Winter Magic: 4 (The Hawks Mountain Series) (2 page)

Sarah waved a hand in his general direction. “All in good time,” she said, effectively dismissing his protest. “You’re taking our concerns all wrong. Your father and I just want to see you happy, Jonny.”

Though he’d outgrown the nickname years ago, when the woman who’d raised him from age twelve used it, it never failed to send a shaft of warmth through him. He reached across the desk and then squeezed her hand. “I
am
happy, Aunt Sarah. I have my work, and that keeps me busy enough to fill three lifetimes.”

Sarah shook her head and reclaimed her hand from his grasp. A wisp of her snowy hair broke the bonds of the loose bun at her nape. “You know, Jonny, there is life beyond the corporate headquarters of Prince Publishing.” With an unconscious, impatient gesture he’d seen a million times, she tucked the hair back in place. “Besides, you’re thirty-four years old. You should have a wife and several children by now.” Her eyes clouded over, and he knew Aunt Sarah’s thoughts had veered to the young husband she’d lost early in her marriage and to the children they’d never had. A gentle smile, colored with a hint of sadness, curved his aunt’s lips. “Take my word for it. After a while, this single life gets pretty tiresome.” She pointed her finger at him. “You need a woman.”

“I do date.” Jonathan smiled lovingly at his aunt. “And besides, I have you, Aunt Sarah, and that’s woman enough for me.”

“I’m flattered, but you won’t always have me, Jonny, and transient relationships don’t warm an empty bed for long.”

Not about to launch into a conversation about his sex life or lack thereof, especially with his aunt, Jonathan rose and walked to the large window overlooking Lake Hope.

He’d had his share of women who understood that
 . . .
well
 . . .
that understood him and his boundaries where relationships were concerned. That arrangement suited him fine. Besides, he neither wanted nor needed those simpering females who tried to stroke his ego with fabrications about how much they admired him and cared for him while dollar signs rang up like runaway cash registers in their heads. Jonathan had had his fill of secrets and lies from enough women in his life. He didn’t need theirs.

What he did need was to get through the holiday season one more time.

To clear his thoughts, Jonathan focused on the scene beyond the window. Most days he loved working from his office in the big, new house that stood proudly on the cliffs above the lake. In the summer, the leaves would obscure most of the view. However, right now, the bare branches allowed him a clear view of Lake Hope’s frozen surface and the mountains ringing the peaceful valley.

Winter, especially after a fresh snow had fallen, as it had last night, was his favorite season. With the exception of the dreaded holiday. If he could get through the year without having to pass through Christmas, his life would be much happier.

However, a home office, one of the main reasons he’d opted to build this house in the country, had its definite drawbacks. He glanced over his shoulder at his relatives just in time to intercept Aunt Sarah shaking her head in what he assumed was despair.

“All we’re asking is that, when you attend this year’s gala, do it with an open mind.” When his father would have spoken, Sarah threw a silencing glance at Henry, telling her brother-in-law without words to let her handle this. “Give the women a chance to get to know you and you them. Who knows? Ms. Right just might be one of those elegant ladies.” She frowned and shook her finger at him again. “But even Ms. Right isn’t going to chance a run-in with someone who appears so disinterested.”

“I appear disinterested because I
am
disinterested,” he murmured. Disinterested in everything but keeping his mother’s dream alive. He owed her that much. If it took suffering through all the folderol that went with Christmas to do it, then he’d manage.

Sarah ignored his apathy. “Do it for me?”

Aunt Sarah’s plea struck a place in Jonathan’s heart that no one else seemed able to reach. Yes, she’d lied to him, but she’d also loved and taken care of him after his mother’s death. Turning down this wonderful woman, who had done so much for him, bordered on impossible.

Jonathan sighed, then dropped heavily into his desk chair and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right. I give up. I’ll try, but I always feel like a prize bull on the auction block waiting for the highest bidder to take me home for stud services.”

Silently, he qualified his agreement to himself.
Trying didn’t mean succeeding
. However, if it meant getting these two off his back, he’d agree to eat mistletoe with whipped cream and a cherry.

His father grinned, obviously feeling they’d scored a major victory in their crusade to get Jonathan to the altar. “There’s worse things than being thought of as a stud, my boy.” His ample chest expanded just a bit. “Lived with it all my life. Curse of the Princes, your granddad used to call it.”

