Snowfall at Willow Lake: Lakeshore Chronicles Book 4 (11 page)

“I understand,” Sophie said. “That's…commendable.”

“But weird. Go ahead and say it, you think it's weird.”

“I don't think that.” Sophie had sampled everything from steak tartare to whole-roasted cabrito. She'd eaten sheep's eye in Asia and consumed a traditional Masai concoction of cow's blood mixed with milk. “My diet's been adventurous at times,” she said.

“Are you here on vacation, or…?”

She felt the strangest urge to tell him about The Incident, the night she had been dismantled and turned into a different person. But she didn't, of course. This man was a stranger. A friendly, uncommonly appealing stranger, yes, but she wasn't about to bare her soul to him.

“I decided to make some changes. I loved my job, but…”

“But now you're here.”

“Working in The Hague took me away from the things that are most important in life.” So much for not baring her soul. He was just so easy to talk to. “Namely, my family. I realized I couldn't do both the job and the family. Something had to give. Working at the ICC is a big deal, but any lawyer with the right training and background can do it.”

Her colleagues told her she was crazy, that what she did was worth any sacrifice, but she didn't believe that anymore. And she wasn't sure why, but she suspected Noah Shepherd would understand. “I wanted to live close to my kids. And to my grandson.”

He stopped chewing, stared at her. Then he slugged back a gulp of milk. “I'm sorry. Did you say grandson?”

Sophie smiled. “His name's Emile Charles Bellamy—Charlie. He's almost six months old.”

He didn't bother, as some did, to cover his astonishment. “You sure as hell don't look old enough to have a grandchild.”

“I get that a lot.” She looked down at her plate and was surprised to see that she'd devoured the entire cinnamon roll.

“Well,” he said, “he's going to be glad you're here. My grandmother practically raised me, since my parents were so busy with the dairy. We're still close. We have lunch together every Sunday. She and her husband live over in Indian Wells.”

Sophie said, “I barely knew any of my grandparents, growing up,” she said. “My mother's parents lived on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia, my father's in Palm Springs. Sometimes when I see pictures of them, I have the sensation that I'm looking at strangers. Makes me wish I'd known them better. My Canadian grandmother spoke with a slight English accent, and I never had a chance to ask her about herself—her girlhood and how she ended up in Canada.”

“Then it's cool that you're here for little…”

“Charlie.” And to be honest, Sophie didn't know if her being there was cool or not, given the way things were between her and Daisy.

“Did I say something wrong?” Noah asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“You're looking at me as if I said something wrong. I have sisters. I know what a girl's face does when a guy says something wrong.”

“And what's that?”

He reached across the table and gently skimmed his thumb across her brow, eliciting an unexpected shiver of feeling. “It's the frown, mainly.”

His touch had unsettled her, but in a good way. “You didn't say anything wrong. I just haven't had someone actually tell me coming here was a good idea. You didn't point out the important work I left behind. I got a lot of that from my colleagues at the court.”

“Then you don't need to hear it from me. Besides, choosing between a job and family is a no-brainer.”

A curious warmth rushed through her. She was amazed to find her throat thick with emotion. She had an uncanny urge to grab his hand, ask him to touch her again. Her wild attraction to this man came as a complete surprise, out of the blue. She found herself studying his lips, his eyes, everything about him. Yet despite the physical attraction, he touched her in a way that was more unexpected—with the way he looked at her and the things he said.

“Okay,
now
what's the matter?”

She smiled despite an overwhelming feeling of sadness. “I was just thinking, if someone had said that to me a long time ago, my life would've been completely different.”

“And that bums you out.”

“I suppose it does.”

“Then don't look back. It's pointless.”

The remark was possibly more therapeutic than hours with her shrink, but Sophie had no idea how to keep misgivings at bay. She had worked so hard to stop herself from drowning in regrets. She couldn't regret the injustices that had been addressed, thanks to her work. But the harsh reality was, she couldn't be in two places at one time. She'd made a choice, and her most frequent pastime lately seemed to be tallying up the price her family had paid for that choice. “It's not that simple.”

He shrugged, got up from the table and put their dishes in the sink. “I figure it's about as complicated as you make it.”

“Spoken like someone who's never had children,” she snapped, angered by a feeling of utter vulnerability.

His back was turned, but somehow she knew the verbal barb had hurt him. There was something in his posture, a tightening of his shoulders, perhaps. A defense mechanism? Dear heaven, maybe he did have kids somewhere. Or maybe she was just imagining his reaction. “I'm sorry,” she said. “You struck a nerve, and I struck back.”

