A simple sentiment … but they just might be the sweetest words he'd ever heard.
* * *
Tom was working in his suite Saturday afternoon when a knock sounded at the door. He saved the file, then left the computer to find Holly waiting in the hallway. She held a package in one arm and her coat in the other. "Are you ready?"
"Ready?"
"For the party. You already forgot, didn't you?"
He glanced at the package again, wrapped in white paper bearing pink Happy Birthdays all over, and remembered their conversation at breakfast. You want to be married and live in Bethlehem, she'd said, let me give you a taste of what that'll be like. The "taste" was a birthday party for her assistant manager's oldest daughter, and practically everyone in town would be there. She wasn't going to find it that easy to scare him away. "Give me two minutes."
"Why don't I come in and help you get ready?"
He pushed the door up to block her. "All I have to do is turn off the computer, and I've been doing it by myself for a long time. You wait here." Closing the door securely, he returned to the desk to shut down. All he needed was Holly in the bedroom with him. Instead of turning the damn computer off, she'd be turning him on, and after last night, he might not find the willpower to resist.
He was in the corridor with his coat in less than two minutes. The party was at the Winchester house, home to most of Bethlehem's celebrations, it seemed. He hardly knew the two old ladies, couldn't even keep their names straight, but he'd had both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners there last year.
"It's Alanna's birthday," Holly said as he turned onto Hawthorne Street
. "She's twelve, and she's Emilie's niece."
"And she lives with Emilie because…?"
"Because her mother's weak, self-centered, and not fit to raise her, Josie, and Brendan," Holly said tartly. After a moment, she continued. "Emilie's sister is a drug addict and an alcoholic who is in and out of rehab and jail on a regular basis. She had to make a choice between her habit and her children, and she chose her habit."
Tom could think of a number of comments he could make. Obviously, the sister had a problem; the kids were lucky to have Emilie; too bad Holly hadn't had a loving aunt to take over when her own parents failed. Instead he said nothing.
Cars lined both sides of the street near the Winchester house. At Holly's direction, he pulled into the McKinneys' driveway, and they walked across to the old Victorian. Halfway there, a tomboy with blond curls met them, flinging her arms around Holly's middle.
"Miss Holly, guess what? I'm learnin' how to ride a horse. Dr. J.D's new neighbor's got horses, and she's gonna teach me how to ride just as soon as it gets warm." Pulling away from Holly, she skipped ahead a few steps, then turned to walk backward. "I don't know why we have to wait. I've got a coat and gloves, and the horse has its own coat. It's not like it's gonna get cold or nothin'."
"No, but maybe Dr. J.D.'s neighbor might get cold, and if she's doing the teaching, then she's got to be outside with you. Say hello to Mr. Flynn, Josie."
"H'lo, Mr. Flynn. I'm Josie Lee Dalton. 'Member me?"
"Yes, Josie, I remember you." She was the chattiest kid in town, with Grayson's little girl a close second. Neither Josie nor Gracie had ever met a stranger or, he suspected, had a thought that went unspoken.
"Ever'one says you're gonna marry Miss Holly," she said, unerringly climbing the porch steps without so much as a glance over her shoulder. "Is 'at true?"
"Yes," he said at the same time Holly answered, "No."
Josie giggled. "You gonna kiss her and have babies with her?"
Holly reached out to tug the kid's curls. "You gonna mind your own business, squirt?"
"Prob'ly not. When I grow up, I'm gonna be a cop like Uncle Nathan, 'cause then I get to ask all the questions I want and if anyone tells me to mind my own business, I'll slap the handcuffs on 'em and haul 'em off to jail."
The living room and dining room of the Winchester house were packed. A young boy took their coats to a bedroom while they worked their way across the room. It was slow going, with Holly stopping to chat with virtually everyone.
"Hey, Holly," someone called from the corner. "Have you set a date yet?"
Before she could reply, Tom did. "We're working on it."
Though her smile never flickered, she brought her heel down on his toe while politely saying, "We're not getting married."
"Yes, we are," he disagreed. To the man who'd asked, he winked conspiratorially and said, "She's just a little nervous. It's such a big step, you know."
