The Wrong Man Read online

  Both men concentrated on their food. Finally Chad sat back, patting his stomach in satisfaction. “Bet you can’t get anything like that in Billings.”

  Trent smiled. “There’s no Weezer there, that’s for sure.”

  His friend leaned forward, elbows on the table, his expression serious. “Have you seen her yet?”

  “Weezer?” Trent asked, pretending to misunderstand.

  “Not Weezer. Libby.”

  The yeasty roll swelled against the walls of his stomach. He’d seen her all right. A lot of good it had done him. “Yeah.”

  “Well?” Chad inclined his head. “Are you going to tell me about it?”

  “There’s not much to tell. She’s Kylie’s teacher.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. What were the odds of that happening?”

  “So?”

  “Kylie’s crazy about her.”

  His friend fixed his dark eyes on him. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Feel any of the old vibes?”

  Oh, yeah. He’d lain awake most of last night, horny as a kid with his first girlie magazine. Remembering the lift of Libby’s breasts, the sway of her hips, the scent of her hair. And her cool good-night. “What if I did? What good would it do me?”

  Chad’s stare grew even more piercing. “You’re no quitter, Baker. If you want her, go for it.”

  “I did some unforgivable things.”

  “Twelve years ago. And if you haven’t noticed, she’s never remarried. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

  Trent scooped up the check, then rose to his feet. “We’ll see.”

  Chad stood, too, and put his arm around Trent’s shoulder. “Whatever you decide, pal, I’m with you. But if you want her, don’t wait too long.”

  Outside, they went their separate ways. Trent was halfway down the block when he stopped in his tracks, Chad’s words thundering in his brain. Don’t wait too long. Did Chad know something he didn’t?

  He straightened the brim of his ball cap. Damn. Was there someone else? That was a possibility he’d never considered. But why the hell not? Libby was a special woman—attractive, fun, compassionate. Sexy.

  His face grim, he started on down the street. He’d been a jerk before. Why should she give him the time of day now?

  Chad’s words mocked him. You’re no quitter, Baker.

  Fish-or-cut-bait time? He picked up the pace, lowering his head against the wind. There was only one choice. Go fish!

  GEORGIA WAITED impatiently in the den for Gus to finish showering and join her. She had learned the hard way that instead of forcing discussions, she had to bide her time and gauge the perfect opening. Gus worked long, hard hours and made a more than comfortable living, for which she was grateful, but sometimes he could be maddeningly dense. Like now. How could he proceed calmly through his day when Kylie had been taken from them?

  At last he appeared, pausing by the minibar. “Will you join me?” he asked, holding a glass aloft.

  “A mild one for me, please,” she said. Don’t rush him.

  “One of the gals in your tennis group called me today about a house project.”

  Small talk. So this was how it was going to be. “Oh?”

  He poured two shots of scotch in his glass, one in hers, then added soda and ice. “Lora Neff. She wants to blow out the back of her kitchen and add a family room.” He handed her the highball, then kicked back in his leather recliner. “Don’t know if I have time in the schedule for her.”

  Georgia bit back a scream and raised her glass in a toast. “Cheers, dear.”

  He reciprocated, then finally asked the question she’d been waiting for. “How was your day?”

  Usually he faked attention to her answer, bored with recitals of bridge luncheons, golf rounds and shopping excursions. “I phoned Kylie this afternoon. Honestly, you’d think Trent would have called us before now.”

  “They just moved, hon. It takes time to settle in.”

  Why did Gus always have to be so reasonable? “I know, but I was dying to hear about her first couple of days at school.”

  “So what did she say?”

  Her fingers chilled from the cold glass, Georgia set down her drink. “It’s just as I’d feared.” She paused for dramatic effect, gratified to see she had her husband’s full attention. “She’s unhappy.”

  Gus raised his eyebrows. “Could you be more specific?”

  “She doesn’t like the children in her class.”

  “She didn’t like school here, either, so that’s nothing new.” He took a quick swig of scotch. “Surely she had some good things to say.”

