Reunited with the Billionaire Read online

  “People will want to ask you things,” Clint Cooper had advised her. “About the area. You know, what there is to do, places to see, to ski.”

  He’d said it so naturally, so easily, that she realized he’d never thought she might be self-conscious about who she’d once been and who she now was.

  Maybe he didn’t know.

  A minute later, she’d found out that he did.

  She’d said yes, she’d love the job, providing he understood she couldn’t tell him how long she’d be available. They’d started to chat about the town, the mountains, the place where she’d lived in Paris—Clint knew the city pretty well, it turned out. Then he’d said matter-of-factly that he’d heard she’d skied every slope between here and the Canadian border before her accident, and had she managed to get in any skiing since she was back?

  She’d been stunned. It had taken a couple of seconds for her to manage an answer.

  “But I can’t ski,” she’d said. “My leg…”

  “Oh.” Clint had looked chagrined. “Sorry. I just thought…I mean, I’ve known several people with disabilities who were still able to…”

  His sister had come along just then and the conversation had mercifully turned to other things, but Wendy still wondered how he could have asked her such a thing. Ski? Ski disabled? What was the point in standing on top of a mountain if you couldn’t fly down its face with your heart pounding as the edges of your skis bit into the turns and the trees rushed by on your way to the finish line?

  Wendy turned onto Oak Road. On the village green she could make out the statue of the Cooper’s Corner Minuteman, softly illuminated by lights set around the base, standing stoically on his pedestal as he had for more than a century.

  She slowed the car, signaled and made a right into the Twin Oaks driveway, followed it uphill to the lot and parked among several other cars and trucks.

  The house was gaily lit. Clint had explained that they’d been open only a few months but business was good, and some of the locals had taken to dropping by the gathering room in the evenings.

  Wendy turned up her collar, trudged up the steps to the porch, started to reach for the bell and then realized that all she had to do was open the door.

  She took a deep breath, dusted some snow that had fallen from the trees off her shoulders, turned the knob…

  And walked straight into Seth.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SETH WASN’T SURPRISED by the stunned look on Wendy’s face when she saw him. What he hadn’t expected was his own reaction, a kind of one-two punch of elation, quickly followed by anger. Elation at the sight of her, so feminine and beautiful, her cheeks turned crimson by the cold, and anger over the swift realization that he didn’t want to think that way about her anymore.

  Wasn’t he supposed to be past that? Surely he could greet her politely.

  “What are you doing here, Seth?”

  So much for politeness. She’d posed the question the same way one of his foster mothers had when she’d found him in her kitchen, getting a glass of water in the middle of the night. `What are you doing here?’ she’d said. He’d been just young enough to wonder how come she couldn’t see the answer for herself. He’d had to think about it before he understood that what she really meant was what was he doing in her life?

  Well, he wasn’t a kid anymore. He got the meaning of Wendy’s question and answered it as he’d learned to back then, when contempt was his only defense.

  “Hello, Wendy.” He let his smile underscore his sarcasm. “It’s a pleasure to see you, too.”

  The door was still half-open. The smell of spices, the sound of soft, happy voices drifted into the night. He stepped forward and pulled the door closed; she responded by taking a couple of steps back, as if they were partners in a dance and only they knew the steps. A memory came to him, quick and unwanted, of all the times they’d really danced together, his arms tight around her, her head on his shoulder, the scent of her hair teasing his senses….

  Damn it, what was the point in remembering? Everything they’d once meant to each other—assuming they’d ever meant anything to each other—was long gone. He’d embarrassed her, though, and he took bitter pleasure in the way her color deepened.

  “Sorry.”

  An apology? Score one for the home team, he thought, and decided to let her off the hook.

  “Yeah, well, no problem.” The night had a frigid bite. Seth put up his collar, tucked his hands deep into the slash pockets of his leather jacket and eased back against the doorjamb. “It’s a small town.” He flashed a quick smile. “I guess you’re going to have to figure on us running into each other every now and then.”

  Wendy nodded, even managed something that approximated a smile, and he figured she was grateful for the lifeline he’d tossed her.

  “Are you doing something for Clint?”

  “Am I… Ah. You mean, did some emergency carpentry job come up at the B and B?” He shook his head. “Nope. I’m visiting. Clint and Maureen are my friends.” She nodded again. So much for casual conversation. Seth cleared his throat. “Clint says you’re going to be working here,” he said.

  “That’s right. Well, for a while, anyway. For as long as I’m in town.”

  “For as long as it takes you to buttonhole Rod Pommier and talk him into that operation.”

  Her smile disappeared. “Clint’s expecting me. Good night.”

  “Wait.” Seth clasped her elbow as she started past him. “Wendy. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No. You shouldn’t.”

  “Yeah.” He hesitated. “Look, there’s no way we can avoid seeing each other.”

  “You already said that.”

  “What I mean is, you’ll be here evenings and so will I.”

  She stared at him. When Clint said some of the townsfolk had taken to dropping by Twin Oaks in the evenings, she’d somehow translated that to mean people her parents’ age.

  “Clint’s shorthanded,” he told her.

