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Synopsis
"Feel good fiction [is] at its finest" (Susan Wiggs) in this New York Times bestselling author's new series, where after years of putting her family first, Genevieve Prentice is making a fresh start—but it’s never easy to leave the past behind.
Widowed young, Genevieve Prentice dedicated her life to raising her four children. Now, though, they’re all grown and scattered to the wind, and Genevieve is ready for a change. In a flash of inspiration, she puts her home on the market and heads to Lake in the Clouds, Colorado, to renovate a rustic waterfront lodge with her sister. But just as they begin, Genevieve gets the shock of a lifetime: the arrival of her son.
Jake Prentice built a career out of being dependable, one that left him perennially stressed and overworked. Finally heeding his mother’s words of wisdom, he’s quit his job and is ready to find out what truly makes him happy. And now, as he stands surrounded by open sky and fresh, pine-scented air, he’s got no regrets . . . until former colleague Tess Crenshaw appears at the lake, forcing him to reassess what—and who—he really wants.
As they work together to renovate the lodge, Genevieve and Jake embark on a heartfelt and inspiring journey to learn about themselves, each other, and the true meaning of family.
Release date: September 6, 2022
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 368
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Lake in the Clouds #1
Emily March
One
New Braunfels, Texas
The dining room table sat dusted and polished, an empty canvas awaiting that first brush of an artist’s paint. A classic Queen Anne double-pedestal style in solid mahogany, it sported a nick here and a scratch there, wrinkles on the old grande dame’s timeless face.
Standing in the dining room doorway and gazing at it, Genevieve Prentice recalled the Sunday morning more than thirty years ago when the table became part of her life. Her smile turned bittersweet. She’d been out of milk and down to one diaper for eighteen-month-old Jake. With her husband out of town on business, she’d loaded her toddler into the minivan for an emergency grocery store run.
She’d spied the estate sale sign posted at an intersection on the way home and turned into the old, established San Antonio neighborhood on a whim. Arrows led the way to a large Victorian house with turrets and towers and dormers. Ornate spindles and gingerbread decorated the wide, wraparound porch. A rope swing hung from a thick branch of a century-old pecan tree in the front yard. It was Genevieve’s dream house. Someday, Genevieve thought. Someday David and I will live in a home like this.
Genevieve often shopped garage sales, being a young stay-at-home mom whose husband was struggling to get established in his career. Ordinarily, estate sale offerings were priced beyond her budget. She knew she wouldn’t be able to afford anything in this historic home, half-price Sunday or not.
Nevertheless, it was fun to dream. She removed Jake from his car seat, propped him on her hip, and headed inside.
She’d oohed over the wicker on the porch and aahed at the Oriental rug in the entry. The secretary in the parlor made her yearn. The bookcase in the library gave her the wants. But when she walked into the dining room and spied the table and chairs, Genevieve pulled up short.
Her mouth went dry. Her heart began to pound. It was love at first sight.
She wanted this table. She needed this table.
It would become an heirloom. Not something that came down from his family. Not something that came down from her. It would be their family heirloom. Hers and David’s. It would be the centerpiece of their family life.
She’d bought the set on the spot.
It was Genevieve’s first and last spur-of-the-moment furniture purchase. The table came with a matching sideboard, eight chairs, and two table leaves, which created a problem since their little family occupied a small, two-bedroom apartment at the time. She’d rented a storage unit and hired a couple of high school boys with a pickup truck to move it for her, but to say that David was unhappy with her decision was an understatement.
And yet, she’d never regretted buying her dining room table. Then and now, it stood as a symbol, a promise, and a dream of that which mattered most to her.
Family.
The passage of more than thirty years had not changed that. If anything, family mattered to her now more than ever. After David died, her family gave her a reason to go on living. It gave her life meaning and a purpose. She’d devoted her life to her family. The family that she’d built with her husband for the fifteen years before his sudden death, and then on her own for the eighteen years since that tragic event, would be her legacy when she was gone.
When she was gone.
Genevieve unconsciously lifted her hand to touch the still-tender incision on her right breast. She willed herself to keep her thoughts off the dark path along which they’d wandered way too often in the past weeks. When the doorbell rang, she was glad for the distraction. She glanced through the dining room’s large picture window toward the street, where a dry cleaner’s delivery van idled at the curb. She detoured into the kitchen to grab some tip money from her purse, then answered the door.
Instead of the sandy-haired teen who usually delivered her dry cleaning, she discovered her third-born child carrying her linen delivery. “Hey, Mom.” Lucas Prentice sailed into the house. “I swiped these away from Sam hoping to score his tip.”
“Dreamer.” She waved the teen to the door. “Perfect timing, Sam. I’m just about ready to put the linens on my table.”
“Good deal.”
As she handed the young man cash, a gust of wind swirled across the lawn and sent dried sycamore leaves skittering up onto the porch. Genevieve groaned. “That darned tree. I’ve swept the porch twice already today. I wanted everything neat and clean for Thursday, but my lawn guys can’t get out here to deal with the leaves until Friday.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Lucas, could you…?”
“I can’t stay, Mom. I have a date.”
The teen piped up. “My brother and I could do it in the morning if you’d like. No school tomorrow, and I’m not scheduled to work. We could use some Christmas money.”
Genevieve didn’t hesitate. Sam and his younger brother, Nathan, lived four houses down from her, and they’d often done odd jobs for her in the past. They were good, hardworking kids. “Wonderful. You’re hired.”
They settled on a rate and a start time, then the teen promised, “We’ll have your yard looking good for your Thanksgiving guests, Mrs. Prentice. Are y’all having a big crowd again as usual?”
Genevieve’s smile hitched just a bit. “We’re a little smaller this year.”
“Smaller can be good. More pie to go around. A person can never have enough pecan pie.”
“Good point.”
He waved a good-bye, and Genevieve moved quickly to shut the door when another cloud of leaves threatened to invade. “This is a surprise. What brings you by?”
