Secret Billionaire Returns on Christmas novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Nobody Rents to a Thief

The deputy walks them off the land and the whole town shuts its doors, until Hazel's truck pulls up with a key.

We got as far as the porch steps before the headlights came up the drive.

A county cruiser rolled to a stop beside our rental, and its light bar threw red across the snow.

A deputy climbed out slowly, hitching up his belt.

He was Lacey's cousin, and he had her same smile.

"Evening, Caleb," he said. "Heard you were trespassing."

"We were invited to dinner," I said.

"Not what Mr. Reichert tells me."

Behind us, the front door opened a crack.

Dale stood in the gap with a toothpick in his mouth, enjoying the show.

"Just making sure they find the road," Dale said. "Merry Christmas, little brother."

Caleb didn't answer him.

He took my elbow, very gently, and walked me to the car.

I wanted to turn around and say every word I knew.

The deputy followed our taillights all the way down the hill.

He stayed on our bumper through town.

Harlow Creek had one main street, and every window on it was lit with paper stars.

A banner over the square read, "Basket Night, Christmas Eve, Methodist Church."

Caleb drove with both hands tight on the wheel.

"The motel," he said. "They have a vacancy sign."

The motel had a neon sign, a plastic reindeer and a man behind the desk with a cardigan and a crossword.

He looked up, saw Caleb, and put the pen down.

"Full," he said.

"Your sign says vacancy."

"Sign's broken."

"It's lit," I said.

"Broken lit," the man said. "Dale Reichert called an hour ago. Told me you'd be coming through."

An hour ago.

Dale had called ahead before we even parked in the driveway.

That meant the whole supper had been a stage, and we had walked onto it in our good boots.

I put my palm flat on the counter.

"I'm a nurse," I said. "I work twelve-hour shifts in an emergency room. I have held men's hands while they died."

"Ma'am..."

"I'm telling you this so you understand I know exactly how small this is."

He went red to the collar and looked back at his crossword.

We tried the diner next.

The woman behind the counter flipped her sign to CLOSED as we pulled in, with a plate of pie still on the counter.

We tried the gas station.

We tried a bed-and-breakfast with a wreath on the door, and the light upstairs went off while we stood on the porch.

By ten o'clock the snow had thickened and the rental's heater smelled like burned dust.

Caleb parked beside the frozen creek at the edge of town and turned the engine off.

For a long time neither of us spoke.

"You could have said it," I said at last.

"Said what?"

"One sentence. 'I own a company worth four billion dollars.' Frank would have dropped his fork."

"Nina."

"Your mother hugged you and he said her name, and she sat down."

My voice cracked on the last word.

"I watched her sit down, Caleb."

He rubbed his face with both hands.

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because if I say it, they'll love the money." He looked out at the dark ice. "And I'll never know if they'd have loved me."

That was the plan, the one he'd explained over wine in our Denver kitchen.

It had sounded romantic then.

In a freezing car beside a creek, it sounded like a man standing in front of a closed door with the key in his pocket.

"Twelve years you've waited," I said.

"Yes."

"And they spent four minutes proving you were right to be scared."

He laughed once, very short, with no joy in it.

"You didn't have to give him your money."

"It was two hundred and twelve dollars. I've spent more on ugly shoes."

"He burned it."

"Then I'm going to make him eat his own words, in front of everybody, with a spoon."

Caleb turned toward me.

In the dashboard light, the white scar through his eyebrow looked like a crack in glass.

"You are the best thing I have ever done," he said hoarsely.

"Obviously."

He pulled me across the console, and I went with all the anger I had left.

His mouth was cold and then it wasn't.

Someone knocked on the window.

We both jumped.

A truck with one working headlight sat nose to nose with our rental, and a small figure in a church cardigan stood at the glass.

Hazel Reichert held out a brass key on a loop of string.

"It's not much," she said. "But it's warm."

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