Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ellie

I blame my sorry lack of a social life for my inability to keep my cool around Zach. Once again, I nearly drooled all over the man. It didn't hurt that he did such a great job cleaning those windows—I've always considered men doing housework highly attractive. Having said that, I don't need any more reasons to want to climb Zachary Hart like a ladder that leads to an all-you-can-eat french fry buffet.

I hurry back into the house and toss Zach's curtains into the wash before waking my mom. I bring her a bowl of her favorite oatmeal combo—steel-cut oats, flavored with peanut butter, cinnamon, and candied ginger. "Good morning," I sing as I open her blinds. "How did you sleep?"

Mom rolls over but doesn't open her eyes. Checking her pain meds, I notice the cap is ajar. She can no longer screw on lids and caps—a byproduct of her crippled joints. As such, I deduce she needed extra pain meds in the middle of the night. Being that I don't know when she took them, I can't gauge how long she'll sleep.

I write a note for her on the pad of paper she keeps by her bedside telling her that I'm leaving her breakfast in the kitchen and all she needs to do is pop it in the microwave for forty-five seconds. Then I ask her to text me when she wakes up.

I hate leaving the house while Mom's still in bed, but I'm expected over at Kelly's to fill baskets and I don't want to knock her off schedule.

Saying a silent prayer my mom gets up okay on her own, I grab my purse and head out the door. The air is cooling to the point where I now carry a sweater with me, which is no hardship. Fall is my favorite season. Colorful leaves, the bluest skies you've ever seen, and pumpkin-spice everything. Sign me up!

Zach's SUV is still next to mine, so I hurriedly get into my car. I don't need more interaction with him if I can help it. On the way to Kelly and Troy's, my mind is full of thoughts regarding my boss's insanely rich and handsome brother. Zach is nothing like I expected him to be, which I find highly disconcerting. I thought he'd be arrogant and dismissive, but he's not either of those things. In fact, he seems to want to engage with me, which is causing my blood pressure to rise at an alarming rate.

I pass Troy as I pull into the Harts' driveway. He slows down and opens the passenger-side window. "Morning, Ellie. Kelly was up most of the night with Tommy. The little booger had an upset stomach."

"Too much ice cream?" I guess.

"That might be part of it, but likely the biggest culprit is having eaten a pound of salmon all by himself. That kid has no shutoff valve when it comes to food he loves."

Zach must have brought over the salmon he bought at the store. I don't know why, but that charms and irritates me in equal measure—which appears to be my baseline feeling about the man.

"What about the older boys?" I ask. "Are they up yet?"

"Up and out," he says. "The school is hosting a pancake breakfast and there's no way they were going to miss that."

I'm not surprised to hear this, as the Hart family never seems to rest. "Okay. I'll head in and start assembling. Do you want me to take the baskets to the lodge when they're done?"

"Bring them to the arena. We're going to hand them out after we introduce everyone to the press tomorrow."

Nodding my head, I tell him, "Sounds good."

Troy and Kelly's house is everything I could dream of in a home. It's a huge two-story log house that blends into the landscape so seamlessly it looks like it grew straight out of the ground like a complicated tree. I let myself through the front door without calling out a greeting and head in the direction of the formal dining room where Kelly and I have been collecting basket items.

The baskets are dark-straw weave with a large handle over the top. I start pulling them apart and lining them across the table. Then I put in a royal blue hand towel before placing four bottles of water in the back. I roll the t-shirts next before inserting the food and additional items. Finally, I tuck in all the brochures for fun things our visitors can do in their downtime.

This really is the best time of year to visit Maple Falls. The town's population triples because of the fall festival alone. I mean, who doesn't love music, corn mazes, apple bobbing, and every caramelly treat you can imagine? My favorite is the caramel corn with macadamia nuts and pecans that Shirley May makes. Add to that our killer farmers' market that Kiki runs, and the insanely gorgeous foliage that comes with this time of year, and you can't lose.

I imagine this year's festival is going to be the biggest success ever due to all the well-known hockey players who will be temporarily calling Maple Falls their home. I start to wonder if some hottie might catch my eye, when an image of Zachary Hart pops into my head. I sternly tell myself, not him! I want to meet someone eligible—not someone who toys with women like he does.

I finish stuffing the baskets with more force than necessary. So much so, I need to reshape several cereal treats. When I'm done, I tie the blue and red ribbons Kelly and I had previously assembled onto the front of the containers.

Kelly still hasn't come down by the time I'm done, so I take out my camera and shoot an array of pictures to text to her so she knows how nicely our efforts turned out. Then I start taking trips out to my car and fill every inch of open space with hockey swag.

