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  She’d made the comment a month away from their fifth wedding anniversary. He’d opened her early gift to him, a beautiful shaker gift box containing an itinerary for three weeks of European travel. “I appreciate the idea, Liz, but I can’t be away from work this long.”

  After some discussion, she’d stormed from the room mumbling the clichéd saying.

  At the time, he hadn’t understood how she failed to realize why work commitments mattered and forced him to say no. Early in their relationship, he’d explained how badly he needed to prove himself as a success apart from his father’s reputation and wealth. Upon her death, he’d remembered the incident and squirmed with embarrassment over his actions, like he did right now.

  Was he trying to buy happiness?

  Patrick flung open the door and jumped into the SUV’s passenger seat, still tugging on his Northface jacket. “Sorry. Couldn’t find my coat.”

  “If you hung things up like Helen suggested, you’d find it next time.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Patrick rolled his eyes and Duncan suppressed a grin. “How far away is this fishing store?”

  “They call them bait and tackle shops.” Duncan threw the car into reverse. “About ten minutes.”

  They drove in comfortable silence along Lake Shore Road. Yesterday’s inch of snowfall left a thin layer of bright white outlining the naked branches. Though pretty, they also seemed empty and cold.

  Just like his marriage. Losing his wife had made him address the dark place in his heart, a place he’d clung to most of his life. A few years of dating since then, he’d come to one conclusion—love wasn’t worth the trouble and he made a horrible husband. Yet, running into Sophie upon his return to Northbridge had shaken his invisible barrier and made him reconsider an emotion he’d become convinced didn’t fit into his life.

  “Bet Casey likes it here.” Patrick stared out the passenger window.

  “I hope so.”

  Duncan wished his daughter could enjoy their new home, but she’d returned to college the day after Thanksgiving. Casey’s final words were, “I’ll see the house at Christmas.” Her tone had roared with negativity, his daughter never one to hide her real feelings. Gaining lost ground with her after years of neglect as a parent seemed insurmountable. They were alike. Both driven toward what they wanted and both difficult to stop when headed down a path. Neither paid any attention to how their stubbornness impacted others.

  How many times had he done the same thing to his wife, ruining her chances for a life of happiness? A stone lump formed in his throat. He swallowed hard, but the sadness didn’t dislodge. The firm hand of regret pressed to his chest and he rode out the guilt.

  “Do you miss your sister?”

  Patrick shrugged. “Yes and no. Our guy time is fun.”

  “I think so too.” At least one kid didn’t hate him.

  The trip continued in silence until Duncan turned into a parking lot. Gravel crunched beneath the car’s tires. He’d hoped to find Sophie’s Subaru there but only saw a truck and Ford Taurus with a rusty fender. Still, she could be here. The adolescent anxiousness that had seized him so long ago returned. The confident aloofness he’d fine-tuned for years, one that attracted many women, was lost in her presence.

  They stepped out of the car and Duncan studied the red-clapboard building. “Pretty much the same as it was years ago.”

  The exterior of the multi-room shop had weathered slightly over the years with only two obvious additions: A sign plastered on the side of the building reading “Parking for Bullshead Bait n’ Tackle Patrons Only. Violators will be towed,” and a large storage shed at the end of the lot.

  Duncan opened a screen door then pushed open a solid wood one, triggering the tinkle of a bell. A slight musty odor rushed at him, knocking him back to his teenage years, kicking off a remembrance of all the times he’d entered this place.

  A voice behind a curtained doorway yelled, “Be right with you.”

  “Thanks.”

  So much had changed, yet so much remained the same. He and his son wandered the front room, still housing regular fishing gear. Pictures of customers with their catches from the lake were nailed in every possible spot, many taken decades ago. A large, square, glass-encased counter in the store’s center space held pricey equipment.

  Patrick pointed up. “Can I get one of those?” The planked ceiling rafters held a line-up of poles.

  “They’re for spin fishing.” Duncan motioned to a wide doorway leading to a second room. “Let’s look in there, the fly fishing area, where we’ll find most of what we’re looking for.”

