Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Hank O’Hara loved early mornings.

He’d been in construction long enough that anything past 5 a.m. was sleeping late. He liked his routine. He liked waking up to the smell of coffee as the automatic coffee maker brewed its first pot of the day. And he loved the heated floors of the cabin he’d built with his own two hands as he shuffled to the kitchen to get his day started.

His pattern rarely changed.

Hank poured his first cup of coffee and made his way back to the bathroom where he stepped into the large walk-in shower that looked out over the lake. It was frozen and covered in a fresh dusting of snow that had fallen overnight, but the snow had stopped and there was a clear view of a perfect, untouched landscape. There was a silvery sheen of light that reflected across the ice as the sun rose on the other side of the mountain. It was a priceless view, and one he treasured every morning.

He dressed in jeans and a white thermal undershirt, and then he put a thick wool flannel shirt on top of it. His laptop was open and he was already reading through emails from everyone from his foremen to his lawyers about the different properties O’Hara Construction was involved in.

He’d grown up with a hammer in his hand. His parents’ ranch was just a couple of miles down the road, and while he hadn’t loved waking up at the crack of dawn to feed animals and muck out stalls, he had loved hopping on the four-wheeler with his tool belt and mending fences or any other structure that had always seemed to need fixing.

Hank spent the next hour on the phone and sorting out meetings, and then he looked at the time. He didn’t want to be late for his meeting with Sophie Jacobs. She was skittish enough as it was, and he couldn’t say he blamed her. From her way of thinking, he was the Big Bad Wolf coming to devour poor Little Red Riding Hood.

He rinsed out his coffee cup in the sink and packed up his laptop in his leather satchel. Most of his work nowadays required technology instead of hammer and nails. But that was the price of success.

He put on his boots and slipped on his lambskin coat, and then he left through the kitchen into the heated garage where his 4X4 pickup truck sat waiting. It was a working man’s truck, with all the amenities of a luxury sedan. He spent more time in the truck than he did at home.

It took twenty minutes to drive from the land his family had owned for more than a hundred and fifty years and into town. It gave him a good chance to think about Sophie. They’d probably never said more than a few sentences to each other in the last ten years, but boy, did she make a lasting impression.

All those corkscrew curls flying wildly around a face with sharp cheekbones and a stubborn chin. She was tiny, but there was an unmistakable grit about her that made a person look twice. He’d certainly looked twice. And the second time he’d looked he’d noticed those eyes. Almost too big for her face. And the color of the aged whiskey his father kept in his office drawer that he pretended his mother didn’t know about.

He’d been looking at her ever since.

The irony was she hadn’t looked twice at him. The woman worked nonstop and had never given him more than a quick hello or a passing glance. She was solely focused on making that bookstore something of her own. And she had. But sometimes, no matter how hard a person worked, things came against them that were out of their control.

Now he could only pray that she actually showed up for the meeting.

He sighed and shifted in his seat as he turned into the parking lot of the newest condos he’d been building. They were posh and expensive and had gorgeous views from every window. They were half done and the goal was to be open by late summer. Almost every unit had already been sold. No, Laurel Valley was no longer the sleepy, hidden town it had once been. The population was growing and they had no choice but to let it.

His office was set up on the ground floor of the condos for now, but instead of going inside he walked to the crosswalk and then across the street toward the large Christmas tree. Downtown was different this early in the morning. Most of the shops and the ice-skating rink didn’t open until ten, so there was only a scattering of people out and about.

He looked across all the faces, but Sophie was nowhere to be seen. He checked his phone again and saw it was still another ten minutes before he’d told her to arrive. A lack of confidence had never been one of his weaknesses. But he was starting to second-guess himself and thinking he might have handled it all wrong with Sophie. That stubborn tilt to her chin was there for a reason.

On the opposite side of the rink was a small outdoor restaurant that was open only during the tourist seasons. There were tables with red umbrellas in the summer, and in the winter there were heaters that sat between the tables. They only served breakfast and lunch, and the hostess beamed at him as he approached.

“What’s up, Hank?” she asked. “We don’t usually see you for breakfast.”

“Hey, Tessa. Got a meeting,” he said, returning her grin. “How’s school going?”