“Just in the neighborhood.” Lucas kissed his mother’s cheek, then held up the linens. “Where do you want these?”
“The coat closet, please. Your timing is good. You can help me with the table.”
“Sure. Sorry about the leaves, though Sam and his brother will probably do a better job.”
“No probably about it. You never had the patience to get them all.”
Lucas hung the dry cleaning in the closet, then followed his mother into the dining room and took a position at one end of the table. “So what’s the theme for this Thanksgiving, Martha?”
“Martha?” Genevieve grasped the table opposite her son, and they tugged, opening the extension table wide.
“Stewart.”
Genevieve sniffed. “I’m no Martha Stewart.”
Lucas strode to the short hallway lined with custom built-in cabinets that connected the kitchen with the dining room and served as a butler’s pantry for Genevieve’s dishes. He opened the cupboard where the table leaves were stored. Lifting one, he said, “I’ll agree that you don’t pile decorative pillows on the beds or set out guest towels that people are afraid to use.”
“And the only books on my coffee table are those I happen to be reading.” Genevieve watched with an eagle eye as her son carefully placed the first leaf.
“True. But, Mom, you gotta admit, you do get your Martha on in the dining room.” Lucas returned to the butler’s pantry for the second leaf.
That was true. Genevieve loved to set a pretty table, and holidays were her specialty. She usually spent weeks planning her theme, colors, centerpieces, and linens. She’d taken a course in floral arranging at the local junior college and learned calligraphy because she’d wanted her place cards to shine. She often went so far as to change the artwork on the walls to complement her table.
“So what is it? Your theme?”
Genevieve studied her son as he placed the second leaf into the slot in the table. Between this unusual surprise visit and the out-of-character question, she knew something was up. Lucas didn’t care about decorations. He was a typical thirty-year-old bachelor. His idea of home decor was matching paper plates. After they closed the table around the leaves, she responded. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged and gave his dark hair a toss and that crooked little smile that invariably reminded Genevieve of her younger brother, Mark, whom they’d lost to pancreatic cancer six years ago. Her heart gave a little twist. Another seat at the Thanksgiving table that wouldn’t be filled this year.
“Just curious.”
Just delaying, if she knew her son. And she knew her son. Well, no sense trying to rush him. He’d get around to sharing whatever had brought him home when he was ready.
So, Genevieve returned her attention to her canvas. Last year she’d gone with a sleek, contemporary look with her decor using muted colors—sage, vanilla, stone, and wheat. She’d loved the way it had turned out. However, with all the turmoil churning the family seas, she wanted tradition with a capital T this year. That meant earth tones—brown, russet, gold, and shades of green. Mini pumpkins would add a pop of color. Place cards this year were black-and-white photographs in small crystal frames. She had spent weeks searching through her albums for just the right photos.
She had a message to send to her children this year at Thanksgiving, though she wanted it to be subtle. In her home, holidays were a time for fun, fellowship, and fantastic food. Drama wasn’t welcome, especially not at the holiday table. Her kids were all bright people. They wouldn’t miss the point she was making—that they needed to count their damned blessings.
Beginning with the one that was their family.
“I want my table theme to be a surprise, Lucas.” She wanted all four of her children to be there to get the meaning of her theme in person at the same time. Her offspring hadn’t gathered together since last Christmas, not because of jobs or distance or life commitments, but because of stubbornness and temper and the inability to ask for or offer forgiveness.
Genevieve’s patience with it had run out.
Lucas shoved his hands in his back pants pockets. “Well, Mom. About that. I, um, well. I, um, I wasn’t actually in the neighborhood. I came by because, well, even though this would be a lot easier to do by text, I need to be an adult about it.”
Genevieve went still. She knew. At that moment, she knew what he was going to say.
“Mom, I’m not going to be here on Thursday.”
“Lucas,” she warned. “You are breaking my heart.”
“No, Mom. Don’t.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Just don’t. It’s better for everyone if I just stay the hell away on Thursday.”
A dark storm of emotion rolled inside Genevieve. She was sympathetic and angry and frustrated and hurt and torn and dozens of other feelings she couldn’t put a name to at the moment. Her heart bleeding, her throat clamped around a knot of pain, she willed back tears. Then, without responding, she turned and retrieved the protective table pads from the cabinet.
Lucas continued, “I thought about making up some excuse. I thought about calling and saying I was sick at the last minute, but I decided to be honest with you.”
Well, she’d taught her children to value honesty, hadn’t she? Somehow, though, she couldn’t help but feel her lesson was being used against her now.
“Mom, I’m not ready. I need more time. It’s just too soon.”
She managed, barely, to keep her tone calm. “It’s been almost a year.”
He shrugged. Rather than defend himself further, he took the heavy pads from her hands and placed them on the table. Genevieve wanted to snap at him. She wanted to slap at him. She wanted to send him to his room without any supper. However, even though he acted like a child, he was an adult, so all she did was radiate disapproval. Like a nuclear bomb.
For all the good it did. Of her four children, Lucas was the least bothered by her disapproval.
Having delivered his news, he prepared to beat a hasty retreat and offered up something he expected would soften her up. Under other circumstances, it might have worked. “I have to go. Like I mentioned, I have a date. She’s a nice girl, Mom. Might be something there. I think I might bring her to Sunday dinner sometime soon.”
Oh, you think so, do you? Well, you might just find the restaurant is closed.
“I love you, Mom.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Lucas,” she repeated.
“I’m doing the best I can.”
No. No, you’re not.
He hugged her, kissed her cheek, and left, shutting the door behind himself with a firm thunk.
Genevieve stood in her dining room, staring at her dining room table for a long moment. Her pulse pounded. Her chest hurt. Her breaths started to come in shallow, angry pants. She felt a storm coming on, and she knew only one thing to do.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and called her sister.
Two
Jake Prentice was having a bitch of a day.
