Whiteout

Chapter Thirteen

The guests wouldn’t start to arrive for another few hours. Then, all afternoon, the doors to Dalton House would be open for people to come and go as they wished. An array of food. Plenty of liquor. Some people stayed the entire four hours, while some stopped by on their way to other holiday obligations. After the emigrants made it through that first year, George Dalton gathered everyone together to give thanks and the annual tradition continued to this day.

“It’s all about fellowship and community,” Derek had explained on their walk yesterday.

There was no more talk of estate matters, for which Breanna was grateful. Instead, linking his arm with hers, he told her the story of how the Daltons ended up here. She’d already heard it from Jordy, of course, but she listened as if she were hearing it for the very first time.

Breanna picked up a warm croissant from the tray Francie had sent up to her. “To tide you over,” she said.

Slathering it with butter and raspberry jam, Breanna gazed outside the glass. The sky unfettered, crystal flakes sporadically fluttered in the air. Not falling to the ground, they simply danced along with the wind. Briefly, she wondered if another storm was on the way. Not that it mattered.

It’s not like I’m going anywhere.

She had to get ready, though. Breanna wasn’t sure why she cared, because she didn’t know these people, and she’d likely never encounter them again, but she was Shane Dalton’s daughter, wasn’t she? She wanted to do him proud.

Washing the croissant down with some coffee, a scratch sounded on the glass. Breanna turned her head and shrieked. The wolf she’d spotted yesterday, only it wasn’t a wolf at all, pawed at her door, as if asking to come in. White with black markings and ice-blue eyes, the dog wagged its tail, seeing it had her attention.

“Oh, my goodness.” Putting her cup down, Breanna got up and moved to the door. She opened it, wintry air and the dog pushing past her. “And who do you belong to?”

The Siberian Husky, at least she presumed that’s what breed it was, nudged her hand with its nose, looking for a pat. Petting the dog’s thick, well-groomed coat, there was no doubt in her mind someone cared for him—or was it her?

With a soft giggle, Breanna checked. He was definitely a she. “Sorry, girl.”

What am I supposed to do with you?

“C’mon.” She patted her thigh for the dog to follow her. “I guess you can hang out with me for a while.”

Her sweater dress was a dusty, pale pink, and as soft as the finest cashmere, though it wasn’t. Modest from the front, the V-back dipped almost to her waist, with crisscrossed straps that kept the garment from falling down her shoulders. To show it off, Breanna pulled her hair up, twisting it into a loose knot at her nape, while leaving some strands free to frame her face.

Five days old now, the mark on her forehead had faded some, but it was still noticeable—at least to her. Concealing it as best she could, Breanna carefully applied her makeup, her new furry friend lying at her feet. “There. How do I look?”

“Beautiful.”

She whipped her head around.

Silhouetted in the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest, Derek leaned against it as if he had every right to be there.

“Do you have a habit of sneaking into people’s rooms?”

“No, actually, I don’t.” Smirking, he pushed off the jamb and moved toward her. “And I didn’t sneak. You were just too preoccupied to notice.”

With a glance down at the pup, she turned back to the mirror. “Some watchdog you are.”

“She knows me.” Chuckling, Derek’s hands came to rest on her shoulders. “Besides, Hera wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Hera?”

“That’s her name.” His fingers swept along her collarbone. “Goddess of women, marriage, and birth, she was married to—”

“Zeus.” Breanna dabbed a bit of gloss on her lips and turned around.

His hands falling to the marble vanity, Derek caged her in. He leaned forward, his hard form pressing into her soft one. Head dipping to her neck, he murmured in her ear, “It’s a deadly combo.”

“What is?”

“Smart and beautiful.” He pulled away, a devilish smirk on his face. “Come now, the guests are going to arrive soon.”

Thankful she had the sweater dress to keep her somewhat warm, Breanna took her place in the grand foyer, meeting and greeting every guest as they arrived.

“It’s your duty,” Derek said.

He stood with her, his hand at her waist like they were the new power couple or something. As if. Folks from the village and business associates alike welcomed her warmly, each offering their condolences on her grandmother’s passing.

“The last Dalton,” the old lady lamented with a shake of her head. Breanna had forgotten who she was already. “Such a shame the name will die with you.”