  “Yes. I know. That’s the reason he hired me, but—”

  “But what does that have to do with knowing I’m going to go on turning up like a bad penny?” He heard the bitterness in his voice and tried to soften it as he explained. “Maureen has twin daughters. They’re sweet kids. Smart, cute, and a real handful. She needs a break and they’re too much for Clint to handle at the same time he’s trying to run Twin Oaks, so I traded keeping them busy an hour or two in the evenings for some of Clint’s baking.”

  If he’d expected to coax a smile from her with that, he’d been mistaken. Her face went blank.

  “You?”

  She said it the way he figured she would have if he’d mentioned offering to fly to Mars.

  “Yeah. Me. Why is that so surprising?”

  “Well, I just didn’t think—I mean, men don’t usually—”

  “I’m not `men,’ I’m me.” His voice roughened. “Maybe that was always your problem, Wendy. You categorized me far too easily.”

  Her eyes glittered. With tears or with annoyance? He couldn’t tell, but then, he couldn’t tell much of anything about her anymore.

  “Please,” she said softly, “let’s not do this.”

  “No.” He felt a muscle knot in his jaw. “You’re right. Let’s not.” He drew a breath, then let it out. “I like the twins. They like me. I like Clint and Maureen. What I’m doing is no big deal.”

  Wendy nodded. “Well, that’s very nice of you.”

  “Like I said, it’s no big deal.”

  Another silence fell between them. Then Wendy made a point of tugging her cuff back and checking her watch.

  “I’d better get inside. I’m supposed to start work at six, but I thought I’d come in early tonight, you know, get a feel for things.”

  “Sure.”

  Silence again. Then she held out her hand. “Well, good night.”

  He looked at her hand, thought about telling her she hadn’t seen the last of him tonight, that he was on
ly going to fix the windshield wipers on his truck. But she would realize that shortly.

  For now, it was sufficient to accept the peace offering and clasp her hand in his.

  “Good luck tonight.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled. “I have the feeling I’m going to need it. You could tuck what I know about being a hostess into a thimble and still have room left for a finger.”

  “You’ll be fine. Twin Oaks draws a friendly crowd. Just be sure and sneak one of Clint’s chocolate chip cookies before the guests scarf them all down.”

  Her smile broadened. She was more at ease now. He liked that, knowing she wasn’t uptight just because she was talking to him, just because he hadn’t yet let go of her hand.

  “He’s a terrific baker, huh?”

  “Terrific doesn’t even come close.”

  “That’s what my father told me.”

  Her father. “Well, it’s nice to know your old man is right about some things,” he said, and cursed himself when he saw her face harden and felt her tug her hand free of his.

  “Goodbye, Seth.”

  He stepped to his left. She stepped to her right and they found themselves facing each other again.

  “Sorry,” he said, and backed out of her way.

  That was where she’d always wanted him, he thought as he watched her walk into the house.

  Out of her way.

  * * *

  WENDY NEEDED A MOMENT to compose herself.

  Couldn’t she and Seth spend five minutes together without ending up quarreling? He was so damned self-righteous, so convinced he knew what was best for her. She’d almost told him that, accused him of being as bad as her father….

  As bad as her father? No. Her father understood her. Seth didn’t.

  What bad luck to run into him now. She’d told Seth she was worried about being a hostess, but the truth went lots deeper than that.

  What would it be like, mingling with people who’d never known her before the accident? Strangers would have no reason to pity her when they saw that she limped. But then they’d also have no way of knowing the quick, graceful woman she’d once been.

  And how would she react when guests at Twin Oaks asked her questions about skiing? About the local slopes? She’d put up a brave front for Clint when he’d mentioned that part of the job; she’d done the same thing when her father brought up the subject at dinner last night.

  “I still agree that working at Twin Oaks is the best way to get ahold of Pommier,” he’d said, “but I wonder, honey, are you sure you’ll be comfortable talking about skiing?”

  That had upset her mother. “Of course she’ll be comfortable talking about skiing,” Gina had said sharply. “Why would you even think such a thing?”

  “I know it’s difficult for you to understand, Gina,” her father had replied, “but when you’ve been so close to the top that you can taste it, well, it can be hard to admit it’s not going to happen.”

  Her mother had clamped her lips together, risen from the table, marched into the kitchen and almost immediately reappeared, her eyes bright with anger.

  “Maybe what’s even more difficult,” she’d said in a tone Wendy had never heard her use before, “is admitting you never were that close to the top, Howard.”

  Wendy closed her eyes. That had brought things to a stop, all right. Blood had rushed to her father’s face. He’d said nothing, just put down his knife and fork and left the room. Her mother had plopped into her chair, shoved aside her plate and knotted her hands together. Wendy had sat in silence, wishing she were a thousand miles away.

  She’d grown up hearing her father talk about how close he’d come to the Olympics, and the rewards that followed when you came home with a medal. When she was little, she’d hung on every word, fascinated by his stories, puffing with pride when he’d say that she had his talent and more. Her mother had always cheered her on but, come to think of it, she’d never said much about her husband’s stories.

  And Gina’s loss of temper at dinner was rare. Rare? The truth was Wendy couldn’t recall it ever happening before.

