Ruthless by Lisa Jackson
“You said you’d listen!”
The sound of footsteps rang through the hall. Someone had made it up to the lodge. The roads were clear! She could leave.
“Mr. Doel? Are you here? Mr. Doel?” Erik Link’s voice echoed through the corridors, and Gavin’s lips pursed.
He muttered an oath, then called over his shoulder, “In here.”
The door flew open. “I just wanted to say that the roads are clear and—” Erik’s voice fell away at the sight of Melanie, and she realized how she must look, her hair in tangles, her cheeks burning, her chin thrust forward like a recalcitrant child getting the lecture of her life. “I—uh, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” Melanie informed him. She jumped to her feet and grabbed her things. “In fact, I’d really appreciate it if you’d give me a ride back to town. My car’s dead.”
“Sure.” Erik’s gaze moved from Melanie to Gavin.
“I’ll drive you home,” Gavin said. “If the roads are passable—”
Melanie tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother you, Mr. Doel. You must have a thousand and one things to do before the resort opens.”
“That’s right, and the first one is to get you safely home.” He grabbed his keys from a hook near the door, gave Erik quick instructions about plowing the lot and keeping the lodge warm, then followed Melanie, who was walking briskly toward the back lot.
“You shouldn’t have bothered,” she shot at him when they were once again outside.
“I’d feel better about this if I made sure you were all right.”
“I can handle myself. I don’t need you bossing me around,” she flung back, wishing she could hurt him as he’d hurt her. All his horrid accusations filled her head and she ached inside. Well, she’d done her duty, told him the truth. Now she couldn’t wait to get away from him, from the lodge—from Taylor’s Crossing if she had to!
They walked to the garage, and she climbed into a huge four-wheel-drive truck and waited while he slid behind the wheel and turned the ignition. The engine caught immediately. Melanie didn’t so much as glance in his direction. But he didn’t shift out of park. Instead, he drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, jaw set, as if struggling for just the right words.
Well, she wasn’t about to help him. He’d been wretched and he deserved to squirm.
He sighed, shifting uncomfortably, and the bench seat moved beneath her. If she could only get through this....
The cab of the truck was warm, the windows fogged, and Melanie, against her best judgment, sneaked a glance his way. He was staring at her, lips tight, eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to size her up. One wayward strand of honey-blond hair fell over his forehead.
The air between them fairly crackled.
Melanie broke the silence first. “I just wish you’d remember that you trusted me once,” she said.
“That’s the problem. I remember all too well.”
“And you think I betrayed you.”
“You did.”
“Fine. Think what you want. Can we go now?”
He shoved the truck into gear and let the wheels grab. The truck lurched, and he tromped on the accelerator, plowing through the unbroken snow until he was on the path that Erik’s truck had broken through the parking lot.
The trip down the mountain took nearly an hour. Melanie turned an ostracizing shoulder to Gavin and stared out the window at the aftermath of the storm. Pine boughs drooped under a blanket of thick snow. The sky was gray, the clouds high, the air frosty and clean.
But inside the truck the atmosphere was thick. The miles rolled slowly by. At the sight of a road crew, Melanie yanked her camera out of its case and, asking Gavin to slow down, clicked off several shots of workers sawing through fallen trees and restringing electrical cable.
She didn’t say another word until he reached her house. It took all of her willpower not to throw open the door and run up the front steps.
He ground the truck to a stop. “Melanie—”
She didn’t want to hear it. Opening the door, she climbed out. “Thanks for the ride and all the hospitality,” she said, her tone scathing. “Believe me, I won’t ever forget this morning.”
And neither will I, Gavin thought as she slammed the door of the truck shut and stomped through the snow to the back door. He waited a few seconds, until he was sure she was inside, then he threw the truck in reverse.
He wanted to believe her. In his heart he desperately wished he could trust her again. But how could he? And this cock-and-bull story about the baby. . . . Why the hell would she lie? Why now? It would have been easier for her to keep quiet.
There was obviously some truth to the tale. He knew her well enough to recognize her pain. And her private agony was matched by his when he thought about a child he would never know, a child he’d helped create.
His hands gripped the wheel tightly, and an angry horn blared as the truck moved too close to the centerline. Teeth clenched, he focused on his driving, but a thousand emotions tore at his soul.
He could have been a father—the father of a seven-year-old. For God’s sake, he didn’t even know what a seven-year-old was like!
And Melanie could have been his wife—not Neil’s. If only she’d been honest with him way back when.
What kind of life could he have given her? Would he have given up his chances for glory on the Olympic team? Would he have forced Melanie and the kid to travel from one ski resort to the next while he tried to scratch out a living as a pro? Without the catapult to fame from the Olympics, would he have had the backing to race professionally, to get on his feet? Or would he have returned to Taylor’s Crossing and become a ranch hand or a logger or given lessons to children during the weekends at Ridge Resort?