She glared over her shoulder at him while continuing to the dining room. "Stop that!" she hissed. "Repeat after me—we're not getting married."
Once the crowd thinned, he moved beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders. "But I want to get married."
"No, you don't. You don't get married just because you haven't done it before. Pick another goal. Go climb a mountain. Jump out of an airplane. Sail around the world. And let go of me!"
"I don't want to." It was an appropriate answer to any and all of the preceding.
In the dining room, they located most of her friends, as well as the birthday girl. Holly gave Alanna a hug, said hello to the others, and continued into the kitchen. Tom went with her. The Winchester sisters were there, fussing over the final details on the birthday cake.
Holly hugged and kissed both elderly women. "The cake looks lovely."
"It's carrot cake," one sister answered. "Can you believe Alanna wanted a carrot cake birthday cake? But the smaller cakes on the table are white and chocolate."
"Alanna's always been older than her years," the other added. She smoothed the last bit of frosting, then stepped back to study Holly. "You look lovely, dear. Being engaged agrees with you."
Tom watched Holly struggle for control. Her eyes narrowed, and a muscle in her jaw twitched even as she forced a smile. "I'm not engaged."
"Why, of course you are." Then the old lady gave him a chiding look. "Of course, it's customary for the prospective groom to give his prospective bride an engagement ring."
"He would," Tom said, "if he believed for a second that she'd accept it. Last night I gave her a necklace, and she wouldn't even put it on."
Both women looked at Holly for an explanation. Face flushing, she said defensively, "That necklace must be at least thirty carats! In diamonds!"
"Sounds lovely," one sister sighed. She was the one seeing J.D. Grayson's father—Agatha, he thought—and the more romantic of the two, because the other just harrumphed before adding, "Sounds extravagant."
Holly flashed him a smug grin. He didn't mind, since the dreamy one had sided with him.
With Holly leading the way, they returned to the dining room, where Emilie offered them drinks. As he stood in the background and sipped his, Tom tried to remember the last party he'd attended in the city where the strongest drink offered was fruit punch, or where children had been welcomed, or when he hadn't been bored out of his mind. He couldn't remember. Kids were never excluded from parties here, with the exception of the Sweethearts Dance, alcohol was rarely served, and he couldn't honestly say he'd ever been bored. He'd felt out of place, a stranger among friends, an oddity deposited into their midst, but he'd never been bored, because he'd always been with Holly.
"Holly, you know, the nursery starts getting a ton of really beautiful flowers in April." Melissa Thomas was trying to contain her smile to an innocent smile. Maggie and Kelsey, on either side of her, weren't succeeding as well.
"Yes, Melissa, seeing that the inn is your best customer in town, I'm aware of that," Holly responded. "Though I can't remember a single time in the past you felt compelled to point it out to me."
"Oh, I was just thinking that"—the smile was losing, and the big, teasing grin was winning—"you know, you might need extra flowers this spring. Some centerpieces and boutonnieres and … oh, I don't know, maybe a bouquet, or five or six."
When Holly glowered at her, they all
started laughing. J.D., standing behind his wife, leaned forward. "Just for the record, Holly, the hospital staff is betting in your favor."
"But you've lost the police department," Nathan said. "And the sheriff's department. And the fire department."
"People are betting on me?" Holly asked indignantly.
"Well, most of us are betting against you," Kelsey replied. "We love you dearly, but … Tom's the one known 'round the world for winning negotiations."
"But he's never negotiated with me." The look she gave him was a definite challenge, and he never backed down from a challenge.
He slid his arm around her waist, drew her against him, and used his free hand to tilt up her face. "I've already begun negotiating with you, darlin', and you know what?" He was so close that his mouth was brushing hers, that he could feel the soft, warm puffs of her breath on his skin. He moved even closer and murmured, "This is one deal in which losing is not an option."
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
"God, this place is dead on a Saturday afternoon as it was when it was my home." With too much dramatic flair, Margery collapsed into a chair, flung out a hand, and snapped her fingers imperiously. "Bring me a drink, any kind of drink, and be quick about it."