  They entered the area. Old pine paneling against the far wall had been replaced since Duncan last saw it with stark white walls holding shelves stacked with boxes of waders.

  He went to a floor display of fly rods, pointed upward at attention like soldiers in a small army. “Here. This is what we want.”

  In the far corner, a new Aquafina and Coke machine replaced the old white soda refrigerator where he’d first seen Sophie. An unexpected gust of disappointment swept by him, the newer refrigeration having stolen a piece of his past.

  “Good afternoon.” Mr. Moore headed toward them, older but still recognizable. He still had a full head of hair, now silvery-white and neatly brushed back on the sides. “Can I help you folks?”

  “Yes. We’re here to get my son outfitted for fly fishing this spring.”

  A teenage boy Duncan recognized followed behind the older man. In a split second, he realized they’d met when he helped Sophie with the vandalized boats.

  The teenager studied Patrick. “Hey. Aren’t you the new kid in my pre-calculus class?”

  “Yeah. I’m Patrick.”

  “Cool. I’m Matt.” He pointed a finger at Duncan. “I know you. You’re the guy who helped me and my mom with our kayaks.”

  “I did. Any more problems with them?”

  “Nah. Mom thinks some kids were messing around.” His attention returned to Patrick. “Are you the one Coach Saunders said was joining the basketball team?”

  “Guess so. I’ll be at practice tomorrow.”

  “Cool.” Matt bobbed his head and shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans. “You fish?”

  “My dad wants to teach me.”

  “Come on.” Matt motioned with a hand wave. “Come see the rod and reel I use. It’s in the office.” The boys headed off.

  “Mr. Moore, I’m Duncan Jamieson.” He extended a hand. “My father and I used to visit your shop a long time ago. Around nineteen eighty. My dad’s family owned a house on the lake.”

  “Welcome back. Call me Alan.”

  Duncan noted the difference between the shop owner’s faded red plaid flannel shirt as compared to the fleece pullover Duncan wore from the Orvis catalog, one he’d hoped would make him blend with the locals.

  “Is Sophie here?” Duncan tried not to sound eager.

  “Not today. She only helps every so often during peak season.” Alan picked up a reel someone had left out and motioned for Duncan to follow him toward the glass case.

  Duncan hid his disappointment but saw an opportunity too. Right after the public hearing, Sophie remarked how he’d never understand why the land meant something to her. She’d avoided his question when he asked her in his office too.

  “The day I helped your daughter with the kayaks, I was quite surprised to run into her. I remembered her from our visits years ago. She even interviewed me for the paper. When the idea for a development in this area popped into my head, I never dreamed I’d open up such a can of worms—no fishing pun intended.”

  Alan formed a noncommittal smile. “Change is hard for people. Some of us enjoy the area as is.”

  “Then you don’t support the development either?”

  The barrel-chested man stroked the fleshy area underneath his chin. “It’s not that simple.”

  “I understand Sophie and her brother have an interest in the
property.”

  “We all have ties. My family used to own the land.”

  “Really? I thought the Tates had always been there.”

  “Nope. My great-granddad first settled that land. Used to raise cattle. The title transferred to Ehren Tate when my great-uncle Levi lost the land to him in a poker bet.”

  “A poker bet? Must’ve been a great hand.”

  “Story goes he held a full house—three aces and two kings. After pushing what little cash he had left on the table, he—quite literally—bet the ranch. Unfortunately for my family, Ehren held a royal flush. My uncle will be forever known in the Moore family history as Levi the Loser.” Alan grinned behind tired eyes then shifted to a serious tone. “Land’s pretty special to us, though. There’s a small cemetery there where many of my ancestors are buried.”

  Regret pounded, unexpected and hard. A winery could sprout anywhere. The land of this family’s forefathers was another matter. “Guess I can see why you’d want it back.”

  Alan shrugged. “Can’t change the past.”

  “Guess those family ties explain why Sophie wants this land so badly.”

  The older man’s gaze dropped to the floor but, before it did, a deeper pain flashed. The bell over the door sounded and they both looked over.

