White Wedding. Jean Barrett
How well she had learned that truth, Lane thought.
“Hey,” Stuart demanded, “are we going or not?”
Jack eyed the waiting sleighs. The first one had places for six people, including the driver. The second, carrying all the luggage for the party, had space for only two passengers in the rear.
“Give us a minute,” he said.
Before Lane could object, Jack drew her off to one side for a private exchange.
“I’d like for us to ride together in that second sleigh.”
There was a determined look in his eyes that warned her to avoid any such intimate arrangement. “Not a chance.”
“Look,” he pressed her, “it isn’t what you think. It’s just that I’d feel better if we rode together.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t trust the situation.”
“The sleighs?”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s the whole setup of this weekend that bothers me. I learned something last night I don’t like. All right, so it probably doesn’t mean a thing. Let’s just say you humor me, and we stick together.”
There was a mysterious grimness in his undertone that frightened her. Was he serious? For a moment she was inclined to think so. Then she dismissed the whole thing, remembering how often in the past she had fallen for Jack Donovan’s take-charge, overprotective tactics. Well, not this time.
“Sorry,” Lane said at a volume that could be heard by the others, “but I’ve already promised Judge Whitney I’d ride with him.”
She hadn’t, and she regretted the necessity for her impulsive lie. She could see how surprised Dan was when she rejoined the group, but he offered no word of contradiction.
Before Jack could object, Ronnie linked a proprietary arm through his. “Sit with me, and you can tell me all about these important fossils of yours.”
Lane watched an irritated Jack being hauled off to the second sleigh. She felt sorry for him. Almost.
Dan, falling in step beside Lane as the rest of them moved toward the sleighs, whispered in concern, “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head, then offered a quick apology. “I’m sorry about that. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Riding with you? On the contrary, it’s my pleasure.” She could feel his curious gaze on her as they reached the end of the dock. “An old friend of yours?”
She knew he was referring to Jack. “Not exactly.” She hesitated. There was no reason he shouldn’t know. “Try an old husband. Now,” she added, just as buoyantly as she could, “would you like to suggest some graceful way to climb down from this dock and into that sleigh?”
* * *
THE HORSES WERE POWERFUL Belgians, able to draw the heavy sleighs over the fractured ice of the broad harbor with an effortless ease. The snow cover, thick in places, almost nonexistent in others, formed swirling patterns across the wrinkled surface. Through the brittle air the sleigh bells called to each other musically.
It should have been a pleasant experience, one that Lane could enjoy without reservation. Instead, she twisted in her seat to gaze back longingly at the receding village where a pair of white church steeples rose through the dark evergreens against the steep hillside. Those spires looked so solid and comforting, the ice beneath her so fearfully insecure.
“No need to be nervous,” her insightful companion assured her. “We don’t very often get safe ice on the bay this soon in the season, but it’s been an unusually early winter with a lot of hard freezes. And the Nordstrom brothers,” he added, referring to their drivers, “are experienced and know what they’re doing.”
Lane turned her head, managing a lopsided smile for Dan beside her. “That obvious, huh?”
“Your tension? Well, a little,” he conceded with a gentle smile.
She considered him, thinking how different he was from his cousin, Allison, with his relaxed manner and brown hair frosted with gray. He was the sort of person who prompted confidences, probably a good quality in a judge. She decided to share a confidence of her own.
“And I was hoping it wouldn’t show. But I really do have a good reason for minding so much. Bad memory.”
“Something traumatic?” he guessed.
“You could say that. When I was about eight or so a playmate and I went out skating where we had no business to be. The ice was rotten, and it collapsed under us. I was lucky. They managed to fish me out. She wasn’t. She was dragged under the ice. When they did get to her it was, well, too late.”
“Good Lord,” he murmured sympathetically, “then this crossing must be a real ordeal for you.”
Her laugh was shaky, and she knew it. “Let’s just say that when it comes to ice I prefer it in my drinks to having it under my feet. Uh, I’d appreciate it if my little confession was just between the two of us.”
“Done.”
“Thank you.”
Lane made another concentrated effort to enjoy the crossing. Or at least tolerate it. Not easy considering their present position. They had left the harbor behind them and were now on the open reaches of the great bay. The frozen sea, like a lunar landscape, was seamed with hazards around which the sleighs carefully detoured. The ice had faulted and folded in some past thaw—huge, upthrust slabs of it scraped head-high along a shoal. The stacked shards glittered like crystal under the winter sun.
Dan pointed to small, jerry-built shelters scattered across the surface. Some of them had small Christmas trees anchored to their roofs. “Fishing shanties,” he explained. “If it’s clear tomorrow, holiday or not, the ice fishers will drive out here in bunches in their trucks and spend most of the day.”
She knew he meant it as another encouragement. It didn’t work. She was too busy minding the alien ice. She could swear it was alive. She could actually hear it now creaking, snapping with the cold, rolling like drums in the distance. Awful.
“Have you and Allison been longtime friends?” he asked her.
Lane suspected that his question wasn’t motivated by curiosity but was actually a further attempt to distract her from the terrors of the ice. She was more than willing to accommodate him.
“Have I been kept a secret?” she teased.
“Well, we’re the only family each other has these days, but with Allison way off in Chicago most of the year, I’m afraid we don’t keep up with each other’s lives.”
“Then to answer your question, yes, we do go back a few years. Since our undergraduate days at Northwestern University, actually. And it was a pretty unlikely beginning. Our friendship, that is.”
“Why is that?”
“Well—” The sleigh runners struck a rough spot in the ice, jouncing them. Lane fought her anxiety and continued. “We were universes apart. I was fresh off the farm—Indiana, to be exact—and as green as they make them. I wouldn’t have been there at all if it hadn’t been for a generous scholarship. And here was Allison and her crowd with every advantage behind them.” She realized how that might sound to Dan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”
His small laugh interrupted her. “Don’t apologize. It’s Allison’s side of the family with all the money, not mine.”
“Anyway, I completely misunderstood her. I thought she was...oh, you know, the stereotypical spoiled heiress. And to be honest about it, I guess there is that side of her. But nobody minds it, do they? She’s too lovable and generous.”
“To a fault,” he agreed. “So the friendship