He walked her to the edge of the dance floor, gave her a brief hug and then walked away before she could say any of the arguments he could see brewing in the green eyes he had inherited.
He had to get out of here. The crowd and the music pressed in on him and he was desperate for fresh air. He headed out the double doors into the lobby of the resort and kept going through the massive carved outside doors.
The cool mountain air was fresh and sweet. No matter where he eventually ended up, that particular scent—sage and pine and wilderness—would always mean home.
The jazz music was still audible out here, though muted. Riley took a deep breath, wishing suddenly for a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked since his rebellious teens and had no intention of ever starting again, but once in a great while the fierce craving for that nicotine rush hit him like a fist to the gut.
A thin blur of smoke drifted to him. Cigar. An expensive one. Apparently someone else had the same craving.
He turned his head, squinting into the shadows. He saw only a dark shape there and the red glow of the cigar until the other man stepped into the light from the chandelier of entwined elk antlers that hung from the massive log support beam overhead.
“McKnight,” Harry Lange greeted, his voice gruff and the cigar clamped between his teeth.
“Mr. Lange,” he said just as curtly. He wasn’t in the mood to be polite, especially not to the sour bastard who owned half the town, including this resort. He should just keep walking, maybe stroll around the hotel perimeter just to make sure Lange’s security was up to par. He started to take a step, but the other man spoke before he could.
“Big turnout.”
Riley sighed. He couldn’t be rude, much as he would like to. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
Harry harrumphed. “Why? Because I think most of the people in this town have shit for brains?”
Riley couldn’t help his small smile. Was it because Harry Lange had more money than God that turned him so contrary or had he been that way even before the real estate deals that had cemented his fortune?
“Yeah, something like that. I didn’t think you were generally part of the town social scene.”
Harry puffed his cigar. “Seems like a good cause, a memorial for that dead girl. I figured I might bid on the Sarah Colville painting. I’ve got a couple of hers already. I’d like to add a few more to my collection, but for some reason she refuses to sell me any more, at least not directly. I figure this is a good way to pick one up on the cheap. People around here don’t know quality when it bites them on the ass and I figure I’ve got deeper pockets than anyone else in town. It will probably be a steal.”
Using a benefit auction to hunt for bargains. Definitely sounded like a Harry Lange tactic. The man had turned being unpleasant into an art form. He remembered suddenly that Claire had told him Harry and Mary Ella were carrying on some sort of feud. He could easily picture Lange holding a grudge over anything, no matter how inconsequential, if he were in the mood. But Riley still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that his mother would ever retaliate in kind.
“The dead girl was one of your sister’s kids, wasn’t she?”
Riley released a heavy breath, picturing Layla, all Goth and attitude.
“Yeah. Maura’s youngest.”
“Maura. She’s the one who married that musician, right?” There seemed to be more than normal curiosity in the other man’s voice, although Riley couldn’t figure out why Harry Lange would be so interested in his family.
“Yeah. Layla’s father was Chris Parker. The rock star.”
Maura hadn’t had the greatest of luck, men-wise. She was another McKnight who struggled in the relationship department. She’d gotten pregnant with Sage when she was only seventeen, although she’d never revealed the father’s identity. Whoever the son of a bitch was, he’d never stepped forward to support his kid—just another reason Riley had been so determined to marry Lisa Redmond when they found out she was pregnant. He had seen how rough things had been on Maura and on Sage. No way would he have put a kid of his through that.
Maura started dating Chris Parker when Sage was three or four, although none of the family had been too sure about the relationship, Riley remembered. At the time, Parker’s rock band was playing weekend gigs at bars and casinos. They’d married, but stayed together just a handful of years, long enough to have Layla, before Parker hit the big time. Maura didn’t talk about it, at least not with him, but Riley had a feeling the guy hadn’t wanted the burden of a family on his climb to the top.
“I haven’t seen your sister around tonight.”
“She didn’t make it,” he said. No way would Maura have been strong enough emotionally for this. She was still lost and grieving and refusing to let anybody try to help.