Morbid.

Clasping the woman’s hands between hers, she feigned a little smile. “Why would you say that?”

“This is Dalton House, and so it should stay.” Her beady eyes glared up at Derek. “Let me tell you—”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Fellows,” he interrupted her.

Jeanine. That’s it. Jeanine Fellows.

“We can take comfort Miss Dalton is here for now, can’t we?” Derek patted the old lady’s hand, steering her away. Once she was gone, his arm came around her again, squeezing Breanna to his side. “Pay Jeanine no mind. She’s just missing the old days, grieving your grandmother.”

“I see that.” The massive door opened yet again, making her shiver.

His fingertips skimming over her bare back, goosebumps prickled her flesh. Derek leaned into her. “You’re cold.”

Duh.

Standing six feet from the door, who wouldn’t be? Not that he’d know in the genuine cashmere crewneck he wore beneath his tailored blazer. Well-fitted trousers in that subtle plaid he seemed to favor. Sleek leather loafers. Ralph would be so proud. Okay, maybe he looked hella fine, but that wasn’t the point.

“A little.”

“Forgive my thoughtlessness.” His arm remaining around her, Derek situated them away from the door, closer to the foyer’s welcoming fireplace. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

From this vantage point, she could see into other areas of the house. People walked about, holding drinks and little china plates piled with hors d’oeuvres. Starving, Breanna licked her lips. That croissant she had earlier stopped tiding her over ages ago.

And, of course, Derek noticed. “Hungry?”

“Famished.”

“Me too.” He chuckled, lacing his fingers with hers. “Tell you what, we can join the party in a little while. Have some drinks. Get a little something in your stomach, okay?”

“Okay.”

“But don’t go overboard.” Glancing down at her, the smile nearly reached his eyes. “We’ll have our Thanksgiving dinner in private once the guests are gone.”

Ready to tell him she could stuff herself full with canapés and still make room for turkey and all the trimmings, Breanna pursed her lips. But then the sheriff came through the door carrying a white bakery box tied with string, and the retort flew from her head.

“Jordy.” She hugged him like an old friend, and considering he was the first person she met on this mountain, he was.

Balancing the box in his hand as they swayed, the portly man patted her back. “How’re you gettin’ on, Miss Breanna?”

“I’m good,” she said, pulling away from him. “Everything’s good.”

“Well, you’re as pretty as a picture now that you’re all cleaned up.”

Derek scowled. Whether because of her lack of decorum or the sheriff’s compliment, she couldn’t say.

Jordy cleared his throat. “Hank and his wife asked me to bring this for you.”

Breanna all but squealed. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Could be.” He grinned. “If you’re thinkin’ banana cream pie. Hank’s been beatin’ himself up over lettin’ you go out in that storm.”

“He couldn’t have known,” she said, hugging him again. “And I’m all right. Please thank him and his wife for me. I’m going to savor every delicious bite—it’s the best banana cream pie on the planet.”

“She was downright flattered that you thought so,” Jordy said, tipping the brim of his hat. “I’m gonna mosey on over to the kitchen, see what Francie’s up to. I’ll just, uh, tuck this away in the fridge for you.”

“Thank you, Jordy.” Breanna kissed his ruddy cheek. “For everything.”

Dammit. She was hoping Hank would be here, then she’d have the chance to ask him about Sinjin. Now, the only hope she had left was for the man himself to appear. And with every minute that passed, it seemed more and more unlikely.

Fuck him. He left you, remember?

How could she forget?

Derek’s hand slipped from her waist to her hip. He squeezed. “We’ve done our duty long enough, I’d say. The arrivals are winding down, so let’s go get ourselves a drink, hm?”

Thank fuck.

“Sounds good.”

God, she needed this. The bubbly alcohol-infused concoction, whatever it was, slid so easily down her throat. Full of fall flavors, Breanna tasted pear and apple and cinnamon—never mind the vodka she knew was in there. Garnished with a pear slice, cinnamon stick, and star anise, it was darn pretty too.

“That was good.” She smiled at the bartender hired just for the occasion. “I’ll have another, please.”

