drunk with her oldest friend. Talking trash about the man who was such a central part in both of their lives.
Sam.
It always came down to Sam, she thought and wished to heaven she had a clear enough head to be on top of this situation. But, she thought sadly, even without a hangover, she wouldn’t be at her best facing the man who had shattered her heart.
It was still hard for her to believe that he’d come back. Even harder to know what to do about it. The safest thing, she knew, would be to keep her distance. To avoid him as much as possible and to remind herself often that no doubt he’d be leaving again. He had left, he said at the time, because he hadn’t been able to face living with the memories of Jack.
Nothing had changed.
Which meant that Sam wouldn’t stay.
And Lacy would do whatever she had to, to keep from being broken again.
“When I left,” Sam said quietly, “we had just started making changes around here.”
“Yes, I remember.” She edged farther into the office, but the room on the first floor of the Wyatt lodge was a small one and every step she took brought her closer to him. “We finished the reno to the lodge, but once that was done, we put off most of the rest. Your folks just weren’t...” Her voice trailed off.
The Wyatts hadn’t been in the mood to change anything after Jack’s death changed everything.
“Well, while I’m here, we’re going to tackle the rest of the plans.”
While he was here.
That was plain enough, Lacy thought. He was making himself perfectly clear. “You talked to your dad about this?”
“Yeah.” Sam folded his hands atop his flat abdomen and watched her. “He’s good with it so we’re going to get moving as quickly as possible.”
“On what exactly?”
“For starters,” he said, sitting forward again and picking up a single piece of paper, “we’re going to expand the snack bar at the top of the lift. I want a real restaurant up there. Something that will draw people in, make them linger for a while.”
“A restaurant.” She thought of the spot he meant and had to admit it was a good idea. Hot dogs and popcorn only appealed to so many people. “That’s a big start.”
“No point in staying small, is there?”
“I suppose not,” she said, leaning back against the wall, clutching her latte cup hard enough she was surprised she hadn’t crushed it in her fist. “What else?”
“We’ll be building more cabins,” he told her. “People like the privacy of their own space.”
“They do.”
“Glad you agree,” he said with a sharp nod.
“Is there more?” she asked.
“Plenty,” he said and waved one hand at the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down and we’ll talk about it.”
A spurt of anger shot through her. He had commandeered her office and her desk and now she was being relegated to the visitor’s chair. A subtle move for power?
Shaking her head, she dropped into the seat and looked at the man sitting opposite her. He was watching her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“We’re going to be working together on this, Lacy,” he said quietly. “I hope that’s not going to be a problem.”
“I can do my job, Sam,” she assured him.
“So can I, Lacy,” he said. “The question is, can we do the job together?”
It went wrong right from the jump. For the next hour, they butted heads continuously until Lacy had a headache the size of Idaho.
“You closed the intermediate run on the east side of the mountain,” he said, glancing up from the reports. “I want that opened up again.”
“We can’t open it until next season,” Lacy said, pausing for a sip of the latte that had gone cold over the past hour.
He dropped a pen onto the desk top. “And why’s that?”
She met his almost-accusatory stare with cool indifference. “We had a storm come through late December. Tore down a few pines and dropped a foot and a half of snow.” She crossed her legs and held her latte between her palms. “The pines are blocking the run and we can’t get a crew in there to clear it out because the snow in the pass is too deep.”
He frowned. “You waited too long to send in a crew.”
At the insinuation of incompetence in his voice, she stood up and stared down at him. “I waited until the storm passed,” she argued. “Once we got a look at the damage and I factored in the risks to the guys of clearing it, I closed that run.”
Leaning back in his chair, he met her gaze. “So you ran the rest of the season on half power.”
“We did fine,” she said tightly. “Check the numbers.”
“I have.” Almost lazily, he stood so that he loomed over her, forcing her to lift her gaze. “You didn’t do badly...”
“Thanks so much.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.
“It would have been a better season with that run open.”
“Well yeah,” she said, setting her latte cup onto her desk. “But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”
His eyes narrowed and she gave herself a mental pat on the back for that well-aimed barb. Before Sam had walked out on her and everyone else, she couldn’t remember a time when she’d lost her temper. Now that he was back, though, the anger she used to keep tamped down kept bubbling up.
“Leaving that alone for the moment,” he said, “the revenue from the snack bar isn’t as high as it used to be.”
She shrugged. This was not news to her. “Not that many people are interested in hot dogs, really. Most people go for a real lunch in town.”
“Which is why building a restaurant at the summit is important,” he said.
She hated that he was right. “I agree.”
A half smile curved his mouth briefly and her stomach gave a quick twist in response. It was involuntary, she consoled herself. Sam smiled; she quivered. Didn’t mean she had to let him know.
“If we can agree on one thing, there may be more.”
“Don’t count on it,” she warned.
He tipped his head to one side and stared at her. “I don’t remember you being so stubborn. Or having a temper.”
“I learned how to stand up for myself while you were gone, Sam,” she told him, lifting her chin to emphasize her feelings on this. “I won’t smile and nod just because Sam Wyatt says something. When I disagree, you’ll know it.”
Nodding, he said, “I think I like the new Lacy as much as I did the old one. You’re a strong woman. Always have been, whether you ever chose to show it or not.”
“No,” Lacy said softly. “You don’t get to do that, Sam. You don’t get to stand there and pretend to know me.”
“I do know you, Lacy,” he argued, coming around the desk. “We were married.”
“Were being the operative word in that sentence,” she reminded him, and took two steps back. “You don’t know me anymore. I’ve changed.”
“I can see that. But the basics are