Читать книгу A January Chill - Rachel Lee - Страница 9

A couple of days later, Witt ran into Hardy at the hardware store. It wasn’t unusual for that to happen; in a town the size of Whisper Creek, where there was only one hardware store, one pharmacy, one bank and one auto-parts store, such encounters on a Saturday were inevitable. Usually they both just turned away and pretended the other didn’t exist.

But today Witt was in a different mood. When he saw Hardy buying some screws, he didn’t walk away. Instead, he approached.

“What the hell,” he said bluntly, “did you think you were doing bidding on my hotel?”

Hardy dropped a dozen screws into a small paper bag. He didn’t reply immediately, as if trying to decide how much he should say. Finally he shrugged. “I’d like to build your hotel.”

“In your dreams.”

Hardy raised his gaze slowly and met Witt’s angry stare. “Exactly. In my dreams.” Then he went back to counting another dozen screws.

Witt didn’t like being ignored. And he didn’t like being made to feel as if he was behaving badly. Hardy’s calm just annoyed him more. “You have some nerve, boy.”

“I’m not a boy anymore, Witt. Maybe you’d better keep that in mind.”

“Oh, I do keep that in mind, just like I keep it in mind that my daughter would be a woman now—but for you.”

Hardy dumped more screws into the bag, then folded the top of it carefully. Only then did he look at Witt.

“Yes, she would,” he said quietly. Brushing past Witt, he headed for the checkout.

Leaving Witt feeling like an angry ass. What had he expected? That they were going to duke it out in the aisle?

Still disgruntled, he went to get the epoxy he’d come for. Fact was, he’d been gnawing on his anger like an old bone since he’d learned that Hardy had bid on the hotel. It was an anger he never entirely got over, but it had been a long time since it had been this fresh and hot. Mostly, he kept it buried as long as Hardy Wingate stayed out of his way.

But Hardy had just gotten very much in his way, and his anger was like the volcano was erupting again, consuming him with its red-hot heat. After all these years, it was unresolved.

Nobody had paid for Karen’s death except him. The drunk driver hadn’t even lived long enough to be arrested. And Hardy…Hardy, who hadn’t taken good care of Karen, who’d been indirectly responsible for her death, was still walking around whole and healthy.

That stuck in Witt’s craw like a boulder.

Out on the street, with his bag of screws in his hand, Hardy hurried away from the hardware store. He should never have let Joni tempt him with the prospect of building that hotel. All he’d managed to do was push Witt to the brink again.

He didn’t want to do that. And it struck him that he must have been harboring some kind of hope that Witt would get over his bitterness or he never would have placed that bid. Stupid fool. After twelve years, Witt wasn’t likely to change his mind about anything.

Trying to sidestep a dark feeling that was threatening to overwhelm him, he forced himself to consider why it was he cared about Witt’s opinion. The man had never liked him. Never. So why should it matter so much that he was angry with Hardy?

Because, Hardy realized with a sense of shock that seemed to rock him to his very soul, he was never going to be able to forgive himself unless Witt forgave him. Christ.

“Hardy?”

He looked up and saw Joni hurrying toward him down the snow-packed sidewalk. Instinctively, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Witt wasn’t standing in front of the hardware store watching. He wasn’t.

“Are you crazy?” he asked Joni. Reaching for her arm, he urged her a little way down a side street in case Witt emerged from the store. “Your uncle’s in the hardware store.”

“Oh.” She looked up at him, blinking those huge blue eyes of hers, making him wonder if something about her was going to remain eternally a child. Because right now… He shook his head. Joni was no child, and he wasn’t going to patronize her by thinking of her as one.

“He’s hopping mad about that bid of mine,” Hardy told her. “He was trying awful hard to pick a fight with me.”

“I’m sorry.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that she invariably apologized too late. She always had. Joni had always been inclined to follow her impulses and to regret many of them later. But he bit back the criticism and said only, “That’s okay. I should have known better than to bid.” Then he summoned a wry smile. “Sometimes this town just isn’t big enough for both Witt and me.”

He’d hoped to get a flicker of a smile in return, but all he got was a sigh. She kicked the toe of her boot against the snowbank beside the walk and finally looked up at him again. “It was stupid,” she said. “My mother figured it out.”

“Figured out that you gave me the request package?”

“Yes. She asked me why I’d done it.”

“And?”

Another sigh. “And all those good reasons I had just kind of evaporated. I couldn’t even remember them. I just know this situation isn’t right.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t remember the reasons you gave me, either.” He was actually beginning to feel some sympathy for her. “I do remember that your intentions were good.”

“The road to hell and all that.” She looked so downcast. “Well, I just wanted you to know that my mom figured it out, so it probably won’t be long before Witt does, as well. I guess that won’t make any difference in how they feel about you. But it’s going to make my life miserable for a while. Which I guess I deserve.”

There was a small coffee shop down the street, a place frequented mostly by some old hippies who had migrated here to live a more rural life and spent small fortunes on organic foods. The café was part of the Earth Mother Co-op, but anyone could shop there. He took her hand.

“Let’s go get something hot to drink. That wind is cutting right through my jacket.” Mainly because he’d been in a hurry and had grabbed the nearest jacket at hand, one that was better suited to the fall than the winter around here. He hadn’t planned on standing outside having a conversation.

“Okay,” she said. The circles that moved through the Earth Mother Co-op and the circles in which Witt moved almost never intersected. Small town or not, there were a few social boundaries over which gossip seldom passed. Witt would never hear about the two of them having coffee.

The co-op was warm, heated by a Franklin stove that was always well fueled. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet, and the aromas of grains stocked in open barrels filled the air, along with the delicious scent of fresh coffee and baked goods.

“Man,” Hardy remarked, “I’m going to have to buy a loaf of bread.”

Joni was apparently of like mind. She ordered a cinnamon roll with her coffee.

“Have you ever noticed,” Hardy asked, “that many of life’s most important conversations take place over food?”

Some of the sadness lifted from her eyes. “It’s true. Mom and I always have our conversations over coffee or dinner.”

“Yeah. Seems more sociable, somehow.” But his mind wasn’t really on the coffee the waiter put in front of him, or on the aroma of Joni’s cinnamon roll.

“Okay,” he said after a few moments. “If Witt asks me if you gave me the bid package, I’ll tell him no.”

“You don’t have to lie for me.”

“No, I don’t. But I will. There’s no point in having that ugliness fall on your head. I’m a grown man. I didn’t have to bid.”

“No,” Joni said firmly. “I’ll take my licks. I deserve them.”

“You don’t want this kind of trouble with your uncle.”

“Why not? Maybe it’ll clear the air.”

Hardy shook his head. “Nothing’s going to clear the air, not after all this time.”