George had watched the ceremony without any trace of emotion. His lips had tightened when he’d noticed Carlie, but he’d held his tongue and only stayed long enough to shake Hayden’s hand and hug his daughter, then had asked his new friend, Ellen Tremont Little, the woman who had sat with him and been the only person to coax a smile from his lips, to take him back to town.
Nadine, for her part, had braved her father’s disapproval and had refused to let anyone spoil her day. She’d gone upstairs for a moment, returned to the landing and, to the surprise of everyone, thrown her bridal bouquet into the group of guests milling around the base of the stairs.
Girls squealed, hands raised, fingers extended, but the airborne nosegay had landed squarely in Carlie’s lap. She’d been sitting on the window seat, staring out the window when the bouquet had soared over the anxious fingers to rest against the blue of her dress. So startled she nearly dropped the flowers, she’d blushed a dozen shades of red.
Fitting, Ben thought, his jaw tightening a little. Hadn’t Carlie always been the center of attention? Even now, at Nadine’s wedding, she’d somehow managed to steal the show. Hell, what a mess. He would have walked up to Carlie and made a comment, but he didn’t want to ruin Nadine’s happiness by causing a scene. So he held his tongue and glowered at the woman who had been on the edge of his thoughts for too many years.
Leaning a shoulder against the archway separating the living room from the foyer, he kept his distance—from Carlie and the dangerous emotions that always surfaced when he thought of her. He snatched a glass of champagne off a silver tray carried by a waiter, then drained the drink in one swallow. Restless, he had to keep moving. He walked into the living room and noticed that the folding chairs had been stacked, the carpet rolled back, and Hayden and Nadine were dancing together for the first time as man and wife. He couldn’t stand it. He needed some air. Turning his back on the bride and groom, he shoved open the front door and strode outside.
Carlie watched him leave and let out her breath. Maybe now she could relax a little. She forced her fingers, wrapped tightly around the stem of the bridal bouquet, to loosen.
From a baby grand piano tucked in a corner of the living room, strains of the “Anniversary Waltz” drifted through the hallways. Nadine and Hayden glided across the soft patina of the old oak floors. The guests, citizens of Gold Creek, dressed in suits or tuxedos and dresses of vibrant silk or simple cotton, talked among themselves, watching the newlyweds, laughing and sipping champagne that flowed endlessly from the fountain.
Hayden and Nadine danced as one. He whispered something in his bride’s ear and Nadine tossed her head and smiled up at him, her green eyes flashing impishly, her red hair reflecting the soft illumination of the tiny lights.
Carlie saw the exchange, noticed Hayden brush Nadine’s forehead with his lips as he guided her around the floor. Other couples joined the newlyweds.
Heather and Turner swept by. They looked like a cowboy and a lady, he in a black Western-cut suit and polished boots, she in quivering pale silk. They swayed around plants decorated with a thousand tiny lights and behind them, even though it was long past the season, the Christmas tree loomed twelve feet to the ceiling.
As the dance floor became more crowded, Hayden and Nadine disappeare
d through the French doors. No one but Carlie seemed to notice.
At last she could go home. She’d done her duty. She found her coat in the closet of an upstairs bedroom and, after saying hasty goodbyes to Rachelle and Heather, she started for the door.
“Carlie?” Thomas Fitzpatrick was wending his way through a crowd of guests and making his way toward her. Her muscles tightened, though he posed no threat. A distinguished-looking man with patrician features, silver hair and a clipped mustache, he smiled evenly as he approached her and she told herself that she’d imagined his leers all those years ago.
Still, she didn’t completely trust him. She’d seen what his hatred could do—even to his own kin. Hadn’t he tried to blame Jackson Moore, his illegitimate son, for the death of Roy, his favorite child? He’d pitted one of his sons against the other, never recognizing Jackson, then allowing him to take the blame for a murder he didn’t commit. No, Thomas Fitzpatrick was no saint, but only a few people had ever had the nerve to stand up to him and Carlie had been one of those very few.
“Can I have a few minutes of your time?” he asked, touching her arm with the familiarity of a favorite uncle.
“I was just leaving.”
“Please...it will only take a few minutes. It’s about your father.”
Her heart nearly stopped. What was wrong with Dad? Surely Thomas wouldn’t lay him off now, not while he was still recuperating. Dread inching its way into her heart, she followed the richest man in Gold Creek into the kitchen, where there were only a few caterers filling trays.
“I know things are difficult right now for Thelma and Weldon,” Thomas said, his forehead furrowing in worry.
Carlie braced herself against the counter. “It’s hard. Dad doesn’t like being cooped up.”
“Understandable.” Thomas smiled, that cold snakelike smile that chilled Carlie to her bones. “He’s been a valued employee at the company for years.”
Here it comes! Carlie’s fingers curled over the smooth marble edge of the counter.
“This is difficult for me, you understand, and I’m willing to do anything I can to help out, but I can’t leave his job open indefinitely.”
Oh, God.
“I don’t think Weldon would expect that and the man who’s taken over his position temporarily is willing to stay on indefinitely. In fact, he’s insisting that he needs more job security and that’s not an unreasonable request as he has a family to support.”
“Don’t you think you should be discussing this with my father?” she said, unable to hide her irritation. Her parents weren’t rich; they, too, needed the job security Fitzpatrick Logging had always provided. There was no way her mother’s small salary and tips from working at the soda counter at the drugstore would begin to pay their bills.
“I’ll speak to Weldon tomorrow,” Fitzpatrick agreed. He stroked the corner of his mustache with a long finger. “And you have to understand that it’s hard for me to make a decision like this. Your father could retire, of course—”
“But not at full benefits.”
Thomas sighed. He seemed genuinely unhappy. “Unfortunately, no.”