Page 17 of Winter Beginnings
She smiled, a gentle warmth filling her face. “No, dear, I do not. I’ve moved in with Theodore, and we’re happy as can be. I no longer desire that mansion. You are doing a splendid job planning a bed-and-breakfast. Let it be your dream now.”
In that moment, relief coursed through me. “I’m so glad.” We clasped hands across the table, and for the next few minutes, she shared stories of how she and Theodore had overcome the misunderstanding that kept them apart for many years. The waitress brought our soup and sandwiches, and we ate, exchanging easy conversation.
Returning home mid-afternoon, I felt lighter. Even so, Cass’s revelation still haunted me, swirling in my thoughts alongside last night’s intimacy. I decided to chase away stress with a hot bath. Bramble followed me to the bathroom, curling on a rug near the tub. I filled it with steaming water, sprinkling in lavender salts I’d found in a closet. Slipping off my clothes, I sank into the water, a sigh escaping my lips.
Memories flooded me: Cass’s hands on my body, the glimmer in his eyes, his soft groan when we finally let go. A sting of betrayal throbbed in my chest. How can the same man who gave me that night also keep such a huge secret? Beneath my frustration, I still…cared for him. Wrapping an arm around my knees, I admitted, I might actually have started to fall in love him. The thought made tears threaten, but I forced them back.
Tugging on fresh leggings and a t-shirt, I ambled to the second floor again, deciding to rummage further. The soapy relaxation from my bath had steadied me enough to tackle more dusty trunks.If I’m going to be the caretaker of this place, let’s learn all the hidden stories.
In a time-worn trunk near an old dresser, I found a stack of letters scrawled in a delicate hand. Unfolding the one that lay on top, I recognized the same handwriting as on the scrap of paper I’d discovered in the desk drawer. The first lines made my breath catch: “My dearest Cyrus…I know I am much younger than you, and only your housekeeper, but my heart swellswith love. Even carrying your child, I wish only for your happiness, but I can’t let you face shame.” The writer’s name: Gabriela.
My pulse pounded as I read on. She spoke of their secret romance, how he reassured her their love was strong enough to weather public scorn. But she insisted it was best she slip away so as not to tarnish his reputation. Each letter brimmed with longing, heartbreak, and a repeated plea: “Don’t follow me, Cyrus. Our baby is better off hidden from scandal.” She was Cass’s mother, I realized, tears pricking my eyes at the heartbreak spelled across each page.
Digging deeper, I found a newspaper clipping of a short obituary: Gabriela Sanchez, died tragically in a car accident. No mention of a surviving child. The date matched Cass’s adoption timeline. My chest constricted. So Cyrus never knew his child survived. He believed mother and baby both died. That explained so much—his bitterness, his downward spiral letting the mansion decay.
Then I unearthed a leather-bound journal with Cyrus’s name embossed. Opening the pages, I discovered entries that grew increasingly frantic over time. One wrote: “Gabriela is gone—the love of my life, and our love child. I have nothingleft.” Another: “I curse fate for taking them from me.” My throat tightened. He’d truly believed his baby died. Subsequent entries showed him descending into a grim despair, eventually madness: “What is life without Gabriela and our baby?”
My heart ached. So Cass’s father never rejected him. He just never knew he’d survived.I have to tell Cass.Anxiety fluttered in my stomach, overshadowed by urgency. Cass needed to know the truth—that his father loved him and grieved a mistaken tragedy.
Shoving the journal and letters into a satchel, I dashed downstairs, adrenaline spiking. I threw on my coat and gloves, calling Bramble to his bed with a quick pat. “I have to see Cass. Stay here, buddy. This is important.”
I hopped into my SUV, the late-afternoon sun already dipping behind Wintervale’s evergreen ridges. He might be at his workshop, I reasoned. That was often where he spent time when not at the mansion. My tires crunched through fresh snow as I navigated the short drive into town. Please let him be there, I prayed silently, tapping the steering wheel.
Parking near his workshop, I got out, hugging the satchel. The crisp air stung my cheeks, but I barely noticed in my hurry. As I crossed the street, head down against a sudden gust, a shadow fell across my path. I glanced up—and my heart froze.