Sarah frowned at Henry. “Carrying around your inflated ego is going to hurt your back.” She grinned to take the edge off her words, then patted his sleeve condescendingly. “Get a life, Henry. Even a stud knows when the mares have lost interest.”

Henry cleared his throat and threw her a disapproving look, then settled back in the leather chair, a slight flush infusing his face. “Perhaps Jonathan is right. We should get on with plans for the Christmas gala.”

Passing her nephew a smug grin, Sarah extracted a small white card from her dress pocket. “Since the regular planners you work with are not available, I asked Tippy Dawson who did the housewarming party for her new Myrtle Beach summer home.”

Jonathan held up a hand. “Aunt Sarah, I appreciate the help, but planning a house-warming and planning a charity gala are two entirely different things.”

“Oh, but, dear, Tippy assured me this woman is a creative genius.” She handed him the business card. “She’s handled a parade of different social events and is supposed to have a natural talent for these things.”

Jonathan scanned the card. Elegant, with its gold embossed letters, the professional appearance afforded Jonathan some reassurance as to the company’s competence to handle such an important affair. Maybe a company called
le Fête Boutique
could conduct a gala that would include most of the cream of West Virginia society. Maybe this was the new blood the fundraiser sorely needed.

In other years, the arrangements for the charity ball had been carried out virtually the same year after year. Always held on Christmas Eve at the plush Claymore Hotel in Charleston, it had become a sedate, boring affair peopled by ladies in designer gowns and men in tuxedos. Unfortunately, just days ago and without any warning, their regular planner had retired. If, before he’d retired, the old caterer had let Jonathan know that the hotel they normally used was booked, he wouldn’t have had to move the festivities to the Lodge by the Lake just outside Carson. All these unexpected problems had left Jonathan with a plethora of last minute managerial details with which to contend. He shrugged. Perhaps fate was signaling the time had come for change. Perhaps—

“Jonathan, I must remind you—” His father’s voice cut into his thoughts. “—with the economic picture for charitable organizations looking so bleak these days, there’s a chance that the gala may not do well again. If that happens, coupled with the fact that the last two years have not been stellar, the board has advised me that they will be looking at dissolving the foundation.”

The Vanessa Prince Foundation had been Jonathan’s mother’s pet project. She started it to fund homes for abused women right after her sister died at the hands of her abusive husband. As the years went by, they’d branched out into funding other charities. If Jonathan failed, and it had to be dissolved, it would be as if his mother had died again—and as before, it would be his fault.

Pushing aside the bad memories that clung to him like unwanted cobwebs, he frowned and combed his fingers through his hair. “I know about the threat to dissolve the foundation. They discussed it at length at the last board meeting.” While he absently spun a letter opener on the polished desk top, he glanced at his father’s stern expression. Slamming his hand atop the opener, Jonathan stopped its dizzying spiral. “How can they even consider—the foundation does immeasurable good—” He cut his sputtering frustrated outburst short.

He was no stranger to the rules of this game. His mother had seen to it that her system of checks and balances included the board having final say in the governing of the foundation. That included deciding on its financial stability and effectiveness as well as its continuation.

“The foundation has been operating very close to the edge for too long.” His father straightened in his chair and lowered a serious look at his son. “Harry Townsend tells me they’re holding off on any decisions until after this year’s event.”

Jonathan didn’t see that he had any other choice. “Very well.” He waved the party planner’s business card at the two people smiling boldly at him. “I’ll call this woman and add her company to the list. But I want to talk to the owner.” He glanced at the card. “This Miranda Cameron. Bad enough I’m going into this with the threat of dissolution hanging over me, I won’t work with an assistant as I’ve done in previous years. I can’t take the chance of this not going well. I plan to be hands-on.”

Despite his words, the glaring date on his desk calendar told him, because of all the delays, the change of venue and the loss of his regular event planner, he only had weeks to make this gala a success and didn’t have the luxury of being too choosey.

ANDREA CAMERON threw the deadbolt into place, slipped her house key into her purse, and then laid the purse on a small table beside the door. She hadn’t been this tired since she’d decided to build a rock garden in her backyard last summer.