  “Hey, Jay.” Alan seemed eager to end the topic.

  A younger, thinner version of Alan Moore scuffed toward them and gave Duncan an evil-eyed onceover. Duncan recognized Jay’s friend, who had a full round face and closely shaved scalp—the polar opposite of Jay—as the videographer filming the public hearing.

  “This is Bart Sweeny and my son, Jay. Boys, meet Duncan Jamieson.” Alan motioned with his hand.

  Bart reached out and politely shook hands, but Jay stared with a hard glare. “Yup. Recognize him from the paper.”

  Duncan offered a firm hand to Jay, who shook with a grip stiff as a tree limb. “Glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard you were interested in the Tate property too.” Big game hunter, aiming straight for the elephant in the room should work with this guy.

  Jay shifted his shoulders and his broad chest seemed to expand as he jerked back his hand. “I still am. If I recall, zoning hasn’t passed the changes you requested yet.”

  Mr. Moore threw a calm-down glance at his son, who ignored him and studied Duncan, poised for a challenge.

  “The zoning board’s exploration is something I support.” Duncan chose his words with care. “My company wouldn’t want to do anything to destroy the beauty around here. Were you at the hearing?”

  Jay wet his lower lip. “I was out of town.”

  “When we made the offer, we knew others were interested but we were told nothing had been signed. I didn’t know it was your family. Sometimes this happens in our business.”

  Jay’s jaw stiffened. “Knowing you didn’t intentionally shaft me doesn’t help. Anyway, may the best man win.” He glanced at his dad. “We’ll be in back working.”

  Jay nodded at Duncan, but a thickness heavier than a humid Mississippi day still lingered between them.

  Aim, shoot, miss. Was Duncan losing his touch?

  The two men left, disappearing through a doorway against the back wall.

  Alan Moore rubbed the side of his neck. “Sorry. The purchase meant a lot to him.” He frowned and averted his stare to a spot on the old hardwood floors.

  A hard reality smacked Duncan in the forehead. He’d never once thought about those who he’d outbid in his dealings or the people opposed to his projects, not on a personal level, anyway.

  “No, Alan. I’m sorry.”

  How many other times had he stolen someone’s dream and plowed ahead oblivious?

  Chapter 12

  On her way out of the church’s kitchen, Sophie smiled as she passed a poster hanging off the door. Beneath a landscape of fresh fallen snow set against a cloudless, sapphire sky, it read, “A snowflake is one of God’s most fragile creations, but look what they can do when they stick together.”

  The sentiment summed up her love for those in her community. Especially the special folks who attended the Northbridge Methodist Church, the place she’d been baptized and had worshiped her entire life.

  She returned to the large gathering room and dumped a few more pine branches on top of the table where Bernadette stood cutting wire. “I’ll bet we can get two swags out of this.”

  Since childhood, Sophie had loved the church’s annual Christmas ritual called “Hanging of the Greens.” Rooted in the English tradition of decorating homes for the Christmas season, their normally austere Protestant church came to life with a little help from Mother Nature.

  Sophie grabbed a branch and inhaled the resinous aroma, certain it ranked amongst life’s most precious scents.

  Bernadette twisted wire around two branches. “I made turkey chili for the potluck supper. What’d you bring?”

  She looked up and before she could answer, her heart stalled. A lean teenage boy with dark hair strolled into the room with a girl his age who attended the church. It took a mere micro-second for her brain to register he was the boyfriend of the teen, not Henry. The look-alike moment, which happened on occasion, crushed her between wishes and reality.

  “Baked macaroni and cheese.” She dared to take a closer look at the boy, whose similarities ended with the basics.

  She shook off the sad moment by concentrating on a lineup of pastoral photos on the wall next to them. The pictures started with the Reverend Daniel Dobbins in 1886 and ended with their current pastor, Reverend Felton, better known to Sophie as Bernadette’s husband Dave, who wove through tables toward them while munching on a cookie.

  She elbowed Bernadette. “Here comes your hubby.”