But there was no baby. An unfamiliar pain, raw and cutting, seared straight to his soul. If he’d stayed in Taylor’s Crossing and married Melanie, would the child have survived? Hell, he didn’t even know why a woman miscarried, but he felt tremendous guilt that he hadn’t been around to offer support and comfort to Melanie for a child they would never share.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, driving straight to the lodge. He parked near Erik’s truck and noticed that several other vehicles had arrived. Two plows were working to clear the lot. Rich must have gotten through to the crew.
He walked into the lodge and made a beeline for the bar. Ignoring the looks cast his way by some of the workers, he grabbed a bottle of Scotch, twisted open the cap and took a long swig right from the bottle. It burned like hell.
“What’s eatin’ you?” his father asked. He glanced up, and in the mirror over the bar he saw Jim Doel’s florid, lined face, an older version of his own.
“You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
Gavin shook his head and took another tug on the bottle. His father approached and, laying an arm over Gavin’s shoulders, said, “I don’t know what you’re fightin’, son, but believe me, this—” he touched the bottle with his free hand “—isn’t gonna help.”
“Nothing will,” Gavin agreed.
“It’s that Walker woman again, isn’t it?” his father guessed. “Don’t you know it’s time you got her out of your blood once and for all?”
“I wish I could,” Gavin admitted. “But I don’t think it’s possible.”
“Anything’s possible.”
“What I don’t need right now is a lecture,” Gavin grumbled.
“No. What you need is another woman.”
Scenes of lovemaking filled Gavin’s mind. He remembered Melanie snuggled tight against him, her hair brushing his bare skin. “I don’t think another woman’s the answer.”
“’Course it is,” his father countered. “I know that model has called you.”
“Not interested.”
“Well, maybe you should be.” His father’s eyes met his in the glass. “There’s no reason for this girl to tear you apart.”
&nbs
* * *
“So the lost lamb has found her way back to the field,” Guy remarked when Melanie shoved open the door and walked briskly past his desk.
Melanie, in no mood for humor, replied, “Since when was I a lamb?”
Guy held up his hands in surrender. “Only a figure of speech.”
She unwrapped her scarf, shrugged out of her coat and hung them both in the employee closet. “Was I the only one who didn’t make it in?”
“Are you kidding? The county was literally shut down. Constance and Molly were both out yesterday.” He retrieved Melanie’s Garfield mug from her desk, rinsed it out and poured her a cup of fresh coffee. “Even Brian’s place lost power for a few hours. He came in late yesterday, and boy, was he fit to be tied.”
“So things were just like usual,” Melanie remarked.
Guy grinned. “I guess. Anyway, he’s on a real kick to sell more papers.”
“What’s new?”
“Yeah,” Guy muttered, fidgeting with his watch and avoiding her eyes. “But this is different. I don’t know what happened, but my guess is he got the word from the powers that be to increase circulation or—” Guy rotated his palms to the ceiling “—sayonara!”
At that moment Brian Michaels himself burst into the newsroom. His face was flushed from the cold, and he saw Melanie instantly. “So you’re back,” he said, yanking off his gloves and hanging his hat in the closet near the front door. “Good. We’ve got work to do. Come into my office.”
“Be right there.” Melanie grabbed a notebook from the top of her desk and, ignoring Guy’s worried glance, followed Brian into his private office. “Now listen,” Brian said before she’d even had a chance to sit down, “I’m serious about the rumors about the lodge being in financial trouble. I want to know all about it. You were up there—what’s going on?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Because of the storm, they’re hoping to open early.”
“That’s it?” he asked skeptically.
“That’s it.” She eased into one of the uncomfortable chairs near his desk.
Brian’s brow furrowed, and he reached into his top drawer for a stress ball. “No sign of any financial difficulty?”
“None. They were expecting delivery of the supplies and equipment as soon as the roads were clear.”
“You wouldn’t keep anything from me, would you, Melanie?”
“No.”
“But if you thought I was prying into someone’s personal life, especially if that person happened to be someone you cared about, you wouldn’t give up private information easily.”
She felt heat climb up her back. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
“Not even if it was news?”
“No.”
Squeezing the ball harder, he continued. “This job’s important to me, Melanie. We owe it to our readers to report the truth, no matter how ... uncomfortable . . . it might be.”
“I didn’t see anything at the lodge. As a matter of fact, I’ve been there when Rich Johanson has been paying bills.” She leaned across his desk as he lit his cigarette and snapped his lighter closed. “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. The lodge looks solid as a rock. And if they can open earlier than planned, I would think there’s a better chance than ever that they’ll make it work.”
“How long were you at the lodge?”
“Less than twenty-four hours,” she said uneasily. “I got there just before the storm hit.”
“Who else was there?”
“Just Gavin Doel.”
“Just Doel?” One sharp eyebrow arched. “How was that?”
“Cold,” she lied. “The lodge lost power.”
“And phone lines?”
“They were down—at least for a while in the middle of the night.”
“So what did you and Doel do all that time?” he asked.
Was he suggesting something? She couldn’t be sure. With effort she kept her voice steady. “We tried to keep the pipes from freezing, attempted to start the backup generator ... that sort of thing.”
“And in all that time Doel never once said anything that might indicate that things weren’t running smoothly at the lodge?”
