The Last Boyfriend tibt-2

by Нора Робертс

  “Do you think she ever loved me?”

  “Yes.” With no hesitation, Justine gave Avery’s hand a squeeze. “Yes, she loved you, and I think she loves you now. Just not enough.”

  “Not enough might be worse than not at all,” Avery murmured.

  “Maybe, but that’s not on you, honey. It’s nothing about you, and all about Traci. I want to think you know that, deep down. Maybe you haven’t gotten there yet. Meanwhile, you’re smart and lucky in your friends, and you can count on them. But sometimes a girl needs a mom. You have me.”

  Avery went into her arms, held hard. “I knew. I always knew, but it helps hearing you say it. I don’t want you to worry about me.”

  “Part of the job, but I don’t worry much when it comes to you.” She lifted Avery’s face, smiled. “Bright light. You’ve always found your way.”

  * * *

  After the guests, after the cleanup—and with Carolee handling the two party guests who’d booked rooms for the night—Avery talked Hope into coming to her apartment for a break.

  “Feet up.” Avery plopped down, put hers on the coffee table. “Congratulations, co-hostess.”

  “Back at you. Jesus, I’m exhausted.”

  “Half of that’s adrenaline drain. You get hyped.”

  “I do—but that was one kick-ass shower.”

  “And onto one kick-ass wedding.” Self-satisfied Avery stretched her arms up, rolled her shoulders. “I’m going to make us some tea in a minute, then we can talk about Janice and what she was thinking when she put on those pants. They made her butt look like an enormous beefsteak.”

  Laying her head back, Hope closed her eyes, chuckled. “God, they really did. On the other hand, Laurie looked so pretty, and so excited about her own wedding. It’s too bad they’d already booked the venue before we were finished with the inn.”

  “You’re a glutton for punishment.”

  “Maybe. Charlene did pull me aside. She and the other bookstore girls want to give Laurie a shower. And now they want to talk about having it at the inn. I need to talk to Justine, figure out a venue fee for an event like that.”

  “I thought I was a workhorse.” She pushed herself up, kicking off her shoes on the way to the kitchen—then detoured at the knock on the door. “Please don’t be a problem downstairs, please don’t be a problem downstairs,” she muttered. “Owen.”

  “Saw the light. I thought we could— Hi, Hope.”

  “Hi. I was just leaving.”

  “No, she wasn’t. She was about to have some well-deserved tea. Carolee’s in charge at the inn for a couple hours. You want some tea?” she asked him. “Or I’ve got some beer.”

  “I’ll take the beer. We put in a long one, too. I can take it to go if you—”

  “Jeez, sit.” She pushed him toward a chair. “All this politeness is making my teeth hurt. And my feet already do.”

  “She’s always so welcoming.” But he bypassed the chair, sat on the couch. “I had some time last night and early this morning,” he told Hope, “for a little research.”

  “As soon as the wedding’s done, I swear I’ll put in more time on that, help you out.”

  “No problem. I couldn’t give it much today because we’re really pushing on Beck’s place.”

  “How’s it coming?” Avery called out.

  “We’re nearly there. A lot of painting, punch-out, details.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Hope said with a smile.

  “I’m working out the time line—”

  “Also familiar,” Avery said from the kitchen.

  “It’s going to be close, but we can just about knock it out by the wedding, get the final inspections. I was thinking we could load them in while they’re on their honeymoon. We couldn’t have everything in where they’re going to want it—you know, like hanging pictures or the fussy stuff—but we could get the furniture in there, stock the kitchen. That kind of thing.”

  Avery came out with a tray and mugs of tea and a bottle of beer. She set it down, leaned over and kissed him. “That’s you. That’s you who’d think of that.”

  “It’d be nice for them to get back and basically move right in.”

  “It’s a great idea. I’ll help all I can,” Hope promised. “I do know where she plans to put a lot of things. We’ve talked about it.”

  “Hope’s got a memory like an elephant.”

  “But not an ass like an enormous tomato.”