Derek approached with two small plates of hors d’oeuvres. Pulling her close, he lifted a canapé to her mouth. “Here, try the salmon. It’s delicious.”

“Mm.” Breanna nodded as she chewed.

The bartender returned with her drink, and Derek ordered one for himself. “Whiskey ginger, my man—go easy on the ginger.” He winked. “And one for the lovely lady.”

“I already have one, Derek.” She held up her glass. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“This coming from the girl who never misses dollar beer night at The Cheerful Tortoise.” His brow lifted, creasing his forehead, and he smirked, while his palm came to rest on her ass. “Do I need to?”

What the hell?

Breanna pushed his hand off her bottom. “Are you hitting on me?”

“Hardly. I know you’re only used to boys, Miss Dalton, but I can assure you grown men don’t do that. We do, however, pursue what we want, and I think I’ve made what I want quite clear.”

Don’t fall for it, Bree. He’s just a fuckboy in a suit.

Shut up, Kayleigh.

The bartender placed their drinks in front of them. Pulling her against him, Derek’s arms came around her. He dropped his forehead to hers and exhaled. “Look, Breanna, I like you…I’m attracted to you, and I’m hoping we can still see each other after the estate is settled.”

Oh boy.

Thumb skimming her cheek, he lifted his head. She’d bet a million dollars he was going to kiss her. Right here. In front of God knows who.

“There you are, dear.” Kissing Derek’s cheek, a woman with jet-black hair inserted herself between them. “I should’ve known I’d find you at the bar.”

Stunningly beautiful, the woman reminded her of Priscilla Presley when she was younger, before she fucked up her face. Sophisticated. Rich, judging by her impeccable clothes. Just his type, albeit much older than she would’ve thought he’d go for.

“Pamela, this is Shane’s daughter, Breanna.” Derek pulled her back to his side. “Breanna, may I introduce Pamela Maynard?”

Ohh. Must be his partner’s wife.

She held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Maynard.”

“I’ve been dying to meet you, and it’s Pamela.” The woman hugged her, then stepping back, she appraised her, tucking a loose tendril behind Breanna’s ear. “Shane, what a wonderful young man your father was. I can see him in you. He’d be so proud.”

“Thank you,” she choked.

Just hearing those words from someone who knew him brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them back, though.

“Where’s Ian? He should’ve been here long before now.” Downing his drink, Derek signaled the bartender for another. “Most of the guests have come and gone already.”

Breanna glanced around the sitting room they were in. He was right. Only a few stragglers remained. She waved to Randall, here with his wife and kids, chatting up Jordy by the window.

“Relax, will you? I left him at the buffet with Francie maybe ten minutes ago.”

Randall came over, his family and Jordy in tow. He addressed Derek, “It looks like snow, so we’re going to get going, but I wanted to thank you and see how Miss Dalton’s feeling.”

“But I don’t wanna go yet, Daddy.” A little girl tugged at his arm. “It’s only a few snowflakes.”

Breanna closed her eyes. “And every storm starts with just one.”

“I’m fine, Randall.” She smiled. “Really.”

“No headaches?” He raised his brow.

“No headaches.”

“All right then.” Randall turned to Jordy. “You heading out?”

“In a few.” He patted his belly. “Need to digest a bit.”

And then they were the only ones left in the room. Breanna drained her watered-down drink and began sipping the one Derek had ordered for her. A wet nose nudged at her hand.

“Hera.” She giggled, petting the dog. “That tickles.”

She glanced up and, holding a plate in his hand, there he was.

Shorn at the sides, his wild locks were gone. Beard now short and neatly trimmed. A cream crewneck and black Armani replaced plaid flannel and jeans. But the whiskey eyes locked on hers were the same.

“It’s about time. Ian, get over here and say hello to Miss Dalton.” Derek wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders. “Breanna, this is my partner, Ian Maynard.”

“Pleasure.” He tipped his chin. Then, as if she was of no consequence to him, began speaking with Pamela.

What the fuck?

Tears rushed to fill her eyes. She couldn’t breathe. Breanna glanced at Jordy beside her. “That’s—”

With a subtle shake of his head, the sheriff squeezed her hand so hard it hurt.

That’s Sinjin.