Because she’d had a dentist appointment yesterday, she’d just spent her entire Sunday afternoon packing books and supplies in boxes and moving them from her kindergarten classroom to the gymnasium so the janitors could paint over the holidays. Now, she was ready to start a month-long Christmas vacation from her job as a teacher at Carson Elementary School. Besides her regular Christmas break, she’d decided to take a couple of weeks extra for herself. She sighed and flopped down on her lumpy, green sofa.

Normally, Andi dreaded vacations of any kind. She hated the long wait to get back to her kindergarten kids, the classroom atmosphere, and teaching in general. This year, however, she’d found herself looking forward to the month’s hiatus from blowing noses, tying shoelaces, finding coats and sweaters, settling squabbles and cleaning chalk dust, and sometimes worse, from her clothes.

Always fairly well attuned to her body and mind, she’d been experiencing a restlessness of late that she couldn’t put her finger on, and it irritated her. Perhaps it was just the time of year. Though Andi still loved the holiday season, since she had no relatives left except her twin sister Miranda and an aunt and two female cousins that she avoided like the plague, Christmas had become a lonely time for her.

Miranda was usually off partying with her friends in Charleston, and Andi would have sooner driven nails through her hands before spending the day with Aunt Laureene. To fill her day, Andi spent Christmas with the children at The Wishing Place, a halfway house for kids awaiting a bed at the Charleston Children’s Hospital. Spending time with children taking extended outpatient treatments or waiting for their surgery slot gave her a feeling of fulfillment unlike anything she got elsewhere. And at Christmas, she enjoyed it even more.

Glancing around her cramped, little cottage, the unease she’d been experiencing in the past few weeks rose up in her again. Why? This had always been her haven, her secure place to come each night. Why, all of a sudden, had it started feeling like a prison cell? Was it just that Christmas was crowding in and, as usual, she’d spend it alone?

She assessed the painted walls and the small windows. Maybe after she put up a tree and decorated some, she would again find the comfort she’d always felt here. But deep inside, she knew that Christmas decorations wouldn’t vanquish the emptiness that seemed to grow daily inside her. She needed something else, but what?

No, it wasn’t her job, her home or the halfway house. The emptiness that plagued her came from the redundancy of her life, the daily predictability. What she needed was some excitement, an adventure.

Before she could enlarge on her conclusion, a knock sounded on her front door. Pushing herself up from the couch, she hurried toward the door. The knock sounded again, this time louder and more insistent.

“Keep your pants on. I’m coming,” Andi called, her tone giving voice to her utter exhaustion.

She peered through the small peephole, and after ascertaining who it was, released the deadbolt, then swung open the door. Her sister Miranda had arrived for their Sunday night dinner date, and Andi had totally forgotten about it. Standing on the other side of the threshold, her identical twin grinned back at her like a Cheshire cat.

“Did you just win the lottery?” Andi stepped back to allow Miranda to pass into the tiny cottage she called home.

“In a way. Maybe you could just say I got an early Christmas present.” Miranda sailed past her in a suffocating cloud of expensive perfume. Andi winced at the overpowering fragrance.

Aside from their hairstyles and choices of clothing, she and Miranda looked exactly the same. Beyond that, they had little in common. Miranda’s long, blonde hair hung loose down her back. Andi preferred her thick hair secured in a barrette at the base of her neck. Bright colors and designer labels filled Miranda’s closet. Andi settled for a more sedate, tailored look. Gold earrings and necklaces dripped from Miranda’s earlobes and neck. Flashy rings festooned her fingers. Andi’s only jewelry was the gold necklace with the
#1 Teacher
pendant she’d been given when chosen as Teacher of the Year. Miranda drove a racy, red Ferrari, while Andi hung onto her chronically ailing, orange VW Bug she’d nicknamed Bess. While Andi had chosen the quiet, laid-back life of a school teacher, Miranda extended her love of excitement into professionally planning parties, when she wasn’t attending one.

These marked differences between her and her sister had been the underlying cause of Andi backing away from anything in the least romantic. It seemed every time she got interested in a man, as soon as he met the flamboyant, elegant Miranda, Andi faded into the background. She knew Miranda didn’t do it on purpose, but that didn’t keep Andi’s heart from breaking each time. As a result, since she couldn’t get rid of the sister she loved, Andi had sworn off men. It was easier on her heart. Maybe someday
 . . .

