Chapter Three
At first Carson was afraid Larkin was going to ignore him and go straight to her room. But she surprised him. “Want to go for a walk?”
It was a good suggestion. This was a public space. At any moment they could be joined by one or more of the other guests. Besides, they’d just eaten a heavy meal, and a walk would do them good. It also might be easier to talk outside in the dark. “Excellent idea.”
They bundled back up in their outerwear. Their boots squeaked on the cold porch steps and the night air hit Carson’s face like a tonic. He took a deep breath, inhaling fresh mountain air tinged with burning cedar from the fireplace.
“There’s a path that follows the river,” he remembered.
“Sounds good.”
Guided by starlight, and the occasional streetlight, they found the path and set off at a leisurely pace. For the first few minutes neither one of them spoke. Then he heard Larkin sigh.
“I left town to go to college. You knew that was my plan.”
Actually, the plan had been for them to go to Missoula. Together. “You switched to the University of Colorado, and you left four months early. Without a word to me or any of our friends.”
“We’d broken up, remember? And they weren’t really my friends. They all took your side.”
“Not Andrew.” He tried not to sound bitter.
Over the years he’d realized that he may have overreacted when he’d seen the two of them kissing.
They’d been young and there had been a lot of beer at that pregrad party.
He should have asked Larkin what was going on, instead of lashing out and breaking up with her.
“Don’t speak to me about that guy.” Larkin’s voice was harsh. “I don’t want to ever hear his name again.”
“Did he…hurt you?” This was something Carson had never considered.
His heart had been broken when Larkin showed up at their graduation dance with Andrew the next night.
He’d chosen not to notice how miserable Larkin looked.
Or how she and Andrew had disappeared near the end, and then only Andrew had showed up at the after-party.
It had taken him weeks to cool off enough to reach out to Larkin.
Only by then she was already in Denver, staying with a friend of her mother’s and working at some clerical job to save money for college.
Or that was the story her mother had told him. She’d also asked him to leave Larkin alone. She doesn’t want to talk to you.
He’d been angry and hurt and so he’d done as requested.
He’d gone to Missoula for college, and four years later, returned home to work on the ranch.
It was only in the last few years that he’d realized he wasn’t really happy.
He started relationships with women who were attractive and friendly, but he’d soon lost interest.
“It’s kind of late for you to be asking that question.”
Despite his warm jacket, Carson suddenly felt cold. “That kiss I saw…”
“He grabbed me and just glommed onto me. It was disgusting.”
He wanted to deny this. But his gut told him she was speaking the truth, and her words were an indictment. Not just of Andrew. But of him.
“Instead of coming to your aid, I lashed out at you.” His jealousy had blinded him. But what kind of lame excuse was that? “I broke up with you, right in front of all our friends.”
“Yeah.”
“What an ass I was.” Why had he been so stupid? So hot-headed. If only he’d given her a chance to explain, he would have understood that the person he should have been angry with was Andrew.
“I agreed to go to our prom dance with Andrew because I was so furious with you. But I soon realized it was a terrible mistake. After a few hours I asked him to take me home. But he didn’t.
He drove down an old farm access road and…
well, I’m sure you can figure out what happened.
” In the faint light from the moon he saw her mouth set in a grim line.
“Goddamn Andrew. I wish I’d known. I’m so sorry, Lark.” He wanted to fold her into his arms. But she wasn’t his girl anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. At least now he understood why she’d been so cold and withdrawn.
“I thought you knew what Andrew was up to. That you just didn’t care.”
“Hell no! You have to believe me. If I’d known, I would have beaten the crap out of him. And then gone to the cops.” He hesitated as he pondered that idea. “Did you tell your parents what happened?”
She shook her head. “I knew it wasn’t my fault, but I still felt ashamed. I couldn’t bear to tell my parents, let alone go to the authorities. My mom thought the reason I wanted to leave town fast was because of our breakup. She had no idea what that pig did.”
“He should have paid for his crime.”
“I know. It worries me that he could have hurt other girls, not just me.”
“He’s married now, works in the tech business.” They didn’t keep in touch, but his mother knew Andrew’s mother, so he heard the occasional bit of news.
“I hope he treats his wife okay.”
