Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Ellie

"Come on, Brooklyn, you got this!" I cheer as one of my favorite beginners makes her second attempt at a three jump. It's only a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, but to a novice that can feel like you're trying to circle the planet.

As my seven-year-old student's skates leave the ice, her upper body rotates and darn if she doesn't nearly complete a full axel. Unfortunately, her landing isn't quite as successful. She comes down on a wobbly ankle and winds up smack on her bottom. Even though she's got to be in some pain, Brooklyn calls out, "I did it, Ellie! I really did it!" Her smile is as bright as the sun.

Skating over to her, I bend down to check out her leg. "You're a superstar, Brookie!" Her ankle doesn't look too bad, so I gingerly help her to her feet. "Come on, let's get you to the bench."

Kelly Hart, who's been watching from behind the boards, steps over a break in the barrier and hurries to Brooklyn's side. "You did a fantastic job, kiddo!" She brushes her hand over Brookie's box braids. Lifting her phone, she announces, "I got it all on video. Your mom's going to flip when she sees this. "

The little girl's look of pride makes my heart clench. Like many of my students, Brooklyn doesn't come from a well-to-do family and her lessons are being funded by Kelly and her husband Troy. "You're the best, Mrs. Hart!"

Kelly shoots her a double thumbs up before pulling me off to the side. While Brooklyn takes off her skates, my boss says, "I have a favor to ask."

"Anything for you." The Harts have singlehandedly kept me in work for the last year since my flower shop closed. They've been super flexible with my schedule too, which means the world to me as I'm my mom's primary caregiver.

Both my mom's health and her income have dwindled significantly since my dad died. As such, I try to stay on top of the upkeep and maintenance at her house. I also make sure she has food in her cupboards and drive her to her various doctor's appointments. Osteoarthritis is no joke and I'm afraid that one of these days, I'm going to have to liquidate her assets so I can afford to put her into an assisted living situation. That day appears to be coming much sooner than I would have ever thought.

Kelly interrupts my thoughts. "My brother-in-law is coming to town, and I was hoping he could stay in the cabin on your mom's property." My parents have a small cottage behind their house that they used to rent out during the summer months. Unfortunately, there have been no takers for five years. While Maple Creek is a fabulous vacation destination, these days most people want more excitement for their money. Therefore, they either stay at the Hawk River Lodge or the Regent Hotel.

"Which brother-in-law?" I demand like I'm questioning her in an espionage case. I'd be fine with any of them except for Zachary. That arrogant man makes me mad just looking at him. All six foot two, wide shouldered, chiseled jaw, and grey-green eyes that resemble a mossy pond … Where was I going with this?

Brushing a wisp of light brown hair aside, Kelly answers, "Zach. I know your mom wants a long-term renter, but I figure while she's waiting, she might as well make a few bucks. "

" Zachary Hart ?" I spit like I've just taken a bite out of a rotten apple. My expression contorts into a look of pure disgust. My inability to control my facial features is the main reason I'm such a horrible poker player. Everyone knows what kind of hand I have just by looking at me.

"You can't possibly hate him so much you'd cut off your nose to spite your face." She gives me one of her famous "talk your way out of that" looks.

I ram my hands into my pockets and turn her logic back on her. "How can I hate him when I don't even know him?"

"I know you think Zach is a stuck-up playboy with too much money and too little compassion." She knows this because I recently told her as much after watching an interview with Yolanda Simms.

"Well, isn't he?" As far as I'm concerned, people like Troy's stinky little stuck-up brat of a brother are the reason we have so many poor people in this country. Zach is a Mr. Moneybags always looking to build his own worth instead of helping others. How much money does one person need anyway?

Narrowing her eyes to half-mast, Kelly says, "He's nothing like you think he is."

"That's not what's being said on the news."

My boss's spine straightens. "Yes, well, they've got it wrong. Why would you ever believe those yellow journalists over me?"

She's got me there. Not only do I run errands for Kelly and Troy, but I've also taken on the job of their housecleaner, pet sitter, and I occasionally stay with their kids when they're out of town.

Kelly takes my silence for capitulation. "So, you'll talk to your mom about renting him the cottage?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Brooklyn tie her shoes. "I guess so, but you should know the cabin is pretty basic. I'm sure Mr. Fancy Pants will hate it."

"Zach isn't fancy."

I don't believe her for a minute and my left eyebrow arches accordingly. "How long will he be staying there? "

"About two months. He gets here on Friday."

"This Friday? As in, two days from now?" I practically shout. "I'm not sure I'll have time to get it ready by then." In a last-ditch attempt to have nothing to do with the bad boy billionaire of the Hart family, I ask, "Why doesn't he stay at Hawk River Lodge or at your house?"

"Hawk River is housing the hockey players coming to town and Zach doesn't want to be in the middle of so much action." Shrugging her shoulders, she adds, "My house isn't exactly a serene environment." Kelly's got that right. Every time I've been there, her boys are creating some kind of ruckus." With a glint in her eye, she says, "Your mom's property is perfect for his needs."

Before I can agree, Brooklyn runs over to me. "I'm going to go wait for my mom out front."

"Not without me, you're not." Before leaving, I turn back to Kelly. "Fine. I'll leave the key in the front office for him."

"You won't be sorry." She smiles endearingly.

