Zachary's Virgin. Catherine Spencer
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schedule in the south wing,” he told McBride. “You can hold down the fort in here—always assuming you can keep your mind on the job, that is!”
“When did I ever let you down, Zach?” McBride asked mildly, not once taking his eyes off the Durocher creature.
She’d finally grown tired of trying to stare him down and Zach doubted she even noticed his departure. Unaccountably miffed, he strode to the dining room.
Flames from the big fireplace reflected on polished crystal and silver. Pyramids of napkins starched to within an inch of their lives stood to attention beside every plate. Arrangements of chrysanthemums and holly surrounded the candle centerpieces. Sterling serving dishes lined the massive rosewood sideboard he’d bought at a hotel auction. A twelve-foot Noble fir sparkling with Christmas lights stood in one of the window recesses.
Surveying the scene restored his equilibrium somewhat. It was with just such attention to luxury that he’d built Topaz Valley’s reputation. There were plenty of ski resorts which catered to a less discriminating crowd, where hamburgers and pots of chili were the order of the day and the baked goods were obtained commercially. But he’d known that if he was to persuade people to undertake the journey to this remote and beautiful place, he had to make it worth their while.
Satisfied that he was succeeding, he passed through the swing doors at the far end of the room and entered the butler’s pantry leading to the kitchen. A chalkboard propped against a cabinet showed the evening menu: crab chowder and crusty baguettes, poached pear salad, roast partridge with spiced orange salsa and wild rice, brandied mince tarts, peach compote, and a selection of imported and Canadian cheeses with fresh fruit.
As a peace offering, he’d invited Mel to join him for dinner in the dining room, but she’d insisted she wasn’t hungry. Actually, what she’d said was that she’d rather eat dirt, which amounted to the same thing, albeit in less polite terms. Pretty irate himself and feeling perfectly justified in pointing out that she had no business hobnobbing with adult guests in their private quarters, he’d made her grilled cheese sandwiches and left her to sulk at home. Pity she was missing out on her favorite crab chowder, though. Not that she’d exactly starve on grilled cheese, but still…
“Oh, what the hell!” Exasperated, he filled a bowl with soup, swiped some bread, cheese and fruit, and piled the whole lot on a tray. “If I dithered like this in business, I’d be in bankruptcy court within the year,” he muttered, heading for the door.
But parenting refused to be cut and dried. Too often, he simply didn’t know the best route to take, and as Mel grew older and less tractable, he found himself wondering if he was up to the job of bringing up a daughter single-handedly. He wasn’t exactly famous for his insight into the female psyche, after all.
It was still snowing lightly when he went outside a few minutes later, but a smattering of stars now showed through the ragged cloud cover. The air was sharp as crystal, filled with the scent of pine and fir and wood smoke, and quiet as a church.
He paused a moment at the top of the main lodge steps, just to inhale the fragrant peace. This was what he’d worked for, for the last twelve years and he was nuts to let anything spoil the pleasure of his achievement. The holidays were almost here, more than thirty feet of snow had fallen already, and it would take a lot more than a spat over a temporary guest to come between him and his daughter and spoil their Christmas together.
The easiest route to the house was by the path which was always kept plowed for the convenience of visitors, but for anyone familiar with the lay of the land, the fastest way was to hike through the trees and come out on the other side of the property near the hot tub.
Rapping on the family room window as he passed by, he called out, “It’s only me, honey.”
“How come you’re back so soon?” Mel asked, letting him in the side door. “I thought you were staying at the lodge for dinner.”
“I brought you a few treats,” he said, setting the tray on the kitchen table.
“No, thanks.” Barely glancing at it, she returned to the couch and plunked herself back in front of the TV. “I already had some.”
“I hardly call grilled cheese sandwiches special,” he said, determined not to let the rift widen between them. “Come on, Mel, at least look at what I’ve brought for you.”
“Honestly, Dad, I’m not hungry.” She indicated the crumbs left on the plate beside her. “Claire already brought me some snacks from the cocktail party.”
“Why did she feel the need to do that?” he asked evenly.
“She felt sorry for me being left up here all by myself. She doesn’t think I have enough fun.”
“Is that a fact?” he said, wondering how high a man’s blood pressure could go before he fell victim to a sudden stroke or heart attack. “And does she also think you’re half-starved? Is that why she brought you extra food?”
Mel shrugged. “I dunno. She didn’t give a reason.”
Not to you, perhaps, he fumed, but she’ll damned well explain herself to me! Aloud, he said, “I thought we had a rule, Mel. You don’t open the door to strangers.”
“She’s not a stranger, she’s my friend.”
“You can’t possibly know that on such short acquaintance.”
His daughter might still have the face of a child but the eyes she turned his way were full of mysterious female wisdom. “Time doesn’t have anything to do with it, Dad. Sometimes, two people just click.”
Oh, brother! Helplessly, he ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll talk about this in the morning. Right now, I want your word that you’re not going to open that door to anyone else tonight. I won’t be late and I’ll let myself in when I come home.”
She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you want me in bed by nine, as well?”
“Keep up the smart mouth, miss, and you’ll be in bed by eight!”
Sudden tears glittered in her eyes and her chin trembled uncontrollably. “On the other hand,” he went on, utterly defeated, “it is Christmas and I did say you could stay up until ten. Just don’t push your luck, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
He buried a sigh and tramping back the way he’d come, wondered if any other word in the English language was calculated to melt a man’s heart the way “daddy” did. He’d walk through fire for his little girl; slay dragons, battle monsters and lay down his life for her, if he had to. What he wouldn’t do, though, was stand aside and let the busy-body from next door march in and take over.
“One moment, Miss Durocher,” he said, coming into the lounge and cornering her as the rest of the guests began drifting toward the dining room. “I’ve got something I’d like to say to you.”
“Really?” she said, in the sort of surprised tone that suggested she didn’t think him capable of stringing together more than two words at a stretch.
Somehow, up close, her jumpsuit didn’t seem quite as daring. Just very…attractive. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Specifically, I want to know on whose authority you decided to take a hand in my daughter’s upbringing.”
She had quite the most extraordinary eyes he’d ever come across. Large and gray, and enhanced by lashes that were almost certainly not her own, they dominated her delicate face. They focused on him now with the intent curiosity of a scientist inspecting a new, rather low form of alien life. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“Then let me be more direct. Butt out of my business, particularly as it relates to Melanie.”
She blinked, doing a slow-motion sweep with those ridiculous lashes in such a way that she managed to turn a perfectly ordinary action into something absurdly distracting. “Is this because I invited her to visit me in my chalet, or because I thought to share a few of my excellent