Page 50 of Christmas in Vines

You have no idea how hard it is for me to leave you here, asleep and so beautiful, but I had to leave. There are some things back home that I need to attend to, and a few of them involve you. I promise, one day soon, I will explain all of this. X.

What the hell did that mean?

What did he have to attend to that included me?

Dropping the note into my handbag, I dressed quickly, grabbed my bags and headed out to check out. At the desk, I paused, “Can you tell me when Tyler Burrows checked out?”

The lady nodded and tapped on her keys. “I’m sorry, I don’t see any notes here.”

“How about if he rented a car?” I asked.

She checked again. “I am sorry, miss, no records. But there is a rental down the street from here. Maybe he went there?”

“Could be,” I replied. “Thank you.”

I headed out the door and stepped onto the snow-dusted sidewalk. My head twisted to the west where the rental service was—but I shook my head and headed to the car park and my truck. If Tyler had gone there… what was the sense of even finding out? He was gone anyway.

Gripping the steering wheel, I sucked in a breath. “Shake it off, Willow. It’ll be all right.”

Except it wasn’t.

When I got home, it took all my strength to attend brunch with Dad and then escape to my room. I should have known my respite would not be too long—because half an hour later, Dad was at my door with a plate of cherry pie and sweet cider.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked kindly, toeing off his shoes and joining me on the bed.

“I’d rather not,” I replied, letting my head drop onto his shoulder. Taking the saucer from him, I halfheartedly cut into the pie and ate it. I loved my dad’s attitude toward my problems; I appreciated how he would let me figure them out on my own, while I knew for a fact that if I called for the calvary, he would come charging.

I finished the slice and sat to the side, gazing into nowhere. “I thought he was different.”

Dad inclined his head. “I think he is. I’ve never seen you that happy in the months since you left Maxwell. I don’t know what he did, or didn’t do, but don’t write the guy off so easily, Willow. Give him a chance to right whatever wrong he did and if he doesn’t… well, that’s your answer.”

Sighing, I closed my eyes, “If only it was that easy.”

ChapterSixteen

Willow

Ididn’t hear a thing from Tyler for the next eight days. New Years had passed like a blur, a speck of time. I’d hoped to spend it with Tyler, but he had certainly dropped off the map. New Year's Day, nothing; I’d not texted him or called because I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere.

By the eighth, things had gone back to normal, the holiday was over, the air had gone back drab instead of sparkling with winter light—and it was time for me and Dad to meet with Maxmillian, his party of attorneys and finalize his buy-in.

As much as Dad was sure this was a good thing, I was positive it would be walking right into hell’s gate and shaking hands with the devil because that was what Winslow was. I couldn’t help but go into the meeting room, ready to do whatever I could to get Dad to stop this madness.

Pausing outside the door, I began to wonder if all this acrimony was against Maxwell and not the assets he would be bringing us. Were my emotions truly blinding me to what might be a good thing—or was the niggling in my gut telling me the truth?

I guess I’ll see when Maxwell and his father get here.

As the board of directors came in, including my uncle, I realized there was one seat still open. Was that for the anonymous benefactor Dad told me not to worry about? Our attorneys came in next, Mrs. Paula White scowling while clad in an angelic white suit and Dr. Chamberlin tight-lipped in his usual black get-up.

Dad took his seat, and I took mine while we waited for the Winslows to arrive. Paula slid a folder to me and extended one to Dad as we waited. I looked inside and scanned the numbers, trying to see if they were the same ones we had offered to Maxmillian.

As I grabbed a pen and began to dot notes on the margins, Maxmillian and his son walked in with my uncle and their lawyers behind them. Seated, Winslow and Maxwell greeted Dad and me; well, Maxwell did; Maximillian only greeted Dad.

“Are we ready to get this on the road?” he asked, turning to Dad’s lawyers. “Are the documents ready to sign?”

“They are prepared,” Paula said, her mouth pinching, “But we need to review them collectively first.”

“No need to do so,” Maxmillian said, “I’m sure I’ll get it.”

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