A Holiday to Remember Read online

  “No problem.” Forcing his arms to loosen, he took a deep breath. “You need a handrail on these steps.”

  “The board of directors is at war with the local safety inspector on that very topic.” She hesitated, staring at the steps below them. “Historical integrity versus legal issues. We do have ramps at other doors.”

  Taking her arm, Chris started down slowly, urging her to lean against him slightly. He expected resistance, but this time she gave in without a fight.

  Once on the ground, though, she pulled free and sidestepped down the hill through the deep snow to kneel beside Haley, who was still crying.

  “Are you hurt?” Jayne took off her gloves and wiped the girl’s tear-streaked cheeks with her fingertips. “Can you stand up?”

  With her lower lip stuck out, Haley shook her head.

  “She’s such a baby.” Taryn stood to the side, arms crossed over her chest. “I barely touched her.”

  “She crashed into my head and ran over me.” Despite her “injuries,” Haley struggled to her feet. “On purpose.”

  “Did not. It was an accident.” Taryn’s voice rose in volume.

  The headmistress shuffled through churned up snow to stand between them. “The two of you need to calm down.”

  Her words went unheeded. “You liar,” Haley growled. “You said you were gonna roll over me like a bulldozer.”

  “I am not a liar.” Before the words were finished, Taryn launched herself at Haley and took her down into the snow, wrestling, punching and kicking. In an instant the rest of the girls circled around, calling encouragement to their favorite. Arguments started between opposing fans, leading to shoving and yelling. Chris headed down to break up the fight.

  The loudest whistle he’d ever heard brought him up short. Total silence followed, and total stillness. Even the wind stopped, and the birds stayed quiet as he and the girls stared at the source of that sound—Jayne Thomas herself.

  She stared at each of her students in their turn. “Inside,” she said, her voice stiff, cold, implacable. “Now.”

  Turning, she marched up the hill without looking back. A single line of girls followed in her footsteps, silently, without arguing, around the side of the manor to the door Chris had used last night to check the generator. Jayne held the door open and the girls filed in.

  “Jackets, hats, boots and gloves in the storeroom,” she ordered. “Then sit in the library, on the floor near the fire.”

  Chris came last, putting a hand on the door to allow her to go in ahead of him. “Quite a show of power, there. Why are they so afraid of you?”

  “Don’t I look scary?” She huffed a laugh as she pulled off her green wool cap, and her ponytail came loose with it. Mahogany curls fell over her shoulders and across her eyes. Pushing the hair off her face, she frowned. “Maybe I do right now. But they’re not afraid of me. Hawkridge is their last chance and they know it. They either graduate or go to jail.”

  Chris fisted his hands against the urge to help smooth her messy, shining hair. “I guess that’s not a hard choice.”

  “More so for some than others.” Still combing her fingers through the tangles, she marched toward the storeroom doorway. “Come on, girls. You don’t want this to take all day.”

  Chris stayed in the hallway for the next twenty minutes, leaning against the wall and listening to the proceedings without interrupting. Jayne delivered her lecture in a crisp voice unlike the soft drawl he’d heard so far. She talked about responsibility, self-discipline and respect for others and self, following up with expectations, goals and consequences. By the end, Chris was examining his own conscience—a rare event.

  Since first recognizing Jayne Thomas as Juliet Radcliffe, down in Ridgeville, he’d been obsessed with finding out why she’d disappeared, leaving him all these years to think she was dead. He hadn’t cared if he scared her, showing up unannounced at the school. And he’d bullied her, or tried to—she was hard to intimidate. Chris had wanted the truth and was prepared to do whatever might be required.

  Did he have the truth yet? Nothing he’d done or said so far had convinced Jayne to admit her story about growing up with her grandmother in a town across the mountains was just that—fiction. He could almost believe she didn’t remember anything at all about Ridgeville, or about him.

  So which option was worse? That she didn’t remember their time together? That she didn’t want to acknowledge a relationship with him? Or that she’d died on that long ago Christmas Eve?