I'm pretty sure she's wrong about that. I decide to charge Zachary Hart double the normal rate for the annoyance his presence is sure to cause me. Plus, a pain-in-the-butt tax of fifty percent. Let's see how he appreciates his peace and quiet now.

After safely delivering Brooklyn to her mother, I walk across the rink parking lot to my own car. I don't have any more lessons today, so I'll go home and let my mom know about her new tenant. I'm sure she'll be thrilled, even though I'm anything but.

My heart sinks as I climb into my sixteen-year-old Honda. Its interior is deplorable. Not only is it fading, but the seats were ripped by the previous owner's dog, and they've gotten worse since I've had it. No amount of duct tape or cheap seat covers can make it right.

Even though I'm grateful to have a mechanically reliable car, I'd really love to own something better looking. Unfortunately, all my spare cash goes to trying to keep my mom in her own home. A new car is about three thousandth on my list of things to purchase—currently smack between an on-demand hot water heater and a tropical vacation full of sandy beaches and fruity drinks sporting umbrellas.

After pulling out of the parking lot, I veer onto Maple Road—the tall evergreens and winding pavement not only relax me, but they help restore my equilibrium. The serenity of my surroundings quickly transforms my mood, and by the time I hit Maple Falls' downtown area, my red-hot anger toward Zachary Hart has been replaced by mild annoyance.

Driving by my old store front, I see that it's being turned into a frozen yogurt shop—which I predict will be a hit. I'm guessing people would rather eat froyo than buy a gorgeous bouquet to brighten their surroundings. Personally, I would want both.

Even though there aren't a lot of big business opportunities in my little town, I don't care. Maple Falls has everything I want. It's idyllically picturesque, the people are friendly, and it's home to my best childhood memories. Actually, all of my childhood memories, which makes me perfectly content to spend the rest of my life here.

Within minutes of turning left at Higgens Market, I pull into the driveway of my mom's house, and my current home. I gave up living on my own so I can be on hand whenever I'm needed. My biggest concern was Mom requiring help in the middle of the night, and my not being able to get to her fast enough.

Letting myself into the charming, if not slightly shabby sage-colored bungalow, I call out, "I'm home!"

My gaze passes through the living room toward the lift chair I recently picked up at the secondhand store. My mom is nearly standing when she sees me. Leaning forward onto the walker in front of her, she says, "You're early."

"I have some news."

I cringe as she makes the final push to her feet. I haven't seen her stand without assistance in more months than I care to remember. Looking up, she takes her first painful step. "I hope it's good news."

"Kelly found someone to rent out the cottage for two months. "

"That is wonderful!" My mom takes another slow step.

Moving toward her, I ask, "Can I help you?"

She laughs, "Not unless you want to carry me."

She's lost so much weight this year, I probably could. "I think we should consider getting you a wheelchair."

She always pooh poohs the idea, so I'm surprised when she says, "Maybe after two months of rent coming in the door, we will."

"If you need one now, Mom, we should go ahead and get it." I hate that finances are keeping her from securing the aid she needs.

"I'm not ready yet." Then in her typically positive way, she adds, "I'm going to dance with the Rockettes before I sit down for good." My parents used to ballroom dance, and they loved nothing more than to waltz around together. I loved watching them.

"You're not joining the Rockettes without me," I tease.

My mom stops her haltingly slow progress across the room. "I'm not sure the cottage is even habitable. I haven't been out there in months."

"I'm heading out back now to see what needs to be done," I tell her. I'm guessing at this point in its vacancy, the list of chores will not only be extensive, but exhausting. Maybe I should charge His Royal Moneybags three times the rent.

"Let me know if you need any help. In the meantime, I'm going to take a little nap." My mom is only in her late fifties, but being in constant pain has made her look and act much older than her years.

What's really heartbreaking is there was a time she ran circles around everyone. She was active through my entire childhood. In addition to dancing, she participated in marathons, she biked, and she even started rock climbing. Then she turned fifty and was diagnosed with a progressive form of osteoarthritis. Now she can't even walk without assistance.

In the kitchen, I gather a bucket full of cleaning supplies before unlatching the back door and heading down the path that leads to the rental unit. It's still postcard-charming from a distance, but up close is another story. Not only has the paint started to peel, but the windows are so filthy you can hardly see through them. The shrubs are overgrown, and the flower bed is full of weeds. I could work out here for a month and still not bring it back to its former glory.

As I stick my key in the door, I say a small prayer that the inside won't be as bad. The hinges creak loudly, causing a chill to shoot up my spine. But instead of turning around and running for the hills, which is what I'd like to do, I reach in and flip on the light switch. Inhaling deeply, I cross the threshold. The sheets covering the furniture are dusty, but surprisingly everything else appears to be in decent shape. No raccoons nesting in the living room, no squirrels playing canasta at the kitchen table.

From where I'm standing, I can nearly see the whole cottage. There's a tiny kitchen, a snug living room—with fireplace—and a bedroom suite. In addition, there's a small back porch that overlooks Maple Creek, which is where I learned to swim as a little girl.

Pulling out my phone, I check the Wi-Fi signal. Luckily, I can still connect to the house. I press play on my deep-cleaning playlist and let the driving rhythms of old-time rock music put me in a good mood. I even manage to forget who I'm doing all this work for.

For the briefest moment, I consider that Kelly might be right about Zach. After all, he's Troy's brother, so how bad could the guy possibly be?