Chapter 3
BECK
The bed at the Snowy Peaks Inn was perfectly comfortable, so why did my back feel like I'd passed out on the floor?
The accident had seemed minor, but waking up to a purple eye and a red slash across the bridge of my nose had still been a surprise. I rubbed my fist in circles on my aching lower back.
I'd told myself the adrenaline from the accident and the excitement of the upcoming business deal had kept me tossing and turning all night, but I was lying to myself.
The coldness that took over Clara's eyes when she realized that the man in the ditch was…
me, had kept me awake. By dawn, I gave in to my insomnia and sat on the cushion in the bay window, watching as snowflakes, big ones, swirled in the glow of the iron streetlamp in front of the Inn.
It had been so many years. Why did she still care enough to hate me?
It shouldn't have bothered me, at least that's what the businessman in me said. But the small-town boy inside, the one who had just run into his first true love, was bothered a lot.
Shaking my head, I tried to get Clara out of my mind. I couldn't let the past derail my future. This deal was a big one, one that could make or break my career with the King Corporation.
The realtor was waiting for me outside the Inn. She looked to be in her late thirties. Her teeth were white and perfect behind red lipstick and a genuine smile. She had kind eyes, and long black hair hung from beneath a wool hat covered in snow.
"Good morning," I said, removing my leather glove and extending my hand. "Charlotte, I presume?"
"You presume correctly."
Her hand was warm, and her handshake was firm. "I'm glad you decided to walk. This storm caught everyone by surprise."
"I didn't really have a choice.” I laughed. "My rental is at the G-Spot garage getting the airbags replaced. I sent it right into the prickles last night."
“That’s good to hear.”
My brow furrowed.
"Your shiner. It looks like someone punched you in the face and stole your wallet.”
I'd forgotten that I looked like I'd been on the losing side of a bench brawl.
"It's not too far off. I got robbed, but by the airbag company.
They punched me in the face and then charged me for it.
" I shook my head. The mechanic didn't know when the new airbag would be shipped to Chance Rapids.
The only thing he knew was that it was going to be expensive.
Hopefully either my boss, William King, or the rental car company's insurance was going to reimburse me for the repair.
"Yikes." Charlotte winced. "You should go see Mimi at the salon. She does facials and might be able to help with the swelling."
"A facial? I think dunking my face into an ice fishing hole on Sugar Bay might be the only thing that will help this go down."
Snow and salt crunched under our boots as we walked down the side street to Main Street.
This time I was prepared for the snow, and my feet inside my hiking boots were warm and dry.
The roads of Chance Rapids weren't cleared, but the robust sidewalk machine had been working overtime. I had watched it trundle up and down the street when I couldn’t sleep.
"You've done your homework," Charlotte stated. "Only locals call it Sugar Bay."
Charlotte had not done her homework. "I grew up here."
"Really?" She paused and looked at me. "Your comment about the G-Spot should've clued me in. When outsiders first hear the general store's nickname, they assume that it's a sex shop." Steam puffed as she laughed. "So, you're a Rapidian. Is that why you chose Chance Rapids for the proposal?”
If Charlotte only knew how hard I'd fought to get Chance Rapids off the short list for the development. "No, my boss wants a small town for the project."
One with a council that will be easy to 'get onside,' aka bribe, if needed.
"I'm very curious about…" She air-quoted, "this project. Mavis hasn't shared any details with anyone outside of council. She's old school like that."
"So what has she shared?" I knew that Mavis was both old and old-school. She was the mayor when I was a kid, and when I saw her name on the King Corporation briefing documents, I was shocked that the old lady was still alive.
Wind whipped snow off the banks that stood as high as Charlotte's shoulders. I shuddered and zipped my coat up. Charlotte lowered her chin into the collar of her parka.
"Just that you're looking for some vacant land that's either already zoned commercial or could easily be amended."
“We’ve got some potential sites, but would be open to more. Have you got anything?" I asked. "I didn’t see anything listed on your website."
"I have contacts with some large landowners who might be open to selling, provided the project isn't a nuclear waste site or something like that." Her eyes sparkled as she laughed.
"Nothing like that. I think you'll be happy about the development. We might even be able to bring you in to help represent the real estate phase."