“Well, he wasn’t too pleased about the lack of electricity.”
“I mean financially.”
“No.” She leaned back in her chair. “What’s this all about?”
“Just a rumor I heard.”
“From whom?”
He grinned. “You know I won’t reveal my sources.”
“Well, I think your sources are yanking your chain.”
“But you won’t mind checking into it when you’re back up at the lodge doing whatever it is you do there.”
Melanie’s temper snapped. “Of course I’ll mind!” she said, standing and glaring down at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I can’t go creeping around spying on Gavin and Rich, and I wouldn’t even if I could. I don’t know why it is that all of a sudden you want to do some big smear campaign against Ridge Lodge, but I won’t be a part of it!”
“This isn’t a smear campaign. Think of it as investigative journalism.”
Melanie’s sound of disgust eloquently voiced her feelings.
“You don’t have a choice,” Brian added calmly.
“Of course I do. . . .”
But his meaning was clear, and his face had hardened. “Not if you want to keep your job. Let’s be straight with each other. Circulation hasn’t picked up and I’ve got to make some cuts in expenses around here. I’m going to trim some people from the staff.”
“Are you saying you’re going to fire me?”
“Not yet, but I expect you to be a team player. Now, why don’t you upload the shots you’ve already taken up there, then go up with Jan and find out what’s going on at the lodge?”
His intercom buzzed, and Melanie walked out of the office. She couldn’t afford to lose this job, not yet. She still had debts to pay off from her father’s illness and the addition to her house. But she’d be damned if she was going to help Brian ruin Ridge Lodge or Gavin Doel.
* * *
Brian watched as Melanie marched stiffly back to her desk and pulled out the connecting wires for her camera. Something had happened to her while she was up at the lodge, and his reporter’s instincts told him she’d gotten herself mixed up with Doel.
Now that was interesting. Gavin Doel, internationally famous athlete, involved with a local woman?
For the first time all week, Brian smiled to himself. Maybe he was going for the wrong angle on Doel. Sure the man was newsworthy, but the readers just might be more interested in his love life than his lodge.
And Melanie Walker was beautiful as well as spirited. Exactly what was going on?
Jan had mentioned that Doel and Melanie had known each other way back when. Brian wondered just how well.
It wouldn’t take much to find out. He had microfiche and old newspapers that went clear back to the fifties. There was also a town library filled with high school yearbooks and a lot of people who had lived here all their lives.
Surely someone would remember if Gavin and Melanie were involved before. Maybe it was nothing, just a passing friendship—or maybe not even that. But Brian wasn’t convinced.
No, there was a spark that leaped to life in Melanie’s eyes every time Doel’s name was mentioned. He could see through her feigned nonchalance. And she’d been defensive as hell.
Oh, yes, it was time to do some checking on Gavin Doel. And this time, he’d put Jan on the story. Jan didn’t have the same overrated sense of values that Melanie clung to.
In fact, he might even do some digging himself. He’d never liked Gavin Doel. Doel had once cost him his job, and from that point on, his career had gone downhill until he’d landed in this two-bit town. Well, maybe now Gavin Doel was his ticket out.
The guy had everything, Brian thought jealously.
It was too bad about Melanie. Brian liked her. She worked hard, was nice to look at and was smart. Except when it came to Gavin Doel. Yep, it was too bad about Melanie. Brian felt an abnormal twinge of conscience and hoped she didn’t get hurt—at least, not too badly.
But if she did, it was her fault. She was better off without an arrogant bastard like Gavin Doel. The sooner she knew it, the better for everyone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Melanie returned to Ridge Lodge, determined that the next story in the Tribune would reflect the excitement of reopening the resort.
As she parked in the lot, she realized that the story would nearly write itself—if Jan would let it.
Ridge Lodge was frenetic.
Delivery trucks brought skis, boots, fashion skiwear, food, snacks, light fixtures, paper products, tourist information, utensils, medical supplies, souvenirs and on and on.
The ski patrol had already started checking the runs, and an area had been cleared near the Nugget Rope Tow for the ski school to meet, Chairs and gondolas moved up the hill as the newly named lifts became operational. Grooming machines chugged up the snow-covered slopes, while snowplows kept the parking lot clear.
A rainbow of triangular flags snapped in the wind, and the snow continued to fall, bringing with it hopes for a long and prosperous season.
Inside, the lodge was hectic. Employees manned the phones as the resort geared up for an early season. Others were briefed on the way the lodge worked, dishes were stacked, beds were made in the rooms, the bar was stocked and a new sound system was turned on.
Melanie smiled as she saw her sepia-toned pictures hanging near mining equipment, adding to the Gold Rush atmosphere of the lobby.
In the huge stone fireplace a fire crackled and burned invitingly. Workers arranged furniture in the bar and lobby, and the Oriental rug where she and Gavin had made love was still stretched across the floor. A pang of regret tore through her.
Her smile disappeared. Hadn’t she learned anything? Chiding herself for being a fool, she pulled out her camera and made her way past the bustling workers.
“Well, how do you like this?” Jan asked, breezing in the front door and stamping the snow from her boots.