As managing director of Bensler, International, a global architecture, planning, and design firm headquartered in Austin, Texas, he handled crises and emergencies daily. The job played to his strengths. With a natural affinity for languages, he was fluent in four and could get by in another three. He possessed an engineer’s mind for detail and a salesman’s gift for gab. He knew how to listen, delegate, and motivate, and his talents had helped him climb the corporate ladder at a rapid pace.
Jake had learned to take charge at the age of fifteen, the day his father dropped dead in front of him while the two of them changed the outboard motor oil for Jake’s little aluminum fishing boat purchased with his lawn-mowing money. As the eldest of the four Prentice siblings, Jake had stepped up and stepped into his father’s shoes to the best of his ability. In this family role, he had developed discipline as well as mediation, organizational, and decision-making skills, not to mention the ability to see through bullshit.
His brother, Lucas, was otherwise known as King Bullshit and Emperor Pain-in-the-Ass. The idea of sitting down to break bread with him on Thursday was about as appetizing as liver and onions. Jake despised liver and onions. Right now, he had a similar opinion about his brother, too.
And just think. His reward for surviving two full days of hell here at the office was that he got to spend Thursday with his little brother. Oh, joy. Let the angels burst into a heavenly chorus.
“Just shoot me now,” he muttered, then reached into his desk drawer for the antacids. Maybe he should look at Thursday as his penance for the sins he was committing today.
Jake looked at the stack of folders on his desk. Twelve on the right, sixteen on the left. He wasn’t even halfway through the pile. Twenty-eight employees whose lives and livelihoods he was in the midst of disrupting, two freakin’ days before Thanksgiving.
At a knock on his office door, he glanced up to see his admin. “Mr. Franklin would like to see you in his office, Jake. Right away.”
Great. Could this day get any better?
“All right, Jason. Thanks.” Rising, he reached for his suit jacket and slipped it on. “Would you call HR and give Amanda Wilson a heads-up that our break has been extended? Tell her you’ll give her a buzz when we’re ready to resume the bloodletting.”
His assistant gave him a sympathetic smile. “Yes, sir.”
Jake popped another antacid before leaving his office. He strode briskly down the hallway past the elevator to the stairway, where he climbed the flight of stairs to the C-suite level. His boss’s door was open, and his executive assistant was with him. Paul Franklin sat behind his desk, phone to his ear, speaking Mandarin. Jake rapped on the threshold. Paul waved him into the room and motioned Jake to take a seat.
“Coffee, Mr. Prentice?” the assistant asked quietly.
The last thing Jake needed was more acid. His stomach was already sour from the morning’s events. “Club soda would be good. Thanks.”
Jake settled down to wait for his boss to finish his call. Experience during the past six months since Franklin took over from Jake’s retiring mentor had taught him that he could be sitting here for some time. His new boss liked his little power trips. Never mind that Jake had eight days of work to pack into the next two. He had files to read. Letters to write. Lives to ruin.
Playing the game, Jake sat without fidgeting. He pasted on a smile and turned his mind to his upcoming ski trip. He had a flight out of San Antonio headed for Taos Thursday evening. He intended to be on the slopes bright and early Friday morning. He’d need the strenuous exercise after the frustrations of this workweek and a holiday dinner with the fam-damn-ily. It might be the only thing that prevented him from stroking out.
Finally, Franklin ended his call. “Prentice. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Yeah, right. “No problem. What’s up?”
“I understand you have involved yourself in the layoffs? Calling the employees into your office to deliver the news?”
Inside, Jake stilled. Considering he’d had to make the call as to which twenty-eight people had to receive pink slips, then yes, he would say he was involved. “I’m making personal notifications, yes, along with a representative from HR.”
“Bad idea. That’s what department managers are for. Not an effective use of your time.”
Jake worked to keep the anger rolling through him off his face. “They’re part of my team.”
“Delegate, Prentice. At your pay grade, you need to delegate such tasks. But that’s not why I called you in here. We have a problem in Dubai.”
As Paul Franklin outlined the problem that had developed on the other side of the world, Jake wanted to groan. He knew where this was heading. He was accustomed to grabbing his go bag and heading for the airport at a moment’s notice, but it was two days before Thanksgiving.
His mother would have his hide.
She’d always been a little intense about holidays. They had family traditions for every holiday, even those that didn’t count as major ones. Seriously, while growing up, Jake had not known of another kid who was expected to spend Presidents’ Day with his parents. Sure, it always had an educational component, but Genevieve Prescott invariably made it an event.
After Dad died, it only got worse. Mom’s intensity ratcheted up about seven notches. Understandable, considering. The heart attack had come out of the blue, and she’d been lost for a little while. Jake had recognized even then that the holidays had saved her because focusing on cupids and shamrocks and fireworks and witches kept her from losing her grip entirely. Holidays, because they happened damned near weekly, helped her keep it together for her kids.
Unfortunately, nineteen-and-a-half years later, she still tried to keep as tight a grip on the family as ever. He wished she’d let loose a little. Then, perhaps the family growing pains wouldn’t be as painful.
Painful didn’t begin to describe the results if Jake canceled on his mother for Thanksgiving dinner at this late date. But, on the other hand, he wouldn’t have to break bread with Lucas and pretend to make nice. That, at least, would be one lone bright spot in this craptastic day.
Sure enough, his boss wound down his lecture by saying, “We need you to go to Dubai. I know it’s unfortunate timing due to the Thanksgiving holiday. Still, luckily, you don’t have a family you need to please.”
Tell that to my mother, asshole. Jake smiled and said, “I’ll be happy to make the trip, Paul. I’ll try to get a flight out tonight.”
“Good. Get this fixed, Jake, and get back here ASAP. I want you at the board meeting next Tuesday to present our restructuring plan.”
Our plan? Not hardly. It was Paul Franklin’s plan, top to bottom. Jake had proposed a completely different scenario that would have saved ten of these twenty-eight jobs being eliminated today. “Sure, boss.”
“Good. Glad we’re on the same page here.” Franklin rose and extended his hand for a handshake in dismissal. “Have a good trip, and remember to delegate.”
