stuffed moose standing in the corner of the bar. “It used to be in the lobby. I had it moved in here. Fits, doesn’t it?”
“I’m just glad it’s not real.”
Her eyes sparked with humor. “You and me both. I should go.” She eased to her feet, pausing to look down at Nick. “Rose isn’t fragile. We all know that. She’s as tough as her brothers, but she’s the youngest and the only girl. I think sometimes she believes she can’t make the same mistakes they did.”
Nick leaned against the back of the bench. “Was her father hard on her?”
Lauren stood up straight, her manner elegant, restrained. “Drew was a good man, but he lived in a black- and-white world. Good, bad. Do, don’t. Own up to your mistakes. Move on.” Her eyes glistened suddenly with unshed tears. “He saw more shades of gray in life at the end. I think Rose knew that.”
“You’ve all had a rough year.”
“I have my little ones. They keep me from dwelling on the past for too long. Rose was close to her mother. She died a few months after A.J. and I were married.” Lauren sniffled, getting control of herself again. “She helped soften some of the hard edges around here.”
“I met her once when she and Drew came out to California.”
“Of course. I hadn’t thought of that. It’s so strange. You’ve never been to Black Falls, but we all know you.”
“The lodge is everything Sean said it was.”
She smiled. “I hope that’s a good thing. Well, I’ve had my time to myself. A glass of wine, a few pages of a book by the fire—I’m ready to brave a two-year-old and four-year-old again.”
She obviously relished getting back to her family. Nick watched her retreat across the bar and figured Lauren Cameron’s diplomatic manner had to be an asset at Black Falls Lodge. He could see why she was beloved by her brothers-in-law, and undoubtedly Rose, too.
Deciding he hadn’t drunk that much of his first whiskey, he went ahead and ordered another as he contemplated what to do if Rose didn’t show up. He probably shouldn’t drive out to her house to fetch her: alcohol, dark, unfamiliar winding roads, no streetlights. No traffic, either, but if he ended up in a ditch, he was a dead man in this cold.
He could walk but the same issues applied: alcohol, dark, unfamiliar territory, cold.
He took his whiskey to the dining room, where other guests had already gathered at tables covered in white linen, decorated with votive candles. A waiter led him to a small table by another fireplace.
In another two minutes, Rose rushed in, sexy as hell in boots, jeans and a thick sweater some grandma must have knitted. Her hair was damp, obviously from a recent shower. Nick shifted in his chair. That morning in Beverly Hills last June, even after they’d both realized they’d made a mistake, they’d made love a second time in his walk-in shower.
He shot to his feet at the vivid memory and greeted her. “Would you like to sit by the fire, or are you warm enough in that sweater?”
She pulled out a chair across from him, away from the fire. “Here’s fine, thanks.”
He nodded to her sweater as he returned to his seat. “Looks hand-knitted. Your grandma?”
“I never knew my grandmothers. My parents married relatively late.” She fingered the sweater. “I knitted it myself last winter.”
“Ah. Good job.”
She laughed. “You are such a liar, Nick. It’s a terrible job. Dropped stitches, uneven stitches—”
“Color’s nice.”
“Maybe in this light. I think it’s a sickly green. The yarn was on sale. I can see why, can’t you? I was experimenting.”
He studied her across the table, her eyes almost navy in the candlelight, her skin translucent but still pale. He’d liked hearing her laughter. “So you wore the sweater to remind me you’re a frugal Yankee mountain woman who doesn’t care how she looks?”
“It’s warm and it was handy. I don’t need to remind you of anything.”
“I’m drinking Jack Daniel’s if you’d care to join me.”
Instead she ordered a martini. “I don’t even like martinis,” she said when the waiter withdrew. Her laughter had vanished, her expression challenging now, about one click from outright suspicious.
Nick gritted his teeth. “Why don’t we pretend we just met? Rose Cameron, right? Well, hello, Rose, it’s good to meet you. I’m Nick Martini. Your brother Sean and I are business partners and wildland firefighters out in California.”
She was having none of it. “You and I have too much history, Nick. We can’t pretend anything. We can’t start over.” Her drink arrived and she held it in one hand as she nodded toward the crackling fire. “I could toss my martini into the fire, but not tonight. It’s the wrong symbolism.”
“Rose—”
She didn’t let him finish. “Scott Thorne stopped by before I came over here.” She took a sip of her martini but continued to hold on to the glass. “They’re looking for one of Derek’s friends, Robert Feehan. Robert was with Derek the night at O’Rourke’s last year. He’s a private ski instructor, too. The police have talked to Brett Griffin, who was also at O’Rourke’s, but he was less vocal than Robert, or
“Are they concerned about Feehan?”
“Scott didn’t say. Robert and Derek were sharing a house for the season. The police talked to another of their housemates, who said Derek had told him he’d be gone for the night and back sometime today. He didn’t say why, or where he was going.” Rose stared into her drink a moment, then added, “For whatever reason, Derek decided to camp in that shed last night. He must have wanted to be there when I arrived at sunrise.”
“Had he ever met you out there before?” Nick asked.
“No.”
“Anywhere?”
She didn’t answer and tried more of her martini, making a face this time. “Needs a little lemonade or something.”
“Horrors,” Nick said with a mock shudder. But he didn’t let her off the hook. “Did you tell the police about your history with Derek?”
“You’re assuming we had a history.”
“Yeah. I’m assuming.”
“It doesn’t matter. I hadn’t had anything to do with him in months. What about you, Nick?” she asked coolly. “Last June we got in over our heads with each other after we tried and failed to save Jasper Vanderhorn. He was after an arsonist. Obsessed. Investigators haven’t produced a reason for that hot spot flaring up and trapping him, have they?”
“Rose, don’t.”
“Jasper burned to death, and now here we are. You and me, again, with a man dead…” She set her glass down and looked at him, her gaze unflinching. “You shouldn’t have come to Vermont.”
“If I hadn’t, you’d have been alone this morning.”
“If you hadn’t, maybe Derek would still be alive. Maybe this arsonist followed you out here and killed Derek to get under your skin, or he’s in Vermont and found out you were on your way. You’re a smoke jumper, Nick. You jump out of planes to fight fires. You’d drive a firebug crazy. If Jasper was closing in—”
“Jasper didn’t have a suspect.”
“It doesn’t mean he wasn’t closing in on one. He was working his own personal theory. You’re here to see for yourself if his death has anything to do with Lowell Whittaker and his network of killers.”
Nick nodded to the handwritten menu. “What do you want for dinner?”
“Nothing.”
“Not me. I’m starving. If you drink that entire martini on an empty stomach, you’re not going to be fit to drive home. It’s okay, though. There’s a pullout sofa in my room.”
She pushed her drink aside. “You’re right. No more martini.”
He got her play on words now. “Lemonade. Right. Clever, Rose.” He glanced at his menu, but he’d already made up his mind. “I’m going with the Vermont turkey.”
