Love, Lust, and The Lassiters Page 2

  “Yeah, I guess.” Lilah looked at her maroon leggings and pointed the toes of the little black shoes on her feet.

  “Weren’t you looking forward to being the flower girl?”

  The girl shrugged. “Not really. You just walk down the aisle throwing these flower petals everywhere. It’s usually for much littler kids. My cousin did it once, and she was two. Plus everyone kept yelling at me that I was doing it wrong.” Her voice betrayed a hint of tears.

  “You remind me of someone,” Veronica said, drawing a new gallows.

  “Who?” she asked.

  “My little sister.”

  “Oh? What’s her name?” Lilah was interested, and sat up straighter in her seat. “How old is she?”

  “She’s twenty-three. And her name is Juliana.”

  “Does she look like me?” the girl asked.

  “Not really. She’s blonde and short. I think you’ll grow to be tall.” Veronica had a quick image of Juliana as she’d last seen her, her pretty gold hair in disarray, her face stained with tears, her hands reaching out, beseeching. She rarely cried, and Veronica, even in her anger, had felt a pang seeing her with those red eyes. She’d walked away, though, with the sound of Juliana’s sobs in the background, her mother looking on in confusion, ready to cry herself. “No, you remind me of her because you have a great deal of spunk, and individuality. I feel like protecting you, but you don’t really need me to. She was like that, too.”

  “Was? Did she die?”

  Veronica was always surprised by how much children understood. More than anyone gave them credit for. She’d picked up on the past tense that Veronica hadn’t realized she was using.

  “Oh, uh—no. She’s very much alive. She lives in Iowa. I just haven’t seen her for quite some time.”

  “Why not? Did she move far away?”

  “No. I did.” Veronica shifted in her seat and thrust out the pad. “Okay, new word. This one has six letters, three was too easy for you.”

  Lilah wasn’t finished. “Is she your only sister?”

  “Yes. Guess a letter.”

  “Do you have brothers?”

  “No. Guess a letter.”

  “A.” Veronica wrote an A in the second blank, aware of the girl’s curious eyes on her. She had no idea why she’d brought up Juliana at all, and now she wished she hadn’t.

  “I can tell you miss her,” the little girl said, and Veronica was surprised to see something like sadness on her face.

  “I wouldn’t say—well, anyway. Pick a letter.”

  “M.” The kid was on a roll. Veronica wrote it in the third blank. “You’re angry with her, aren’t you?”asked Lilah.

  That got her attention. “Angry? Why do you say that?”

  “Or she hurt your feelings. That’s the look Mom always gets when I ruin her plans, or when she needs a time-out from me. Are you taking a time-out from your sister?” A tone that compassionate from such a little girl was almost painful.

  “Yes, I’m taking time out.”

  A two-year time-out, with an option for more. No calls, no letters. Solitary confinement, because it was the way she’d chosen to handle it. Her mother she called sometimes. Mom always begged her to come home, to let bygones be bygones. Something hard inside of Veronica, some little ball of bitterness that had grown with the years, made that impossible, more so with each day that passed. She was on a little emotional ice floe that floated farther and farther away from what mattered. In fact, there was no one in Chicago who even cared that she was leaving, she thought with a little stab of loneliness. She didn’t know until much later that she was wrong.

  “Now let’s play,” Veronica said.

  Lilah guessed it in six more turns. The word was family.

  In Chicago, that very night, someone began making plans to fly to Vermont. He didn’t know anything about this particular locale, other than the fact that it was the destination of Veronica James. That was all he needed to know.

  Chapter Three

  Burlington International Airport was not as crowded as O‘Hare had been. They passed groupings of people, clustered in chairs, waiting. She spotted a traveling sports team of some sort, college kids, by the look of them, weary from the tour. They encountered a man dozing on his suitcase, and Lilah was rather shocked.

  Veronica pulled her to a nearby chair and spoke into her little face. “Listen, we’ve got to contact your dad. Then we’ll get our luggage. I have a ride meeting me here, but I won’t go anywhere until I see someone come to meet you. Okay?”