He turned to face her. “No prob. What size shoe do you wear?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your shoe size. I was going to find you a better pair of boots.”

“I'm a seven.”

He went to the mudroom and returned with some thick-soled boots, setting them by a furnace register. “My younger sister used to wear these snowmobiling. You can borrow them until you get better equipped for this weather.”

The boots were far from fashionable, but they looked perfectly suited for the snow. “Thanks,” Sophie said. “And thank you for breakfast. It was delicious.”

“No problem.”

“I'll hike down to the Wilsons' house,” she suggested. “At least I can get settled.”

“You're not going anywhere in this by yourself.”

“I've survived worse,” she murmured.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like being taken hostage at gunpoint and plunging off a bridge in a speeding van.”

He laughed heartily at that. “I'll have to start calling you Xena.”

Good. She wanted him to think she was pulling his leg. Here in this homey farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, it did sound preposterous.

“Tell you what,” he said, “I've got some chores to take care of, and then we'll go down together.”

“I feel as though I should pay you,” she said. “I've been a lot of trouble. It seems I've taken ‘high maintenance' to a new level.”

“You know I'm not going to take your money,” he said.

This came as no surprise to her. “Then I'll find some other way to repay you.”

“Deal,” he said. “I'll be back in half an hour.”

He went out to do his chores. Sophie had never lived in a place where people did chores. Or visited their neighbors before eight in the morning. Or bottle-fed puppies. Or gave beds to complete strangers.

And she
was
a stranger. A stranger in a strange land. A stranger to herself. She didn't recognize her own life anymore. The urban, apartment-dwelling, career-focused Sophie had changed overnight to an unemployed, snowed-in woman in borrowed boots, being looked after by Dr. Doolittle. Her colleagues in The Hague would never believe their eyes if they could see her now.

D
aisy Bellamy worked out her day like a battle commander planning a siege. With the weather so bad and a baby to keep safe, she had to consider each and every detail. She went to the front window and looked out. The snow was still coming down, but lightly now, turning the wide, tree-lined street of wooden houses into a picture postcard. Empty of traffic, it could have been a place from a far-distant time, when people lived their lives at an unhurried pace, and when having a baby at eighteen was considered perfectly normal.

Of course, in the “good old days,” she reminded herself, you had to marry the baby's father. You didn't have a choice.

She was totally glad she had a choice.

She stood for a few minutes, watching the scene outside. Clearly she wasn't the only one in the neighborhood with cabin fever. People were out—guys shoveling their walks, kids in snowsuits building forts or pulling sleds, whip-thin cross-country skiers gliding along, couples heading toward the lake with ice skates slung over their shoulders, others simply out walking, because, despite the cold, the snow was incredibly beautiful.

Daisy planned to go out today, too, although she had a purpose. She and Charlie were meeting with a prospective babysitter. Irma's house was only a few blocks away, and the walk would do her good. She was starting to feel cooped up in the small, cluttered and overheated house. It would have been perfectly reasonable to call Irma and cancel due to weather, but Daisy really wanted Charlie to spend some time there before he had to go to a sitter regularly. As soon as winter classes started at the state college, Charlie was going to stay with Irma for four hours a day, three days a week.

On paper, it didn't seem like such a big deal. Now that she was going to actually do it, the hours seemed cruelly long.

Chin up, Daisy told herself. This wasn't supposed to be easy. She'd done things that were much harder.

Preparing for her trek down the road, she bundled Charlie into his snowsuit and then painstakingly threaded his legs through the carrier, following each step as she strapped it to herself. At six months of age, Charlie was usually up for anything, and the carrier was no exception. Now they were face-to-face and Daisy's hands were free. She adjusted the straps and put on her oversize down parka, zipping it over the carrier.

“I refuse to go near a mirror,” she said, pulling on her hat and gloves. “I know I look ginormous.”

Finally ready, she stepped out onto the front porch. The cold sweet air tasted like freedom. Before she started walking, she went through a mental checklist, which was part of the routine. Wallet, check. Keys, check. Diaper bag with enough supplies to outfit a day care center, check. Cell phone…oops. It was still stuck in its charger on the kitchen counter. The small oversight created a major dilemma. Her keys were in a pocket that was only accessible if she unzipped, exposing Charlie to the cold. Not only was that bad for him, he'd probably start crying, and she didn't want to arrive at Irma's with a crying baby.