“I haven’t heard of any problems from my mother.
” He glanced at the scene before them. They’d wandered into a Christmas lighting display.
People bundled in winter coats and hats and scarves were strolling on both sides of the street, exclaiming over the beautiful holiday scenes.
A group of teenagers rushed past them, their voices and laughter carried in the crisp winter air.
He watched for a few minutes, feeling wistful. “Doesn’t seem that long ago that we were the kids staying out late and having fun.”
“Really? To me those days feel like another world.” Larkin stamped her feet to keep out the cold. “We should head back.”
Carson felt like he could keep walking all night, as long as she was by his side.
But he also needed time to mull over what she’d told him.
He’d lost nine years due to his teenaged stupidity.
Nine years with Lark believing that not only had he failed to protect her, but he’d also actually been okay with what Andrew had done.
His heart felt heavy as they retraced their steps back to Bramble House.
He hated to think of teenaged Lark, alone and wounded, with no one to protect her and no one to comfort her.
More than ever, he wanted to wrap his arms around her, but she was careful to keep a safe distance between them.
She was no longer a teenager but a grown woman, used to navigating the world alone.
She didn’t speak, didn’t even look his way, until they reached the driveway of the bed and breakfast. This was where they parted ways, him to the loft over the garage and her to the house.
“I wish we’d had this talk nine years ago,” he said.
“But we didn’t. And we can’t change that. Let’s just turn the page, okay?”
Turn the page to what? A new beginning? Much as he wanted this, he doubted that was what she meant. He reached for her hands, but she shook her head.
“Goodnight, Carson.”
And like that, she was gone.
*
Saturday, December 20
Amy woke early the next morning, already in a panic. There were only five more days until Christmas and so much remained to be done. The baby monitor by her bed was quiet, which meant Robin, in his little room next to theirs, was still sleeping. Beside her Chet stirred. “You awake?”
“Yes. I was thinking of heading down to the kitchen for a quick word with Jo before the breakfast rush.”
“Go ahead. I’ll bring Robbie down for breakfast once he wakes up.”
She kissed his cheek, scratchy with stubble, then slipped out of bed.
Quickly she dressed in the clothes she’d laid out the previous night.
You learned some tricks when you were a working mom, and setting out the next morning’s outfit was one of them.
After a quick trip to the washroom, she let herself out of their third-floor suite and padded down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky sections.
Though it was only twenty minutes to seven, Jo—hair in a bun, body encased in a fresh white apron—was already in the kitchen rolling out the dough for her famous early-riser gooey cinnamon buns.
Outside the window, the world was still dark.
The sun wouldn’t be up for hours. She needed caffeine.
“Good morning,” Amy said as she helped herself to the morning’s first pot of coffee.
“It is that,” Jo agreed. “I’m in the mood for baking after breakfast. What do you think about pumpkin ginger scones? Or should I bake the berry orange ones?”
“I’m sure our guests will love either one.” Amy took a sip of the coffee. “But speaking of baking, the cookies you made yesterday were a bit overdone.”
“Overdone?” Jo looked up from her dough. “They were not. They were fresh from the oven and perfect when I left yesterday.”
“You didn’t leave them in the oven a little longer than usual?”
“I always use a timer. You know how I hate overbaked cookies.”
“Jo, you’re a perfectionist in every way. Which is why I’m so puzzled. The cookies were definitely crispy—not soft and chewy like usual. Two of our guests complained.”
“Well, it’s a mystery to me,” Jo said.
Amy agreed, but it was a small matter and time to drop the subject. “Did I tell you Kris wants to bake cookies this morning after breakfast?” He loved being the Graff’s Christmas Santa, but the role could be stressful, and he found baking therapeutic.
“That’s no problem. There’s room for two in this kitchen. You know, maybe I’ll bake both kinds of scones. That way you’ll have options for the Christmas tea on Sunday.”
“That would be wonderful, but it’s not necessary.
You know the deal is we supply the setting and the tea, while the Carrigans provide the food.
” The matriarch of the Carrigan family had been a Bramble, and her daughters saw the tea as a way to keep the memory of Mable Bramble, and that of the entire Bramble heritage, alive.
“I’ll give Sage a call and see if they even want my scones,” Jo said.