Bree looked up from the silver she was polishing in time to see the waitress, Kate, make a face behind Margery's back. She smiled faintly before lowering her gaze once more to the serving spoon she held. "You know, most people respond better to orders if you say please and thank you and don't snap your fingers at them."
"She's a waitress. It's her job to respond to orders."
"No, it's not. Her job is to serve people, not to jump at their very rude beck and call."
Margery straightened in her chair and glared haughtily. "You're calling me rude? You? A nocould from Rochester, of all places, whose idea of culture is carnivals and zoos?"
Bree gave no outward response, though inside she trembled just a bit. Margery might be rude, obnoxious, self-centered, and petulant, but she was still the boss's mother, and Bree was still just an employee who could be fired on a whim. She didn't honestly think Holly would fire her for being rude to Margery, but she really shouldn't be testing the theory—not yet.
"Where is my daughter?"
"Out with Mr. Flynn."
"I cannot believe she hasn't yet accepted his proposal. Doesn't she realize how wealthy he is? Why, with him for a son-in-law, there would be nowhere I couldn't go. Every door in the country would be open to me."
Bree gave a shake of her head. Her mother might drive her nuts, but at least she wasn't shallow. If Bree were considering marriage, it would never occur to Allison to try to benefit from it. Her only concern would be whether her future son-in-law loved Bree enough.
Kate returned from the kitchen and set a glass in front of Margery. Stepping back, she folded her hands over the serving tray and waited.
Margery took a sip, grew stiff, and turned a frigid look on Kate. "That's nothing but ice water. So you have a sense of humor. Too bad I don't. Bring me a bottle of scotch, you little—"
"Mrs. McBride." Leaning across the table, Bree laid her hand on the woman's arm. At the same time, she signaled Kate to leave with a nod. Hesitantly, gently, she said, "My father always said that needing a drink was the first sign that you had a problem."
"My husband used to say that, too. He hardly even qualified as a social drinker. A glass of wine from time to time, a few beers… Smug, insolent man." She drew a deep breath, then another, then folded her hands together. "I take it you don't drink?"
Bree shook her head.
"And that allows you to be holier-than-thou with those of us who do."
"I have nothing against people who drink … occasionally. And I'm not being holier-than-thou. I just don't understand how alcohol can mean more to you than your daughter, your marriage, and your husband."
"How dare you!" Rising quickly to her feet, Margery raised her hand as if to strike Bree. Bree scrambled to her feet, too, but retreat wasn't necessary. All it took to freeze them both in place was a bewildered voice speaking from the doorway.
"Sabrina? Baby, what's going on?"
For an instant her heart stopped beating in her chest. She felt the color drain from her face and a queasiness stir in her stomach, as she slowly turned toward the door. Margery was turning, too, so pale that she looked as if she might faint. When her gaze reached the door, she staggered back a step or two, then sank into the waiting chair. "You," she whispered sickly. "Oh, dear God, it's you."
Bree glanced at Margery, then crossed the dining room in long strides, wrapping her arms around Allison. "Mom! Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry."
"Bree, what's going on here?"
At the sound of Holly's voice, Bree clung tighter to her mother. God, she hadn't meant for things to happen this way. She wasn't even sure she'd meant for them to happen at all. But her mother was here, and so were the McBrides, and clearly Margery knew who Allison was, and…
Gulping in a breath, she freed herself from her mother's embrace and saw Holly and Tom, just returned from the party. He was helping her remove her coat, but her attention was all theirs. Bree brushed back her hair, smoothed a wrinkle in her shirt, then laced her fingers tightly together. "I—uh, I'm sorry, Holly. I didn't—I—I—" With another deep breath, she blurted out, "This is my mother, Allison Aiken. Mom, this is Holly McBride."
Holly took the few steps necessary to shake hands. "Mrs. Aiken. I…" Her attention shifted to the dining room, where her mother was slumped in the chair, hands over her face. "I, uh, I'm glad to meet you. Bree—"
"Get her out of here!" Margery surged to her feet and furiously approached them, one finger pointing accusingly. "Get that woman out of here! I will not be under the same roof with her, do you understand? Get her out!"