  Owen just lifted his brows when Avery snorted in her tea. “Girl joke,” she told him.

  “Okay. Anyway, we’ll plan for it. How’d it all go today?”

  “It was perfect.” Hope curled up her legs. “And we had one unexpected guest. I caught her scent off and on all through the party—and I really think she helped herself to some champagne, if that’s possible. I found an empty glass up in E&D, after I’d already done the check through and all the others had gone.”

  “I invited her.” Avery sipped her tea. “I went up there before, and I don’t know, I just got the feeling she was down. Sad. I told her about the baby, and the shower. It seemed to cheer her up.”

  “That’s you,” Owen murmured. “That’s you who’d think of that. I might have more on her. I’ve been looking into her family. She had two older brothers and a younger sister. One brother died in the war. The other came back, got married, had four kids, so I’ve got those threads if we need them. The sister married a couple years after the war. Five kids, but one died as a baby. From what I’ve found, the sister lived way into her nineties. They moved to Philadelphia a couple years after the marriage. That might be something for you to look into, Hope, as that’s where your family’s from.”

  “Can do.”

  “Do you know anything about Liberty House School?”

  Surprise flooding her face, Hope looked up from her tea. “As a matter of fact I do. Why?”

  “I haven’t pulled all the details yet, but I ended up going off on a tangent—you know how it happens—and I came on the Liberty House School for Girls—founded in 1878. It has the sister as one of the founders—and a big influence on providing education to girls at a time when it wasn’t a big thing. It’s coed now, but still a respected private school up there.”

  “It is. I went there.”

  “Seriously?” Surprised, Owen leaned forward, forearms on thighs. “Small world.”

  “Yes.” Frowning, Hope set down her tea. “What was the sister’s name?”

  “Ah, Catherine.”

  “Her married name?”

  “Darby. Catherine Darby. I read that the library in the school’s named for her.”

  “It is, and it is a really, spookily small world. The Catherine Darby who helped found the Liberty House School for Girls in 1878 was my great-times-three-grandmother.”

  “Holy shit.” Avery gaped. “And again, holy shit! Hope, if all this is right, you’re related to Lizzy. You’re her great-times-three-niece.”

  “You’re sure about this, Hope?”

  Hope merely glanced at Owen. “I went to Liberty House from kindergarten through middle school. Just like my mother and uncle did—and my maternal grandmother, like my brother did, like my sister did. It’s a family tradition. And before you ask, I don’t know much about the family history—not that far back. I imagined Catherine Darby as the old woman—old to a kid—in the painting in the library at school. I’ve never heard about her having a sister who died. I didn’t even know her maiden name.”

  “Do you think anyone in your family would know more—the more personal stuff that might not show up in research?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know, but I can find out. This is . . . so strange.” So strange she felt a tickle at the back of her throat. “I need to let it settle in. I can’t think straight on this yet. I’m going to go.”

  “Do you want me to go with you? To stay with you tonight?”

  “No, no, I’m not afraid. I’m not upset. I just need to process.”

  “Why don’t I walk yo
u across?”

  “Stop it,” Hope insisted with a little laugh before Owen could stand. “I think I can make it across The Square. I just need to clear my head, then think. This is just really strange.”

  Avery popped up, went with Hope to the door. “You call me if you can’t settle. Promise.”

  “All right. Processing.” She tapped her temple. “You know I need to.”

  “Yeah, otherwise, I wouldn’t let you go without me. But Hope?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, you can say that again.”

  When Hope went out, Avery turned back to Owen, and did. “Wow.”

  “The sister,” he murmured. “I don’t know why I followed that path, really. I just wanted the information. The-more-you-know kind of thing. But I didn’t see how it could help find the Billy Lizzy wants. And now . . . I know coincidences happen, but this? This is really stretching it.”

  “So what? Fate?”

  “What else?” He pushed up to pace. “You’re born and raised in Boonsboro, and Hope’s born and raised in Philadelphia. You end up being college roommates, and friends. Solid friends. So solid, she visits here, makes solid friends with Clare. The same Clare my brother’s about to marry. My mother falls in love with the old hotel, manages to buy it, we put blood, sweat, and tears into rehabbing it. The person we’re hiring as innkeeper gets pregnant, has to bow out, and you and Clare come up with Hope.”

