It Started At Christmas…. Jo McNally

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      “Nathan, are you kidding me?” Blake Randall pressed harder on the gas and sent his SUV roaring up the country road approaching Gallant Lake. “You took our nephew to school a week early so you could take your girls on vacation without him? Who the hell does that to a ten-year-old kid?”

      Blake floored it past farms, double-wides and large Victorian homes. His hands gripped the wheel so tight he was surprised it didn’t snap.

      “I’ve had Zachary all summer, Blake,” his brother whined over the speakerphone. “Michaela wanted some time with our family.”

      “He is your damned family!” He and Nathan were the only family Zach had left. Their father wouldn’t even acknowledge the boy’s existence, so that left him and Nathan to give Zach a sense of family. Even if it was a thoroughly dysfunctional one.

      “You know what I mean.” He could hear Nathan taking a deep breath. His older brother always did that when he was trying to find the balls to challenge Blake. “Look, you’re his guardian. We took him for the summer, but it wasn’t a permanent thing.”

      “But you already have a family.” Nathan was a father. A questionable one, perhaps, but still. At least he wasn’t as clueless about kids as Blake was. “Why can’t you add one more?”

      “Not happening, Blake. Tiffany named you in her will. Not me.”

      “Only because she and Michaela hated each other.” Tiffany used to refer to Nathan’s wife as Butt Stick. Blake’s lips twitched at the memory of him and his sister laughing over that name.

      “And yet you think Michaela should raise Tiffany’s kid. What sense does that make?”

      Nathan had a point. Blake had qualms about Michaela raising her own children. As if Blake was some kind of expert.

      “He shouldn’t be at Beakman Academy by himself, a week ahead of the other kids.”

      “The upperclassmen are there this week,” Nathan sighed. “The headmaster said he’d be fine.”

      Blake slowed to pass a farm tractor driving up the road. Was that thing even legal? He stepped on the gas after he passed it, going too fast for being this close to the village. Sheriff Adams must have been busy somewhere else because Blake didn’t see any flashing lights. Benefits of a one-cop town.

      “So Zach’s at school with a bunch of kids four grades ahead of him? That’s perfect, genius. What could possibly go wrong?”

      “Jesus, Blake, I’m not an idiot. He’s not in the dorm—he’s staying with the headmaster and his family for the week. Feel free to drive over and get him if you don’t like it.”

      Blake chewed his lip. Zach was ten years old. He’d lost his mother less than a year ago. Blake had a feeling everything was a big deal to the poor kid. But still…being at school gave him more structure than he’d have with Blake, or even Nathan and Butt Stick.

      “Can you guys at least take him for the holiday break?” Tiffany had died at Christmas. Zach deserved a much happier holiday this year.

      “No way. We’re taking the girls on a cruise for Christmas, and Michaela already said—”

      “Yeah, yeah. I can imagine what Michaela said.” Blake let off the gas pedal and hung up on his brother. He reached for his coffee and bit out a curse when some spilled on his pants. What a perfect freakin’ day. He saw a flash of pink when he looked up and swore again. A petite blonde stepped off the sidewalk, directly into his path.

      Blake swerved. The engine on the big vehicle roared. He’d drifted pretty damned close to the curb, scaring the daylights out of himself and no doubt her. After he passed, he glanced in the rearview mirror and winced. He’d hit a puddle and sent a tidal wave of water over her. She was stomping her feet and gesturing to the taller woman behind her, pushing long, wet hair out of her face.

      A nice person would have stopped and apologized. But Blake had learned the hard way that being nice in Gallant Lake got him nowhere. He was not popular, and he’d only attract an angry mob if anyone saw him stopped in the middle of town. He felt bad about ruining the woman’s afternoon, though. Driving away without stopping made him feel uncomfortably similar to the ogre some of the locals painted him as. He didn’t like it.

      Speaking of angry mobs, there were five or six picketers just setting up at the entrance to his resort. The small Gallant Lake Preservation Society liked to show up with their handwritten signs, especially if they knew Blake was in town. They loved telling him, loudly and often, that they “weren’t giving up the fight” when it came to his plans for the casino. They didn’t seem to realize the town had given up on itself years before. That had nothing to do with him. Their signs proclaimed the same old mantra.

      Save Gallant Lake!

      No Casino!

      Leave Our Lake Alone!

      They were usually well behaved and didn’t interfere with resort traffic. But guests would be asking questions. He saw a scruffy pair of guys at the edge of the group. They didn’t fit in with the generally older protesters, but it wasn’t the first time he’d seen them hanging around. The two always looked ready to take up torches and pitchforks rather than neatly lettered signs. Their anger simmered a little closer to the surface, like it was personal, but Blake had no idea who they were.

      The group recognized his vehicle and pressed closer to the entrance, forcing him to slow down to avoid hitting them. He could call the sheriff, but that wouldn’t do any good. The protestors always stayed back off his property lines when the guy they affectionately called “Sheriff Dan” was around. Blake had a sneaking suspicion the sheriff supported the locals more than him when it came down to it.

      Once past the entrance, he parked in the employee lot and came in the side door. The old place had character, along with a stellar view. The previous owners had maintained the resort well, even if the interior needed updating everywhere. Those updates would be pointless now since it was slated for demolition as soon as the state senate gave its blessing to the casino plans. He was only a few votes away.

      When he’d made the purchase originally, sight unseen, he’d assumed the resort was one of those tired old Catskills resorts whose glory days ended with the Dirty Dancing era. It was a pleasant surprise to see the place actually making a little money with a modest marketing campaign, which took some of the sting out of waiting for those last few votes.

      It was smaller than СКАЧАТЬ