  Chris was beginning to think he’d hurt less if he could go on believing Juliet was dead. The old pain was almost comfortable, compared to the idea that Juliet didn’t want him in her life. And how in the world could she simply forget their time together? Their love?

  She hadn’t forgotten; she’d put a whole set of childhood memories in place of the ones they’d made together. Her family’s house fire, for example. Where had that idea come from? Why make that choice? Why fabricate a childhood at all?

  Inside the library, Jayne issued instructions for a quiet morning—books, puzzles, solitary card games. After lunch, they’d all go out to the snow bowl, as she’d promised, if—if, she repeated—peace reigned through lunch.

  Chris straightened up from the wall, having modified his own plan for the remainder of his time at Hawkridge. Maybe Juliet didn’t want him in her life. If so, she was going to have to explain why. Maybe she didn’t remember him and Ridgeville. Maybe she’d forgotten everything between them. If so, he wanted to know what had happened to her memory. Either way, there was a mystery here begging for an explanation. As a journalist committed to probing for the truth, Chris could never let a mystery go unsolved.

  And if Jayne Thomas turned out to be just who she claimed?

  Well, then Juliet would be dead. And he’d live with the guilt, as he had been for the last twelve years.

  But he would coax a real smile onto Jayne Thomas’s full lips before he moved on.

  AFTER MODERATING a discussion among the girls on anger management techniques, Jayne decreed a quiet time for individual activities during the ninety minutes before lunch. Reading, solo work on puzzles and games, even napping were acceptable activities. Communication of any kind was not. They needed the peace as much as she did.

  Chris Hammond had vanished when she looked for him out in the hallway, which was just as well. She didn’t want to interact with him, didn’t want to be reminded of that kiss by the doors last night, or those moments this morning when he held her against him, his arms firm around her, his body like a tree trunk against which she could take shelter from the storm. She’d felt safe and cared for, guarded by his strength.

  Worst of all, his embrace, his body, had felt as familiar as her own. He smelled like…like home. And his taste—that blend of coffee with something deep and dark and intoxicating—hadn’t surprised her at all.

  He felt, smelled, tasted familiar. Damn it.

  “Ms. Thomas?”

  Jayne looked up from her mug of coffee and the book she’d pretended to read. “Yes, Taryn?”

  The girl stood beside her chair, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “I’m hungry. When is lunch?”

  A glance at her watch showed that her ninety minutes of calm had almost ended. “As soon as we get it ready.” Once on her feet, she looked around the library at the girls in their various locations. “Let’s set up a sandwich bar,” she announced, “and everyone can make their own sub, exactly the way they want it.”

  Harmony reigned during the preparations, since no one wanted to spend the afternoon in isolation. Monique volunteered to slice tomatoes and even onions, at Haley’s request, while Selena spooned ice into cups for soft drinks. In less than fifteen minutes, the kitchen counter was transformed into a delicatessen offering a wide selection of sandwich options.

  “Line up alphabetically by last name,” Jayne told the girls. “Lunch is served!”

  She rethought her instructions when she realized that alphabetical order put
Haley Farrish at the head of the line with Taryn Gage right behind her. But the girls assembled their lunches side by side without incident.

  Just to remind Jayne not to relax her guard, Yolanda began to complain. “Why am I always last?”

  Jayne stepped in behind her. “Now you’re not last. I am.”

  Yolanda rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but I still have to eat stuff that’s been picked over and everybody else has put their dirty fingers on.”

  “That’s why we have spoons,” Sarah pointed out. “And why we wash our hands before we eat.”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Yolanda said. “Talk all you want. I know what I see.”

  Taryn turned around to glare at the older girl. “Why don’t you just—”

  “What?” Yolanda stepped closer to the seventh grader. “What do you want me to do?”

  When Taryn caught sight of Jayne’s warning look and the firm shake of her head, she settled for a superior sneer. “Never mind.”

  Lunch passed quietly after that, lacking conflict but also lacking the laughter that usually enlivened time with the girls. Lacking, as well, the challenge of dealing with Chris Hammond.