  Lilah smiled brightly. “Okay. Do you want me to dial his number?”

  “Yes, please. Here’s my phone. Do you remember how—that’s it.” Veronica slumped back in her seat, but saw that Lilah, having dialed, was handing the phone to her.

  “I’m scared to talk,” she said, her little face suddenly white. “His name’s Simon Lassiter; just ask for him.”

  “Lassiter? Not Fairchild? Never mind,” she said, listening to the rings at the other end of the line. A man’s voice answered, an attractive, familiar-sounding voice.

  “White Pine.”

  “Uh . . . oh. Is Mr. Lassiter there, please?”

  “This is Simon Lassiter.”

  “Oh, Mr. Lassiter, my name is Veronica James, and—”

  “Yes, Miss James, we’re expecting you. There should be a driver for you at the airport, you didn’t find him yet?”

  “I’m sorry?” Veronica sat up straight, confused. She was to be met at the airport, yes, but why would this girl’s father know—Oh God. She dug in her purse for the name and number of the man offering her the job. There it was, on a crumpled sheet inside her wallet. She looked at it with trembling hands. Simon Lassiter, White Pine Inn, Clearview, Vermont.

  “Oh, God,” she said into the phone.

  “Miss James, is something wrong?” he asked, concern in his voice.

  “Mr. Lassiter, I’m so sorry, I didn’t remember your name in time; I’m afraid I’m calling about a totally different matter.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He sounded as confused as she felt. She looked at Lilah’s perky face and drew courage from it. “You see, I happened to meet your daughter on the plane, and—”

  “My daughter?” His voice was louder, almost angry.

  “Yes, she gave her name as Lilah Fairchild, and—”

  “Her name is Lilah Fairchild Lassiter,” he corrected, rather unnecessarily, Veronica thought.

  “Anyway, she told me she ran away from home, and—”

  “Ran away from home?” he boomed in her ear. “How exactly did she accomplish that?”

  “My understanding is that she purchased her ticket online with her mother’s credit card and borrowed some cash from her mother’s purse, then took a cab to the airport.”

  “My God. She’s ten years old, for God’s sake!”

  “Mr. Lassiter, please, I just wanted to tell you that she confided in me, but now that I realize who you are, well, I guess we can both get in this car that’s waiting, Lilah and I, if that’s all right?”

  There was a pause. She imagined he needed some time to deal with whatever he was feeling. “Is she all right?” he finally asked, more quietly. “Was she afraid of the plane? She’s never flown before, Oh God, I can’t believe—”

  Since this was precisely what she’d wanted to hear from Lilah’s mother, she felt a stab of relief and immediate liking, and interrupted him with reassurance. “Oh, she was amazing. A real trooper. She enjoyed the flight, and she’s smiling like crazy at the thought of seeing you.”

  “Veronica?” he said.

  “Yes?” She actually blushed when he used her first name.

  “Would you put Lilah on, please?” He sounded more in control now, almost amused, if that was possible. Veronica handed the phone to his daug
hter and let them talk alone. She wandered over to the man who held the sign reading “James” and told him she’d be with him after they found their luggage. He nodded, folding away his poster, digging for his keys.

  Lilah ran to her then, and Veronica held out her arms without thinking. The girl jumped into her embrace, and they hugged like mother and child. “Daddy said he’ll be glad to see me, and we’ll sort everything out. He said he missed me,” she confided. She looked radiant with pleasure.

  “Let’s claim our luggage. We have a car waiting,” Veronica told her, holding her hand. “I must say I think he’ll be very proud of you for how brave you were, but very angry about the risks you took, and the way you must have worried your mother.”

  Lilah pouted slightly. “I know. And I’m sorry. But I’d do it again to see my dad.”

  With that, they went in search of their bags, and thirty minutes later they followed their chauffeur to the car that would lead them to the White Pine Inn and Simon Lassiter.