Jake fumed his way back to his office, where he found a baker’s dozen calls had come in while he was gone. News of the layoffs had gotten out, and the jackals were circling.
He popped another antacid, asked his administrative assistant to call Amanda with a fifteen-minute heads-up, and then book his trip. “Get me on the late flight if you can, Jason. I’ll need every minute here this afternoon. First, though, get Bob Mason on the phone, please.”
He’d ask Bob to gather the information he needed for Dubai. Ordinarily, he’d do that task himself, but he’d been told to delegate, hadn’t he? But he’d be damned if he’d pawn the layoffs off on someone else.
The conversation with Bob went fast, and Jake had seven minutes before Amanda was due. Just enough time to call his mother. As a rule, Jake preferred to tackle unpleasant things first and get them over with. Yet for some unknown reason, he simply couldn’t force himself to punch in her number or scroll to her name in his contacts list and connect the call. So what was he waiting for?
He killed six-and-a-half minutes. Wasted them in frozen idleness. He was shocked when Amanda knocked on his door and forced him to admit that he was afraid to call his mom.
Okay, he’d save that unhappy business for last. He’d totally chicken out and call Mom from the plane. Maybe even send a text.
“You okay, Jake?” Amanda asked as she took the seat off to his right that she’d occupied earlier this morning.
“I’m fine.” He could use a drink, but that would have to wait until he was on board his flight. “Who is up first?”
Amanda checked her files. “Tess Crenshaw.”
Tess Crenshaw. The most talented designer in the department. Hell, maybe the entire company. She’d been a valuable team member for three or four years, worked hard, worked smart, and deserved a promotion rather than a pink slip. Jake liked her very much. Could this day get any better? “Ask her to come up.”
* * *
Tess Crenshaw was having one of the best days in her professional life.
Driving toward downtown on I-35 after making a presentation in Georgetown, she imagined she was driving a gleaming fire engine red Porsche 911 convertible instead of her boxy six-year-old white Kia sedan. She would gun her engine and weave in and out of the heavy traffic with the skill of a Formula 1 driver.
However, since Tess wasn’t in a Porsche convertible, she settled for rolling down the driver’s side window of her Kia and pretending she was in a sports car. And since she was fantasizing, she decided to go all out. She’d be a tall, slender blond with supermodel cheekbones wearing designer clothes and big sunglasses.
In reality, she was a short, curvy, natural redhead with freckles, whose pragmatic nature sent her shopping at Macy’s for her work clothes and Target for her casual attire. She used her signal every time she changed lanes, chased points with the strategic use of credit cards, and made a grocery list from which she seldom deviated. Though sometimes her sweet tooth got the better of her, which was when the basket gremlins assumed control of her shopping cart. Invariably they’d tug it down the candy aisle toward the chocolate-covered mints.
But maybe…fingers and toes crossed…things were about to change. Maybe someday soon, she’d have the means to justify a serious splurge. Like, perhaps a spa day? Designer sunglasses?
A mortgage?
Tess giggled like a schoolgirl.
The downtown skyline rose in front of her, and her gaze found the forty-story building that housed Bensler, International. She couldn’t wait to get back and share the news about this morning’s meeting.
She’d worked her fanny off on the design for the renovation of the historic Baker Hotel in San Antonio, and she’d totally rocked the presentation. As a result, the clients had all but told her that Bensler would be awarded the contract. Even better, they’d requested she review the plans for a current project in Louisiana and make a proposal for a new hotel in Nashville on the drawing board.
It couldn’t have gone any better, and the timing was perfect, with her annual review coming up in less than ten days. Today’s events were guaranteed to snag her an exceptional rating. Surely, the promotion she’d worked so hard to earn was within reach. And the Christmas bonus!
As Tess moved to the right-hand lane to take the downtown exit, she released another little giggle. If this year’s bonuses were comparable to last year’s, she should have enough saved for a good down payment. A promotion would give her the confidence to contact a real estate agent. She could be in a house by spring!
Her own house. Because she’d been a foster kid shuttled from house to house to house since the ripe old age of six, Tess had made home ownership her number one goal. She wanted a lawn to mow and walls to paint and windows to drape. She wanted to hang Christmas lights from her roof and a poinsettia wreath on her very own front door. To have it so close within her grasp was a heady feeling and the first step on the road she longed to travel—having a family with whom to share said house. Mortgage, matrimony, and maternity. The three M’s. Tess’s most cherished dream.
She was sitting at a traffic light on Lamar Boulevard thinking about hip roofs when her work cell rang. “Good afternoon. This is Tess Crenshaw with Bensler, International. How may I help you?”
“Hello, Tess. This is Jason, calling for Jake Prentice. He’d like to see you as soon as possible. Will you come up to his office, please?”
Tess’s heart gave the ka-thump that it always made when she knew she would see Jake Prentice. She had a little crush on her boss’s boss’s boss. Nothing would ever come of it, of course. Jake was a consummate professional, as was she, and workplace romances were verboten at Bensler. Nevertheless, she enjoyed the little buzz she got whenever he said her name in that smooth, sexy voice of his. Maybe it wasn’t exactly politically correct for a contemporary professional woman, but what did it hurt to have a private, not-a-secretary-but-a-designer-boss fantasy from time to time?
“Sure. I’m not at the office right now. I had a presentation up in Georgetown this morning, and I’m on my way in. I’ll come straight there if that works? Probably about fifteen minutes?” That would give her time to stop in the ladies’ room and comb her not-quite-a-convertible hair.
“Yes, that will be fine. I’ll let Jake know you’re on your way.”
The light turned green, and Tess proceeded toward her office building’s garage, her excitement about the day escalating. She wondered what this meeting was about. The Baker Hotel, maybe? Jake was a hands-on manager. He might well have known that her presentation was today. Either way, since she’d mentioned it to his admin, he was bound to ask how it went. She’d get to share her news. “Bonus, here I come,” she murmured. Maybe she should spend some time on Realtor.com tonight.