Before Andi could wallow any deeper in her poor-pitiful-me thoughts, Miranda twirled around in a circle and then embraced her sister. “I have a good chance of landing a contract that could not only put
le Fête Boutique
in the black, but also put it in every society matron’s address book in the state of West Virginia and maybe beyond. I’ll know for sure on Monday, when I meet with him for his final decision.”

“Miranda, that’s wonderful.” Andi hugged her sister, then stepped back. “Who is it?”

The confidence Miranda exuded heartened Andi. Maybe her sister had finally found her niche, and Andi could relax and stop worrying about her.

Raising her chin dramatically, Miranda grinned at Andi. “The Vanessa Prince Foundation’s Annual Christmas Gala.” She clapped her hands together like a small child. “Not only would I be planning it, but I’d be working hand-in-hand with
the
Jonathan Prince.” She grabbed Andi’s shoulders. “Just think, sister dear
, Jonathan Prince.
”

Frowning, Andi shook her head. “And he’s
 . . .
”

Her sister’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious? You’ve never heard of Jonathan Prince?” Andi shook her head. “Jonathan Prince is only
the
handsomest, richest catch in the entire state of West Virginia. Only the—” Andi stared back at her. Her face must have disclosed that she hadn’t a clue who Miranda was going on about. Miranda dropped her hands to her sides. “You’ve honestly never heard of him?”

“No. Should I have?” Andi took a seat on the sofa.

Why did it surprise her twin that she wasn’t attuned to the pulse of the social world of Charleston, West Virginia? Typically, the people Andi hung out with had more interest in eating paste and smearing finger paints all over each other than in any social register.

Flopping down beside her, Miranda slipped off her fire engine red, three-and-a-half-inch heels, then propped her feet on the coffee table. She wiggled her toes, and sighed in pure pleasure. Absently, she massaged her side. “Sweetie, you’ve gotta get out more. You’re hanging around with those kids too much. You’re probably the only living woman who has never heard of Jonathan Prince. The man owns a large regional publishing house, has more money than Croesus, and is heir to scads more.”

Money
.

Andi should have guessed. Miranda had never been able to adjust to being a member of just an average income family. Andi had been perfectly happy with their modest lifestyle, until their parents died in a boating accident when she and Miranda were barely fifteen. They’d had to move in with an aunt, Laureene Talbot, who ruthlessly pinched every penny and who clearly didn’t like kids, with the exception of her two daughters, Beulah and Augusta, whom she’d spoiled rotten. However, being
a good church-going woman
, she felt it was
her duty to take in the poor waifs.
Only after they’d worked their way through college, had Andi and Miranda broken away from their domineering aunt and their obnoxious cousins and gotten a place of their own.

But, after barely two weeks of sharing the same apartment, they knew living together was not for them. As much as Andi loved Miranda, she hated her self-indulgent lifestyle, but she also hated the way men gravitated away from her and straight to Miranda. But Andi had always been there for Miranda. Even after she moved into her own place in Charleston, Andi had been ready, willing and able to extract her sister from a long line of misfired schemes to become rich.
le
Fête Boutique
was the closest Miranda had ever come to actual success with one of her ventures. However, that her sister put so much emphasis on her client’s wealth, more so than normally, worried Andi.

“Other than paying the bills for services rendered, I don’t understand what his money has to do with you.” Andi crossed her legs and waited for an explanation, although she had her suspicions about what the answer would be.

Miranda clasped Andi’s hand and patted it. “Andi, Andi, Andi. I’ll be working side-by-side with the man himself. Would it be such a stretch of the imagination if a little something developed on the romance front?” She waved her left ring finger at Andi, winked coyly, then jumped to her feet and padded into the tiny kitchenette. “I’m starved. Got anything to snack on?”

“Look in the cabinets.” Andi followed Miranda through the kitchenette doorway. “Don’t set yourself up for a fall with this guy. He might be engaged or even married.” Who was she kidding? He’d probably be like every other guy who met Miranda. One look and he’d turn into a groveling puppy.

