1
The little bright orange warning light on the dashboard seemed to mock Hunter Cavendish; a final nail in the coffin, so to speak.As if this day could get any worse. He gripped the steering wheel tightly.Don’t break down, for God’s sake, just let me get there soonandin one piece.
Hunter repeated the mantra in his head and then snorted—this was the one and only time in recent memory he could rememberwantingto get to Cavendish Crossing. He just hoped the Jeep would hold out for the last few miles. He knew enough to know the little blinking symbol meant the car was overheating, but he didn’t have any spare water for the radiator, assuming it was empty, and if it wasn’t and the problem was a leak, he had no idea what he’d do. He wished he knew more about cars, but mechanics wasn’t his thing.
His thoughts swirled with the list of things that could go wrong if the Jeep finally decided to give up the ghost. What was the worst thing that could happen? The motor would just cease running and he’d coast to a stop on the side of the road? Or maybe the whole engine would blow up. He hoped not; the Jeep was nearly ten years old, but it went well, and he loved the old thing—bought with the proceeds of his first job. Hunter crossed his fingers as he kept one eye on the road and the other on the display. Luckily the interior heating was still working, and everythingsoundedokay. He huffed out a laugh. He could just imagine telling his dad that he kept driving because the carsoundedokay—his dad with his small fleet of cars that were no doubt serviced to a military schedule.
The Jeep rounded the corner of the mountain road, and Cavendish Crossing, in all its glory, came into view. Hunter’s breath caught. No matter what his personal thoughts about the town, or more precisely its people, he couldn’t deny its beauty. Tall forests of pine trees had lined the road on the last part of the trip, but as he’d come over the last rise, he saw a sprawling mix of A-frames and homes built from wood and stone with gabled roofs. As he neared, he noticed new buildings constructed of steel and huge glass panes. Progress. Things hadn’t stayed still in his absence, and he wondered what else had changed.
Hunter hadn’t been back to Cavendish Crossing for four years. In fact, if he had his way, he’d never come back to this town. But after successfully managing to avoid his mother’s pleas in recent years, he’d finally succumbed. It was hard to come up with a good enough reason to keep him away from his grandparents’ golden wedding anniversary. And God help the fallout if he simply hadn’t shown up as he’d been wont to do.
Hunter adjusted in his seat, rolling his shoulders to help rid them of kinks. After nearly five hours in the car, he needed to get out and stretch properly, but it was a two-edged sword. Reaching town without breaking down and getting out of the cramped car would mean he’d arrived at his destination. He sighed and resigned himself to the next two weeks.
No going back now.
Cavendish Crossing was a small town about thirty minutes’ drive from the nearest Lake Tahoe resort town. It always amazed people when Hunter told them that his parents had a vacation house in Cavendish Crossing—despite their last name, which gave a big hint as to why—and not in some swanky resort village. But Hunter’s family had been some of the original inhabitants of Cavendish Crossing, helping to establish the town and living there for multiple generations. Hunter’s great-grandfather, Gerald Cavendish, had owned multiple businesses in the area, employing many of the people who lived there. He had become a powerful and wealthy man, controlling much of the town. He passed the business on to his son, Gerald Junior, who was now the patriarch of the family. Hunter supposed that half the properties in Cavendish Crossing were once owned by his family; if not by his grandfather, then by one of his other relatives. Real estate and hospitality were the main focuses of the company now. Cavendish Properties was well known in the broader Tahoe area, establishing a number of successful resorts.
Hunter’s parents no longer lived in Cavendish Crossing full-time—thankfully—having moved to Los Angeles to expand the family company across the nation. Their proximity to him meant Hunter could see them a few times a year without having to come up to the mountains. He much preferred the quick trip to LA from his home in San Francisco. But his mom and dad returned every year to stay for at least a month at what was now their vacation home. They spent time with the rest of the Cavendishes and participated in all the Christmas activities around town. Hunter always thought it strange that his parents didn’t want to vacation somewhere larger and more prestigious, somewhere with more parties and with more people to make an impression on. He could hear his father’s voice in his head.Appearances are everything, Hunter.Or they could even stay and have Christmas home some years or visit one of the company’s other resorts. But his mother liked the idea of a picturesque white Christmas, and he could only assume that both his parents liked the fact they were treated like returning royalty in Cavendish Crossing.
Royalty. What a joke.
