Summer Days (Fool's Gold #7)

“I raise goats. I use their milk for cheese and soap. Two of my goats are pregnant. I’ll be able to sell the kids.”


Trisha raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Just once I’d like to work with someone doing an internet start-up. But do you bring me that?” She returned her attention to Heidi. “Goats. Okay, well that ties you to the community. This Harvey guy—the source of the trouble. Get him here. The judge needs to see the reason Glen took the money. How’s Harvey doing?”

“He’s great. His cancer treatments worked, and the doctors expect him to die in his sleep in about twenty years.”

“Good. Have Harvey bring medical records.”

Trisha continued to detail their strategy. When she was done, she said, “What was the son’s name?”

“Rafe Stryker.”

Trisha typed the information into her laptop. Her perfect lips twisted. “You picked the wrong man to mess with, missy. He would scare a shark.” There was more typing, followed by a groan. “Is he good-looking?”

Heidi thought about the tall, slightly frightening stranger who wanted to destroy her world. “Yes.”

“If I were you, I’d think about getting him into bed. Sex might be the only way to win this one.”

Heidi felt her mouth drop open. She consciously closed it. “Is there a plan B?”

* * *

RAFE DROVE SLOWLY THROUGH Fool’s Gold, his mother’s car a half block behind his. He hadn’t been in the town in years and he could easily, not to mention happily, go a lifetime without returning again.

It wasn’t that the town wasn’t attractive—if one was into pretty, small towns and local color. Storefronts were clean, sidewalks wide. Windows advertised sales and festivals. Despite the fact that it was a weekday, plenty of people were out walking around. From a business perspective, Fool’s Gold seemed to be thriving. But for him, this would always be the place he’d been trapped as a kid, taking on more than he could manage.

Everything was smaller than he remembered. Probably the perspective of being an adult, he told himself. He recognized the park where he’d met his friends on a rare afternoon away from chores and family. The road up to the school was the same, and he saw three boys on bikes riding in that direction.

He’d had a bike, he recalled. A bike one of the women in town had given to him. He’d been ten or eleven and desperate to be like his friends. But the bike was charity and his pride had battled with practicality.

He couldn’t complain—the town had been plenty kind. Every August there had been new clothes for school, new shoes and backpacks filled with the necessary supplies. On the holidays, baskets of food had appeared. At Christmas, toys had been left. His lunch at school had been free, something that had humiliated him, even though the cafeteria workers never drew attention to the fact. Once when he was walking home from school, a woman had pulled over, opened her car door and handed him a jacket. Just like that.

The jacket had been new and thick and warm. In the pockets, he’d found gloves and five dollars. Back then, it was all the money in the world. He’d been grateful and furious at the same time.

While he’d appreciated the gestures and the care, he’d hated that either had been necessary. Several nights a week, he’d been forced to lie to his mother and say he wasn’t hungry for dinner so his brothers and sister could have enough to eat. He’d gone to bed, determined to ignore the burning emptiness gnawing at him.

He’d never understood the vicious old man his mother had worked for—a man who had made sure there was plenty for himself, but not enough for a hardworking housekeeper to feed her children. The only bright spot in coming back was that, while the old caretaker’s house still stood, the place where

the old man had lived was gone.

None of which was the town’s fault, he told himself. Still, the memories were there. Things he’d tried to forget, to grow past. He was a powerful man, wealthy. He could pick up the phone and be put through to a senator or diplomat. He knew the CEOs of nearly half the Fortune 500 companies. But, driving through Fool’s Gold, he was once again the too-thin kid who’d longed to know what it would be like to feel safe and secure. To have a full belly and toys and a mother who didn’t hide worry behind a loving smile.

He turned into the courtyard in front of Ronan’s Lodge, the main hotel in town. The Gold Rush Ski Resort was too far out of town to be practical, so the lodge would do.

Ronan’s Lodge, or as the locals called it, Ronan’s Folly, had been built during the gold rush. The large, three-story building was a testament to fine craftsmanship from a time when detail work was done by hand. As a valet hurried toward his car, Rafe took in the carved double doors that led to the lobby.