  * ** *

  Simon Lassiter loved Vermont. He’d been born in Illinois, gone to school there, had married there. He was a Midwestern boy from a Midwestern clan, going back before his grandfather James, who had built up the farm as a lad just off the boat in the early part of the 20th Century. Simon had roots in the Midwest, two sisters there, but when his marriage had dissolved, and he’d come to Vermont to help out a college friend with a failing enterprise known as the Clearview Motor Hotel, he’d fallen in love with Clearview, its crisp air, its friendly people, and, most unexpectedly, the challenge of creating something from scratch: transforming the dowdy Motor Hotel into the charming White Pine Inn.

  Logan March, his former roommate at good ol’ U of I, had purchased the Clearview with the idea of turning it into an upscale inn, with all the amenities that would draw vacationers from around the globe. He had some capital from his family, some from a business loan. He told Simon that he wanted him as a full partner, and almost from the first day Simon had known that he would say yes. He saw the potential in the white monstrosity set on a bluff surrounded by fragrant pines. He saw himself living there, saw his daughter coming to join him, working at the inn while she went to school, earning some extra money and learning its value in a way she never would with her indulgent mother.

  Simon’s monetary contribution to the inn had been, ironically, his large divorce settlement from his rich wife, after he’d found her cheating on him in his own home with their tax accountant. Leonard the accountant was a much better partner for Elizabeth anyway, Simon had reasoned, because he was all about money, and so was she.

  The only good thing to come out of their marriage had been a sweet little bundle named Lilah Rose Fairchild Lassiter, the one girl Simon could claim he loved unconditionally. Moving away had put a strain on his relationship with Lilah, and he regretted that, but it had been in his plan—all the while that they gutted the old inn, pounded on the elegant new white siding, refinished its hardwood floors, updated the plumbing, installed central air conditioning, worked with an interior designer, planned the seasonal rates and worked on brochures for the new business—all the while he’d pictured Lilah joining him there, when the time was right. He shot back to Chicago for brief visits, but there hadn’t been enough, he realized, in the two years he’d been away. Then Elizabeth had announced her plan to marry Kent, not Leonard after all, poor sod, and things must have been rough on his little daughter. If he knew Elizabeth, she hadn’t been finding much time to spend with their independent little girl, and Lilah had probably been whiling away the hours with her pal and Elizabeth’s maid, Bindy.

  Now, tonight of all nights, when he had a practically full inn and a job interview to conduct, his daughter turned up out of nowhere. Simon grinned as he thought about it. God, he’d missed her: her sweet little voice, her pretty face and fragrant hair, her silly jokes, her tiny body wrapped around his in an enthusiastic hug. No matter what Lilah had done, he’d already forgiven her. God knew if Elizabeth would. The call he’d made to her after Veronica had called him from the airport had been difficult. He got to hear an earful about how her wedding and honeymoon were ruined, and he’d finally managed to assure her he’d had no idea what their little adventurer had been planning. “But since she’s here, Liz, let me keep her out of your hair. I offered that once before, and now it’s reality. So enjoy your wedding, enjoy your honeymoon. We can make arrangements later for Lilah’s return. You know I’m due some time with her.”

  Elizabeth had conceded with ill grace. “Fine. She’s there, she’s there. Mother is never going to let me hear the end of this,” she said petulantly, and Simon rolled his eyes. Elizabeth’s mother was a dreadful dragon of a matriarch that ruled her family with an iron hand. It was also the hand that held the money, and Liz always feared she’d anger Mommy so much she’d be booted right out of the big, fat will.

  Now the unpleasant call was over. He could show his little girl what he’d been wanting to show her, and maybe, if everything worked out, he could ask her to stay.

  Yes, Simon thought, polishing the edge of the reservations counter with his shirt tail, why couldn’t he? The girl, Veronica James, was coming, and she was a teacher. Lilah could be home schooled for a time, right in the Inn, until she was able to enter school in the fall. She could spend time with him, and with her grandfather.