  “Something about a dog and a cat.” She sniffed.

  “Next thing you know, she’ll probably have an allergic reaction.”

  Gus’s face remained studiously blank. “What about where they’re living? Her teacher?”

  “Oh, Gus, can you imagine? They’re living in a log cabin. Like Laura and Mary Ingalls, Kylie said. The very idea. She likes her teacher, though, so I guess Whitefish has at least one redeeming quality.” Indignation swelled within her. “Couldn’t you have offered Trent more money to stay here?”

  Gus put his drink down on the table beside him. “I did.” He pulled the recliner lever and returned the footrest to the floor, then stood and walked over to her. “Georgia, hon, it was something Trent had to do.”

  “What? Break our hearts?” When he laid a hand on her shoulder, she turned her head aside. Did he care at all?

  “Follow his dream. Build a future for his daughter. You can’t fault him for that.”

  “But I miss her so.” She blinked furiously.

  “It’s not about you—or me,” he said, his voice husky. “We need to do our best to support them in this new venture.”

  Georgia rose to her feet, leaving her untouched drink behind. “I swear, Gus, no matter how long we’ve been married, I will never understand you.” Her voice rose. “I can’t stand it!” Then she fled the room, her throat constricting and eyes welling with unshed tears.

  LIBBY LOLLED in her desk chair and let out a relieved sigh. Another week over. Bart had gotten into a fight on the playground, Rory had yet to raise his hand to participate in discussions, and Kylie… Well, she was hard to figure. She had seemed pleased enough with their two reading sessions, but when the other kids were around, she clammed up, her body language defensive. When Trent had picked her up this afternoon, he’d told her she would be riding the school bus from now on, except for the mornings she came for extra help. Kylie had darted him a fearful look that rent Libby’s heart. Yet riding the bus might be good. Kylie would be forced to interact with the other kids.

  And Libby could avoid daily contact with Trent.

  She was loading her tote bag for the weekend, when she sensed someone at her classroom door.

  “Libby, hi.” Doug smiled at her, then hurried across the room, leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I just got in from the underwriters’ workshop in Great Falls and couldn’t wait to see you.”

  “Doug, what a surprise!” Flustered, she stood, smoothing the bib of her denim jumper. Her makeup had faded, her hair was frazzled and she wore her oldest turtleneck.

  “You look beautiful,” he said.

  She shot him an incredulous look. “More like Mary Poppins after a day from hell with the Banks children.”

  He grasped her hands. “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Put yourself down. When a man tells you you’re beautiful, believe it.”

  She looked into his eyes, which were soft with approval. To avoid the intensity of the moment, she withdrew her hands and gave a jaunty salute. “Yes, sir.”

  “I hope you’re free this weekend. I have big plans for us.”

  Her weekend agenda included cleaning her kitchen, reviewing district performance standards and making phone calls to Bart’s and Rory’s parents. About as exciting as a visit from the exterminato
r. Yet she couldn’t stifle a tic of irritation that Doug had assumed she would be available to do…whatever. “What do you have in mind?”

  “For starters, do you feel like Mexican food tonight? Afterward we could take in the high-school basketball game or go to your place and watch a video. Your choice. And tomorrow? I heard on the radio coming home that the snow at Big Mountain is great. I thought we might get in a few runs. When was the last time you went skiing?”

  “Not since before Christmas, and skiing sounds like a lot more fun than what I had in mind.” She figured she could get most of her work finished Sunday.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up for dinner at six.” He bussed her cheek again, then left.

  Mary stopped her on her way out of the building. “Could I see you a minute?”

  “Certainly.”

  Libby followed her into her office and took a seat across from the principal’s desk.

  “Do you know a Jeremy Kantor?”

  Frowning, Libby racked her brain. “Should I?”

  “Not necessarily. He’s a reporter for a national newsmagazine.”

  Libby experienced a sinking feeling. “Is this about my stepfather?” She had taken great pains to distance herself from the senator, and his office had gone along with her request to keep her out of the limelight.