  Dave’s warm brown eyes, round face, and sweet smile provided a perfect exterior for a minister, his appearance merely the icing to a much deeper soul, one which never failed to connect with their entire congregation.

  “Don’t you love this smell?” He brushed a crumb from his lip.

  “One of my favorites.” Sophie nodded and tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear.

  He studied her face. “Doing okay?”

  Dave had a sixth sense for honing in on quiet distress, one of his strengths, and his concern made her tense shoulders relax. “Better than ever.”

  He popped the last bite of cookie into his mouth. “Your nana’s shortbread recipe adds pounds to my waistline every Christmas.”

  “Those are for dessert. Your position here doesn’t give you special eating privileges.”

  “Says you.” He arched a brow then moved to Bernadette, wrapping a loving arm around her waist. “Nice work, sweetie.”

  The first time she and Mike had double-dated with Bernadette and Dave, early in their relationship, the transition from “Reverend Dave” to “Person Dave” made Sophie feel awkward. Especially when he’d shown up to dinner in jeans and a sweater, like he wore this afternoon.

  At the restaurant, Dave had ordered a glass of red wine.

  “Pastors are allowed to drink?” The words had popped out of Sophie’s mouth before she could stop them.

  He’d chuckled softly. “Now we can. John Wesley’s dictate for an alcohol-free church goes back to the seventeen hundreds. But ‘the times they are a-changing.’” He’d sung the Dylan tune. “Seriously, though, nowadays responsible drinking is a personal choice amongst Methodist clergy.”

  “Interesting.” She’d nodded. “I half expected to see you wearing your clerical robe and preaching stole tonight.”

  His face had transformed with the same sly grin he displayed whenever eliciting a laugh from the congregation during a sermon. “I would’ve, but they’re in the cleaners.”

  The moment defined the close friendship they now shared.

  Bernadette snipped a strand of red ribbon and offered Dave the branch clippers. “Want to help?”

  Dave reached for them but stopped as Lucy Tanner-Scott floated by thei
r table. The former Miss Connecticut top-ten finalist kept her lovely locks as bright as sunshine and her family income registered in the top one percent wealthiest year-round residents on Blue Moon Lake.

  Lucy headed a short list of single, divorced females in Sophie’s age group in Northbridge, adding to an already awkward rivalry. In eleventh grade, Mike had dumped the beauty then asked Sophie to the junior prom. Tension between their rival groups heightened. Sophie learned payback really was a bitch when four years later, Mike cheated on her with the bedazzling blonde. A one-shot deal, but a sign Sophie should have viewed as a clear warning about her life with Mike.

  Lucy’s sweet voice crooned, “Good sermon this morning, Reverend, but it got a bit long.” She flashed a toothy beam, highlighting orthodontic-perfect teeth.

  She wore snug jeans and as she paused near their table, several men standing close by discreetly glanced over. Sophie and Bernadette had shamefully admitted to each other they often found themselves checking her out too. By comparison, today they both wore faded Levis and Christmas-themed sweatshirts, kind of a homespun hotness, for men into that sort of thing.

  “Thanks for your input, Lucy. Always appreciate advice. I once heard someone say a good sermon should be like a woman’s skirt—long enough to cover the essentials and short enough to keep you interested.”

  Lucy arched a perfectly waxed eyebrow, giggled and continued to cross the room.

  Bernadette tipped her head at her husband. “Seriously, Dave?”

  “What? It’s a joke.” He shrugged, but Bernadette’s disapproving gaze didn’t budge. “Okay, wrong audience, I suppose.”

  Sophie patted Dave on the shoulder. “The joke was funny, though.”

  He sent a grateful nod her way. He reached for the clippers, but stopped and waved toward the entrance. “Oh good. I hoped he’d come.”

  Duncan stood at the doorway and skimmed the activity in the large room filled with tables, pine branches, and busy workers. His son, who Sophie had met after the school concert earlier in the week, stood at his side. Duncan spotted Dave and waved. His gaze cornered Sophie, making the pace of her heart surpass its regular trot.