  His dad had joined him at White Pine when his mother had died a year earlier. It had been a terrible time for them all: for his dad, his two sisters, himself, and of course his mother, too young and beautiful to die, but stricken with a heart ailment that rapidly took her strength, and eventually her life. Pat Lassiter, his father, had been invaluable to them at the Inn, as Logan kept pointing out. He’d become their gardener, their best desk clerk, and general dogsbody. He made conversation with the lonely old ladies that wandered to the desk (Logan thought they’d actually gotten repeat business because of Pat’s charm) and gave directions to people who wanted to tour the area. His father, too, had taken to Vermont as a place where he could live out the last part of his life, without the painful memories that his home had brought him. He’d sold the farm that had been passed down to him by his father James, and his uncle Sean before him, to a real estate company. It was most likely a group of condominiums now. Neither Simon nor his father had much use for the past, although it had made them the men they were today.

  Distracted, Simon greeted a couple at the desk and checked them in, but had to be asked for the key.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Welcome to White Pine. Please let us know if you need anything. The desk is open until midnight.”

  When they’d gone, he found himself wondering about the woman, Veronica. Wasn’t it odd that this anonymous person who had responded to his online ad just happened to hook up with his daughter? Certainly coincidences happened. It was coincidence, after all, that he and his former college roommate just happened to come back together at this stage in life: Simon at the end of a marriage, and Logan at the end of his patience with his job as a restaurant manager. Simon’s job had been easy to give up. He’d worked for Elizabeth’s father in his catalogue business. It had been an executive position, dry, boring, high-paying. He’d learned a lot about business from Mr. Fairchild, that was true, but he was glad to be gone, and doubted anyone in the family considered him a great loss.

  In Clearview he was free. He could breathe, and he could make his own decisions about the White Pine Inn. He and Logan had always worked well together, and any little disagreements they had over construction had been solved equitably, fairly. Like adults, Simon thought wryly.

  He wondered again about Veronica James. Such an interesting first name, rather old fashioned, he thought. And her voice. When she’s spoken to him it had caused an unexpected jolt in his gut—probably just because he couldn’t believe what she was telling him. Still, the tone had been incredibly sexy and sultry, while her words made her sound like a school marm. He p
ictured someone with a bun and glasses, but a shirt cut down to her navel and ample breasts peeking out. At the unbidden image, he started to grow hard. He puffed out his cheeks, turned things over to Sally, the desk clerk on duty, and strolled outside. He’d been too long without a woman, that was his problem. His father would tell him he was unhappy in love because he’d never waited for the ol’ Lassiter Response, the bang of instant love that had been brought to every man in their family since time began. His father swore it was true, as did his four uncles, all of whom had married their women within days of meeting them, all of whom had experienced the cliched “love at first sight,” which they claimed to be a Lassiter trait—but only for the men, apparently. His sisters had experienced nothing like it; one was unmarried, and one had endured a three year courtship before she and her beau had finally decided to tie the knot.

  Simon laughed to himself, thinking of it. He’d told his Grandpa James that the Lassiter Trait was nothing more than hormones, and that James and all his sons had merely been deprived of women for so long that they chose quickly in order to get those girls into bed. His grandfather had laughed. “You mark my words, young Simon, you’ll understand it soon enough. Whether I’m above the ground or below it, I’ll know, and I’ll be laughing, lad.” Well, old Grandpa James was below the ground now, God rest his soul, and Simon had never provided him with that ghostly laughter, certainly not with Elizabeth.

  He sat on the edge of a flower box outside the Inn, breathing in the night air. It was November, and the air was cool, but not freezing. His marigolds were still blooming in their pots, and the children in town continued to run about with sweatshirts rather than snow suits.

  They should be here soon, he thought, checking his watch. He peered through the tree-lined lane that led to the main road, and sure enough, a car was turning off into the exit for White Pine. Simon shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly nervous. He wasn’t sure if it was his daughter or the unknown Veronica who had him feeling so like a boy on a date, but he was determined to conceal the feeling. “A little anxious?” asked his father, who had come up silently behind him.