Julian stood there, coat buttoned up, a smug tilt to his lips. “Rory,” he drawled. “Long time no see.”
My breath caught in my throat, shock flooding me.What is he doing here?
Chapter Eight
Cass
I stood at the work table in my workshop, flipping through an old Victorian hardware catalog I’d borrowed from the local historical society. The overhead lamp buzzed faintly, bathing the space in a warm, steady glow. Around me, neat rows of salvaged doorknobs and drawer pulls I’d been collecting for Rory’s B&B project glinted in the light. Even though Rory might decide not to keep me on as her contractor now that I’d screwed things up between us, I couldn’t stop myself from trying to help. At least I could pass this research on to whoever comes next, I reasoned with a heavy heart.
A swirl of guilt tightened my chest for the hundredth time since last night. I should’ve told her from the start, I scolded myself. But back then, the thought of revealing I wasCyrus Barrington’s son felt impossible. Now I feared I’d lost her trust, maybe lost her altogether. If she decided I was no longer welcome at the inn, I’d at least ensure she had the best chance at success. I gathered my notes on tile patterns and possible doorknob replacements, stacking them neatly in a folder labeled Evergreen Inn.
Exhaling, I glanced around the workshop’s familiar chaos—scrap lumber, a half-finished table, coils of wiring. Twilight had settled outside, deep and still. The sign taped to my window readClosed,but the streetlamp’s glow filtered in, giving me enough visibility to organize. My breath fogged slightly in the drafty air, reminding me it was time to lock up and head home to my small bungalow on the outskirts of town.
With a final sigh, I began shutting lights off, double-checking the lock on the side door. Thoughts whirled: Did I sabotage any bond Rory and I had built? Even remembering how I’d touched her last night—in a moment of closeness so profound—made my stomach churn with regret. Then the memory of the expression of her face when I finally confessed. One of pure heartbreak. Could she ever forgive me?
Pushing the main door open, I stepped onto the sidewalk. A crisp winter wind whipped at my collar, and I zipped my coat. My truck sat in a parking lot a couple of blocks over. As I rounded the corner, I spotted two figures near a row of parked cars—Rory and a tall, blond man with the all-American type of good looks that belong on a cologne ad. The man wore an expensive-looking coat, perfectly tailored. They stood close, talking with tight expressions.Who is that?My heart thudded. Surely not just a random friend. The way they gazed at each other told me they had history.
I hovered, uncertain. Rory looked distressed, or maybe just intense. Then, to my shock, she reached out and huggedhim. The man bent his head, arms encircling her in a gesture far too intimate for casual acquaintances.So that’s how it is, I thought, a hollow ache blooming in my chest.She’s back with her ex. Bailey had mentioned Julian having “classic American good looks”—this had to be him.Of course, I scolded myself.She’s letting him in again. You messed up your chance, Cass.
As they separated from the hug, Rory glanced up. Our eyes met across the distance, and everything in me tightened. She froze, as if caught in a moment she hadn’t wanted me to witness. Stomach twisting, I turned on my heel and strode toward my truck, not wanting to intrude on her reconciliation. My mind spun:You managed to push her straight back into the arms of the ex who broke her heart. The thought was nauseating.
My boots crunched on the asphalt of a small parking lot behind a row of shops. The overhead security light buzzed, painting everything in a bleak glow. I just wanted to reach my truck, get out of here, and nurse my bruised pride in private. But I heard footsteps behind me—running, hurried.
“Cass, wait!” Her voice, breathless, sliced through the cold air. I stopped, fists clenched, not sure if I could handle hearing her confirm she’d taken Julian back.
“Congratulations,” I muttered, removing my car key from my pocket and beeping the locks of my truck open.
She caught up, stepping in front of me, cheeks flushed from the run or the cold—or both. “What are you talking about…congratulations?” she asked, eyes flashing. “You think I’m back with Julian?”
I swallowed. “Looked like you two were… reconnecting. Who am I to interfere? I saw you hugging him just now.”
She let out a frustrated breath, crossing her arms. “He is my ex, yes. But I wasn’t hugging him because we’re backtogether.” She paused, scanning my face. “I need to talk to you, Cass. Can we go somewhere to get out of this freezing wind?”