A few minutes later, she pulled into an empty parking spot and shut off her car. As was its habit, the engine knocked a few seconds before shutting down. She gathered her purse and briefcase and exited the car, headed for the garage elevator. It took real effort not to skip.
Tess rode the elevator to the thirty-second floor and ducked into the ladies’ room. She brushed her hair and was touching up her lipstick when the restroom door opened and a woman wearing a smart red suit whom she vaguely recognized but couldn’t place stepped inside. Tess smiled at her, they exchanged hellos, and the . . .
New Braunfels, Texas
The dining room table sat dusted and polished, an empty canvas awaiting that first brush of an artist’s paint. A classic Queen Anne double-pedestal style in solid mahogany, it sported a nick here and a scratch there, wrinkles on the old grande dame’s timeless face.
Standing in the dining room doorway and gazing at it, Genevieve Prentice recalled the Sunday morning more than thirty years ago when the table became part of her life. Her smile turned bittersweet. She’d been out of milk and down to one diaper for eighteen-month-old Jake. With her husband out of town on business, she’d loaded her toddler into the minivan for an emergency grocery store run.
She’d spied the estate sale sign posted at an intersection on the way home and turned into the old, established San Antonio neighborhood on a whim. Arrows led the way to a large Victorian house with turrets and towers and dormers. Ornate spindles and gingerbread decorated the wide, wraparound porch. A rope swing hung from a thick branch of a century-old pecan tree in the front yard. It was Genevieve’s dream house. Someday, Genevieve thought. Someday David and I will live in a home like this.
Genevieve often shopped garage sales, being a young stay-at-home mom whose husband was struggling to get established in his career. Ordinarily, estate sale offerings were priced beyond her budget. She knew she wouldn’t be able to afford anything in this historic home, half-price Sunday or not.
Nevertheless, it was fun to dream. She removed Jake from his car seat, propped him on her hip, and headed inside.
She’d oohed over the wicker on the porch and aahed at the Oriental rug in the entry. The secretary in the parlor made her yearn. The bookcase in the library gave her the wants. But when she walked into the dining room and spied the table and chairs, Genevieve pulled up short.
Her mouth went dry. Her heart began to pound. It was love at first sight.
She wanted this table. She needed this table.
It would become an heirloom. Not something that came down from his family. Not something that came down from her. It would be their family heirloom. Hers and David’s. It would be the centerpiece of their family life.
She’d bought the set on the spot.
It was Genevieve’s first and last spur-of-the-moment furniture purchase. The table came with a matching sideboard, eight chairs, and two table leaves, which created a problem since their little family occupied a small, two-bedroom apartment at the time. She’d rented a storage unit and hired a couple of high school boys with a pickup truck to move it for her, but to say that David was unhappy with her decision was an understatement.
And yet, she’d never regretted buying her dining room table. Then and now, it stood as a symbol, a promise, and a dream of that which mattered most to her.
Family.
The passage of more than thirty years had not changed that. If anything, family mattered to her now more than ever. After David died, her family gave her a reason to go on living. It gave her life meaning and a purpose. She’d devoted her life to her family. The family that she’d built with her husband for the fifteen years before his sudden death, and then on her own for the eighteen years since that tragic event, would be her legacy when she was gone.
When she was gone.
Genevieve unconsciously lifted her hand to touch the still-tender incision on her right breast. She willed herself to keep her thoughts off the dark path along which they’d wandered way too often in the past weeks. When the doorbell rang, she was glad for the distraction. She glanced through the dining room’s large picture window toward the street, where a dry cleaner’s delivery van idled at the curb. She detoured into the kitchen to grab some tip money from her purse, then answered the door.
Instead of the sandy-haired teen who usually delivered her dry cleaning, she discovered her third-born child carrying her linen delivery. “Hey, Mom.” Lucas Prentice sailed into the house. “I swiped these away from Sam hoping to score his tip.”
“Dreamer.” She waved the teen to the door. “Perfect timing, Sam. I’m just about ready to put the linens on my table.”
“Good deal.”
As she handed the young man cash, a gust of wind swirled across the lawn and sent dried sycamore leaves skittering up onto the porch. Genevieve groaned. “That darned tree. I’ve swept the porch twice already today. I wanted everything neat and clean for Thursday, but my lawn guys can’t get out here to deal with the leaves until Friday.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Lucas, could you…?”
“I can’t stay, Mom. I have a date.”
The teen piped up. “My brother and I could do it in the morning if you’d like. No school tomorrow, and I’m not scheduled to work. We could use some Christmas money.”
Genevieve didn’t hesitate. Sam and his younger brother, Nathan, lived four houses down from her, and they’d often done odd jobs for her in the past. They were good, hardworking kids. “Wonderful. You’re hired.”
They settled on a rate and a start time, then the teen promised, “We’ll have your yard looking good for your Thanksgiving guests, Mrs. Prentice. Are y’all having a big crowd again as usual?”
Genevieve’s smile hitched just a bit. “We’re a little smaller this year.”
“Smaller can be good. More pie to go around. A person can never have enough pecan pie.”
“Good point.”
He waved a good-bye, and Genevieve moved quickly to shut the door when another cloud of leaves threatened to invade. “This is a surprise. What brings you by?”
“Just in the neighborhood.” Lucas kissed his mother’s cheek, then held up the linens. “Where do you want these?”
“The coat closet, please. Your timing is good. You can help me with the table.”
“Sure. Sorry about the leaves, though Sam and his brother will probably do a better job.”
“No probably about it. You never had the patience to get them all.”
Lucas hung the dry cleaning in the closet, then followed his mother into the dining room and took a position at one end of the table. “So what’s the theme for this Thanksgiving, Martha?”
“Martha?” Genevieve grasped the table opposite her son, and they tugged, opening the extension table wide.
“Stewart.”
Genevieve sniffed. “I’m no Martha Stewart.”
