Page 26 of Christmas at the Ranch
“Beatrix has skied in Jackson Hole before, she knows the terrain well. And she’s an excellent skier.” Drew leaned against the bench. “She competed in the Junior Olympics.”
Samantha wondered if there was anything Beatrix wasn’t good at. She probably trained as a Cordon Bleu Chef and held an advanced degree in calligraphy or linguistics.
“I haven’t skied since a field trip in high school,” Samantha said. “It was a disaster. First, the bus broke down and we had to carry our skis the last half mile to the mountain. Then, it started snowing and our teacher made everyone come inside and sit in the lodgeand play cards. I don’t blame her now,” Samantha said with a smile. “Who wants to chaperone a bunch of teenagers on a ski slope when you can sit by the fire and drink hot chocolate instead?”
“I’m not much of a night skier.” Drew shrugged. He shuffled his feet. “To be honest, I’m happy to have time to think.”
“What do you mean?” Samantha inquired.
“The scene at dinner, I felt like a jerk,” Drew replied. “I accepted my father’s gift when there may not even be a wedding. But I could hardly turn it down in front of his friends. And I didn’t want to upset Beatrix.”
“No, I suppose you couldn’t,” Samantha agreed.
“I wish Beatrix and I had a chance to talk first.” Drew rubbed his gloved hands. “I’ve never seen my father so happy. Do you know the whole time I was growing up my father never brought women home? I always encouraged him, but he said he had me and his job. He didn’t need anything else. He’s done so much for me, I couldn’t spoil his Christmas.”
“It’s a wonderful offer,” Samantha said carefully. “Most couples would do anything for a house in Connecticut.”
“It’s a beautiful house, nothing like the penthouse in Manhattan,” Drew sighed. “It’s all oak floors and comfortable furniture and walls of books. The attic has a playroom, and there’s a room off the kitchen just for wrapping paper.”
No wonder Beatrix was still wearing her diamond ring. No single girl in New York was going to turn down a three-story house in Connecticut with its own wrapping paper room.
Drew kept talking. “At the publishing house, I’d have a corner office and my own secretary. Expense account lunches with authors and agents, and book launches at trendy galleries. First, I’d be anassistant in marketing and publicity, then I’d learn production and distribution. I think I’d like marketing best; I enjoy problem solving and working on a team.”
He dug his boots into the snow. His eyes clouded over and he hunched his shoulders.
“It’s perfect unless what you want is to live in a tent in a Thai village,” he continued. “In Thailand, I never slept past dawn. Some child always poked his head in to see if I had any more chocolate bars. And when I finished laying the foundation of the school, my hands were so caked in dirt, I couldn’t see my fingers. But when I washed and sat down to a plate of pork with sweet chili and soy noodles, it tasted better than any steak frites I could eat in Manhattan.”
Samantha took a deep breath. Drew had been so kind to her, she had to make him see the bright side.
“Beatrix’s new company sounds really impressive,” she said tentatively. “She could do a lot of good. And you could help schools in Manhattan. So many of them have no funding for libraries.”
“Beatrix already has investors begging to see her prospectus,” Drew acknowledged. “And I know all about the literacy problem at local schools. But it’s just not where my passion is,” he said. “My dream has always been to bring learning to children who’ve never seen the inside of a classroom.”
Samantha understood. It was as if someone told her she had to write books about vampires instead of Sloane Parker books. There was nothing wrong with vampire books, she enjoyed reading them. But Sloane Parker was her passion.
She was about to answer when there was a popping sound. Big fizzy loops turned the sky pink and green, and shafts of gold slicedacross the snow. Samantha craned her neck to see the silver pinwheels and the balls of bright orange diamonds. Suddenly one of the fireworks faltered and came tumbling down. She felt someone tugging her, and fell against Drew’s chest.
“Are you all right?” Drew asked. “That firework almost landed on top of you.”
Samantha glanced down at the ground. The firework was lying on the snow, giving off a faint acrid smell.
“I’m fine,” Samantha said, realizing Drew still had his arm around her.
She hastily disentangled herself and brushed the snow from her jacket.
“That was a close one,” Drew said, and whistled.
Samantha’s hand went to the arrowhead pendant. She glanced around, wondering whether Marigold was still there. She had to tell her what happened.
“Drew, Samantha,” a female voice called.
Samantha turned; it was Beatrix. She was dressed in head-to-toe pink. Her hood was rimmed with pink faux fur. Even her skis and boots were pink.
“Skiing was amazing, it reminded me how much I love skiing in Jackson Hole. You both should have come,” Beatrix said, shaking out her hair. “I’m dying for a hot toddy. The bar at the Four Seasons is heavenly, will you join me?”
“I think I’ll go back to the ranch,” Samantha said.
“Do you want us to come with you? You had a bit of a scare,” Drew wondered. He turned to Beatrix. “Samantha almost got hit by an unexploded firework.”