"Real estate phase?"
Charlotte was going in blind. And it was intentional.
The King Corporation's real estate and sports development arm was operated under a numbered company.
I'd tried to research everyone involved with the project: Mavis, the mayor, members of council, and Charlotte.
She was the only one who didn't have an extensive background online.
Her reaction to the project was either going to be favorable or…
the exact opposite, depending on how sentimental she was about the town.
"I'm getting ahead of myself."
"Well, I'm intrigued." Charlotte flashed a smile, but this time it felt all business. "This is the café."
She pointed to a log cabin across the street. Smoke curled from the chimney, and white lights twinkled from cedar boughs that hung in swags from the roof's edge.
"That's new," I stated. It looked like a fancy coffee shop had been plucked from the streets of Aspen and dropped in among the faded false-front shops of my hometown.
"When did you move away?" Charlotte asked.
"After high school." Charlotte clambered over the snowbank, and I followed behind her. "When did you move here?"
Charlotte stopped in the middle of the street and looked me directly in the eyes. It was unnerving. This big-city real estate agent, with the gorgeous downtown office and multi-million-dollar Sugar Peaks home (I had been able to find out that much about her), seemed… familiar.
"It's a long story." She strode ahead and up the steps to the coffee shop, stomping her boots on the mat. I followed suit and opened the door. A bell tinkled above us. The cafe smelled like freshly baked bread and brewing coffee.
For a quiet snowy day, the café was bustling.
The tables were filled with a mixture of people dressed in flannel coats patched with duct tape and fancy parkas, like Charlotte's.
The mayor looked exactly the same as I remembered and was sitting with a man in a puffy vest zipped over a wool turtleneck, a very downtown finance-bro look.
Maybe I wasn't going to be able to finesse the council as easily as I'd thought.
The second, much louder, growl of my stomach reminded me that I was starving, and I turned my attention to the glass cases of baked goods, wondering if there were any high-protein options.
I stopped at the chalkboard advertising the Sugar Peaks Croissant of the day.
Behind it were a set of antlers. With bells.
The kind that had jingled in the wind that blew across the skating rink last night as their owner winched my truck out of the ditch.
Shit.
Twice in less than twenty-four hours?
Charlotte's voice faded into the din of the coffee shop.
The music, some kind of folk, turned into a muffled distant noise.
I didn't have to wonder if she recognized me.
Her eyes were wide, and like me, she seemed frozen in time.
Her hand held up responding to a wave from Charlotte.
The smile faded from her face, and she looked away first, then turned and disappeared into the back of the coffee shop.
The sounds came back, the music had instruments again, and I wondered if I could have imagined Clara Dalton. Maybe the airbag to the face had given me brain damage.
"Mr. Shepherd?" Charlotte's voice brought me back.
"Yes." I glanced to the doorway where the antlers had vanished from sight and then turned all of my focus on the tiny realtor in front of me.
"Come this way. Mavis has ordered us breakfast."
Thankfully, my chair faced the street and not the restaurant.
I shrugged out of my jacket, shook the gnarled hand of the mayor and the confident council member, took a seat, put away the local boy, and brought out the successful development consultant for the wealthiest NHL team owner in the country.
After friendly introductions and a few jokes about being attacked by the airbag, I pulled out the file folder with the glossy business proposals.
"Hold on, there kiddo." Mavis rested her hand on mine. "Around here, we have breakfast before business."
"Of course," I said, slipping the folder back into my messenger bag.
A pretty woman with brown hair, wearing the same apron as Clara, refilled our coffee and delivered breakfast sandwiches made with croissants.
"Thank you, Megan,” Mavis said. "Have you met Beckett Shepherd yet? He used to live on Boxcar Drive."
"We haven't met yet." She wiped her hands on a tea towel and shook my hand.
"Welcome home for the holidays." Her voice was friendly, but in a polite small-town way.
It was the kind of tone that told me Clara had already filled her in.
I wasn't Beck Shepherd, small-town boy made good, but Beckett Shepherd, small-town boy turned asshole.
"Really?" Charlotte tilted her head. "I lived on Railway Way."
"You?"