All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)(26)

“It’s not up to your standards, but you’ve always been very good at making do.”

The words were in response to the growing sense of guilt. Charlie didn’t know how her mother did it but in every situation Charlie ended up feeling like the bad guy. Right now she knew she should offer to let her mother stay in her guest room. She also knew she would never actually issue the invitation. She rubbed her forehead as a steady pounding began right behind her eyes.

“I will be in touch,” Dominique said as she walked to the door.

Charlie followed her, torn between relief that the visit was ending and confusion as to why her mother had come in the first place. “It’s nice to see you.”

Dominique turned and stared. “We both know that’s not true, don’t we?”

She let herself out.

Charlie stood in her living room, awash in guilt and knowing there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

* * *

“MS. GUÉRIN, IT is a great honor to have you at our hotel,” the manager of Ronan’s Lodge gushed as the bellman delivered Dominique’s many suitcases into the suite. “In our town, as well. We don’t get many celebrities of your stature here. If there is anything I can do to make your stay more pleasant, please, please let me know.”

He pressed a business card into her hand. “I’ve written my cell number on the back. I would encourage you to call me anytime. Day or night.”

Dominique took the card and the gushing with little enthusiasm. No doubt her assistant had called ahead and requested the staff be attentive. Back in the day, no preplanning would have been necessary. The manager, an average-looking man in his forties, would have been stuttering and shaking at the thought of being so close to her. Strangers would have stopped her in the hallway and on elevators to tell her how much they admired her. Men would have begged to buy her a drink, thinking they would attempt to seduce her.

Today she was simply a middle-aged woman who used to be someone.

Growing old was a bitch.

The manager finally left. Dominique crossed to the window and stared out at the view. She wasn’t sure why Chantal had settled in this small town at the foot of the Sierra Nevadas, but she had. Now as she stared up at the snow-covered peaks, she shivered slightly. Her journey was like that of a mountain climber. First she would gather supplies, then she would make the ascent. Her goal wasn’t physical, but emotional. Still, it would be grueling and she could fail.

She turned and glanced at her bodyguard. Justice Garrett carried himself like a man comfortable in any situation. He had military experience of some kind, was licensed to carry a concealed weapon and could probably stop a bullet with his bare hands. He was extremely well trained. He was the sort of man a person took into the most dangerous parts of the world. With his dark blond hair and deep blue eyes, he was handsome enough. But there was a wariness in his gaze. He was a man who carried ghosts, she thought.

Now he looked back at her, as if asking, “What next?”

As if she had the answer. She’d hired him only a few days before and they had yet to get to know each other.

“You must wonder why you’re here,” she said, returning to the living room of the suite and opening the minibar. “What possible danger could an old woman like me be in?” She closed the minibar and walked to the small tote that had been left on the coffee table. After opening it, she pulled out a bottle of eighteen-year-old Scotch.

She held up the bottle in invitation.

“I’m on duty.”

She smiled. “We both know no one is after me.”

“Then why am I here?” He gave her a slight smile. “I don’t come cheap.”

She opened the Scotch and poured some into two glasses. She picked up one and settled on the sofa. Justice came into the living room and stood by the window. He didn’t even glance at the drink.

“Money isn’t one of my problems,” she told him, then took a sip. The smooth liquor went down easily. “I have enough for several lifetimes. It’s the other things that are missing. Youth, love, family.”

“You have a daughter.”

“Technically. Biologically. She doesn’t love me.” Dominique took another drink, knowing the more difficult truth was that Chantal could barely stand her. “What did you think of her?”

“She’s lovely.”

Dominique laughed. “Hardly. Chantal is many things, but not lovely. She’s capable and strong. She gets both of those from me. I am not the delicate flower you see before you.”

She rose and walked into the bedroom. Justice followed her as far as the doorway. She motioned to the three suitcases by the dresser. A fourth had been put on a luggage rack.

“Would you please put those on the bed for me?”

He did as she requested and stepped back. She set her drink on the nightstand, then opened the smallest of the suitcases. Inside were several carefully wrapped pictures. She took the top one and removed the protective layers, then held out the framed photo.

“My husband,” she said.

Justice took the picture.

She didn’t have to look at it to see Dan. So tall and handsome. He’d swept her off her feet within a few minutes of meeting her. Her manager had arranged for Dan to put in shelves in Dominique’s New York dance studio. She’d shown up unexpectedly to find him working. He’d turned around, smiled and she’d been lost.