Okay, forget the phone. People got along fine before such things. And she didn't need it going off, anyway. Half the time, she couldn't find it in all her pockets, and besides, Irma lived right down the street. Still, as she set out along a just-cleared sidewalk, a knot of guilt formed in her stomach. She hoped that lump she felt in the unreachable pocket really was a wad of keys. Locking herself out had been last month's screwup. She seemed to make every mistake in the book, but at least each mistake came around only once.

“You know,” she said to the bundle strapped to her chest, “I used to be a spontaneous person. Now I plan every move I make as though I'm crossing a minefield.”

From deep within the confines of her jacket, Charlie made a noise. She couldn't see his expression, but judging by the happy gurgles emanating from him, he was contented enough to last for the short walk.

“And I have to tell you,” she concluded, “you're worth every bit of trouble and more.”

Daisy allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief, to relax a little and enjoy being outside in the bright glare of the winter day. It was hard to believe someone so small could have such a huge impact on her life. Even when he was little more than a ball of undifferentiated cells, he had turned her world upside down. She was a teenager, for God's sake. She hadn't pictured a future like this. Yet here she was.

And she didn't hate it. Most days, anyway. She adored Charlie, so that was good. But he did tend to complicate things. Like, everything.

And yet, there was this thing that happened with Charlie. Sure, she knew she would love her baby despite the fact that he was totally unplanned. Yet even during the months of waiting for his birth, she hadn't anticipated what that love would actually feel like. Nothing had prepared her for this kind of love, how deep it ran, so deep it hurt, but in a good way. In a way that reminded her that here was the one person on earth who owned every bit of her heart.

No wonder the kid was so high maintenance.

“It's true,” she said to him, trudging along the block at a leaden pace. “I used to do things at the drop of a hat, no planning involved, you know? I'd jump on the subway and off I'd go, with nothing but a wad of cash and my fake ID.” She patted the bundle in her jacket. “I swear, if you ever try to pull anything like that, you'll be in such trouble.” She wondered if everyone did this—if they all swore they would be better parents than the parents who had raised them. She'd be willing to bet her own mother had felt that way when Daisy was little. Her mom always strove to be the best at everything.

And then, of course, it had become Daisy's mission to prove her wrong.

Mom was supposed to have landed at JFK last night. Daisy figured the storm had kept her in the city, so they wouldn't see each other for several more days. Daisy was used to her mom's long absences so it was no big deal, though this time was a little different.

Since they'd last seen each other, Daisy's dad had married Nina, which had to be weird for her mom. Also, Mom had been involved in that horrible incident in The Hague. She'd assured Daisy she was fine, but that could mean anything. Mom was always “fine.” It covered everything from breaking a nail to breaking a leg. Knowing Mom, she probably told everyone her marriage was “fine,” right up until the divorce.

“I won't keep stuff from you,” Daisy said to Charlie. “Because I'll know that when something isn't fine, you'll see right through me.”

Daisy squinted through the snow flurries. “Almost there,” she said, heading for the sitter's front walk, which bore the fresh tracks of a snowblower. The main thoroughfare had been plowed, she could see. A few intrepid vehicles trolled slowly along, dwarfed by the huge dikes of snow left by the plows.

“People are idiots, driving in this,” she murmured, feeling virtuous for having walked. “What kind of idiot—oh, tell me he's not here.”

But he was, of course. She recognized Logan O'Donnell's BMW X3 with the SUNY decal on the back window. Although Logan was the baby's father, he'd never even been her boyfriend, not really. They'd been two stupid kids in high school, partying with careless abandon. Nine months later, they were parents. Daisy had insisted she wanted nothing from Logan, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. He wanted to be Charlie's father. She'd expected Logan to lose interest once he realized what it meant to be a parent. But he kept showing up like a bad penny.

Out of a sense of duty, Daisy had informed him about the meeting with the babysitter. She hadn't thought he would actually show up, though, not today. In these conditions, it was a short but treacherous drive from New Paltz to Avalon. A person would have to be crazy to try it.

However, she'd found out a long time ago that it took more than a snowstorm to stop Logan.

“All right,” she said, standing on the porch of the babysitter's house. “Deep breath.” She knocked at the door.

Irma greeted her with an effusive welcome. “There you are,” she said. “I'm glad you could make it.”

“It's nice to get out,” Daisy said, unzipping her parka. “Hey, you,” she said to Charlie.

He gurgled at her and pedaled his arms and legs as though he hadn't seen her in weeks.