  “Who’s looking to relocate because she’s been screwed over by her asshole and his family.”

  “She’s tailor-made for the job,” Owen continued. “Hotel manager, knows all the ropes—some we hadn’t even thought of. Overqualified, and not really looking to relocate here. And my mom hires her on the spot—barely talked to her, and boom, she’s hired. Hope accepts the same way—boom.”

  “Well, when you add it all up that way . . .”

  “That’s how it adds up.” He stopped his restless pacing to face her. “One twist, then another, one choice, then another, all leading to the same place. The inn, Lizzy, Hope—and maybe, if it keeps adding—to this Billy.”

  “Do you think she knows—Eliza, I mean?”

  “I don’t know. It seems if she did, she’d have made more effort to connect with Hope. When you think about it, it’s been more with us—Beckett, me, Ry—though Ry doesn’t talk about it much. My mother. Even you.”

  “And Murphy. He’s the first one who saw her, that we know of.”

  “Kids.” Owen shrugged. “They haven’t learned not to believe the impossible. This is . . .”

  “Is what?”

  He looked at her, lit up with a grin. “So fucking cool. And . . . wait a minute. I was distracted, caught up. I just noticed.”

  “Noticed what.”

  “Your hair. It’s back.” He crossed to her, ran his fingers through the bright golden red. “It’s Avery’s hair again.”

  “I decided to try being me for a while, see how it goes.”

  “The way I like you best,” he told her.

  “Really?” Intrigued, she studied him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “It’s your hair, but this is your hair.” Bending down, he sniffed at it. “Smells like it, feels like it, and now it looks like it. I’m crazy about your hair.”

  “Come on.”

  “Always have been. I’ve never made love with you and your real hair.”

  She laughed, then laughed again when he boosted her up. Obliging, she hooked her legs around his waist.

  “I think I should,” he continued, “just to see. Get a comparison study.”

  “You do like your research.”

  “And some more than others,” he agreed as he carted her into the bedroom.

  Chapter Twenty

  Decked with flowers and sparkling lights, the inn shimmered like a wish. Of all it had seen, all it had held in its long life, this celebration of love, faith, and endurance shone bright.

  The air bloomed with the scent of roses, hints of honeysuckle, a sweet drift of lilies. Overhead, the sky cupped blue and clear.

  Inside the fairy bower of Titania and Oberon, Clare stepped into her wedding dress. She took a breath, smiled at her mother as Hope fussed the dress into place. “No crying, Mom.”

  “My girl’s so beautiful.” Rosie blinked at the tears, stepped forward to take Clare’s hand. “And so happy.”

  “Perfect.” Hope stepped back to stand with Avery.

  “That’s how everything feels, right this moment.” Clare took another breath as she turned to the mirror. “Perfect.”

  “And right on schedule, too. Out on the porch for some photos,” Hope ordered, “so we stay that way.”

  “Are you sure Beckett’s not around? I don’t want him to see me before the ceremony. I know it’s silly, but—”

  “It’s not,” Avery corrected. “I’ll go back to J&R and make sure the men stay on that side.”

  “We need you for pictures,” Hope reminded her.

  “I’ll be back. Just let me round up the boys and Justine. And report on progress from the groom’s world. Get started, and give me five,” she said and dashed out.

  She noted the door to Elizabeth and Darcy stood open. “Can’t visit right now. Timetable. But I’ll be back.”

  Clicking along in her wedding shoes, enjoying the way her dress—the color of frothy champagne—flowed around her legs, she hurried toward the back, through the door, across the porch.

  She heard the voices before she knocked—the boys’ excited tones, a low, rumbling laugh. “Everybody decent?” she called out as she eased the door open.

  “Define decent,” Ryder said.

  Amused, she stepped through the door.

