Catherine Spencer - Zachary's Virgin

It had been more than sixteen years since Claire had experienced much the same fear, never sure if she was welcome in the two rooms which had been home, or if she should make herself scarce in the back alley until such time as yet another of her mother’s “gentleman friends” left, but the memories had not faded with time. She doubted they ever would; the sense of abandonment had left too deep a scar. Observing her uncertain little guest sympathetically, she said, “Why don’t you find us some music while I make up a little plate of hors d’oeuvres? Choose something you enjoy, ma chère—something lively and fun.”

“Okay.”

Melanie leaped at the chance to make herself useful while Claire set to work. The kitchenette Zachary Alexander had spoken of contained a wine bar with a refrigerator, a microwave oven, cappuccino coffeemaker and small sink. Various wineglasses and tall mugs hung from a rack, and a cupboard next to the refrigerator contained a supply of flavored coffees, hot chocolate, nuts and other snacks.

“It’s too early for champagne,” she said, checking the contents of the refrigerator, “but we can enjoy a cranberry cocktail while we get to know one another, yes?”

Melanie looked up from the compact discs she was sorting and giggled. “You talk funny,” she said. “Nobody here says ‘shompanya,’ they just call it plain old champagne.”

“Well, I’m French so I say some things a little differently, but I’m going to count on you to tell me if I make mistakes.” As she talked, Claire poured sparkling cranberry juice into two crystal goblets, set them on a small silver tray beside a dish of nuts then, carrying everything over to the fireplace, offered the child a glass. “Here’s to a very good time with my new friend Melanie. Joyeux noël, ma chère.”

“I don’t expect you’ll have much time for me when the parties start.”

“You mean, there are no parties for young ladies at Topaz Valley? No singing or dancing or wearing pretty dresses to celebrate the season?”

“Well, they have a Santa Claus for the kids on Christmas morning, but it’s really McBride with a pillow stuffed under his coat.” The girl gazed at her drink pensively. “I stopped believing in Santa Claus when my mom died and I almost hate Christmas now because it makes me feel so lonely. I’d rather be by myself with our two dogs.”

Claire’s heart contracted with pity. Even the death of an uncaring mother left a hole in a child’s life, as she very well knew, but when that mother had showered her daughter in love, as Melanie’s so clearly had, how much more acutely the loss must be felt.

“Well, this year will be different, I promise you. This year, we will have fun.” She took the wine goblet from the child and drew her to her feet. “Here, kick off your boots and let’s dance.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Melanie flushed with pleasure and the mouth which at first had been so solemn curved with laughter. Her eyes were sapphire stars, alive with excitement as only a child’s can be.

Again, emotion tugged at Claire’s heart. How little it took to please the girl, and what she would have given to have just such a daughter herself, someone to spoil a little and love and spend special time with—all those things which had been missing from her relationship with her own mother.

But that was not possible until she’d found the right man with whom to share such joy. Not for her the casual liaison, the unthinking act that brought an unwanted child into the world. First, there had to be a husband, and love strong enough to last a lifetime.

Blinking back sudden, inexplicable tears, she held out her hands to Melanie. “Come, darling. The music’s going to waste.”

They galloped the length of the room and back again, stumbling a little and laughing a lot until a thump on the door brought them both to a sudden stop. Claire shrugged and smiled. “What did I tell you? Already we’re famous for the fun we have and someone else wants to join our party. Turn down the music a little and enjoy your drink, chérie, while I see who’s so impatient to be let in.”

It was Zachary Alexander, his scowl very firmly in place. Did he sleep like that, Claire wondered, with his mouth drawn like a purse string and his winged brows almost meeting above the bridge of his handsome nose?

Determined not to be intimidated by his obviously sour mood, she smiled and said, “How nice to see you again so soon, Mr. Alexander. Won’t you come in?”

“This isn’t a social call, Miss Durocher.”

“Nonetheless, it’s too cold to stand on one’s dignity out there.” She opened the door wider and gestured him inside. “Please, whatever business has brought you here, can’t we at least conduct it inside where it’s warm?”

“If you don’t like the cold,” he said, following her into the salon, “why did you choose to spend Christmas in this neck of the woods? Surely you knew it wasn’t the tropics.”

“Ah, oui,” she said, preserving her good humor with difficulty, “even I knew that. But I’m sure you haven’t come here to give me a geography lesson. So what can I do for you? Have you decided I may not occupy this suite, after all?”

From her place in the middle of the floor, Melanie said, “Uh-oh,” in the kind of voice that warned of trouble ahead.

At that, he flicked his very blue gaze past her to the child and in that instant Claire saw the resemblance between the two of them in the stubborn cast of the mouth. “I have come to collect my daughter,” he said, his glance sweeping the room and taking note of the boots kicked to one side, the dish of nuts and the two wine goblets with their jewel-colored contents. “She has no business disturbing you and knows better than to impose herself on a guest.”

“It’s no imposition, I assure you,” Claire said firmly. “Melanie is here at my invitation and we’d both like it very much if you’d join us.”

“No, thank you.” He turned to leave, pausing only long enough to say over his shoulder, “Put your boots on and let’s get going, Mel. I have to be back at the lodge in half an hour.”

His footsteps stamped out of the suite and back to the other side of the veranda with a vehemence which suggested he would have liked to grind them across the interloper’s throat. Shortly thereafter, his own front door slammed. Truly, the man was formidable! As for his daughter, all her animation had died, leaving her little face pinched with misery and her mouth drooping sullenly as she trooped obediently in his wake.

And small wonder! Left too much to her own devices, with only a couple of dogs for company, half the time—it was no sort of life for a child.

“Well, ma petite, things will be different as long I’m living next door,” Claire muttered, clearing away the remains of their celebration. “By the time Christmas is over, you’ll be glad to see me leave, you’ll have grown so tired of me.”

But she knew that wasn’t true. The girl was dying inside for want of affection and the feel of strong, loving arms around her. As am I, she thought. The need to feel cherished never goes away, but I don’t have the heart to tell you that, sweet child. Sadly, it’s something you’ll learn on your own, all too soon.

The après-ski happy hour was well underway when Zach walked into the lounge, and if the noise level was anything to go by, people were having a good time. In itself, this was always a positive sign because he knew from experience that a successful social program was a key factor in keeping the resort in the black. But the scene he’d just had with Melanie had left him with no taste to party and when his gaze settled on the cause of this latest father-daughter spat, his mood blackened further.