Mark Blakefield
sat behind the desk in his office. He
listened to the head writer’s description of his New
England trip. “Found the
Green Mountain Inn on our last day.
Place is perfect for a feature in Good Travelin’. Owned by a single mom with one child. Inn ’s been
in her family for generations. An inn
for all seasons. Fabulous food. Scenic vistas. Skiing, leaf peeping, lake with boats,
fishing, walking and riding trails. Look
at the photos and let me know. Be glad
to return.” He grinned. “Owner’s easy on the eyes.”
Mark accepted the stack of
photos. Why Jonas insisted on using a
camera when digital ones were so available Mark would never know. “What did your wife say?”
The older man winked. “She laughed and liked the idea.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “The pair of you matchmaking again?”
Jonas shrugged. “She thought you’d like the lady.”
“I’ll let you know if the inn will
work.”
“See you.” Jonas turned and strode away.
Mark looked at each snapshot. The leaves on a hillside had just begun to
change color. Another showed a lake
shimmering in the sunlight. He put down
several of the large inn. Others showed
a garden near a two-story house and several cottages. A boy about nine or ten mugged for the
camera. He stared at the next one where
a woman stood with the blond boy. His
jaw clenched.
“Damn her.” What was Christa Parsons doing at this
inn? Mark opened his laptop and started
a search for directions to this inn. Was
the woman Christa? Could he be
mistaken? Had he forgotten what she
looked like? Not possible. He printed the directions. With the photo of the boy and the printout in
one hand and his laptop in the other he strode to the door. He stopped at his secretary’s desk. “I’ll be out of town for several days, maybe
a week.”
“Where should I say you are?”
“Just a phone or an email away.”
He didn’t wait for the elevator but
took the stairs to the basement parking garage.
Traffic was a nightmare with honking horns, squealing brakes and raised
fists. When he reached his condo he felt
as though he’d won a war. He dashed
inside and packed. He zapped a frozen
burger and stopped in the living room to remove a picture from the photo album
on the coffee table.
He stared at the two pictures. Had to be.
Why hadn’t she told him? He
intended to learn the answer to that and a dozen other questions. He tucked the picture in his shirt pocket,
grabbed his jacket, a six pack and a tin of cookies. Outside he loaded everything in the trunk of
his silver sports car. He slid behind
the wheel. Christa Parsons had some
explaining to do.
Though eight PM was a bit late to
start the trip, a touch of anger and impatience to know why spurred him
on. The need for action was too strong
to allow him to sit and brood.
Why hadn’t she called him? Why had she vanished without a word? For ten years her disappearance had puzzled
him. Had the fault been his?
His thoughts turned to those days of
falling in love. Hadn’t taken long and
that was a Blakefield tradition. Love
came fast and hard. The long weekend of
mind-blowing sex remained vivid. There
had been more than the physical attraction.
They had so many likes and dislikes in common. The ending had been done with a clever, abrupt
and brutal.
She’d run to her dorm for an
hour. As he was leaving to pick her up
for dinner, Tony had returned from the beach and Matt had called with
news. Mark had shouted he was in love. He’d handed Tony the phone and dashed to her
almost-deserted dorm. She hadn’t been
there and the two people he’d encountered had never heard of Christa Parsons.
He revved the engine and backed into
the street. Jonas had discovered the
where but the why remained unexplained.
He frowned. When had Christa
Parsons become Christa Sommers? Had she
married? Jonas had called her a single
mother. Was there an ex lingering about? Mark couldn’t imagine any man letting Christa
go.
At midnight he found a motel, slept
until six, ate breakfast and was on the road by eight. After grabbing a burger and fries at a fast
food place, he pulled into the parking lot of the rustic Green Mountain
Inn. The two-story building had a large
screened porch. Two wings spread from
the central portion. The number of cars
in the parking lot brought a moment of concern.
Were there any rooms available?
He shrugged. Didn’t matter. If not here, he would find somewhere and
haunt the inn until he knew all. As he
left the car he paused and surveyed the scene.
The hills blazed with colors.
Scarlet, orange and yellow were framed against a background of dark
green.
Though he wasn’t amused Mark
grinned. Christa Parsons, here I come
with questions. I hope you have good
reasons for your actions.
Along with his anger he felt a
pulsing need. Those four days had been
filled with fabulous sex, laughter and a sharing of dreams. Before he left the inn he would know what
went wrong and why she had hidden his son from him.
He dropped the keys in the pocket of
his black leather jacket and strode toward the entrance. A door opened. Two young women stepped onto the porch. Tight jeans and skinny tops and boots. Both carried jackets. As they approached he noticed a resemblance
to Christa. Their hair was a darker
brown and lacked the strands of gold he remembered. Their features weren’t as refined. Sisters or cousins? He paused at the foot of the steps and waited
for them to pass. Their voices reached
him.
“I don’t understand why Christa said
no.”
“If we keep on her she’ll change her
mind.” The taller of the two
halted. “Always works.”
“It has to. I’ll go buggy if I have to hang here much
longer.” The second young woman’s shrill
voice made Mark wince. “How can she say
we have no share in the inn? Daddy was
the owner. Mom said so. That makes us owners as much as she is.”
“She has to give us the money. I’m tired of being an underpaid servant.”
Mark stepped aside to let them
past. So, all wasn’t well in Christa’s
world.
The taller young woman nodded. “I’m not waiting ‘til ski season for some
action.”
The second groaned. “At least the place jumps then.”
“Not if she sells.”
“We won’t let her.” She reached the bottom step, saw Mark and
smiled. “Well, hello.”
“Do we know you?” the taller one asked. “You look sort of familiar. Are you staying?”
“Depends.” He brushed past them. He knew the type and he didn’t want what they
offered.
Just inside the door he stopped
short. Though her back was to him he had
found Christa. A battle raged in his
thoughts between anger and desire. His
heart raced. His hands clenched. Memories of love-making arose and were
countered by his knowledge of the sun she’d hidden from him. His gaze roamed from her neck down her back.
She turned. Her breasts seemed fuller than he
remembered. He recalled how they’d
responded to his touch. He fought an
urge to lunge across the counter and kiss her until she cried for him to come
in her.
Mark stepped to the counter. “Hello Christa Parsons.”
“It’s Sommers.” She grasped the edge. “What do you want?” Her voice trembled.
He caught a hint of fear in her blue
eyes. “You have something of mine.”
“What are you talking about?”
He smiled. She knows.
The tension in her voice and the whiteness of her knuckles showed her
awareness of his reason for his presence.
“A boy. A bit older than
nine. Blond hair, green eyes.” He pulled the photos from his pocket and
slapped them on the counter. “Our
son. Yours truly at that age. They could be twins.”
“Mark, go away.”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“How did you learn?”
Though her face had blanched she
didn’t back away. “A colleague and his
wife stayed here. He liked the inn, the
food and the view. He took
pictures. One happened to be of you and
the other of my son.”
“What do you plan?”
The tears forming in her eyes almost
made him walk away. He couldn’t. He had a son.
“For starters, get acquainted.
I’m not sure what else.” He
opened his wallet and slid a credit card from a slot. “I want a room. Not sure how long I’ll stay. Start with a week. I’ll get my bags.” He turned to leave and nearly collided with
the young women he’d seen outside. He
arched a brow. “Ladies, curiosity could
get you in trouble.”
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