She rolled her eyes and said, “I can’t wait until this semester is done. Organic chemistry is killing me.”

“You and Mac still studying together?” Hank asked. Mac was his cousin’s daughter.

“Whenever we get a chance,” she said. “But Mac’s graduating next week. I’ve still got another year to go before I’m free.”

“You’re never free, kid,” he said sympathetically. “That’s the thing they never tell you.”

“Well, way to burst my bubble,” she said, grabbing a couple of laminated menus.

“I’ll take that corner table over there,” he said.

“Got it,” she said. “You want some privacy.”

“You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, kid.”

“That’s not what my organic chemistry professor told me last week,” she said glumly.

“Keep your chin up. Everyone struggles with that class. If I recall, even my brother wondered if he was going to pass.”

“Dr. O’Hara?” she asked. “Really?”

In truth, Hank had no idea if Colt had struggled in any of his classes. But Tessa’s expression had been so forlorn he would have said almost anything to cheer her up.

“Yep,” he said. “Just keep doing your best and don’t give up. Maybe you’ll be surprised by the outcome.”

“Thanks, Hank,” she said.

He took a seat on the opposite side of the table so he had the widest view of both streets on either side of The Lampstand. The last time he’d talked to his mother she’d mentioned that Sophie was living in the house she’d grown up in over on Winter Street, which was only a couple of blocks from downtown, so she probably walked to the bookstore every day.

The waitress came by and he ordered coffee, feeling the anticipation in his stomach he always felt when he wanted to close a deal. But there was something more too. And he could admit he was nervous. He had to do this right because this was going to be a turning point for him and Sophie. His gut was never wrong about these things. And the last thing he wanted was for her to despise him.

He resisted the urge to check the time again, instead sitting back and people-watching like he hadn’t a care in the world. And then as if he’d conjured her there, Sophie was making her way toward the table. She was already taking off a pair of green gloves and then she pulled off the matching hat she wore, unleashing the mass of curls from beneath it. His stomach did a slow flip at the sight of her hair, seemingly electric and with a life of its own.

He was feeling rather warm himself under the heaters and stood up to greet her as she approached. His mouth quirked as she sized him up, and he wondered if she was going to turn and walk away. But then that stubborn chin tilted and her mind was made up.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “I didn’t know if you would.”

“My mother seemed to think it was a good idea,” she said, still studying him.

His lips twitched. “But not you?”

“The jury’s still out,” she said, taking off her jacket and hanging it on the back of her chair before she sat down.

Hank sat back across from her.

“Why?” she asked, looking him dead in the eye.

She didn’t have to elaborate. He knew exactly what she was talking about. And he appreciated her directness.

“Because you need me,” he said simply.

Her mouth dropped open in shock and she sputtered. “I don’t need you. I don’t even know you. What are you talking about?”

The waitress chose that moment to bring their coffee and the basket of pastries he’d ordered, and he watched as Sophie’s temper worked up into an impressive head of steam. But he had to appreciate how she kept it under a tight rein.

“What can I get y’all for breakfast?” the waitress asked.

Hank didn’t know the waitress, but she was young, probably around the same age as Tessa. And she was looking back and forth between them, waiting for someone to answer.

“Eggs and bacon for me,” Hank said. “Scrambled.”

“I’m fine with coffee,” Sophie said.

“Sure,” the girl said, and went on to the next table.

“Now you listen to me,” Sophie said, leaning forward, her elbows propped on the table. “I’m doing just fine. The business is doing fine.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie, Sophie,” Hank said. “You’re one inspector’s visit away from being shut down. Nothing in that building is up to code, and it would cost you a fortune to rewire and fix the plumbing, not to mention putting in an HVAC and sprinkler system. You’ve been operating on borrowed time.”

“I’ve been saving up,” she insisted. “I was told I had until January. Stupid city and changing codes. My family has owned and operated that bookstore for more than sixty years, and all of a sudden the new city council decides it doesn’t fit in with the posh resort town. They’d kick someone to the curb who’s spent their whole life working and living here.”

She never raised her voice or made a scene, but there were several people looking in their direction.

