver of anticipation going through me. What if they did call my number?
But that was ridiculous. Every single person in this town bought tickets to this raffle. I wasn’t going to be the one to win it.
“Ryan from class said he’s going,” Nate piped up to say. “He said there’s a punching bag so you can test your strength.”
“We’re going, right, Mom?” Alec asked, eyes wide and hopeful. “Maybe we’ll win! Then we won’t have to go see any more houses on the weekend, and we can do fun stuff instead.”
Throat suddenly tight, I managed a weak nod of goodbye to Rita and put my arms around my sons. “We can go, as long as you two have done all your homework and chores,” I said.
The boys exchanged an excited glance. Nate had already ripped his jerky bag open, and he dug his hand into it to pull out a strip. He bit off a chunk and hopped from one foot to the other, excitement brimming. He’d always been a little ball of energy, ever since he was born.
I stroked the backs of their heads and felt like a failure.
It had taken all my mettle to divorce my ex, fight for custody, and get a job.
Now homelessness was looming ahead of me—not to mention joblessness.
My boss had made it more than clear that he didn’t want me sticking around any longer than strictly necessary to get the lodge open.
Maybe this had all been a mistake. Maybe I should have stayed married and stayed in my place.
An old couple shuffled behind us, heading to the raffle booth to make a purchase. My eyes lingered on the booth and the old couple, and—not for the first time—I thought back to that very first morning, when I tried to stand up for what was right and ended up making a fool of myself.
I’d seriously misjudged how popular this raffle thing was in this town. It seemed that everyone bought a ticket or three, and refusing to participate had truly been a huge faux pas.
I blamed Rhett Baldwin for that, and pointing my anger and fear and doubt at someone other than myself felt too good to stop.
If he hadn’t riled me up that morning with his line-cutting and his dark eyes, I wouldn’t have been so flustered.
Even the brief moment he flashed into my mind was enough to get me to grind my jaw.
This place would be perfect if it weren’t for him.
Clearing my mind with a deep sigh, I carried on, one eye on the boys, one on the variety of stalls on either side.
We stopped at a stall selling all manner of chutneys.
I sampled a bit of hot mango chutney on a cracker, humming at the sweet and spicy taste.
“Delicious!” I told the woman behind the table.
She beamed with pride. “Would you like a jar?”
“Oh, why not?” I said. It was a little pricey, but I didn’t want to get a reputation for being the stingy newcomer who didn’t support the local economy. Besides, the chutney was delicious.
But the woman leaned over her table to look at the array of jars, then frowned. She turned around and went through one of the many boxes behind her, coming back with a jar of chutney and an apologetic look on her face.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I only have one left.”
“Well, that works out perfectly! I only want one.” I forced a smile, even though I could tell I was missing something.
“I’ll have more made next week,” she promised. “This one is already spoken for.”
A little tingle of warning told me a predator was nearby. My eyes narrowed. “Already spoken for? By who?”
A shoulder brushed against mine, and the shadow of Rhett Baldwin’s body fell across my own. “Morning, Florence. Is that my chutney you’re holding?”
“Rhett!” the woman behind the booth exclaimed, a smile stretching her mouth wide. “Good morning! It sure is, ready and waiting, as usual.”
Rhett handed her some money and took the jar, then finally turned to meet my gaze. His eyes twinkled with triumph and amusement. He was enjoying himself, and it made my blood simmer. He inclined his head. “Piper.” His gaze moved to my sons. “Boys.”
“Rhett,” I growled, curling my arms around Alec and Nate.
He tossed the jar so it spun in the air and caught it neatly with the same hand. “This stuff is the best. I buy a jar every single week. Thanks, Florence! See you next time.”
“Bye-bye now!” she called out, waving. We both looked after him, I with a scowl and she with a soft smile, until our eyes met again.
Florence shook her head. “Rhett Baldwin is the reason I could start this business, you know. He bought so much chutney that I had enough to keep coming back to the farmer’s market and even get stocked in the local grocery store. ”
“Is that right,” I bit off.
“Uh-huh!” Florence replied cheerily. “Isn’t he just the best?”
My smile felt like a grimace, and my laugh was little more than a sharp exhale. “He sure is,” I replied. “The absolute best.”