“Nope. Neither. From all reports and what I’ve read, he’s a workaholic and rarely dates. When he does date, he never dates one woman more than two or three times. He’s been engaged a couple of times, but both times it fell through before they reached the altar.” She winked at Andi. “Mr. Jonathan Prince is public domain. And after meeting him yesterday, I plan on changing that.”

Shaking her head, Andi pulled a jar of spaghetti sauce from the overhead cabinet. “I hate to hear you talk like that. As if finding a husband was like shopping for a pair of shoes.” She glanced over her shoulder at Miranda and held up the jar of sauce. “I forgot all about our dinner date. How about we eat here tonight? I’m too tired to go out to a restaurant anyway. Okay?”

Miranda nodded absently, while she continued her search of the cabinets. “Well, there’s not a heck of a lot of difference between buying shoes and choosing a man. He has to fit right and be able to provide me with a comfortable lifestyle.” Miranda laughed at Andi’s gasp of shock. “Is—” Miranda bent double, clutching her side.

Andi rushed to her sister. “Are you okay?”

Miranda waved her away. “Fine. Just a stitch. It’s been coming and going all day. Guess I’ve been on the run too much.” She straightened and smiled reassuringly.

The paleness flooding Miranda’s face alarmed Andi. She guided her sister to a chair. “Sit. I’ll get supper started. Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten since breakfast. After you get something in your stomach, you’ll feel better.”

With her hand still pressed to her side, Miranda shook her head. “I think maybe I’ll just take a rain check on dinner and go home. I’ll grab something light to eat there. I’m bushed, too,” she added, then stood gingerly. “I have to be at the office early tomorrow. I asked Nancy to get started with some suggestions for the gala, and I want to take a look at them in time to do any changes before I meet with Prince again in the afternoon.”

Andi knew that Nancy, Miranda’s assistant, had been a godsend to her sister. The girl knew more about party planning than any one person should be able to store in one brain. She’d been a big part of the reason for Miranda’s marginal success so far.

“I want to go over the details and start assembling the—” Miranda grimaced and bent forward. Resolutely, she stood straighter, her face alarmingly pale. “It has to
 . . .
be ready for Monday
 . . .
just in case
 . . .
I get the contract,” she finished, her voice weak and strained.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe I should call a doctor.” Andi followed her sister, who was walking slightly bent at the waist, into the living room. Andi watched her closely while Miranda slipped back into her shoes and coat and then grabbed her purse.

“No. No doctors. They’d just put me to bed, and I can’t afford that now. It’s vital that I meet with Prince on Monday. I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.” Miranda, her voice stronger, but still a bit weak, kissed Andi’s cheek, then hugged her. “Thanks for the concern.” Slinging her purse’s strap onto her shoulder, Miranda smiled at Andi. “I’ll call you tomorrow and report in.” With a quick wave of her hand, Miranda started toward the front door. “We can make plans to go Christmas shopping and have lunch,” she called over her shoulder, her voice strained again and betraying what sounded very much like pain to Andi.

After watching her sister’s progress for a few moments, Andi closed the front door, then leaned against it. She should never have let Miranda leave. What if something happened while she was driving home? Turning, Andi grabbed the doorknob, intent on calling her sister back. Just then, she heard a
wail
and then a
thud
.

Throwing the door open, Andi spotted her sister’s prone body on the front porch. Andi rushed to her side. The contents of Miranda’s purse were strewn across the porch and down the steps. Her body was curled in a fetal position. Her beautiful face distorted in pain. Her hand clutched her side.

ANDI HAD MANAGED, with the help of a neighbor, to get Miranda into the house and onto the couch, and then called 911. The ambulance had arrived only moments ago, and Andi’s tiny cottage was now overflowing with uniformed EMTs bustling around Miranda.

Nick Hart, the head EMT, pressed his fingers gently into Miranda’s left side, and then moved it to the right. She howled and stiffened. “Her stomach is rigid and swollen. I’m pretty sure it’s her appendix.” He laid his hand on her forehead. “She’s running a fever, too, so it’s probably inflamed. My guess is on the verge of rupturing. We’ll have to get her to the hospital, quick.” He and another EMT moved the coffee table aside, then wheeled the stretcher next to the couch. After locking the wheels, they carefully transferred Miranda to the stretcher.