Lucas strode to the short hallway lined with custom built-in cabinets that connected the kitchen with the dining room and served as a butler’s pantry for Genevieve’s dishes. He opened the cupboard where the table leaves were stored. Lifting one, he said, “I’ll agree that you don’t pile decorative pillows on the beds or set out guest towels that people are afraid to use.”
“And the only books on my coffee table are those I happen to be reading.” Genevieve watched with an eagle eye as her son carefully placed the first leaf.
“True. But, Mom, you gotta admit, you do get your Martha on in the dining room.” Lucas returned to the butler’s pantry for the second leaf.
That was true. Genevieve loved to set a pretty table, and holidays were her specialty. She usually spent weeks planning her theme, colors, centerpieces, and linens. She’d taken a course in floral arranging at the local junior college and learned calligraphy because she’d wanted her place cards to shine. She often went so far as to change the artwork on the walls to complement her table.
“So what is it? Your theme?”
Genevieve studied her son as he placed the second leaf into the slot in the table. Between this unusual surprise visit and the out-of-character question, she knew something was up. Lucas didn’t care about decorations. He was a typical thirty-year-old bachelor. His idea of home decor was matching paper plates. After they closed the table around the leaves, she responded. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged and gave his dark hair a toss and that crooked little smile that invariably reminded Genevieve of her younger brother, Mark, whom they’d lost to pancreatic cancer six years ago. Her heart gave a little twist. Another seat at the Thanksgiving table that wouldn’t be filled this year.
“Just curious.”
Just delaying, if she knew her son. And she knew her son. Well, no sense trying to rush him. He’d get around to sharing whatever had brought him home when he was ready.
So, Genevieve returned her attention to her canvas. Last year she’d gone with a sleek, contemporary look with her decor using muted colors—sage, vanilla, stone, and wheat. She’d loved the way it had turned out. However, with all the turmoil churning the family seas, she wanted tradition with a capital T this year. That meant earth tones—brown, russet, gold, and shades of green. Mini pumpkins would add a pop of color. Place cards this year were black-and-white photographs in small crystal frames. She had spent weeks searching through her albums for just the right photos.
She had a message to send to her children this year at Thanksgiving, though she wanted it to be subtle. In her home, holidays were a time for fun, fellowship, and fantastic food. Drama wasn’t welcome, especially not at the holiday table. Her kids were all bright people. They wouldn’t miss the point she was making—that they needed to count their damned blessings.
Beginning with the one that was their family.
“I want my table theme to be a surprise, Lucas.” She wanted all four of her children to be there to get the meaning of her theme in person at the same time. Her offspring hadn’t gathered together since last Christmas, not because of jobs or distance or life commitments, but because of stubbornness and temper and the inability to ask for or offer forgiveness.
Genevieve’s patience with it had run out.
Lucas shoved his hands in his back pants pockets. “Well, Mom. About that. I, um, well. I, um, I wasn’t actually in the neighborhood. I came by because, well, even though this would be a lot easier to do by text, I need to be an adult about it.”
Genevieve went still. She knew. At that moment, she knew what he was going to say.
“Mom, I’m not going to be here on Thursday.”
“Lucas,” she warned. “You are breaking my heart.”
“No, Mom. Don’t.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Just don’t. It’s better for everyone if I just stay the hell away on Thursday.”
A dark storm of emotion rolled inside Genevieve. She was sympathetic and angry and frustrated and hurt and torn and dozens of other feelings she couldn’t put a name to at the moment. Her heart bleeding, her throat clamped around a knot of pain, she willed back tears. Then, without responding, she turned and retrieved the protective table pads from the cabinet.
Lucas continued, “I thought about making up some excuse. I thought about calling and saying I was sick at the last minute, but I decided to be honest with you.”
Well, she’d taught her children to value honesty, hadn’t she? Somehow, though, she couldn’t help but feel her lesson was being used against her now.
“Mom, I’m not ready. I need more time. It’s just too soon.”
She managed, barely, to keep her tone calm. “It’s been almost a year.”
He shrugged. Rather than defend himself further, he took the heavy pads from her hands and placed them on the table. Genevieve wanted to snap at him. She wanted to slap at him. She wanted to send him to his room without any supper. However, even though he acted like a child, he was an adult, so all she did was radiate disapproval. Like a nuclear bomb.
For all the good it did. Of her four children, Lucas was the least bothered by her disapproval.
Having delivered his news, he prepared to beat a hasty retreat and offered up something he expected would soften her up. Under other circumstances, it might have worked. “I have to go. Like I mentioned, I have a date. She’s a nice girl, Mom. Might be something there. I think I might bring her to Sunday dinner sometime soon.”
Oh, you think so, do you? Well, you might just find the restaurant is closed.
“I love you, Mom.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Lucas,” she repeated.
“I’m doing the best I can.”
No. No, you’re not.
He hugged her, kissed her cheek, and left, shutting the door behind himself with a firm thunk.
Genevieve stood in her dining room, staring at her dining room table for a long moment. Her pulse pounded. Her chest hurt. Her breaths started to come in shallow, angry pants. She felt a storm coming on, and she knew only one thing to do.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and called her sister.
Two
Jake Prentice was having a bitch of a day.
As managing director of Bensler, International, a global architecture, planning, and design firm headquartered in Austin, Texas, he handled crises and emergencies daily. The job played to his strengths. With a natural affinity for languages, he was fluent in four and could get by in another three. He possessed an engineer’s mind for detail and a salesman’s gift for gab. He knew how to listen, delegate, and motivate, and his talents had helped him climb the corporate ladder at a rapid pace.
Jake had learned to take charge at the age of fifteen, the day his father dropped dead in front of him while the two of them changed the outboard motor oil for Jake’s little aluminum fishing boat purchased with his lawn-mowing money. As the eldest of the four Prentice siblings, Jake had stepped up and stepped into his father’s shoes to the best of his ability. In this family role, he had developed discipline as well as mediation, organizational, and decision-making skills, not to mention the ability to see through bullshit.