The final approach to town meant facing the music wasn’t far away. A headache nudged at Hunter’s temples, no doubt the result of the tension that had been building for weeks in the lead-up to his trip. He rolled his shoulders and straightened his back as much as he could in the confines of the vehicle in an effort to loosen up.
Please, please, please let the next two weeks be bearable.
He knew it was too much to hope for a pleasant vacation, so bearable would have to do.
Someone must have been listening to his pleas about the Jeep or luck was on his side, because he made it to the main street. By the time he pulled up outside the auto repair shop, the temperature gauge was maxing out. Unfortunately, his luck stopped there. The closed shutters didn’t bode well for getting the car fixed tonight.Fuck!
Hunter didn’t want to risk driving any farther in case the Jeep blew up or he couldn’t get it back in the morning, so he moved it into the parking lot outside the shop. He made a quick call, although just the thought of asking his father for help made his skin crawl, as did the thought of being trapped with no quick escape. After arranging for his father to come and pick him up, Hunter shrugged on a coat and gathered the things he needed immediately—his duffel and his suit bag (God help him if he forgot the suit)—unplugged his cell, and shoved it into his messenger bag alongside his laptop. Confident the Jeep would be okay overnight, he locked up and lugged his belongings across to the sidewalk, his breath clouding in front of him.
The town was quiet at this time of the late afternoon, and the weather no doubt kept most people inside. It was freezing and overcast, dusk well and truly on its way. It had been raining during the day, and the pavement was wet. The only thing keeping the town from looking bleak and unwelcoming was the twinkle of fairy lights up and down the main street. Every business had gone overboard with the holiday spirit. Windows glowed with Christmas displays; even the streetlamps were adorned with boughs of pine, giant red-and-white-striped candy canes, and sparkling red baubles.
Hunter caught a smile at his lips—the whole place looked like a postcard. He had to give the town that. For a moment, he appreciated his mom’s love of Christmas. Red, green, and silver decorations in store windows, twinkling lights reflected in the glistening surface of the street, remnants of snow piled along the sidewalk, giving that white Christmas feel.
Ice-cold water put a dampener on his happy thoughts. Literally.
“Fuck!” Hunter automatically jumped back as the water, a veritable torrent, hit him from the waist down, drenching his clothes and luggage. It immediately soaked through his jeans, icy-cold. “Fuck!” Curses tumbled from his lips as he held his belongings high. “Watch where you’re going, you idiot!” he shouted at the slowing truck.
The truck pulled over, its taillights reflecting on the wet surface of the road before the ignition was turned off and the door opened. “Sorry,” the guy called as he got out of the vehicle.
“And so you goddamned should be. Driving like a lunatic—”
“Hey, there’s no need to curse me out. It was an accident. It’s not like I intentionally— Hunter?” The guy paused as he rounded the car. “Hunter Cavendish?”
“Aaron?”Holy shit.He took a step or two back, speechless as he tried to determine if the man heading his way was an apparition, the manifestation of his fears. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach. Aaron McBride—one of the main reasons Hunter had stayed away. Six years of successfully avoiding him, four of those by avoiding the town completely, and now he’d run into Aaron within his first five minutes of being in town. What was it he’d said earlier about this day not getting any worse?
“I’m surprised to see you.” Aaron held out his hand as he approached, and Hunter automatically responded by passing his bag to his left hand so he could grasp Aaron’s hand in a firm handshake. “I didn’t expect you’d be coming. Your grandparents will be happy.”
Hunter swallowed heavily and did his best to ignore the thrill of Aaron’s warm and strong grip. He didn’t dare consider dwelling on the feelings just seeing his old friend instilled. The dread mingled with something else, something that had his chest fluttering…No.Instead, he focused on the revolting sensation of his wet, clinging jeans and his quickly numbing legs. He released Aaron’s hand and hauled his suit bag higher to keep the tail ends from dragging in a puddle. “And why the hell not? You think I’d miss the big party; a party being put on to celebrate a key milestone in my grandparents’ life?”
Aaron had the decency to look embarrassed. “Er… you haven’t been around for a while, so I thought—”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Hunter snapped. “Not anymore. So don’t presume.”
Aaron raised his hands, palms out, and took a step back. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. Anyway, I’m sorry about the water. I didn’t realize the puddle in the gutter was so deep and you were standing so close—”
“So now you’re blaming me?” Hunter’s voice rose. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t hold back where Aaron was concerned—too many memories, so much history. “I’m standing on the sidewalk, exactly where pedestrians are supposed to stand. It’s not my fault that you weren’t paying attention.”