By the time I get to the arena, I'm full of excitement. It's going to be fun being surrounded by famous hockey players and all that entails. I imagine there will be assorted family members, although, according to Troy, only four of the guys on the team are married. The Ice Breakers primarily consist of bachelors, which has the single gals of Maple Falls chit-chatting in overdrive.

There aren't many cars here today because Troy closed the rink to prepare for tomorrow's press conference. Even though he only expects a small number to start, that's sure to grow once the games begin.

When I walk inside, I discover a crew of folks hanging Ice Breaker signs and banners. The team logo is a hockey puck with a broken ice mountain above it. It's really cool.

As I turn to go into the business office, I see Yolanda Simms. I'm about to have a serious fangirl moment and run up to her and tell her how much I love watching her on television, but decide to hold back. There's something about her that doesn't seem all that approachable.

Walking into the office, I flip on the light and proceed to scream like I'm being attacked by a pack of wolves. Zach is sitting in one of the chairs.

He leaps out of the chair before demanding, "What did you do that for?"

"What, scream?"

"Yes." He looks positively wild-eyed like I scared him as much as he scared me.

"Oh, I don't know …" I drop my purse on the desk across from him. "It might have had something to do with you sitting in a dark office like a predator ready to pounce on your prey. "

He runs his fingers through his thick brown hair before sitting back down. "I was thinking."

"In the dark?"

"Why not in the dark?" he demands. "It's more peaceful."

"What could you possibly be thinking about in the dark?" My tone indicates I'm borderline calling him a dullard, as though the man is incapable of intelligent thought.

"If you must know, I'm contemplating an investment I'm about to make."

While the answer sounds plausible, given his business acumen, something in his eyes makes me think he's lying. That's when it hits me. "You're not thinking, you're hiding from Yolanda Simms!"

The faint flush that pops up on his face confirms my suspicion. Yet even so, I'm surprised when he confesses. "So what if I am?"

Laughter booms out of me like a discharging cannon. "Zachary Hart is afraid of the woman he treated like secondhand goods."

His face contorts into an almost hostile glare. "You don't know the facts."

Shrugging, I tell him, "Since you haven't bothered to defend yourself, I just assumed Yolanda was telling the truth."

"I shouldn't have to defend myself when I didn't do anything wrong," he practically hisses.

"Staying quiet makes you look guilty."

"Pleading for my innocence would make me look guilty, too. I'm kind of in a no-win situation, Ellie."

Sitting down on the chair across from him, I ask, "Don't you have people in charge of your press? If you really were innocent, you'd think they'd be helping to make you look better."

"They're the ones who set me up with Yolanda to begin with," I tell her.

"Excuse me?"

"Yolanda and I hire the same PR firm."

My eyes narrow as I ask, "What do you need a PR firm for? "

"I don't need them often," he says, "but I keep them on retainer in case something comes up."

I cross one arm over the other like a genie preparing to grant wishes. "It's almost like you know you're going to get in trouble."

Zach rolls his eyes. "You don't get to be as successful as I am without people causing mischief. It would be stupid not to be prepared."

"And yet here you are," I say. "In trouble and no one is defending you. Like you're guilty of the charges."

Zach stands up and starts pacing back and forth across the room. Given its small dimensions, he can't gain much steam, and winds up resembling a caged tiger.

"I hope no one puts you on a jury anytime soon. You seem to have forgotten that a person is innocent until proven guilty."

He's correct. Yet if he really is innocent, you'd think he'd be shouting his virtue to the rafters. "So, you're saying that you and Yolanda only went out because your PR firm set it up."

"Yes."

"What did you both get out of it?" I want to know.

Zach inhales deeply before releasing his ragged breath. "Yolanda was going to do a flattering interview with me …"

I interrupt, "Because The Tattler called you a cheapskate."

He hesitates before agreeing. "Correct."

"What does she get?"

"Great publicity."

"How's that?"

Zach bends down and rests his elbows on his knees. "If I answer that question, you can't hold it against me."

I shrug, neither confirming nor denying my impending reaction.

"Yolanda wants her own national talk show. The network said they would consider it if she could prove she could bring in the kind of big interviews that would promise huge ratings."

His answer confuses me. "Aren't all celebrities media whores?" I elaborate by asking, "I mean, don't they go on any program that will have them?"

"Not the big names," he says. "They stay selective so that when they're interviewed, it guarantees the eyes of the world are on them."

"If that's true, then why would Yolanda go out of her way to alienate you?"

"It's impossible for me to answer that question."

Standing up from my chair, I walk to the door. With my hand on the knob, I smile brightly. "Why don't we go and ask her?"

I find Zach's look of alarm confusing. If he has nothing to hide, why not confront Yolanda and be done with it?