His brother, Lucas, was otherwise known as King Bullshit and Emperor Pain-in-the-Ass. The idea of sitting down to break bread with him on Thursday was about as appetizing as liver and onions. Jake despised liver and onions. Right now, he had a similar opinion about his brother, too.
And just think. His reward for surviving two full days of hell here at the office was that he got to spend Thursday with his little brother. Oh, joy. Let the angels burst into a heavenly chorus.
“Just shoot me now,” he muttered, then reached into his desk drawer for the antacids. Maybe he should look at Thursday as his penance for the sins he was committing today.
Jake looked at the stack of folders on his desk. Twelve on the right, sixteen on the left. He wasn’t even halfway through the pile. Twenty-eight employees whose lives and livelihoods he was in the midst of disrupting, two freakin’ days before Thanksgiving.
At a knock on his office door, he glanced up to see his admin. “Mr. Franklin would like to see you in his office, Jake. Right away.”
Great. Could this day get any better?
“All right, Jason. Thanks.” Rising, he reached for his suit jacket and slipped it on. “Would you call HR and give Amanda Wilson a heads-up that our break has been extended? Tell her you’ll give her a buzz when we’re ready to resume the bloodletting.”
His assistant gave him a sympathetic smile. “Yes, sir.”
Jake popped another antacid before leaving his office. He strode briskly down the hallway past the elevator to the stairway, where he climbed the flight of stairs to the C-suite level. His boss’s door was open, and his executive assistant was with him. Paul Franklin sat behind his desk, phone to his ear, speaking Mandarin. Jake rapped on the threshold. Paul waved him into the room and motioned Jake to take a seat.
“Coffee, Mr. Prentice?” the assistant asked quietly.
The last thing Jake needed was more acid. His stomach was already sour from the morning’s events. “Club soda would be good. Thanks.”
Jake settled down to wait for his boss to finish his call. Experience during the past six months since Franklin took over from Jake’s retiring mentor had taught him that he could be sitting here for some time. His new boss liked his little power trips. Never mind that Jake had eight days of work to pack into the next two. He had files to read. Letters to write. Lives to ruin.
Playing the game, Jake sat without fidgeting. He pasted on a smile and turned his mind to his upcoming ski trip. He had a flight out of San Antonio headed for Taos Thursday evening. He intended to be on the slopes bright and early Friday morning. He’d need the strenuous exercise after the frustrations of this workweek and a holiday dinner with the fam-damn-ily. It might be the only thing that prevented him from stroking out.
Finally, Franklin ended his call. “Prentice. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Yeah, right. “No problem. What’s up?”
“I understand you have involved yourself in the layoffs? Calling the employees into your office to deliver the news?”
Inside, Jake stilled. Considering he’d had to make the call as to which twenty-eight people had to receive pink slips, then yes, he would say he was involved. “I’m making personal notifications, yes, along with a representative from HR.”
“Bad idea. That’s what department managers are for. Not an effective use of your time.”
Jake worked to keep the anger rolling through him off his face. “They’re part of my team.”
“Delegate, Prentice. At your pay grade, you need to delegate such tasks. But that’s not why I called you in here. We have a problem in Dubai.”
As Paul Franklin outlined the problem that had developed on the other side of the world, Jake wanted to groan. He knew where this was heading. He was accustomed to grabbing his go bag and heading for the airport at a moment’s notice, but it was two days before Thanksgiving.
His mother would have his hide.
She’d always been a little intense about holidays. They had family traditions for every holiday, even those that didn’t count as major ones. Seriously, while growing up, Jake had not known of another kid who was expected to spend Presidents’ Day with his parents. Sure, it always had an educational component, but Genevieve Prescott invariably made it an event.
After Dad died, it only got worse. Mom’s intensity ratcheted up about seven notches. Understandable, considering. The heart attack had come out of the blue, and she’d been lost for a little while. Jake had recognized even then that the holidays had saved her because focusing on cupids and shamrocks and fireworks and witches kept her from losing her grip entirely. Holidays, because they happened damned near weekly, helped her keep it together for her kids.
Unfortunately, nineteen-and-a-half years later, she still tried to keep as tight a grip on the family as ever. He wished she’d let loose a little. Then, perhaps the family growing pains wouldn’t be as painful.
Painful didn’t begin to describe the results if Jake canceled on his mother for Thanksgiving dinner at this late date. But, on the other hand, he wouldn’t have to break bread with Lucas and pretend to make nice. That, at least, would be one lone bright spot in this craptastic day.
Sure enough, his boss wound down his lecture by saying, “We need you to go to Dubai. I know it’s unfortunate timing due to the Thanksgiving holiday. Still, luckily, you don’t have a family you need to please.”
Tell that to my mother, asshole. Jake smiled and said, “I’ll be happy to make the trip, Paul. I’ll try to get a flight out tonight.”
“Good. Get this fixed, Jake, and get back here ASAP. I want you at the board meeting next Tuesday to present our restructuring plan.”
Our plan? Not hardly. It was Paul Franklin’s plan, top to bottom. Jake had proposed a completely different scenario that would have saved ten of these twenty-eight jobs being eliminated today. “Sure, boss.”
“Good. Glad we’re on the same page here.” Franklin rose and extended his hand for a handshake in dismissal. “Have a good trip, and remember to delegate.”
Jake fumed his way back to his office, where he found a baker’s dozen calls had come in while he was gone. News of the layoffs had gotten out, and the jackals were circling.
He popped another antacid, asked his administrative assistant to call Amanda with a fifteen-minute heads-up, and then book his trip. “Get me on the late flight if you can, Jason. I’ll need every minute here this afternoon. First, though, get Bob Mason on the phone, please.”
He’d ask Bob to gather the information he needed for Dubai. Ordinarily, he’d do that task himself, but he’d been told to delegate, hadn’t he? But he’d be damned if he’d pawn the layoffs off on someone else.