  “He said he was collecting background information for a profile piece on Senator Belton and asked me to verify your employment. Since that’s a matter of public record, I could hardly refuse.”

  “Is that all he wanted?”

  “Apparently.” Mary reached across the desk and seized Libby’s hand. “You look pale. Are you all right?”

  Libby shook her head to clear the ringing in her ears. “Yes. It’s just that…my stepfather and I have never been close, and I resent his putting you in this position. Maybe it’s nothing, but I don’t have a good feeling about this.” She would have to talk with Vernon. Ask him what was going on. He had phoned her at Christmas with his usual perfunctory holiday greetings, but they spoke only rarely—and never warmly. As a child, she used to imagine how different her life would have been had her airline-pilot father survived the crash that took his life when she was an infant. But as she grew older, she came to understand that such idle speculation was an exercise in futility. What was, was. Period. Yet would her father have been there for her when her world fell apart at age eighteen? The Honorable Vernon G. Belton certainly had not.

  Mary studied her with concern. “Let me know how I can help. Or if Doug can.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but you needn’t get involved. In the future, refer Mr. Kantor to me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.” Libby rose. “Thank you.”

  “Remember, Libby, you don’t have to face anything alone. You have all of us for a family.”

  Unable to speak, Libby gave Mary a hug before dashing toward her car. No one could ask for a more loving mother-in-law than Mary.

  Mother-in-law? Where had that come from? Yet in truth, she suspected that was where her relationship with Doug was heading. After all, she’d practically told him she loved him.

  Practically. But not actually.

  SATURDAY MORNING Trent stood in the tiny kitchen of the cabin, a box of pancake mix in one hand. Hotcakes would be just the thing to fortify him and Kylie for a day on the slopes. He’d been careful to buy huckleberry syrup, Kylie’s favorite. He glanced out the window, where snow glistened in the sun like crystallized sugar.

  “Daddy?” Wearing her footed pajamas, Kylie trailed into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

  “Good morning. Ready for our big day?” He measured the flour mixture, then added the milk and two eggs.

  Kylie didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up the crocheted afghan from the arm of the living-room sofa and curled up with it. She must still be sleepy. He hummed off-key while he stirred the batter, then heated oil in the cast-iron skillet. When he poured the batter into the skillet, it made a satisfying sizzle. After flipping the pancakes, he turned around. “Kylie, would you set our places at the table? Breakfast’s almost ready.”

  She didn’t move. “I’m not hungry.”

  In his gut, a curl of suspicion grew. “Why not?”

  “I’m sick.”

  He set down the spatula and crossed to the sofa, where he knelt beside her. “What hurts?”

  “My tummy.”

  He placed a palm on her forehead. “No fever.”

  “I don’t care. I’m sick.”

  “But we’re going to have such a fun day. You’ll like skiing. Uncle Chad’s a great teacher.”

  “I’m not going.” She rubbed her hands over her stomach. “I might throw up.”

  That was not a pretty picture. Frustrated, Trent wondered how seriously he should take her complaints. He never knew when she was crying wolf. What might have upset her about skiing? “Don’t you want to learn to ski?”

  She shook her head violently.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll just look stupid. Besides, Mommy didn’t ski.”

  She was right about that. Ashley had enjoyed summer sports like golf and tennis. He racked his brain for a suitable enticement. “Miss Cameron does.”

  Kylie straightened up and searched his eyes. “How do you know?”

  Now was not the time to get into the subject of his and Libby’s prior relationship. “Didn’t you notice the ski rack on her car that night we went to her house?”

  “Oh. I guess.”

  “You’ll be missing out on the best fun if you stay home.”

  “Do you think she might be there today?”

  Trent hadn’t the slightest idea. The odds weren’t great. “I don’t know. We’ll just have to go and find out, won’t we?”

  “Uncle Chad’ll teach me?”

  “He’ll have you zipping down the beginner run in no time.”

