Take Me Home for Christmas

“Besides, I’m offering $2,500 a month. That wouldn’t even cover her spa treatments.”

“You wouldn’t give her a chance if she applied?” Eve asked.

“I don’t have to answer that because she’ll never apply. I’m sure she’ll find another sugar daddy before life gets too grim, even if it means moving away.” He hoped she would leave town. Then there’d be no more risk of bumping into her when he went out. He’d spent years trying to avoid her.

Thankfully, Olivia shifted the focus of the conversation. It was a slight shift but at least his friends were no longer suggesting he employ his ex-girlfriend. “Does anyone know when the funeral will be?”

“Skip only washed up a couple of days ago,” Ted replied. “I doubt they’ve set a date, considering it’ll take some time to get the body home from Brazil.”

Kyle hooked an arm around the back of his chair. “If anyone’s interested, the funeral should be announced in the Gold Country Gazette.”

“That’s a weekly,” Noah said. “It wouldn’t be the place to go for information if they decide to have it soon.”

“Word spreads like wildfire in this town,” Brandon told them. “I’m sure we’ll hear about it.”

Riley gazed around at the group. “Who’s planning to go? Kyle and I aren’t. That’s for damn sure. I bet Noah won’t, either.”

Noah confirmed that with a muttered, “Hell, no.”

“What about the rest of you?” Riley asked.

Ted raised both hands. “Don’t look at me.”

“I’ll go, to support Sophia.” Callie wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“Me, too. It’s not like any of this is her fault.” Eve sent Ted an accusing glare.

“You don’t know that,” Ted insisted. She’d certainly stirred up enough trouble in high school. She’d also stirred his heart—and a lower part of his body—but he didn’t like to acknowledge that these days.

“We’re giving her the benefit of the doubt,” Callie said. “You should try it sometime. Anyway, I’m guessing Gail will go, too.” Gail DeMarco-O’Neal had grown up in Whiskey Creek, but she’d left for college and never moved back. After starting her own PR firm in Los Angeles, she’d married one of her clients—box-office hit Simon O’Neal—and was so busy she didn’t visit often.

“Since when did Gail become friends with Sophia?” Ted didn’t remember any type of rapport between them. Sophia had been part of a rival clique, was actually the leader of it—until the girls who were part of her posse moved away.

Eve cocked an eyebrow at him. “Gail invited Sophia to her wedding, remember?”

Seeing that the line to order food was gone, Ted stood up, intending to get his coffee. “I remember, but I thought it was strange then, and I think it’s strange now.”

Callie folded her arms. “Why?”

“Because Scott Harris was her big brother’s best friend. She knew him well.”

“I don’t think you can hold Sophia responsible for what happened to Scott,” Callie said. “She didn’t force him to drive drunk.”

He pulled out his wallet. “If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have left the party.”

Callie wasn’t about to back down. “She was sixteen or seventeen, Ted. She made a mistake.”

“Oh, well. Actions have consequences. Ask Scott’s family about that the next time you see them, okay?” He’d given in to Callie’s kind of thinking once before, and Sophia had made him sorry he had.

“She probably never dreamed her actions would lead where they did.” Callie crumpled the napkin she’d used and dropped it on her plate. “Haven’t you ever done anything you regret?”

He was already on his way to the counter, so he left her question unanswered. But he had done something he regretted.

He regretted ever getting involved with Sophia.

5

As Sophia had expected, hardly anyone attended the funeral. And those who came didn’t have much to say. They filed past the casket, somber and subdued. Some managed a nod for her or Skip’s parents. No one smiled but neither did anyone cry. Even Sophia didn’t know how to act. Should she behave like the grieving widow? Or the hurt and angry spouse?

She told herself to behave as she honestly felt for a change. She was done with pretending. But Agent Freeman was there, watching her every move, every expression, and it made her nervous. How would he interpret what he saw? Would something she said or did make him decide that she was as guilty as her husband? He couldn’t understand how Skip could do so much without her knowledge, but he had no idea what their marriage had been like.

Now she regretted telling the Brazilian police that they’d been happy together, that they’d been close.

When she twisted around to see who might’ve come in late, her eyes met Freeman’s almost immediately, and she turned back. She hated having him there. But she couldn’t have been honest with her emotions, anyway, or she would’ve seemed crazy—because she felt a little of everything. There were moments when she mourned the fact that she and Skip hadn’t been happy together, that it had come down to this. Moments when she was grateful he was gone, that she no longer had to fear him. Moments when she felt so incredibly angry that she hoped he’d spend an eternity in hell for betraying them, especially after getting her hopes up with such beautiful promises of change and fresh commitment.

She’d muddled through the past ten days by focusing on doing what she could to shield Alexa, and by staying busy making arrangements for the return of Skip’s body. She’d tried to arrange the funeral, too, but his parents hadn’t liked some of her decisions, so they took over. That bothered her—they were always bossy and superior. The way they treated her made her want to drink. But her concern for her daughter had kept her off the booze. Her concern for Alexa had also enabled her to tell Agent Freeman that his interrogation would have to wait until she’d given Lex the chance to say goodbye to her father. She wanted to commemorate the things Skip had done right in his life, so the young girl he’d left behind wouldn’t have to be completely devastated by his shortcomings and mistakes.

Unfortunately, however, the eulogy offered scant comfort. The clergyman, Rudy Flores, had known Skip all his life. This was where they’d gone to church every week, mostly at Skip’s insistence. He’d demanded she attend whether he was home or not. But the reverend was obviously as disappointed in him as everyone else. Flores kept his comments almost entirely generic. Although he didn’t refer to Skip’s illegal and unethical activities, neither did he spare him any praise.

Sophia sat in her black Chanel dress, Manolo Blahnik heels and the Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses she’d put on to hide the redness of her eyes, and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. With her hair slicked back in a bun at her nape, she knew she looked like an ice princess. But she was doing her best to cope, didn’t want anyone to know that she was shaking inside. If they understood how vulnerable she was, they might set on her en masse, like vultures. After what Skip had done, there were plenty of people in Whiskey Creek who were looking for a target. She had the feeling they’d be more than happy to pick her bones. Her own reputation wasn’t helping. Thanks to her past mistakes, there was no one to champion her, no one to insist that she was too good a person to have cooperated with Skip.

“...just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in the newness of life....”

Reverend Flores’s voice droned on, but Sophia tuned him out. She didn’t want to hear what he was saying, didn’t want to think about Skip being resurrected. She doubted anyone here—even his brokenhearted daughter and parents—would be too pleased to see him in the afterlife. She wouldn’t. This was one time she wanted to believe that dead was dead. The sight of Alexa sitting beside her with tears dripping into her lap convinced her that Skip had had enough second chances. How often had she forgiven his violent outbursts and agreed to try again?