The conversation with Bob went fast, and Jake had seven minutes before Amanda was due. Just enough time to call his mother. As a rule, Jake preferred to tackle unpleasant things first and get them over with. Yet for some unknown reason, he simply couldn’t force himself to punch in her number or scroll to her name in his contacts list and connect the call. So what was he waiting for?
He killed six-and-a-half minutes. Wasted them in frozen idleness. He was shocked when Amanda knocked on his door and forced him to admit that he was afraid to call his mom.
Okay, he’d save that unhappy business for last. He’d totally chicken out and call Mom from the plane. Maybe even send a text.
“You okay, Jake?” Amanda asked as she took the seat off to his right that she’d occupied earlier this morning.
“I’m fine.” He could use a drink, but that would have to wait until he was on board his flight. “Who is up first?”
Amanda checked her files. “Tess Crenshaw.”
Tess Crenshaw. The most talented designer in the department. Hell, maybe the entire company. She’d been a valuable team member for three or four years, worked hard, worked smart, and deserved a promotion rather than a pink slip. Jake liked her very much. Could this day get any better? “Ask her to come up.”
* * *
Tess Crenshaw was having one of the best days in her professional life.
Driving toward downtown on I-35 after making a presentation in Georgetown, she imagined she was driving a gleaming fire engine red Porsche 911 convertible instead of her boxy six-year-old white Kia sedan. She would gun her engine and weave in and out of the heavy traffic with the skill of a Formula 1 driver.
However, since Tess wasn’t in a Porsche convertible, she settled for rolling down the driver’s side window of her Kia and pretending she was in a sports car. And since she was fantasizing, she decided to go all out. She’d be a tall, slender blond with supermodel cheekbones wearing designer clothes and big sunglasses.
In reality, she was a short, curvy, natural redhead with freckles, whose pragmatic nature sent her shopping at Macy’s for her work clothes and Target for her casual attire. She used her signal every time she changed lanes, chased points with the strategic use of credit cards, and made a grocery list from which she seldom deviated. Though sometimes her sweet tooth got the better of her, which was when the basket gremlins assumed control of her shopping cart. Invariably they’d tug it down the candy aisle toward the chocolate-covered mints.
But maybe…fingers and toes crossed…things were about to change. Maybe someday soon, she’d have the means to justify a serious splurge. Like, perhaps a spa day? Designer sunglasses?
A mortgage?
Tess giggled like a schoolgirl.
The downtown skyline rose in front of her, and her gaze found the forty-story building that housed Bensler, International. She couldn’t wait to get back and share the news about this morning’s meeting.
She’d worked her fanny off on the design for the renovation of the historic Baker Hotel in San Antonio, and she’d totally rocked the presentation. As a result, the clients had all but told her that Bensler would be awarded the contract. Even better, they’d requested she review the plans for a current project in Louisiana and make a proposal for a new hotel in Nashville on the drawing board.
It couldn’t have gone any better, and the timing was perfect, with her annual review coming up in less than ten days. Today’s events were guaranteed to snag her an exceptional rating. Surely, the promotion she’d worked so hard to earn was within reach. And the Christmas bonus!
As Tess moved to the right-hand lane to take the downtown exit, she released another little giggle. If this year’s bonuses were comparable to last year’s, she should have enough saved for a good down payment. A promotion would give her the confidence to contact a real estate agent. She could be in a house by spring!
Her own house. Because she’d been a foster kid shuttled from house to house to house since the ripe old age of six, Tess had made home ownership her number one goal. She wanted a lawn to mow and walls to paint and windows to drape. She wanted to hang Christmas lights from her roof and a poinsettia wreath on her very own front door. To have it so close within her grasp was a heady feeling and the first step on the road she longed to travel—having a family with whom to share said house. Mortgage, matrimony, and maternity. The three M’s. Tess’s most cherished dream.
She was sitting at a traffic light on Lamar Boulevard thinking about hip roofs when her work cell rang. “Good afternoon. This is Tess Crenshaw with Bensler, International. How may I help you?”
“Hello, Tess. This is Jason, calling for Jake Prentice. He’d like to see you as soon as possible. Will you come up to his office, please?”
Tess’s heart gave the ka-thump that it always made when she knew she would see Jake Prentice. She had a little crush on her boss’s boss’s boss. Nothing would ever come of it, of course. Jake was a consummate professional, as was she, and workplace romances were verboten at Bensler. Nevertheless, she enjoyed the little buzz she got whenever he said her name in that smooth, sexy voice of his. Maybe it wasn’t exactly politically correct for a contemporary professional woman, but what did it hurt to have a private, not-a-secretary-but-a-designer-boss fantasy from time to time?
“Sure. I’m not at the office right now. I had a presentation up in Georgetown this morning, and I’m on my way in. I’ll come straight there if that works? Probably about fifteen minutes?” That would give her time to stop in the ladies’ room and comb her not-quite-a-convertible hair.
“Yes, that will be fine. I’ll let Jake know you’re on your way.”
The light turned green, and Tess proceeded toward her office building’s garage, her excitement about the day escalating. She wondered what this meeting was about. The Baker Hotel, maybe? Jake was a hands-on manager. He might well have known that her presentation was today. Either way, since she’d mentioned it to his admin, he was bound to ask how it went. She’d get to share her news. “Bonus, here I come,” she murmured. Maybe she should spend some time on Realtor.com tonight.
A few minutes later, she pulled into an empty parking spot and shut off her car. As was its habit, the engine knocked a few seconds before shutting down. She gathered her purse and briefcase and exited the car, headed for the garage elevator. It took real effort not to skip.
Tess rode the elevator to the thirty-second floor and ducked into the ladies’ room. She brushed her hair and was touching up her lipstick when the restroom door opened and a woman wearing a smart red suit whom she vaguely recognized but couldn’t place stepped inside. Tess smiled at her, they exchanged hellos, and the . . .
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Lake in the Clouds #1
Emily March
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