What in the world had she walked into this time? Holly wondered. After the afternoon of relentless teasing at the party, couldn't she have five minutes' peace in her own home before World War III broke out?
She stepped in front of Margery, stopping her a few short feet from Bree and her mother. Margery was livid, Bree frightened, Mrs. Aiken oddly calm. Margery tried to sidestep her, but Holly was quicker.
"Get out of my way!" her mother shrieked. "If you won't remove her from the premises, I will. I will not tolerate that—that woman's presence in my house!"
"Mother!" Holly snapped. Catching Margery's arms, she gave her a shake. "Calm down and shut up! Just a reminder—this is my house, and I will not tolerate this kind of drunken behavior here!"
"I'm not drunk, I'm enraged! How dare she come here? How dare she!"
"Let's go into the library where we won't have an audience," Tom said quietly, slipping his arm around Margery's waist and half guiding, half dragging her across the floor.
Holly glanced around and saw several guests looking on curiously from the stairs. She gave them a strained smile, offered a hasty apology, then gestured for Bree and her mother to precede her into the library. The instant she closed the door after her, she asked, "What's going on?"
Mrs. Aiken pulled away from her daughter and went to stand in front of Margery. "Hello, Margery," she said softly. "Imagine meeting like this after all these years."
"All these years I've wished you were dead!" Margery spat out. She would have lunged at Mrs. Aiken, Holly was sure, if Tom hadn't been holding her by the shoulders. "All these years I've hated you!"
"I'm sorry," Bree's mother said. "I've tried to tell you so many times how very sorry I am."
"Mrs. Aiken—"
She turned toward Holly, her expression gentle. "Ms. Aiken. Or Allison. I kept my maiden name."
"Maiden name?" Margery let out a cruel laugh. "Your only name, you mean, because he never married you! He wouldn't!"
Heat flushed Holly's face at the same time as a chill danced down her spine. Panic was welling inside her, urging her to run, run as far as she could. She didn't want to know what was going on, didn't want to
know how her mother and Bree's knew each other. She damn sure didn't want to know who he was. Desperately she wished she and Tom were back at the party, that they'd accepted Maggie's invitation to dinner at their house, that they were anywhere but here, dealing with anything but this.
But she couldn't move, couldn't unfold her fingers to open the door, couldn't make her feet obey her commands to flee. Instead, she stood there as if rooted to the floor as Allison Aiken came toward her. "Holly, I'm so sorry. I never would have come here if I'd realized that Margery was here. I never would have risked stirring up bad memories for her."
Margery made a vulgar response to that, but Allison ignored it.
"I just wanted to see my daughter, to find out what in the world she was doing here. She's always been so curious about you, so envious…" Allison smiled affectionately at Bree, who came to slide her arm around her waist.
"I'm sorry," Bree whispered, looking more distressed than Holly had ever seen her before.
"I—I don't understand." Holly's voice was unsteady, rough. "Who are you? Why are you here?"
"They're nocould!" Margery said scornfully. "A no-good worthless slut and her bastard daughter! Nocould!"
Holly looked past them to her mother, lost her temper for one instant, and shouted, actually shouted, "Shut up!"
In the silence that followed, no one was willing to speak—not Allison, not Bree, not even Margery. Tom had his hands full keeping Margery on her side of the room, and wasn't about to speak up, though he'd already guessed what Holly was trying to avoid. She could see it in the way he looked at her, with tenderness and regret and pity, and it made her want to cry, to curl up in his arms and weep and know that he would keep her safe.
She didn't move toward him, though. Slowly she shifted her gaze once more to the Aiken women, and she summoned the courage to speak once more. "Who are you, Bree, to be curious about me? To be envious of me? How did you know I even existed?"
Her gaze darting everywhere except in Holly's direction, Bree dried her hands on her jeans, folded her arms over her chest, and knotted her fists. Finally she stood utterly motionless, looked Holly in the eye, and said, "Because your father was also my father. You're my half-sister."
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