  “Where’d Mr. Hammond go?” Haley looked around the kitchen, as if he were hiding somewhere, waiting to be discovered. “Doesn’t he want lunch?”

  “I don’t know,” Jayne was forced to reply. “He came inside with us.”

  “I saw him through the window a few minutes ago,” Selena volunteered. “He was walking down the driveway.”

  Jayne fought to keep her face blank. Without comment, she returned to her sandwich.

  Had he decided to leave? Without telling her or…or anyone? No one with intelligence would try to walk all the way to Ridgeville in three feet of snow. And expecting to find a ride on the road was a ridiculous idea. The plows wouldn’t reach this area for several days.

  Of course, she didn’t really know him, so she couldn’t decide what he might choose to do. Maybe he wasn’t as smart as she’d thought.

  As the girls cleaned up the kitchen, Jayne finished her coffee and tried to talk herself out of the unreasonable dismay she felt at Chris Hammond’s departure. He complicated her life, distracting her from the students for whom she was responsible. His absurd obsession with her “false” identity made him unpredictable and unreliable. She should be glad he’d left—that meant he’d decided to believe the truth and stop pestering her.

  She was glad he’d left. Her single-handed custody of these seven girls could now proceed without interference.

  With their chores done, they had gathered around her in an attitude of expectation. “Can we go to the snow bowl now, Ms. Thomas? Can we?”

  “Yes. Get dressed and we’ll hike up there.”

  With the situation restored to normal, all of them prepared to go back outside. Bundled up once more, they headed down the hallway toward the side exit as a group, the students chattering and giggling, Jayne pulling on her gloves and tugging her hat down over her ears.

  Just as Yolanda reached for the door handle, the panel swung away from her, pulled outward by an unseen hand. Several of the girls squealed in shock or fright. Jayne jumped, and her heart started racing.

  Chris Hammond stood just outside the door, holding his hat in one hand. Powdered with snow from shoulders to toes, his hair wet and tousled, he looked as if he’d fought through an avalanche to reach them. Excitement snapped and crackled in his blue eyes.

  He winked at Yolanda, now staring at him with her mouth open, nodded at Jayne, and then grinned at the entire group.

  “Who’s up for an afternoon snowball fight?”

  Chapter Five

  “I hate snow.” Jayne muttered the words to herself over and over that afternoon as she watched from the lip of the round, shallow valley, which the blizzard had coated with white icing. On one slope, four or five girls whirled down the walls of the bowl on blue disks. Snow people in various stages of construction stood sentry along the edges.

  And at the center stood Chris Hammond, defending himself against snowballs thrown from all directions. He had hiked across campus, he’d explained, as far as the school gymnasium, where he’d pulled out the sleds and snowshoes stored in the equipment room.

  The building was locked, he’d said in answer to Jayne’s query, but he’d had the foresight to take with him the ring of keys hanging in the maintenance office in the manor. As she stared at him, appalled, he’d reassured her that he’d left the building as secure as he found it. Then he gave her that heart-stopping grin.

  Now he constituted the center of battle. Girls joined the fight at different times, stayed for a while and then drifted off to some other game, only to return later and renew their attack. His dramatic reactions to hits, misses and his own missiles—lobbed rather than thrown, Jayne was certain—kept everyone laughing. He had made their afternoon at The Nest a special event.

  She wanted to laugh, to be entertained. But her feet were cold inside her fleece-lined boots, and she was sure her nose was red. Her hands were warm enough, thanks to thick sheepskin gloves and the wool coat pockets she’d tucked them into. But she was tired of standing and watching. As for joining in…not an option.

  Though she willed the time to pass more quickly, the sun clung stubbornly to the tops of the trees and the glare reflecting off the snow seared her eyes. She squeezed her lids together, letting darkness soothe the aching tissues.

  Even with her eyes closed, she saw snow. In her mind’s eye, the night sky hung over her and the wind lashed her face when branches didn’t. Black tree trunks barred her way on every side. She stumbled….