“Yeah, back atcha,” Daisy said, sitting down to extract the fleecy blue bundle from the carrier. His sweet, milky scent lingered in the fibers of her sweater.

The baby sounded off happily as Irma hoisted him into her arms with reassuring confidence. “Come here, you little cherub.” Rounded and soft as a marshmallow, Irma held the baby while Daisy took off her jacket and snow boots. “Come in and make yourself at home. The others are down for a nap.” Irma looked after a brother and sister, aged one and two.

“Thank you.” Daisy followed her into the living room. It was a plain little house, child-proofed, with one room equipped as a play area, a basket of toys in the corner. It looked exactly like the sort of place you could picture leaving your baby.

Assuming you were okay with leaving your baby.
Oh, God,
thought Daisy.
Am I becoming my mother? Am I leaving my baby so I can go after something I want, just for me?

The thought hung over her as she stood in the doorway. “Hello, Logan,” she said.

“Hey.” He strode across the room and took the baby from Irma. “Hey, buddy,” he said. And Logan O'Donnell, the bad boy of New York City's exclusive Dalton School, whose fiery red hair and screw-you attitude tended to scare most people, turned into a grinning, adoring guy, just like that. A baby's smile was a powerful thing.

Charlie jabbered away, lying in his lap while Logan extracted him from his snowsuit. Charlie clearly knew Logan, who visited at least once a week, his devotion to the baby a total surprise to Daisy. This was definitely not the Logan she had known in high school. Of course, Logan had gone through a lot of changes since then.

She watched him with his son, feeling an uninvited tug of emotion as he tickled the baby. Logan looked incredible, with the kind of smile that made a girl stupid enough to sleep with him. Charlie had inherited Logan's red hair, and was beginning to look alarmingly like him. This did not please Daisy. Being that handsome never did a guy a lick of good—not for long, anyway.

Irma sat on the sofa next to Daisy and adjusted her smock apron in her lap. “So,” she said, “there's good news and bad news.”

“Oh?” Daisy braced herself. Since Charlie's birth, her life had grown quite complicated. She'd taught herself to wait and see what happened.

“So the good news is, my license for infants has been approved. I knew it would be, and I was just waiting for final approval.”

“That's good. What's the other news?”

“I have to get my feet done this winter.” She held out her feet, clad in quilted scuffs. “Bunions,” she explained. “Really painful. Runs in the family.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” Daisy wasn't sure what else to say.

“It's going to be fine. The trouble is, I won't be able to work for about three months. They have to do one foot at a time and the recovery takes several weeks. It'll be impossible to look after kids.”

Logan seemed completely unconcerned. He fished a gel-filled teething toy from a pocket of the diaper bag and handed it to Charlie.

“Anyway, I'm sorry. I know this changes your plans,” Irma said.

“I'll figure something out.” Daisy's heart sank. She should have known Irma was too good to be true.

A small cry came from down the hall. “Somebody just woke up,” Irma said. “Excuse me.”

“Well.” Logan looked over Charlie's head at Daisy. “Bummer.”

She nodded. “I'm going to have to figure out some other arrangement.” Her mind was already working the problem. “My dad and Nina would totally watch him for me, if I asked.”

“But you don't want to ask.”

“No kidding. I mean, they're great, but they just got married. Besides, it would feel like a step backward for me. I just got my own place, and I don't want to go running back to them.”

“It would only be temporary,” Logan pointed out.

“Temporary has a way of stretching out to indefinitely,” she said. “I'd rather solve this myself.” Truth be told, it had been a battle to leave home in search of her own life. Her father and Nina ran a historic inn on the lake, and they had plenty of room. Living with them had been easy, perhaps too easy. Right after the baby was born, Daisy had felt herself getting comfortable and disappearing into the fabric of a life that was not her own. She was deeply afraid that if she grew to depend on her dad too much, she'd never learn to be independent.

“There's no crime in asking your family for help,” Logan said.

“It's complicated.”

“Family stuff usually is.” He grinned at Charlie. “Right, buddy?”

He would know, Daisy conceded. He came from a wealthy Manhattan family, and they had not made things easy for him. His workaholic father had big plans for Logan. His socially ambitious mother fantasized about her son being the toast of the town. Their expectations for him were enormous. The O'Donnells had wanted Logan to go to Boston College, their alma mater. He was supposed to study management and finance, take over the family shipping business. Instead, he'd opted to attend SUNY New Paltz, where he could be closer to Charlie.