  She laced her fingers through the yarn of the afghan. “Okay, I guess.”

  He heaved a sigh of relief and rose to his feet. “That’s my girl.”

  “Daddy, what’s that stinky smell?”

  Trent wheeled around, his eyes drawn to the smoking skillet. Crap! He could only hope blackened pancakes weren’t an omen.

  KYLIE REMAINED SILENT while her ski boots were fitted, but once she lumbered out into the snow, she grinned up at Trent and said, “I have monster feet, right?”

  Chad made her giggle with his imitation of the abominable snowman before kneeling beside her and pointing out the techniques of some of the other skiers on the bunny hill. She listened attentively, then he showed her how to sidestep to the top of the gentle slope, where he pulled her against his chest, his skis outside hers. With a “Whee!” the two of them glided down the hill.

  When they reached the bottom, Chad shot a pointed look at Trent. “Get lost, Daddy, will ya? This little snow bunny and I have a ski date.”

  “Yeah, Daddy. Go away. Then when you come back, I’ll betcha you’ll be surprised. I’m gonna ski.”

  “It’s under control,” Chad assured Trent.

  Reluctantly, Trent headed toward the chairlift. He’d hoped to teach Kylie himself, but he was glad she seemed to be bonding with Chad and that Chad had charmed her out of her fear of failure.

  The view from the lift was spectacular. The frosted peaks of Glacier Park dazzled against the cloudless blue sky and the lakes below sparkled like mirrors. Trent took a deep breath of the alpine-fresh air and relaxed against the seat back. He’d missed northwest Montana even more than he’d realized. With time, surely Kylie would come to love the place as much as he did.

  So that they could live in Whitefish for his formative years, his mother had worked a variety of jobs—Glacier Park reservations agent, school-bus driver, desk clerk and finally waitress at the Kodiak Café. It was there she and Weezer became fast friends. Trent chuckled. If one of them wasn’t making sure he toed the line, the other was. No wonder. His escapades had made them eternally vigilant.


  That’s what he wanted for Kylie—a community of people she could depend on.

  With a shudder, the chairlift passed over a support and Trent glided onto the ramp at the top of the run. Despite the sunny day and excellent snow conditions, there were few skiers on this particular section of the mountain. He pulled down his goggles, adjusting them for comfort, then planted his poles and shoved off, exhilaration fueling him with each shush of the skis. When he planted his poles at the end of the run, he couldn’t suppress a broad grin of satisfaction.

  He made an additional run, then skied back to the bottom, unwilling to impose on Chad. He unstrapped his skis, slung them over his shoulder and made his way to the bunny slope. To his amazement, Kylie was skiing all by herself, her brows knit in concentration. When she came to a stop, she looked up at Chad, and then laughed with satisfaction. “I did it, Uncle Chad, I did it!”

  Chad exchanged a high five with her. “You sure did, baby. You’re a natural.”

  Looking over Chad’s shoulder, she spotted Trent. “Daddy, Daddy! I can ski!”

  Trent approached and gave her a big hug. “I never doubted it.”

  “That’ll show that stupid Bart Ames. When can we come again?”

  “How about tomorrow?” Trent had always believed in striking while the iron was hot.

  “Yay!” Her cheeks were pink with the cold and her eyes danced.

  “Ready for some hot chocolate? That way Uncle Chad can have some time to ski himself.”

  “I love hot chocolate.”

  “Thanks, buddy.” Trent extended a hand to Chad.

  “I owe you one.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. Kylie and I had a great time, right, Picabo?”

  Kylie nodded, then confided to Trent, “He calls me that funny name—Peekaboo. That was a famous girl skier, you know.”

  Trent grinned. “So I’ve heard tell.”

  He helped her take off her skis and they walked toward the coffee shop hand in hand. They had gone only a short distance when Kylie stopped dead, shading her eyes and studying the base of an intermediate run that ended near the lodge. “Daddy, look over there. See that man kissing that lady in the red hat? I think it’s Miss Cameron.”