  Opening her eyes, Jayne shook her head. What was that? A scene from a movie? Or another winter, when she’d taken a walk at night in the snow…something she couldn’t remember ever having done?

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find the smallest scrap of a memory like the vision she’d just witnessed. As often happened when she tried to recall the past, she came up against a solid blank wall. No faces, no places, no events reached her from the other side. She couldn’t climb over the wall, dig under or go around.

  Tears blurred her vision, and she reluctantly dragged her hands out of her pockets so she could wipe her eyes. As her sight cleared, she saw a lone figure climbing the slope in her direction.

  “I lost,” Chris announced as he joined her on the rim. “Beaten by a bunch of girls. Good thing no one’s here as a witness.”

  “Ahem. No one?”

  Still grinning, he raised his eyebrows. “Would you rat out an old friend?”

  “Two days doesn’t make us old friends.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot—we didn’t know each other before.” He clicked his tongue. The grin had vanished. “It’s hard to ignore these pictures in my mind, though. I see you naked, asleep on a blanket in the grass just after we’ve made love. Pretty unforgettable.”

  Fear exploded in Jayne’s stomach and roiled into her chest. She closed her fingers into fists. “I don’t doubt you had that experience. I’m sure you remember someone. I,” she said carefully, holding his gaze, “am not she.”

  “Another denial. With perfect grammar, no less.” Chris noticed the sudden flush on the headmistress’s cheeks, the speedup of her puffs of breath in the frigid air. “Then what are you so afraid of?”

  Instead of answering, she stomped to the edge of the ridge. The whistle she gave was a repeat of this morning’s—loud, long and piercing, bringing the whole world, including the girls, to a complete stop.

  “Time to go,” she shouted, her hands cupped around her mouth. Then she raised her arms and motioned for them to come.

  After the long afternoon spent playing in the cold, the lack of protest from the girls wasn’t a surprise. They had to be tired. Chris knew he was exhausted and freezing. The sun dropped suddenly behind the trees, and the temperature plunged with it.

  But the level of whining on the hike back to the school shocked and irritated him.

  “My toes hurt.
” That was Haley’s complaint. During the fight this afternoon he’d managed to learn all their names.

  Beth grumbled, “I’m hungry.” Since Jayne had, with foresight, insisted on bringing water and plenty of trail mix for snacks, Chris couldn’t understand how anyone could be hungry.

  Even sunny Selena voiced a complaint. “These boots are too small.”

  “Walk slower. I can’t keep up.” As the smallest, Taryn always seemed to be lagging behind.

  “This is taking forever.” Monique had long legs and the long stride to match. “Can’t we go faster?”

  Chris set his jaw, keeping his teeth clenched against the urge to answer. Feeling Jayne’s glance, he looked over and caught her quizzical look.

  “That’s how most kids behave at the end of the day. Don’t hold it against them.”

  Yolanda piped up from behind him. “How much longer do we have to walk?”

  Ever helpful Sarah added, “Are you sure we’re not lost?” A chorus of gasps greeted the suggestion.

  Jayne stopped and turned to face them. “No, we are not lost. We’re following our own footsteps on the path out of the woods. We’ve got another ten minutes to walk before we reach the lawn.

  “You all are making a bad impression on Mr. Hammond.” She looked at each of the girls directly. “He doesn’t know what to do with a bunch of brats who only have to walk back to a reasonable shelter for the night after a day of nothing but play. Think about it.”

  Their last ten minutes passed in silence, though the girls seemed more thoughtful than mad.

  When they finally came out of the woods, though, another chorus of gasps met the sight of the manor standing in the twilight like a snow-covered castle in a fairy tale…without a single glimmer of light anywhere.

  The headmistress stopped in her tracks.

  “Not exactly the homecoming you expected,” Chris muttered.

  “Um, no. I’d forgotten for a moment.” She started hiking again, with more energy, and they were far enough ahead of the girls that her hesitation didn’t register with anyone but him. “Once we get inside and light the fire, we’ll all be fine.” She glanced back at the girls. “I think.”