  Justine, hair tumbling down her back, stood cheek-to-cheek with Beckett. Another one of those perfect moments, Avery thought, while Ryder and the boys—all in their dark suits—sat on the bed with cards spread out in what appeared to be a marathon game of War.

  “It’s time!” Liam started to scramble off the bed, causing a stampede.

  “Not yet. We’re taking some pictures first, then the photographer will come down here, take some of you guys. Where’s Owen?”

  “Liquid refreshment detail,” Ryder told her.

  “You look great. God, everybody looks great. I need to steal Justine and the boys for the pictures, then I’ll ship them back. The rest of the groom’s team stays rear of the inn. No sneaking around the front.”

  “How about a pizza delivery?” Ryder asked, and as with the stampede, incited a small riot among the younger set.

  “After.” Justine turned, gave the boys the eye Avery imagined had quelled riots for decades. “Let’s go, troops. See you soon,” she murmured, kissing Beckett’s cheek.

  “But I’m pretty thirsty.” Murphy sent Justine an imploring look laced with a hopeful smile.

  “I’ll take care of that. I’ll be right behind you,” Avery promised Justine.

  “I win by default.”

  Harry spun around on Ryder’s smug grin. “Nuh-uh!”

  “Uh-huh. The war’s over for you, loser.”

  “Moratorium,” Justine declared. “A pause in the battle,” Justine explained to Harry as she herded them out. And she sent Ryder that same quelling eye before she shut the door.

  “You really do look great,” Avery said with her hand on the knob. “But wait until you see Clare.”

  “Just tell me I don’t have to wait much longer.”

  “Nearly there,” she promised Beckett, and scurried out.

  Avery glanced down at The Courtyard as she started down. The tents, wedding-gown-white under the softening blue sky, more flowers, more lights.

  Hope would say perfect, she thought. And she’d be right.

  Owen stepped out, a tray of drinks in his hands. Their eyes met, she on the steps, he below. The moment held—romantic, fanciful—and her heart gave that quick flutter.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You look amazing.”
r />   “Wait till you see the bride.”

  Owen only shook his head, watching the sun play on her highland queen hair. “Amazing.”

  “It’s all so beautiful.” She continued down. “Think of this a year ago. It’s hard to believe the changes, what can happen, what can, well, become I guess.”

  His eyes stayed steady on hers. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Justine took the boys to the bride’s side for pictures. I’ll deliver their liquid refreshment.”

  He glanced at the tray he carried. Odd, for a minute he’d forgotten it, forgotten the wedding, forgotten the world. “Yeah. Sprite, which Liam claims is the same deal as champagne. The real deal for Mom.”

  “And beer for you and your brothers. We’ll be about fifteen minutes more—according to Hope’s scary timetable. Then the photographer will be over to deal with you guys.”

  “We’ll be ready. I’ve got the schedule.”

  “Of course you do.”

  He carried the tray up to the porch, made the beverage transfer. “Seriously amazing,” he added, making her laugh as she hurried away.

  He opened the door, stepped inside.

  “You know how if Avery had been pregnant I said I’d want to marry her?”

  “Jesus, Avery’s pregnant?” Quickly, Ryder grabbed a beer from the tray.

  “No.” But now he understood what that odd feeling had been when he’d learned the test kit had been Clare’s. Just a touch of disappointment.

  “The thing is, I realized a minute ago—I didn’t realize, and now I do.”

  “Spit it out,” Ryder advised, “or you’ll screw your own timetable.”

  “I just want to marry her.” A little stunned, he looked from Ryder to Beckett and back again. “I want to marry Avery MacTavish.”

  “Well. Let’s drink to that.” Beckett took his own beer, then Owen’s, set the tray aside. “Here you go.”

  Owen frowned at the beer. “Aren’t you even a little surprised?”

  “No. Not even a little.”

  “Wait. Wait.” Ryder edged back, eyes narrowed. “You said marry—as in marry? First Beck, now you?” He gave his beer a suspicious stare. “Is there something in the beer? Some sort of get-married drug? That’s going to piss me off.”