  Eventually, her mom had muttered something about not being very hungry. Wendy had said she wasn’t, either. Together, they’d cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then Wendy had gone to her father’s study.

  “Daddy,” she’d murmured, unsure of what to say next. But her father had looked up from the papers on his desk and spoken before she could come up with anything else.

  “The waiting has made your mother understandably anxious,” he’d told her calmly. “She’s upset because we don’t know if Pommier will agree to the surgery, that’s all.”

  She’s upset because she thinks the surgery’s a mistake, Wendy had almost said, but why make a difficult situation worse? Instead, she’d hugged him and told him she understood. Then she’d gone up to her room, where she’d found Gina waiting for her.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your father’s feelings,” her mother had told her. “He was a fine skier. You get all your talent from him. I’m just… Don’t let him pressure you into anything, sweetie. Okay?”

  Wendy had hugged her, the same as she’d hugged her father. She’d said the same thing, too, that she understood. And reviewing it all now as she stood inside the doorway of Twin Oaks, she assured herself that she did understand. Her father was only being supportive. He wasn’t trying to live his life through her, as Seth seemed to think.

  Did her mother think that, too?

  “Hi.”

  Wendy looked up. Clint Cooper was smiling at her from the archway that led to the front parlor, a room he and his sister had dubbed the gathering room.

  “Hi.” Wendy smiled in return. “Sorry if I’m late.”

  “You’re early. It’s only a quarter to six.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good. I thought I’d get here a little ahead of time so you could show me the ropes, but I, uh, I was held up.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine. Still snowing, huh?”

  “Right,” she said quickly, gratefully. “It’s really picking up and there’s that dip in the road on School Street where there’s a mean stretch of black ice.”

  “Uh-huh. In New York City, you get potholes. Here, you get black ice.” Clint grinned. “Sometimes I think I ought to write a letter to the mayor of New York and tell him I’m sorry for all the times I cursed him over those potholes. I’d rather deal with them than with a thin sheet of ice that’s almost invisible on a dark asphalt surface.”

  Wendy smiled again. Too much smiling and her new boss would think she was crazy, but it was better than crying, which was what she’d felt like doing, if only for a moment.

  “I know. I’d almost forgotten what a New England winter was like.”

  “Our guests love it. The snow, the cold, even the roads… Most of ‘em think this town is straight out of the nineteenth century.”

  “Well,” Wendy said with a little laugh, “I won’t try and change their minds, I promise.”

  “Great.” Clint nodded toward the reception desk. “Come on. I’ll show you where to stow your things and then I’ll give you the dollar tour.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I’ll introduce you to the coffee urn. Maureen picked it up at a garage sale. It’s thirty years old if it’s a day, and she loves it. Unfortunately, the only person it loves is Maureen. If you can figure out how to make the darned thing purr, I’ll give you a raise.”

  Wendy laughed, this time with ease. Working here might be fun, not simply a way to meet Rodney Pommier or fill the endless hours.

  Clint led her to a small office behind the reception desk.

  “Hang your parka there, put your purse, whatever, in this drawer, and oh, by the way, welcome to Twin Oaks. We’re happy to have you here.”

  “I’m happy to be here,” she said, and meant it.

  There was lots to learn, but it was all easy stuff. Clint showed her how to register guests in case he wasn’t available, and what to say when people phoned with qu
estions about Twin Oaks and its accommodations. He pointed out the cabinet where he kept the supply of brochures about the Berkshires so she could refill the wooden racks near the desk when they were empty.

  He showed her where to find the coffee, tea and cocoa, gave her a quick rundown on what wines, brandies and cognacs were available, and pointed out where they kept the nuts and dried fruits that filled the bowls scattered about the gathering room.

  “We put out cheese and crackers, too, around eight o’clock. You’ll find the cheese in the fridge, the crackers in the pantry. And I almost always put out a couple of baskets of cookies, too.”

  “Chocolate chip?”

  “The specialty of the house,” Clint replied, and smiled. “Ah. You talked to Seth, huh?”

  “Seth?”

  “Seth Castleman. He said you two knew each other.” Clint frowned. “Oh, damn. Did I put my foot in something?”

  “No, not at all.” Wendy deliberately turned her attention to the individual packets of hot chocolate heaped in a straw basket. “Seth and I are…we used to date, but that was a long time ago.”

  “Good.” Clint groaned. “There I go again. I don’t mean good that you guys are history, only that I’m relieved it won’t be a problem for you to spend so much time together.”

  “It won’t be.” What exactly did “so much” mean? Once a week? Twice? Wendy thought about asking and decided against it. “No problem at all.”

  “That’s terrific. Seth’s become a good pal, and I have to admit, having him around for the kids—did he tell you about my nieces? They’re twins, bright, beautiful three-year-olds…but they can wear you to a frazzle.”

  “And Seth’s…good with them?”

  “Good? He’s terrific. One look and you can see he’s a man who should have a houseful of his own someday.”

  The casually spoken words were like a knife to the heart. “Yes. He should.” She smiled brightly to hide the wound. “How about standing by while I make some coffee? Just to be sure I’ve got it right.”

  “Good idea. Okay, let’s take out a filter first…”