“The city council, the inspector, the fire marshal and anyone else involved with getting things done in this city give me headaches on a regular basis,” he said. “I know the problems. I’ve looked at the reports from your building. I’m trying to help you.”

“Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.”

“I’ve known you your whole life,” he said exasperated.

“You’ve known my name. You’ve known the gossip about my father. You’ve known whatever your brother told you. But you don’t know me .”

He could see the tears prick in her eyes, but she held them back. He knew she was hurting. Knew she’d been under the weight of holding things together for probably most of her life. And what she said was true. He did know the gossip and the stories. And he didn’t know her. Not on that level. Not yet.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “But I’ll tell you what I do know, even though every time I’ve tried to talk to you for the past decade you pretend like I don’t even exist.”

She sputtered again, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “That’s ridiculous. We’ve never had more than a few ‘hellos’ over the last decade. Why would we have anything more to say to each other?”

“You figure it out,” he said, meeting her gaze head-on and quirking a brow.

It took a few seconds for the meaning of his words to penetrate, and her mouth snapped shut in surprise.

Hank nodded and said, “Good, now we’re on the same page. But we’ll deal with that later. Let’s talk about the bookstore first. Your love life second.”

She was still frozen in shock, but he figured she was listening.

“I want to help you because you’ve spent your whole life working and living here,” he said. “Haven’t you figured it out? You’re one of us. And we take care of our own. If we don’t do something about the bookstore they’re going to shut it down. There’s no way around it. I know it’s been in your family a long time. But it’s more cost effective to bring it to the ground and start over. And it’s better business for you to move the bookstore onto Main Street where the majority of foot traffic is. It’s a win-win situation.”

The color had drained out of her face, and there was an anger in her that he realized was coming from somewhere deep. Not just an anger. But pain too.

“I’m one of you?” she asked. Her voice was quiet and level, despite the emotion swirling in her eyes. “We take care of our own? Are you serious? I’ve never felt like one of you. Like I belong here. Do you think I felt like one of you when my father drank himself into a stupor and drove off the mountain? Thank God he didn’t take anyone else with him or I could’ve carried that around for the rest of my life too.

“Do you think people don’t look at my family and immediately think of him?” she asked. “About the years of gossip about his drinking. How he’d stumble into school functions with whiskey on his breath. How he’d spend more time at Duffey’s than at home, and Duffey would have to make him go home to my mother? About how he’d pass out in the front yard?”

Her voice was so soft the words barely carried between them, but each word struck him like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus.

“Do you think we ever felt like one of you? You wouldn’t have the first clue about how I’ve lived life here. There was no life insurance. No money. My mother worked at the bookstore, keeping it going, and then left there to wait tables at night so we could sometimes pay bills. We took charity from the church—clothes for school and winter coats and backpacks.

“And when working at the bookstore and waiting tables wasn’t enough, my mother cleaned houses on the weekends. I think she cleaned houses for your family if I remember right.”

Hank didn’t flinch, but he wanted to.

“So, no. In our experience, this town doesn’t look after their own. And I don’t need anyone to start now.”

She scooted her chair back from the table and put on her coat, though she left it unzipped and just shoved her hat and gloves in the pockets.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said. “I’ve got to get to work.”

Hank sat and finished his coffee for a good twenty minutes after she’d left, thinking of what Sophie had said. Had he really been so oblivious to the pain she’d been carrying around inside?

Truth be told, he never thought of her father when he thought of Sophie. He’d forgotten all about Mitch Jacobs even being related to her. He’d been the town drunk. A wastrel, his mother had called him. He didn’t think anyone had really connected him to Maggie Jacobs and her girls. Mitch was rarely ever seen with his family.

And the night Mitch had driven off the mountain, Hank had been away at college. By the time he’d come home for spring break the gossip had mostly died down and it had been mentioned as an afterthought. But obviously it wasn’t an afterthought to Sophie. She was still living it, as if it had just happened, and the pain was still very real.

He took enough cash out of his wallet to cover the bill and the tip, and then he put it under the edge of the plate so it wouldn’t blow away. He knew what he needed to do, even though she’d probably already gotten a dozen phone calls telling her about his breakfast meeting.

He needed to go see his mother.